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girl-lostconnection · 13 days ago

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Acceleration AU (part 3) 4.5k

Part 2 || Part 4

Warnings: Plus size!fem!Reader, Soap x Simon, Simon x Reader, Reader x Soap, Reader is mad as fuck, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy attachment, possessive behaviour, suggestive themes, insecurities, Reader slutshames herself a little, touchy Simon

You don’t know what the fuck are you doing out in this bloody pub, nursing your fruity cocktail and trying to pull your skirt lower.

It’s dim-lighted here, entirely too warm and crowded for your comfort. But the stubborn pride, the aching pit in your stomach don’t let you get up and leave like you usually would.

No, you aren’t leaving until you get what you came for.

Simon’s words are still ringing in your ears, Simon’s voice digs a hole inside of you the size of a fucking coffin. You feel like lying down in this hole and burying yourself down there.

But it’s not fair. It isn’t fucking fair and you refuse to wallow in your own misery just because you are getting your heart broken. Just because the man you spent your whole life with found himself a relationship.

(Doesn’t matter if you weren’t exactly in a relationship with him. Doesn’t matter that you never talked who you are to each other. Doesn’t fucking matter)

There is a scratch on the inside of your skull and the scratch suspiciously feels the same way worried eyes of Johnny “Soap” MacTavish feel when you almost throw a bloody mug of tea in Simon’s face.

When you got so mad you felt like screaming and raging, like moving away and changing your name and never saying another bloody thing in your entire life. Joining a covenant maybe.

[ “You could’ve said that you want me here for Christmas.”, - Simon is one heavy silence in a trenchcoat, arms crossed over the chest, lips thin line of a frown.

You know he hates this conversation. You know he hates fighting.

You need to do it anyway.

“You could’ve asked. You know it’s important. You know what it means and how much it matters.”, you are upset beyond anything, Soap’s tense shoulders just adding to the heat of the moment.

Because it’s not his bloody fault, because Simon is a grown man who should’ve known better than to throw a bone your way.

Not when he knows you snarl at things like that.

“I’m a grown man, luv. I don’t need your bloody permission to go somewhere, you are not my mum”, Simon snaps, eyes heavy. You know he’s becoming defensive now, that Soap looking uncomfortable as hell just agitates him further. That you being this upset drives him up the wall.

“Thank fuck”, you spit out and leave, ignoring his heavy steps right behind you, ignoring the way he tries to stop you, ignoring the “luv, please, it’s getting dark already”.

Because Simon cares, of course he fucking cares, you know that and you know him.

But the ugly roaring in your head chants “hate you-hate you-hate you” and you slam the door on your way out.

Doesn’t make you feel any better.]

There is a hole inside of you the size of a coffin and you intend to fill it today.

Because you are not a bloody placeholder. You deserve love. You deserve attention.

You deserve consideration and care.

But you’ve also been so lonely and god knows you want to feel wanted. Even if just for tonight. Even if it’s a little bit and not exactly what you crave.

Can’t get everything you want, right?

So you let the stranger kiss you, his smile grazing your skin, his hands on the small of your back and he’s very bloody respectful all things considered.

And in any other circumstances you would appreciate it.

But you are not looking for a date. You are looking for…what are you even looking for? Absolution? An answer? Warm body next to yours?

You don’t know so you just press yourself tighter into the man, soft sound escaping your throat when he murmurs something — your head swimming from heat and taste of sugar on his lips. It’s intoxicating.

It numbs the ache in your chest, it warms up the ugly slick parts of you that throb for entirely different hands and eyes.

Stranger’s name is nice but simple, something along the lines of Gary or maybe Harry (you didn’t listen and now are forced to just call him “hon”), his eyes are impossibly green, his smiles wide enough to remind you Soap.

You don’t know why he reminds you Soap. Because John MacTavish is broader, shoulders wider and arms meatier — honed bulk of muscles stretching his fatigues taut.

John MacTavish has tiniest freckles in the world, has small white strip of scar crossing his right eyebrow and has absolutely sinful lips.

You get why Simon is mad about him.

You take a breath, sound a little shakier than intended, but your newfound date takes it as the compliment, rumbling in your collarbones that you are “so gorgeous. Prettiest bird I saw”.

You squeeze your eyes shut, pulling the man closer, hands wrapping around his shoulders, your back pressed into the wall behind you.

Why do you even think of Soap in this situation?

The guy presses kisses to your neck, nips at the soft skin, groans “right beauty, doll, can’t get enough of ya” and you decide that if you can’t think of anything other than bloody Soap, you aren’t gonna think at all.

You are gonna let the bloke, whose bloody name you can’t remember for the life of you, touch you more, you are gonna lead his palm between your thighs, you are gonna let him rub the wet heat of you.

Hungry gnawing creature in you getting greedier with each touch, gripping on stranger’s wrist, throwing her head back, doing things she shouldn’t.

But you’ve been doing everything you should all this time and it had been getting you absolutely nowhere.

So you let the guy get you off, his teeth grazing your throat, his fingers sending shivers down your spine, your core molten hot and in the moment you feel so good.

You feel on top of the world, smiling like that’s how it’s supposed to be.

Smiling like you know how pretty you are.

The guy (god, now you will remember him as “The guy” only, there’s no way you are gonna remember his name. No matter how good his fingers are) kisses your neck and jaw, murmurs sweet nothings.

And for a few blissful moments you are high on pleasure, pliant from his warmth and soft in your satisfaction.

For a few moments you feel whole.

Then it all comes crashing down.

Because the high never lasts long enough, because there’s not a bloke in this pub that can sate the creature in your chest.

You feel so sick you want to crawl out of your own skin, you want to run, you want to hide and scratch your make up off and scratch this fucking dress off.

The guy (god bless the bloke) carefully tucks you in a cab, kisses your forehead and murmurs “don’t need to cry, doll, it’s okay. Call me tomorrow if you’d like, yeah? I’d love to take ya out” and leaves his number in the pocket of your coat.

He pays for your cab and doesn’t try to leave with you.

For some reason his kindness makes you feel even worse.

Because it’s not fair. Not to him, nor to you. Because you were out to be stupid and to have fun and to get yourself off. And you did it, crossed out all bulletpoints off your bucket list.

Why doesn’t it get much better?

You get home at the wee hours of the morning, floorboards creaking under your weight as you kick your heels off and then the light switch clicks on.

You freeze like a deer in the headlights, looking at Simon who looks less than impressed.

Simon in sweatpants and a sweater you were wearing this morning.

Simon with heavy tension in his shoulders that you know will ache like hell in the morning, tension pain climbing up to his neck.

But he used up all your patience and you are not in the mood for reprimand, you are a grown woman, you can deal with your own shit.

You can do it without him.

Simon’s eyes linger on your neck, muscle in his jaw twitching. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, something swelling in his eyes with the force of incoming tsunami. Tectonic plates shifting, oceans boiling, something big roaring to the surface.

But fuck him. Fuck him and his moods and his blond lashes and his pretty fucking boyfriend.

Fuck them both.

“Don’t.”, you spit out with such rage it surprises both of you, hiss so wounded it’s a miracle you aren’t crying.

It makes Simon snap out of whatever he’s been conjuring in his head, mouth opening again but this time his lips twist into a frown.

“Luv, wha’- did someone hurt ya?”, there is a shift in his demeanour, his whole body tilting closer to you. There is a familiar twitch to his fingers, a heavy tension rolling under his skin, squaring his shoulders — his whole body curling to wrap around you. “Luv, look at me. Come o’, sweet’eart.”

But no. No, you can’t do this today. Not right now.

Too much kindness and you will crack open like faulty glass with cracks all over it, everything pouring out of you.

“I said — don’t”, you snap, hanging your coat, your eyes stinging, the heavy hover of your brows (same one you subconsciously mimicked off Simon’s).

Simon opens his mouth to say something but you send him a glare so scalding he does a rare thing.

He closes it back and steps aside, letting you through. He doesn’t say anything anymore but there is a heavy weight of his gaze between your shoulder blades. It follows you when you pad into the bedroom to get your pyjamas and then into the bathroom.

Bathtub fills with hot water slowly but it gives you time to think. Shame finally flooding your system, your mind catching up to pleasures your body partook in and Jesus fucking Christ, what were you thinking?

Letting a stranger just touch you like that? Letting someone who’s not Simon be this close to you, this intimate with you, this soft with you.

Letting someone see you as this vulnerable wreck of a social butterfly — spreading your wings one moment and sobbing the next one. Fucking hell, the Guy must be thinking you a right nutcase right now.

There is embarrassment and strange kind of guilt curdling in your throat, your fingers twitching to finally wash the night away, to slide under the water surface and lie in the bathtub until you feel like a person again. Until you don’t feel this ashamed about something not shameful at all.

A quick glance in the mirror does absolutely nothing to soothe the restless creature in your chest because holy fuck. That’s why Simon was staring.

You look like a bloody mess!

Your neck is littered with hickeys all the way down to your cleavage, purplish marks covering your skin. It does look like someone tried to either devour you or kill you. Maybe both.

Fucking hell. Fucking fucking hell.

You wash for what feels like forever, angrily scratching off the make up, too rough and too quick, your eyes stinging, your skin too tight and too hot, your chest gurgling with wet shuddering breaths.

You don’t feel better. If anything you feel worse.

There’s a small dread-filled expectation that Simon is standing his guard right outside the bathroom door, that you will need to speak to him in a sorry state you are in.

But he isn’t there.

Soap is.

Not even right behind the door — he is in the living room, right across from you, his head snapping up when you finally emerge.

He’s wearing Simon’s T-shirt and you don’t want to let it get to you but it’s been a long night and fuck, do you feel like crying right now.

But it’s a different thing that gets you.

Johnny is standing with a handful of blankets, right next to couch that has been properly made to sleep on it, pillows and stuffed toy laying on there.

There’s a steaming mug on the coffee table. There’s a chocolate bar and a plate of pills. If you had to guess, probably painkillers.

It makes your chest clench and if this bloody Scotsman says a single fucking thing you will throw something in his head.

You don’t need his pity. You don’t want his kindness.

But Johnny just steps aside letting you plop yourself on the couch and drapes a blanket over your shoulders. Johnny passes you the mug and sits next to you.

For some reason you let him.

For some reason you press your cheek into his shoulder and cry — ugly fat tears streaming down your face, his hand coming up to slowly carefully rub your hand. It’s strange.

It’s not like Simon’s engulfing embrace, it’s not the way guy from the pub hummed his sweet nothings. But it’s good. It’s comforting. It doesn’t make you feel like a total wreck.

Johnny sits with you, letting you cry it out, not making a sound. Like he knows that you need this moment for yourself. Like he knows that this is not about him. This is about you.

You sit like that long enough for your eyelids to start dropping lower involuntarily, your body getting heavier — tired from shame and aching, wrung with the events of the day.

That’s when Soap finally starts talking, calloused fingers rubbing small circles on your forearm.

“I’m sorry.”, he murmurs quietly before finally looking at you, face a little softer, eyes a little warmer. Like he gets it finally. “I didnae ken you had plans with Simon. For Christmas. I wouldnae asked him if he said something”

You give him a silent shrug of your shoulders which feels more of a twitch rather than conscious expression of your “it is what it is”.

You close your eyes, tucking your legs under the covers and letting Soap wrap you in a blankets.

His eyes linger on your neck for a moment before he looks at you again.

“Was everything…consensual?”, there is a worried heavy crease between his brows and it’s not funny but you still smile at him earning yourself an eye roll.

“Don’t laugh at me, lassie, I’m serious. Simon is driving himself up the foockin wall.”, he shakes his head and fond exasperation in his face makes something in your chest clench painfully. God it would have been better if he was mean to you.

“I’m out here because I reckoned you woulnae mind some company.”, he murmurs, cocooning you in your blanket like you are some kind of helpless creature and you have to smack his palm away to stop him from wrapping you any tighter.

“ ‘m fine. I’ll talk to Simon tomorrow”, you breath out, curling around the stuffed toy, too tired to smack Soap’s hand away when he strokes your head, warmth of his palm soothing dull throbbing pain under your skin.

This is nice. You shouldn’t get used to it.

“I’m sorry too”, you finally say, words slurring out, your eyelids getting heavier when you look up at Johnny and you aren’t sure what it is there in his face but he looks at you like he gets it. Like it’s okay to be a wreck. “I…yeah, it was consensual. Just- I’m not like that usually”, you don’t know why you try to justify yourself to him. You owe him no explanation.

But his eyes still soften when he hums, nodding, his thumb carefully massaging your temple.

“Ah ken. It’s okay. Sometimes we do things for ourselves. Sometimes it doesn’t work out. Ahm just glad ye’r safe”, he chews on his lip before adding, laughter glimmering in his eyes. “And responsible. Even got yerself home in one piece. Ah was right bloody mess in similar circumstances, completely off my foockin’ trolley”

The notion does in fact make you feel a little less like shit and you chuckle, closing your eyes, slipping into dark welcoming nothing.

“Can’t imagine someone not wanting you. You are a beauty”, is the last thing that stumbles out of your mouth, before slumber swallows you.

Soap sits there for some time, palm still covering the side of your hand, eyes soft when you nuzzle into the pillow. You are the one to say that, hen.

He uncurls himself off the couch, finally pads back in the bedroom and crawls in bed — Simon’s hands coming up to pull him close immediately.

“Yer a bastard”, Soap murmurs, nose nuzzling in Ghost’s neck, eyes closing as he melts into warm embrace.

He doesn’t like the clench in his chest, he doesn’t like feeling out of place, he doesn’t like taking someone else’s place.

He doesn’t like making someone feel the way he was feeling. Not when he knows the desire to fill the emptiness inside with whatever works best.

“I know”, Simon’s voice is a low rumble, hands wrapping tighter around Soap’s body, keeping him closer. “Feelin’ like one too, sergeant”

“Good”, Soap hums and curls into Simon further. The bed under him smelling like you, the bed bearing your every trace, the bed a live reminder that somewhere along the way things got more complicated that they should have.

It’s only in the morning that Simon crawls out of the bed, hands wrapping Johnny tighter in the blanket — it’s cold in winter and the last thing he needs is for his sergeant to catch cold. He will probably need to crank up the heat higher, it’s freezing outside the warmth of covers.

It’s still early enough for all of you to sleep but you are very much awake when Simon pads out, awkwardly stilling in the doorway when his eyes meet yours. Look who’s now looking like a deer in the headlights.

“Mornin’.”, he rasps out, voice rough after sleep, hair a mess that curls at the ends. Like he has been tossing and turning all night.

You two haven’t talked save for the yesterday’s fight which had less than ideal results.

God, he hates fighting with you. Hates the tension, hates feeling out of place, hates not being able to melt into you like usually.

“Can I?”, he nods to the couch you are still plastered over and moves your legs out of the way when you give him a slow nod, your blanket-covered ankles now in his lap.

Sitting like that, on the edge of a bloody couch Simon looks like a sleep paralysis demon (a really attractive one, but you are sure you are biased).

The same way he’d sit on the edge of your bed after dumb teenage fights, after breaking your mug, after announcing he has enlisted — his palms massaging your feet absentmindedly.

Just to feel that you are still here.

Tangible, warm, real. His.

“How’d ya feel?”, there is no more fight in him, no more tomb-plate pressure on your shoulders to cave in and speak to him. No more restless energy — all of it drained out yesterday, was bitten out on his nails, splintering one in the process.

When you cut him off, sounding like you weren’t just mad at him. Like you were in pain. Like you were hurting.

Like he hurt you.

“It wasn’t fair”, he says, brown eyes meeting yours, thumb rubbing the roundness of your malleolus.

Simon doesn’t know how to just say that he’s sorry. That he shouldn’t have snapped like that. That he was wrong and he hurt you and he felt like absolute failure yesterday when you stumbled home.

Pretty as sin, glitter on your cheeks, somebody’s marks all over your neck.

Simon doesn’t know how to say that he almost lost it then and there, that he has never felt this mad, that he wanted to get out of the house and hunt down whoever dared to leave hickeys on you.

His fault, should have never let you out of sight, should have never let you leave upset, should have called and told you everything proper, should have been better. His fault, his fuck-up, his mistake.

And then you were misty-eyed and upset beyond anything he ever saw and his heart sank in his stomach, squeezing out white hot “minemineminemine”.

Because he won’t just hunt down if whoever kissed you all over took advantage of you. He’d kill them. He’d tear them limb from limb, he’d choke the life out of them.

Simon doesn’t know how to admit how scared he was that he pushed you away and you might have needed him and he wasn’t there.

Simon doesn’t know how to describe the sheer relief he felt, straining his ears to eavesdrop on your conversation with Johnny.

Simon doesn’t know how to say that he was wrong.

So he says the closest thing he can muster.

“You were right. To be upset with me”, he murmurs quietly, fingers curling around your ankles, palms warming you up. “I should’a waned you proper way. Should’a asked instead if Soap can come to celebrate with us”, he sighs, tilting his head from side to side — bones cracking and granting temporary relief from throbbing in his nape.

You sigh as well, the feel of his fingers on your legs so familiar it’s almost painful. The touch so tender you feel like snatching your legs back.

But god knows you are a weak weak woman.

You don’t. You let him touch you more, bolt of molten heat shooting up the underside of your knee when his knuckle presses on the centre of the sole of your foot.

“John is pretty”, you say suddenly, blurting it out to fill the silence. Because you know that Simon isn’t good with saying he’s sorry. And as much as you appreciate this sad attempt at apology, after everything that happened you aren’t entirely sure whether he’s sorry or just feeling guilty.

“He is very pretty.”, Simon nods stone-faced, softly squeezing your legs one last time before he moves you aside to work his way beside you. “You are very pretty too. Both of you are bloody beauties.”, he hums and you feel his faint grin pressing into your shoulder when he kisses it. “ ‘m surrounded by real dolls ‘round here.”

“You’re laughing at me”, you roll your eyes, smacking his hand when he repositions you to tuck under his side. Closer. So he can drape an arm over your stomach, pressing your back in his chest. “And don’t weasel your way on my couch, you big brute.”

“I’m laughing with ya, sweet’eart”, Simon murmurs finally stretching out behind you, grunting in satisfaction when your body slots into his like a well-oiled piece of puzzle. “Never at ya.”

Simon is a heavy warm presence, scarred fingers on your skin, callouses scraping ever so slightly.

Simon is a four-finger grip, stump of absent trigger finger a living reminder that he always comes back. No matter the cost.

He hums something in your hair, rocking you both in his embrace, his cheek pressed to the top of your head. Simon is warmth and safety, heavy silences and heavier gazes. Simon is everything.

And right now this big everything is purposefully lulling you back to sleep, realisation dawning on you only when he hums again — low vibration in his chest melting you into nothing.

“ ‘m not sleepy”, is a weak protest at best because he can feel with his whole body the way you melt when he tuts and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, you are, luv”, it’s not even a question, his hands wrapped around you securely, holding close to his chest. Close to him.

Sometimes Simon thinks that it would be nice to have six hands. Or at least four. Would’ve be enough to hold this tightly both you and Soap and never let go.

But he only has two hands and two of you and a challenge of getting you both safe and warm.

Soap pads out of the bedroom half an hour later, nothing on him but Simon’s T-shirt and boxers, one of your blankets draped over his shoulders when he sits down across from the couch.

Johnny has a calculating, sharp look in his eyes, has the heavy appraisal in his gaze, his voice low enough not to wake you up.

“What am I to you, sir?”, is a weird question maybe, considering he sleeps in Simon’s bed and wears Simon’s clothes and gets Simon’s kisses. But so do you. And he saw you yesterday when Simon decided he’s going to add someone to the equation you didn’t know you were even part of.

“Mine.”, Simon is calm, with you tucked under his side and his hand draped over you to keep you there and you close. There’s a heavy weight to his words, a heat that sends a shiver through Soap’s body because baby, it’s cold outside and god, does he want in.

Does he want to be needed and loved and cared for. Does he want the same attention you are getting, does he want the same focus you inwoke in Simon.

“Then what is she to you, L.T.?”, the question is carefully worded because Johnny needs to know for sure. Because he needs to know whether to pack his bags or stay by the door.

“Also mine.”, Simon hums, pad of his thumb grazing someone’s bite on your neck. His eyes are so dark Johnny feels heat climb up his face. Like he’s witnessing something he isn’t supposed to. “You both are mine. Not gonna change”

So it’s a final decision.

Johnny wonders how long ago lieutenant decided it. How long ago he saw Soap and decided to bring him home to the only other person he’s still considering family.

How long ago he looked at his bird and decided to introduce her to the only other person that makes him feel alive. That makes him feel warm. That makes him feel home.

Soap hums and crouches down in front of the couch, testing the waters but Ghost lets him, moving a little bit to uncurl himself from covering you. Letting Johnny get close. Trusting Johnny not to wake you up. Trusting Johnny with you.

Ghost is letting Johnny in.

Soap stays silent for a few very long moment, before nodding more to himself that to anyone else and presses a kiss to Simon’s lips. He nips hard enough to draw blood, licking it off before he stands up.

“Ahm gonna put the kettle on”, he rolls his shoulders and softly swipes away the remains of glitter you didn’t wash off yesterday from your cheek. Pretty girl, you have no idea what a man is lying beside you.

You have no idea that he’s never letting go.

You have no idea there are two of them now.

Ghost hums, satisfaction rolling off him in waves, satisfaction etched in him, satisfaction dripping out of every line of his face.

Maybe he won’t need four hands. Maybe Johnny can lend him his.

Maybe with time you will lend yours as well.

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theonottsbxtch · 2 months ago

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FOREVER AND ALWAYS | MV1

an: military au go reeeee, my friend is currently talking to a marine so it makes this funnier, anyway this is a request and be prepared for how much im about to post, im posting all my wips so i can start a new

wc: 3.8k

THE LAST MORNING MAX spent in town was unseasonably warm for late September, but she still wore his old hoodie over her dress. It swallowed her, the cuffs rolled up clumsily so her fingers could peek through. Max liked seeing her in it; she made it look softer than it ever felt to him. They sat on the hood of his truck by the edge of the lake, the same spot they always went to when something big needed to be said.

“You’ll write, right?” she asked, her voice steadier than the fingers twisting the hem of his sleeve.

Max didn’t answer right away. He hated promises. He hated making them and breaking them even more. But he wasn’t going to break this one. “Every day,” he said, his voice a little rough. “I mean it, okay? You’ll be sick of me by Christmas.”

“I could never,” she said, and the words felt too small for how much she meant them.

The sun caught in her hair, and Max felt the ache of leaving settle deeper in his chest. He should’ve been relieved—one last night in this town, in that house—but all he could think about was how hard it was going to be to drive away from her in the morning.

“I’ll write back every time,” she promised, her eyes locked on his like she could hold him here through sheer willpower. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“I won’t.”

It was the closest thing to forever they’d ever said to each other, and Max wanted to believe it could be.

He didn’t sleep much that night. Max stayed parked outside her house long after walking her to the door, watching the glow of her bedroom light until it finally went dark. He told himself he’d leave when she was asleep, but his hands stayed glued to the steering wheel, his heart beating louder than the crickets outside.

Morning came too fast. He stood on her porch in his pressed uniform, his duffel slung over his shoulder. Her dad answered the door, grunted something about “too early for this,” and disappeared back into the house. Max heard her footsteps upstairs, quick and light, and then there she was, rushing down to meet him, already wearing a smile he didn’t deserve.

“You’re really doing it,” she said, her voice tight with something caught between pride and fear.

“I am.”

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the crisp fabric of his sleeve. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

Max didn’t know how to answer that. He could handle the yelling, the rules, the miles of running. But leaving her? That felt like the first real battle.

“You’re the toughest guy I know,” she added softly, filling the silence.

“Tough’s not the same as okay,” he admitted, his voice low.

“Then I’ll be okay for both of us.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, wrapping around something fragile in his chest. He leaned down and kissed her, quick and desperate, like he could steal a little of her steadiness to take with him.

When they finally broke apart, she laughed softly, her forehead still resting against his. “You’re coming back, Max. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” he said.

He didn’t know if it was a promise or a prayer.

The bus station was quiet that early in the morning, just a couple of strangers milling around with their heads down and coffee in hand. Max stood off to the side with her, his duffel at his feet and his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep from grabbing hers. She said she couldn’t come, but watching him walk back to the truck made her call in sick for work and follow him in.

“You should go sit,” he said, nodding toward the bench near the car park.

She gave him a look, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I’m not leaving this spot until you’re on that bus.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Of course she wouldn’t. She was stubborn like that, always had been. He loved her for it, even if it made saying goodbye harder.

The bus pulled up, its brakes hissing as it rolled to a stop. Max felt the weight of the moment settle on his shoulders, heavier than the duffel. This was it.

He turned to her, unsure of what to say. Every word that came to mind felt too big or too small.

“Write me first,” she said, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, but her eyes burned with determination. “As soon as you get there. Don’t wait for me to start.”

“I will,” he said, nodding. “Every day, remember?”

She smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, holding on so tightly it felt like she was trying to anchor him there.

He let himself hold her back, burying his face in her hair for just a moment. He wasn’t going to cry. He wouldn’t let himself.

“I’ll see you after training,” she whispered against his chest, her voice shaking just a little. “I’ll be there, Max.”

He pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

The driver called for boarding, and Max grabbed his bag. He didn’t look back as he stepped onto the bus. He couldn’t. If he did, he might not get on at all.

But as the bus pulled away, he glanced out the window. She was still standing there, exactly where he left her, her hand raised in a wave he couldn’t return.

He pressed his forehead against the glass, the weight of her promise settling in his chest. She would be there. He had to believe it.

Training was relentless.

The early mornings were the worst—before the sun even thought about rising, before his body remembered how to move. They ran until their legs felt like they’d snap beneath them, did push-ups until their arms gave out, and marched under the weight of packs that felt heavier with every mile. The shouting never stopped, every mistake earning a punishment meant to break them down and rebuild them into something sharper, stronger.

But it was nothing compared to what Max had already endured.

At home, the yelling was never meant to make him stronger. The bruises weren’t badges of discipline—they were reminders of how small he was made to feel. Every time he hit the ground during training, his drill sergeant barking at him to get up, Max thought of how often he’d done the same thing in that house. He got up then, and he got up now.

The other guys complained at night, lying on their bunks and licking their wounds, but Max didn’t join in. They didn’t know how lucky they were—how much easier it was to run ten miles when there wasn’t a door slamming behind you or fists flying to match.

And then there were the letters.

Her first one came the day after he arrived, folded neatly into an envelope with her handwriting scrawled across the front. The sight of it made his chest ache, and he didn’t even wait to get back to the barracks to read it.

Hey, tough guy. I hope this gets to you quick. Are they making you run as much as I think they are? Do you miss me? I miss you. It’s been one day and this town already feels different without you. Keep writing, okay? I’ll keep writing too. Just don’t let them make you forget who you are, Max. I love you.

The letters became his lifeline. Every night, after lights-out, he’d sit on the edge of his bunk with a flashlight and write her back. He told her about the blisters on his feet, the meals that barely qualified as food, the drill sergeant who could make a grown man cry with a single word. But he also told her how he was getting stronger, faster, better—how he thought about her every time things got too hard.

She didn’t just write about missing him. Her letters were full of details—what their friends were up to, how the leaves were starting to change by the lake, what songs were playing on the radio. She made him feel like he wasn’t missing everything. Like she was keeping his place for him.

The days blurred together after a while, a constant cycle of exhaustion and repetition. But then, one morning, everything felt different.

It was the last day of training.

Max stood in formation with the others, the sun rising behind them as their drill sergeant paced in front of the line. They’d been through hell together—guys who had started as strangers now felt like brothers. But Max wasn’t thinking about them.

He was thinking about her.

He scanned the crowd of families waiting just beyond the training field, his heart pounding harder than it ever had during a run. She had said she’d be here. She promised.

And then he saw her.

She was standing near the back, craning her neck to see over the heads of taller people in front of her. When their eyes met, she smiled so brightly that for a second, everything else—the noise, the exhaustion, the fear—fell away.

Max’s throat tightened, but he forced himself to focus. One last task. One last push. He would finish this, and then he’d go to her.

And this time, he wouldn’t have to leave too soon.

Max’s heart hammered as the ceremony came to a close. The drill sergeant dismissed them with a sharp bark, and the tension that had held the recruits in place finally broke. Families surged forward, cheers and hugs filling the air. Max stood frozen for a moment, scanning the crowd again until he saw her pushing through the mass of people, her face a mix of determination and joy.

She was exactly how he remembered her, but somehow even better. Her hair bounced as she hurried toward him, and the familiar tilt of her smile made his chest ache. And yet, as soon as she stopped a few feet in front of him, she planted her hands on her hips like she had all the time in the world.

“Well, well,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey there, tough guy.”

Max swallowed hard, trying to keep his composure. But her teasing grin made the corner of his mouth twitch, threatening to break into a smile he wasn’t supposed to give just yet.

From behind her, one of his barrack mates, Danny came up and watched her as she eyed up Max. When she noticed him, he nodded at her. “Ma’am.”

She snorted, shaking her head. “Don’t ‘ma’am’ me, I’m only young.” She stepped closer, looking at Max once more, her expression shifting to exaggerated awe. “That’s a whole lot of muscles you’ve got there now. What’ve they been feeding you?”

Max tried not to laugh, but he couldn’t stop his lips from curving upward.

“You’re not supposed to touch the recruits until they’ve been tapped out,” Danny said, his voice low, playful.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by Max’s attempt at staying serious. “Is that so? Guess I’ll have to keep my hands to myself for a minute longer, huh?”

He held her gaze, the tension building between them until it was almost unbearable. She took another step forward, her smile softening into something sweeter, something he’d missed so much it hurt.

“Max,” she said quietly, her voice just loud enough for him to hear over the noise around them.

And then, finally, she reached out and tapped his shoulder.

That was all it took. Max didn’t hesitate—he dropped his duffel to the ground and swept her into his arms, lifting her clean off the ground. She laughed, but it broke halfway through, and then she was crying, her face buried in his shoulder.

“I missed you,” she said, her voice muffled against his uniform.

Max held her tighter, his eyes stinging as he pressed his cheek against her hair. “I missed you too,” he murmured, his voice thick.

For a moment, neither of them moved. She clung to him like she was afraid he might disappear, and Max let himself soak in the feel of her in his arms—the warmth, the softness, the familiarity he’d craved every single day he was gone.

When she finally pulled back, her hands stayed on his shoulders, her fingers brushing against the hard muscle beneath his uniform. She tilted her head, a teasing smile breaking through her tears. “Seriously, Max. What’s with these muscles? You didn’t look like this when you left.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rough, and shook his head. “Had to give you something to brag about, didn’t I?”

She laughed, swiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. “Oh, I’m definitely bragging. You’re not going anywhere without me showing you off first.”

“Not going anywhere without you at all,” Max said softly.

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes filling again. “Good,” she whispered. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

He cupped her face gently, leaning in until their foreheads touched. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“Always,” she said, and for the first time in months, Max felt like he was finally home.

As they were about to kiss, a cough disrupted them. Danny. “Are you done?”

“Leave me alone Danny, I’ve seen enough of you.” Max laughed, pulling her in closer.

“I’m heading out, my girl’s at the car but I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Danny asked, taking off his hat and running his hand through it.

“Yeah you will. See you soon Dan.”

The desert heat was unrelenting, the sun beating down on Max and Danny as they sat outside their barracks during a rare moment of downtime. Max leaned against a wall, his cap pulled low over his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to shield him from Danny’s relentless teasing.

“You’ve been staring at that box for five minutes, man,” Danny said, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “You sure you don’t want me to take it off your hands? I’d do a solid job proposing to her, you know.”

Max shot him a look, his jaw tightening, though there was no real heat behind it. “Touch it, and I’ll bury you in the sand.”

Danny snorted, tossing a rock lazily across the dusty ground. “Relax, lover boy. I’m just saying—you’ve had that ring for months. You’ve got the whole speech planned, don’t you? ‘I’ve loved you since we were kids, you’re my whole world,’ blah, blah, blah. Bet you even practiced in the mirror.”

Max rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box, flipping it open to reveal the simple but elegant ring inside. He didn’t need anything flashy—she wouldn’t want that. The ring was perfect: timeless, just like her.

“I don’t need a speech,” Max said quietly, running his thumb along the edge of the box. “She already knows. She’s known since before I left the first time.”

Danny’s teasing grin softened into something more genuine. “She’s a lucky girl, you know. Not everyone would stick around through all this.”

“She’s not sticking around,” Max corrected, his voice firm. “She’s living her life—uni, friends, everything she’s always wanted. She’s just...waiting for me to come back, too.”

Danny whistled low. “Well, when you put it like that, I guess you’re the lucky one.”

Max didn’t argue. He thought about her every day—her laugh, the way she scribbled little doodles in the corners of her letters, the photo she’d sent him of her sitting on the quad with her textbooks spread out around her. She looked happy, and that was what mattered most to him.

But God, he missed her.

“I’ll ask her when we’re off duty,” Max said, snapping the box shut and tucking it safely back into his pocket. “The next time I get to see her, I’m not waiting. I’m not wasting another minute.”

Danny grinned, tipping his chair back on two legs. “You’re gonna make me cry, man. I’m just glad I’ll be there to see it.”

“You’re not invited.”

“Like hell I’m not.”

They both laughed, the kind of laugh that felt rare in a place like this. For a moment, the heaviness of deployment lifted, replaced by something lighter—hope.

But when the laughter faded, Max’s mind drifted back to her. He pictured her sitting in a lecture hall, twirling a pen between her fingers, her hair catching the sunlight. She’d promised him that first day he left that she’d always be there waiting for him, and she had never broken that promise.

And soon—so soon—he’d finally get to make one to her.

The cab pulled up to her apartment building, a modest brick complex tucked onto a quiet street just off campus. Max stared out the window, his heart thundering in his chest. It didn’t matter that he’d seen her a year ago on leave or that they’d talked just last week on a grainy video call. Being here, knowing she was just a flight of stairs away, made it all feel brand new.

Danny’s words echoed in his head as he grabbed his bag and climbed out. Don’t mess this up, man. She’s been waiting long enough.

The door to her unit opened before he could even knock. There she was, framed in the doorway, wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She broke into a smile so bright it felt like the sun had come out, and before he could say a word, she threw her arms around his neck.

“Max!” she breathed, holding onto him like she never wanted to let go.

He dropped his bag and wrapped her up, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like home, like everything he’d missed.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice catching.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands sliding to his shoulders. “You’re here. You’re actually here.”

“I’m here.”

She laughed, the sound a little shaky, and grabbed his hand, tugging him inside. “Come on, I made dinner. It’s probably cold by now, but I didn’t want to risk leaving the kitchen in case—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Max stopped dead in the small kitchen, his eyes scanning the space—the mismatched dishes on the counter, the vase of sunflowers he recognised from her letters, the magnets on the fridge holding up her class schedule and pictures of them together. It was perfect.

And suddenly, he couldn’t wait.

“This wasn’t how I planned it,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

“What?” She turned, confusion flickering in her eyes.

Max dropped to one knee right there in the middle of the kitchen, pulling the velvet box from his pocket. He saw her gasp, her hands flying to her mouth, but he was too focused to stop now.

“I wasn’t going to do it like this,” he said, the words tumbling out. “I had a whole plan—something big and romantic—but I don’t care about plans anymore. I just...I love you. I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, and I don’t want to wait another second to ask.” He opened the box, his hands steady despite the chaos in his chest. “Will you marry me?”

She froze, her wide eyes locked on his. The silence stretched, and Max felt a flicker of panic.

“So?” he said, his voice cracking slightly.

That broke her. She let out a choked laugh, tears spilling down her cheeks as she dropped to her knees in front of him. “I’m sorry! I’m just—yes! Of course, yes!”

Her arms went around his neck, and she kissed him fiercely, her tears wetting his face. Max held her close, the ring box forgotten on the floor as he kissed her back, pouring every bit of love and relief into the moment.

When they finally broke apart, she laughed through her tears, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You really couldn’t wait, huh?”

“Not for this,” he said, his voice low and raw.

She smiled and kissed him again, slower this time, her hands sliding down to rest against his chest. Max stood, lifting her with him effortlessly, and set her on the edge of the counter.

“Max,” she murmured, her hands slipping beneath the collar of his shirt.

“Yeah?” he said, his forehead resting against hers.

“Welcome home.”

He smiled against her lips, capturing them in another kiss, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Max let himself feel it all—the love, the relief, the joy of knowing he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Dinner had been a blur, both of them too giddy and caught up in the moment to care that the food was lukewarm and hastily reheated. They laughed, talked, and stole kisses between bites, the kind of easy affection that felt like they’d never been apart.

Now, hours later, they were tangled together in her bed. The room was dark save for the soft glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. She lay draped across his chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin, her eyes fixed on the ring now resting snugly on her finger.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked quietly, her voice thoughtful but tinged with uncertainty.

Max’s hand came up to stroke her back, his thumb brushing along her shoulder blade. He let out a soft sigh. “I leave in three months.”

She stilled for a moment, her finger pausing mid-trace.

“But,” he added, his voice warm and steady, “until then, we live the happy life. All of it. You, me, late-night takeout, bad movies, everything.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Three months isn’t that long, Max. And I’m still at uni. I’ve got two more years. How—”

“We’ve made it work for two years while I’m away,” he interrupted gently, cupping her cheek with one hand. “We can do two more. You’ve been with me through everything—every deployment, every letter, every call. This won’t be any different. Except now,” he added, his lips quirking into a small smile, “you’ll be my fiancée.”

Her lips trembled, and she leaned up to kiss him, slow and deliberate, her hand slipping over his to hold it against her cheek. When she finally pulled back, her eyes shone with determination.

“You’re really bad at letting me be dramatic, you know that?” she teased softly.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in check,” he said with a smirk.

She laughed quietly, settling back against his chest, and Max tightened his arms around her. They lay there in silence for a while, her fingers once again toying with the ring as if she couldn’t quite believe it was real.

He was engaged.

He was happy.

And he was going to marry the love of his life.

the end.

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lovingme232 · 6 months ago

Text

Christmas Drama

Five X Reader

//Five chose his brothers wife over you.//

949 Words

You were with Five from the moment he entered the commission. You were with him when he decided to jump back to his 13 year old body, bringing you back into your with him. You were with him when he and his siblings destroyed the earth for the first time, then the second, and then the third.

Who knew how many years that was. You certainly didn’t, but what you did know, or what you thought you knew was that you and Five had something special.

Maybe you got that idea from the picnic dates, or staying up all night, cuddling and talking. I guess he thought all the kisses were nothing. He even left that God awful mannequin for you.

But not this time.

Instead he came back to Diago’s home, after just spending a few hours with Lila, and he couldn’t stop gazing at her, staring at her. The things he used to do to you.

You knew immediately what was wrong. Diago didn’t get the hint. He was hugging and kissing her. He didn’t notice that she didn’t do it back. Maybe it was because he truly missed her, or maybe she was right about how much of a lousy husband he was.

Five didn’t even dare glance your way, but maybe it was better that way. You were scared you would break if he did.

Five shot dirty looks at Diageo. He didn’t notice them either. But you did. You noticed everything. All the far off looks. The way Lila couldn’t keep still.

That was until Luther noticed.

“Hey what’s with you, you’ve barely said a word?” He said, and I got ready for the outburst.

“It’s called thinking, Luther, you should try it some time.”

Everyone got after him, but you didn’t have the guts to. You didn’t want to lose any more than you already had. So instead you sunk back into you seat, and kept your mouth shut. I watched as Lila did the same, but she didn’t sink back into her seat, instead she sank back into her husband. Adding fire to the fuel.

Five stood up, and you knew something bad was about to happen.

Finally the princess spoke. “Five, it’s gonna be okay.” It was like the one video of the girl going ‘this isn’t you’, over and over again.

“It’s not going to be okay.” Five said back in a snarky tone. Maybe, you thought, maybe just maybe you had gotten it all wrong and whatever happened between the two of them was nothing.

Diageo stood up, telling Five off. You watched as they inched closer and closer to a fight. Perfect for Christmas, right?

Then he saw the bracelet. Even you didn’t notice that. It brought back all your prior fears. He gave her a bracelet. He never did that for you. But he did it for his sister in law? This was messed up. You didn’t know if you wanted to cry or scream, or do both at the same time, but all three options felt better than watching this play out.

You stood up to leave, but before you could you got sucked back in. “You hate bracelets.” You heard Diageo say. Lila denied it, until he brought up the dreaded valentines day.

They had the same look. Both Five and Lila knew they had messed up in some sort of way. You looked over to Diageo desperately. He was already looking at you. I guess your relationship with Five was no secret. Both you and Diageo had the same desperate look on your faces.

“Did you give her this bracelet?” Bingo. Five looked so shameless, maybe even proud as he said, “I made it.” It shattered your heart into little pieces. But Diageo clearly hadn’t heard enough.

“Is there something going on between you two?” The final question. The one that could end all of your worry, or bring it on ten times worse. Somehow you already knew the answer. He looked over at Lila, how was she so okay with all of this? “Diageo..” The moment she said it everyone knew, and you knew it was time for you to leave.

You left, and a sharrade of people calling for you broke out. And finally Five remembered your existence. He called out your name, but you were already storming out of the house.

You sat down on the porch, and rested your head on the wall. Part of you hoped that Five would come after you, but you didn’t want to see or talk to Five.

After a few minutes of silence, the door opened. “Y/N.” It was Five. He didn’t sound angry, he just sounded exhausted. You sighed, and lifted yourself away from your wall of self pity. “Yeah.” You responded, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He started off with. You wanted to respond with a snarky comment, ‘well you still did, didn’t you’, but instead you didn’t respond at all. “I really did like you. A lot.” He said, looking directly at you.

You turned to face him. His hair was messy, and he looked so lost. “You love her?” You asked, he looked a little shocked. “What?” It was like he hadn’t even confronted his own feelings. “Do you love her?” You repeated. He turned away from you, looking at the street, and the sky. He had a little smile on his face. “Yeah. I love her.” He sounded so proud, he was proud. You nodded, and got up, with a small, ‘okay,’ before you started wandering off, ready to get lost between thousands of houses and streets.

#the umbrella academy #five hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #fanfic #tua season 4 #spoliers #what is happening #five

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whatdoeseverybodywant · 1 month ago

Text

"It's Always Been You"

This is #1 out of 10 of my Phrase Series, hope you all enjoy! ❤️

Thank you @queeny23 for the phrase!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

All OC Characters belong to me

Word Count: 3.1k

“Can I get you anything else?’ Melanie Greg broke out of her daydream at the bartender's voice. She gently shook her head, pulled her wallet out of her bag, and handed the bartender her debit card.

She looked around the restaurant with a small frown on her face. She hated the holidays. Here she was, a 39-year-old, freshly divorced woman, spending the holidays without her kids for the first time since they were born.

She sighed as her eyes fell on a family of four sitting in the corner booth. They were all matching and had genuine smiles on their faces, it reminded her of what her life used to be before it all went to shit.

Melanie barely noticed the man sitting down next to her at first. Her attention was still fixed on the family across the room, their matching sweaters and easy smiles a reminder of everything she no longer had. She sighed again and tried to tear her gaze away from the family.

“Nah Uce, fuck that” His voice was loud, full of frustration, cutting through the hum of holiday chatter around them. “I’m not coming back until she fucking leaves.”

Melanie watched out the corner of her eyes as someone flopped down on the chair next to her at the bar.

“We talked and she fuckin’ promised not to do that fuck shit tonight. It’s Christmas Eve for crying out loud!”

Melanie froze as she was about to sip the rest of her drink. It can’t be she thought, eyes wide as she turned her head to the left of her. Her eyes were wide as she took him in, no longer the scrawny teenager with the pencil mustache that took him months to grow. Joshua Fatu had grown up and the years had been VERY kind to him.

His broad shoulders filled the space at the bar, his athletic frame undeniably more solid than she remembered. The same dark eyes, the same familiar face—but with sharper edges, a defined jawline, and a confidence that hadn’t been there when they were kids. He was a man now, not the awkward teenager who’d been the subject of teasing for his failed attempts at facial hair.

The tattoos that peeked from under the sleeves of his black Nike hoodie only added to the transformation.

Her pulse quickened, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Joshua?”

His head snapped toward her, and his expression shifted from frustration to surprise. He blinked, his eyes scanning her for a moment as if he, too, wasn’t sure if he was seeing things clearly. Then, a slow grin spread across his face, and he leaned back in his chair.

“Oh shit.” He laughed, standing up from his chair and opening his arms for a hug, his phone conversation forgotten. She laughed as she stood from her seat and walked into his awaiting arms. “Damn Mel. It’s been a minute.” He mumbled into her hair, rocking them from side to side.

She melted into his arms and it was like the past 14 years didn’t happen. The hug was over way too quick for her liking.

“Man, whatchu doin’ back in Pensacola?” Jey asked, leaning back with a grin.

Melanie’s smile faltered, “Oh, uhh. I’m here visiting my parents for the holidays.”

Jey nodded and brought his hand up to his chin to scratch his beard. He let his eyes travel down her body his eyes locked on her now bare ring finger and he couldn’t help the look of surprise that came over his features. His eyes flickered up to hers. Before he could open his mouth to say anything, his phone started ringing. “Fuck.” He muttered as he remembered he was on the phone.

“Give me one second.” He said answering the phone while looking at her. “Don’t go nowhere.” Melanie let a giggle and nodded, her amusement evident in her expression

“Wassup Uce.” He said as he brought the phone up to his face indicating that it was a Facetime call.

“Whatchu mean wassup?!” The unmistakable voice of Josh’s twin Jon came through the phone. “You just hung up on me.”

She let out a giggle as Josh sucked his teeth. “Cause you was pissing me off, but hold up, hold up, look who I ran into!” He turned the phone around, tilting it just enough for Jon to see Melanie standing next to him. “Mel, say hi to Uce.”

Jon’s eyes were wide as he looked at Melanie. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way! Melanie?!?!”

“Hey Jon.” She replied with a tiny wave. It was like no time had passed between the trio.

“Girl, whatchu’ doin' all the way over here?! Thought you were living it up in Cali with that big-time movie producer.”

Melanie winced slightly and cleared her throat. “ I just decided to come see my folks for the holidays.” She absentmindedly started rubbing her bare ring finger, Josh noticed but didn’t say anything.

“Well, shoot. If you not doing anything later on, My mom would love to see you. You know she still is going on and on about how you were the one that -” Jon was cut off by Josh hurriedly hanging the phone up and stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie. When she looked up at Josh his cheeks were starting to turn a pinkish shade and he was scratching the back of his neck.

“Ahem,” He cleared his throat. “Don’t listen to him... I mean not about the coming over part, you can come over just uh about the other part..” He trailed off and Melanie couldn’t help the smirk that came over her features.

“It’s cool.” she laughed. “I would love to see your mom again. Is that where you’re going now?”

Josh nodded. “Yeah. Same house from when we were kids.”

“Okay. I’ll Uber over there.”

Josh sucked his teeth, “Girl, stop playin’. You know you can come with me.”

Melanie bit her lip and shrugged. “I don’t know..” she trailed off. “ I don’t want to get you into any trouble with your wife.”

Josh snorted and held up his left hand which was bare of any jewelry. “I ain't worried bout that.”

Melanie’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh shit, my bad Josh. I didn’t-”

“Nah Mel, you cool I promise. Now let's go before Jon’s big ass eat all the food.” She let out a laugh and grabbed her card that the bartender had put down on the bar top and placed it in her bag. She put her bag on her shoulder and let Josh lead her out of the bar, holding her hand.

Melanie didn’t know why she was so nervous. The butterflies in her stomach kept intensifying the closer they got to Josh's mom's house. She was about to tell him that she needed to get back to her parents when the front door opened and Talisua greeted them with a big smile.

“Oh, Mel hunny, It’s so good to see you!” She said, pulling Melanie into a tight hug. “Now, you on the other hand,” Talisua said as she glared at Josh over Mel’s shoulder. “Don’t you ever slam my door like that again, you hear me?”

“Yes Ma’am” Josh replied rolling his eyes as Melanie started to snicker.

She let Talisua lead her into the house. Mel let out an oof as a body collided with her and she was picked off the ground and spun into a circle.

“Damn lil Mel, look at you all grown and shit.”

Melanie rolled her eyes. She broke away from Jon and went to hug their younger brother Joseph who introduced her to his wife Alima and their two boys Jaden and Joseph Jr. She looked around the living room to see if she recognized any more familiar faces but froze when she noticed someone glaring at her. She took a step back and bumped into Jon who was in the middle of talking with Joseph and Alima.

“Don’t worry about her. Same ole mean girl from high school. Ashley just pissed because Josh divorced her ass.” Jon finished rolling his eyes at Josh’s ex-wife. “You hungry?” He added at the end and Mel nodded. “C’mon, you can meet my wife Trinity.”

Melanie felt so out of place sitting at the dinner table between Josh and Jon. Ashley was sitting directly across from her, just glaring.

“So Mel,” Talisua started. “How have you been sweetie? Last I heard you were in California.”

“Yeah. I just came down here to visit my parents.” Melanie replied with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Talisua said, clearly pleased. “I’m sure your parents are thrilled to have you home.”

Ashley scoffed and everyone turned their attention to her.

“Don’t start your mess, Ashley. Not in front of my kids.” His gaze flicked to his two boys who were sitting at the kids' table with their cousins.

“Our Kids,” Ashley said as she kept her attention on Melanie. She had noticed the absence of her wedding ring and she was going to bring it up. “Speaking of kids…” She trailed off, placing her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her fist. “Don’t you have some? Why are you not with them and what happened to your wedding ring?”

Melanie shifted in her seat as she felt some of Josh’s family look her way.

“I mean, y'all were all over The Shaderoom last month for your husband's movie premiere, looking like the perfect little family.”

Melanie felt Josh stiffen beside her and heard Jon whisper “Aw hell”. She cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter in her chair.

“Some things never change huh?” Melanie chuckled under her breath shaking her head. “Good to see you been keeping up with my life though,” Melaine said as she winked at Ashley.

Ashley narrowed her eyes at Melanie and straightened up in her chair. Not one to back down from a fight, Ashley smiled before saying. “I mean, y’all looked like the perfect family in that photo.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” Melanie shrugged.

“Really?” Ashley scoffed. “You still pretending everything’s fine? I saw the way your ‘perfect family’ crumbled. Pretty fast, too. Must’ve been rough.” She dragged out the last word, trying to stick the knife in.

“Man, will you chill?” Josh said. Shaking his head at Ashley. “You doin’ too much”

Ashley scoffed. “I’m so over this. Do you know how many times I caught him scrolling through her Instagram page while we were married?!” She said glaring at Josh before turning her attention back to Melanie. “When you broke his heart and left, I picked up the pieces. I helped bring him out that funk he was in!”

Melanie snuck a glance at Josh. He was staring a hole through Ashley, his jaw was tight and his fists clenched at his sides. “Leave.” Josh snarled out, lip curling as he tried to hold back from yelling at Ashley in front of their kids.

Ashley rolled her eyes and finished her wine before standing up from the table and leaving the room. Melanie felt Jon wince as the front door slammed, signaling Ashley’s departure. Talisua took a deep breath before picking up the rolls in the basket on the table. “Rolls anyone?”

After Ashley had left, the rest of the dinner went smoothly, and Melanie was grateful nobody brought up her or Josh’s disaster of a marriage again. She was sitting on the couch in the living room with Trinity as the two got to know each other. She felt someone looking at her. She looked over and immediately locked eyes with Josh, who was standing on the other side of the room talking with his brothers.

Once they locked eyes, Josh hurriedly immediately looked away. Melanie let out a soft chuckle and her stomach flipped as the butterflies started fluttering as she turned her attention back to Trinity.

“What you gonna do about that?” Josh blinked, he looked up from his beer bottle and noticed that all three of his brothers were staring at him.

“What?” He asked, lip curling as he glared at the three of them.

“Aint nobody scared of you Uce. What you gon do about Melanie?” Jon said as he cut his eyes over to Melanie who was now talking with Trinity and Alima. “You know what moms always said” Jon paused as he tried to remember the quote his momma used to say to them. “Some shit about destiny.” Josh rolled his rolled his eyes but remained silent. “Uce, do you remember how tore up you was when she left? How it took months to get you out the house? This is your chance. Both of y’all are single... There’s nothing in the way. Y’all being at the same bar tonight was destiny.”

Josh bit his lip as he let Jon’s words sink in. He finished off the rest of his beer and handed the empty bottle to Jon before slowly walking over to Melanie and his sisters-in-law. He felt his heart start to pound in his chest as the three of them stopped talking when they noticed him walking closer. Alima and Trinity were trying to hide the smiles on their faces.

“Y’all mind if I steal Mel for a minute?”

Alima and Trinity exchanged quick glances before shaking their heads in unison. "Go ahead," Alima said, a teasing glint in her eye. "She’s all yours."

Josh held his hand out for Melanie to take and once she did he helped her to her feet before leading her outside, towards the backyard where the bonfire was lit. The butterflies had returned to her stomach tenfold. They both were silent as they made their way to the bonfire. Josh had no idea what he was going to say to Melanie. He kicked his Nike slides off before sitting down on one of the blankets. He watched as Melanie took off her shoes and sat down right next to him.

“I missed being in Pensacola,” Melanie said after a while. Josh hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they sat down. She was looking up at the stars in the sky with a soft smile on her face. “Missed being around my family.”

“Yeah,” Josh asked, still looking at her. “You could’ve came back.”

“I was…” She trailed off. “Y’know after you called.” Josh’s breath hitched in his throat. He remembered the day he called vividly. It was a moment of weakness about fourteen years ago. He had overhead that his younger sister Stasi had gotten back in contact with Melanie and Josh had begged Stasi for Mel’s number and once he finally got it, he had dialed the number but couldn’t find it in him to actually press the call button. It took him hours to work up the courage to call and when he did he was a bit drunk. An angry and drunk Josh was not a good combination. After he had aired his frustrations out about her leaving, he begged her to come home, to come back to Pensacola so they could pick up where they left off.

“Do you remember what you said?” She asked and he nodded immediately. “You said that If I really loved you, that if you ever meant anything to me, I should come home and you would forgive me for leaving you.”

“I was drunk,” Josh whispered.

“I know,” Melanie smiled. “I had my bags packed and I was waiting for Ryan to come home and by sheer coincidence, my doctor called.” She quickly reached up to wipe the tears that had just escaped her eyes. “I had found out I was pregnant with McKenzie that day, and when I had called you back, Ashley had answered.” Melanie kept her gaze focused on the fire. “She told me that y’all were getting married in a couple of weeks and I needed to move on with my life and then she hung up.”

“Mel…” Josh trailed off, not knowing what to say. That phone call was a moment of weakness. He was weeks away from getting married to Ashley but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was making a big mistake, once he heard that Stasi was in contact with Melanie he felt like he had a chance to fix it and when he never heard from Melanie again he had tried to move on with his life.

“I never stopped loving you,” Melanie whispered and Josh closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. “You were my first everything I was willing to give up my life with Ryan to be with you.”

“I never stopped loving you either. I tried… I tried so hard to move on but.” Josh stopped talking and stood to his feet. He grabbed Melanie’s hand and pulled her up. He pulled her close so he was looking into her eyes. “It’s always been you.”

The air between them grew thick with everything unsaid, all the years of separation, pain, and yearning. Melanie’s breath caught in her throat. She wanted to speak, to say everything that was flooding her mind, but her words got caught in her throat. He moved a little closer, closing the gap between them, his forehead just barely grazing hers. “I missed you Mel, and I’m not going to pass up another moment with you.”

Melanie let her gaze fall from his eyes to his lips and she nodded. “I don’t wanna pass up another moment with you neither Josh.” He smiled and leaned close to her, their lips were almost touching when she whispered. “I just put a down payment on my house. I’m moving back to Pensacola.” Josh's eyes widened with surprise and joy. Without another word, he closed the final distance between them, capturing Melanie's lips in a passionate kiss. Years of pent-up desire flooded through them as their mouths moved together urgently.

Melanie's fingers tangled in Josh's hair, pulling him closer as his hands roamed down her back. They broke away from each other and jumped slightly when someone banging on the sliding glass backdoor that looked out into the backyard startled them.

“THAT'S WHAT THE FUCK I’M TALKING ABOUT!” Jon was looking out at them with a big ass smile on his face. He gave his brother a thumbs-up before he was pulled away by Trinity.

Melanie rolled her eyes at Jon’s antics before pressing her body back against Josh’s and leaning in for another kiss, this one was slower, deeper, filled with the promise of all the moments they'd missed and all the ones yet to come.

Author's Note: Whew... finally part one of the Phrase Series is out!

❤ Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤

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#wwe #wwe fanfiction #jey uso x reader #jey uso x fem reader #jey uso x black reader #jey uso x black oc #wwe x black oc #wwe x black reader #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso imagine #phrase series

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risuola · 1 year ago

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LOOKS LIKE WE'RE SNOWED IN FOR THE NIGHT — F. READER x KAMO CHOSO, with whom you got stuck in a cabin

A fireplace, a nice blanket, a bunch of snow and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree… for some it might sound like a perfect way to spend the night during the festive season, but not when you’re stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere with your biggest enemy. And it’s cold.

cw: smut, enemies to lovers, oral (f. receiving), angst-ish vibe, death mentioned (I put it as a warning, but honestly, if you're into jjk you're probably used to it, just sayin'), reader discretion is advised — 2,9k words

kissmas masterlist

“Looks like we’re snowed in for the night,” Choso pointed, making few futile attempts to push the doors open. “I can force the way out but I doubt you’re gonna survive it.” He added, venomous tone evident in his otherwise calm and low voice.

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. This is horrible, you thought, it couldn’t possibly get worse than that. The cabin, secluded and nestled deep in the woods, once a welcoming refuge from the cold, was now a claustrophobic cage trapping you and Choso inside. The doors, blocked by the snow piled high behind them were impossible to open and the windows – old and grime-stained – covered with ice, offered no escape. The interiors, now cleared out of the cursed spirit that resided in here scaring the owners away, were as cozy as they could be with warm colors of the creaking wooden floors and the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, that funny enough was the only thing that still was working inside. The furniture was faded and worn-down by the humid air, the cobwebs decorating every corner.

The task at hand was simple enough – get in, exorcise, get out – but the snow and the cold were making everything more difficult, not to mention the man you had to share the experience with. It was a part of introducing the Death Painting into the jujutsu society and a silent attempt to make the two of you fonder of each other, but the result proved itself to be starkly different, when you got stuck with him for the night, or god knows how long.

“Damn,” you groaned finally, realizing there’s nothing you can do to make the situation better. No escape, no signal, not even a goddamn kettle that would work.

“Looks like you’re really screwed, huh?” Choso mocked you, a smirk twisting his features because he knew – he just knew that you’re not gonna make it through the night and though he enjoyed the idea of watching you freeze to death, he involuntarily threw some more wood into the fire to keep it alive.

“I’m perfectly fine, fuck you,” you snapped, glaring at his stupid handsome face from your place across the room, hoping silently that maybe once in this world a glare could kill.

You and Choso had always been on opposite sides. Your fights always end up in blood, there was little to no respect between you two, and though in a fight you two were able to work together, outside of it, it was a much different story. You just couldn’t stand each other, you could never put a finger on the reason why, but you just never clicked. Always having different opinions, always too stubborn to let go and not even once agreeing on a plan of work. You trusted him just enough to know he will most likely not kill you in your sleep.

Now, as the sound of the howling wind outside was constantly reminding you on the dire situation, the storm outside showing no signs of letting up, the pressure between you and him seemed to reach a breaking point. At first, you moved through the cabin, walking back and forth, avoiding each other’s gaze and trying to ignore the fact you were trapped together. “Sit quiet and stop being annoying,” you growled at him, hating the way he was sprawled comfortably on the little sofa while you were feeling more and more cold as the hours were passing by. Kamo and his damn temperature regulation.

You had been fighting constantly since you arrived, each blaming the other for the predicament you were in. You argued and hurled insults at each other, both trying to assert dominance over the other. You were constantly on the edge, you bickered until both of you were that close to exploding. You fought about everything, from the mission to the tiny space you were forced to share. You could barely stand the sound of each other’s breathing, much less the sight of each other’s faces and the constant, near proximity. It was only a matter of time one of you snapped.

It felt claustrophobic, nearly – the way only four walls were surrounding you and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t quite navigate yourself through the treacherous environment. You had no idea what exactly was oh-so wrong with this place. A desolate cabin with nothing but cold air and the palpable tension between you and Choso was slowly taking a toll on you. Harsh winter wind howled outside and it was clear that your spirits matched its bitterness. The twinkling, colorful lights adorning the mismatched Christmas tree in the corner did nothing to warm up the bleakness of the place.

Hours passed and you got tired of the banter. Choso noticed how slowly you became, quiet, less talkative. It became easier and easier to outsmart you as the cold was taking a toll on your body. Your retorts were less sharp, a little delayed as the temperature went even lower along with the night progressing.

“You’re gonna die in here?” He asked, his tone as nonchalant as ever, but it was getting to him that you might actually die that night. It was fun while it lasted and you did an excellent job in making him believe that you’re gonna survive the night, that you’re fine. He allowed his eyes, that up until that point were closed as he was resting on the sofa, to look at your form. You were shivering, seated on the furry carpet near the fireplace and though you were as close to the heat as it was possible, it didn’t do much to help you. Your breath was visible and you were constantly rubbing your hands together in hopes to stop them from going numb.

“I’m fine,” you said again, your voice much punier than you intended it to be and Kamo found it amusing how you forced yourself to sound strong, when in reality, you were so small and weak and vulnerable.

“Oh, are you?” The question had mocking qualities that Choso couldn’t hold back. “You know, all it takes is for you to ask nicely and I might consider warming you up.”

“Fuck you.” Oh, you were so stubborn. He shrugged and kept observing you.

The cabin fell quiet. The air was thick with tension and the only sounds were the occasional drip of water from the ceiling, crackling of fire in the fireplace and the soft tickling of a clock. The rattling of the windows in the wind accompanied the cacophony.

“Isn’t the big, strong sorceress now uncharacteristically quiet?” He joked once again, and you could have sworn that even in the freezing cold, he had an ability to make your blood boil. “Cat got your tongue?”

“I miss the times when paintings were not talking,” you retorted, wrapping yourself tighter in the imitation of a blanket you found laying around. “You have no idea how much I’d love to exorcise your half-cursed ass.”

“As if you were ever gonna be strong enough to put a harm onto me,” he said, pushing himself up from the couch. “Besides, you might wanna pick your words carefully. You’re at my mercy right now.”

“I’d rather be eaten by a polar bear than be at your mercy.”

“Oh, that would be a cool death, right?” He laughed, a taunting tone piercing the air and your soul, it seemed. “Or a curse. It would sound much better in the report later if I told your friends that you lost your life in battle, with bravery and strength, yeah? For sure it’s more appealing than a lame reason like freezing to death.”

“Oh, shut up…” you sighed, leaning your cheek on one of your knees. You kept them tightly pressed to your chest, a desperate attempt of storing any leftover heat along your torso, but it did little to nothing. “Come on, get your ass over there.”

“I already told you, you have to ask me nicely.”

“That’s as nice as I’m gonna get.”

“So that’s as close as you’re gonna get me,” he smirked, teasing you beyond decency, well aware of how delicate was a situation you were now in. To him, cold was nothing more than an inconvenience. In all honesty, he could break the doors open and just go through the snow during night and he would be just fine, but you… it was a different story and truth is that he stayed in the cabin only because of you.

“Choso, please, don’t be a dick, I’m freezing to death, literally,” you whined, forgetting about your pride and prioritizing the survival. “Please?”

“Much better,” Choso chuckled and moved from the sofa to the floor, sitting behind you with his legs on both sides of your frame. “Loosen up a little,” he ordered, throwing away your blanket and as his arm sneaked around your waist, he pulled you into himself, your back now pressed against his chest.

“Oh god…” you whimpered, shifting your position and wrapping yourself around him. He was hot and it felt like the heat was emitting from him, seeping onto you the moment you made contact with his muscular frame. You pushed your face against his neck, nuzzling your cold nose into his warm skin.

“Aren’t you a greedy little thing?” He commented, putting on an indifferent, snarky mask but inside, he was feeling things. It was odd, it was new. He wasn’t exactly an expert in romantic situations, in fact besides few really brief adventures with women, it was the first time he was actually somewhat intimate. Choso’s mind was in a limbo, trying to fight the thoughts of his body which were going crazy. The way your frame fit so closely to his, the way you turned your face and melted into him… it was almost too much. Thoughts raced around his head a mile a minute.

“Aren’t you a scrooge for letting me freeze while you’re that hot?”

“Well, I’m your partner on the job, not your personal heater,” he shrugged, allowing his hand to run along the curves of your waist and hip. “Also, I’d assume that the low temperature is a natural habitat for a cold bitch like you.”

“Ouch,” you acted hurt but couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “I have a great idea, why don’t you shut up?”

“Oh, did that sting you, princess?”

„I’m serious, you should shut the hell up,” it was a mumble, an unharmful one, but Choso must have gotten a different impression.

It was a flash. It took you few seconds to even register what just happened and once you did, you were already helpless beneath him. The soft, furry carpet now tickling you in the face as Choso kept you, chest down and pinned to the ground. It annoyed you how easily one of his hands kept both of your wrists pushed up above your head. You felt his weight on top of your thighs, his crotch pressed tightly to your ass and his other hand supporting his weight on the wooden floor.

“Now, if you’re gonna act like a brat, I’m gonna treat you as one,” he said, his voice low and close to your ear as he leaned down and gathered some of your hair to the side to uncover your face to his eyes. Your hopeless pulls and wriggles did nothing to loosen up his hold. If anything, his fingers only tightened their grip around your wrists.

“Get off me,” you groaned, trying to find your way out of the situation, but the movements of your body seemed to make it worse. The man hummed darkly, aiming a mean slap at your ass.

“Stop wiggling,” he warned, smirking at the way your body tensed for a moment. He couldn’t tell what’s gotten him into such a playful mood. Maybe it was all the thick air between you two finally exposing its true colors – something once filled with anger and hostility, now crackled with an undeniable sexual tension.

“Did you just slap me?” You couldn’t believe it, but you’d sooner be dead than you’ll admit out loud that it somehow felt good.

“I did,” he said nonchalantly. “You whined you’re cold, huh? Well, guess I’ll have to warm you up for real,” Choso added, now grinning mischievously. “Be a good girl, I know you can do it. Now I’ll let go of your hands and you’ll turn around, yeah?”

You hummed in response, not really sure what’s gotten into him but you were far from minding it so you flipped to your back as soon as he gave you a chance. Still on top of you, Choso kept a controlling grip over your hip, his touch burning your bare skin over there.

The fire crackled and flickered, casting warm, dancing shadows on the two of you but you couldn’t tell if the sparkle in his eyes was a reflection of it or just pure lust. The latter, you thought, catching his gaze as it scanned your form, paying a little more attention to your lips, chest and the little strip of skin that showed from underneath your blouse.

Kamo was enticed by you, fascinated even, by the way his body was suddenly yearning for you. The unusual desire overflown his senses and he found himself inching closer and closer, until he was just one, mere breath away from your mouth. He could feel you gasp, see the look of your eyes and if he wouldn’t know better he would be convinced there was lust in them too.

“Nervous?” He whispered, with a slight shadow of teasing painted all over his stupidly handsome features. His nose, now brushing against yours initiated the touch, a prelude of sorts to what was going to come and Choso chuckled at the lack of response from you. It was, in a way, an opening for you to push him away, to set a boundary, to lay down the consent but you made no effort to do any of that. Instead, you let your fingers to find his hair and once you pulled at them, there was no going back.

His lips pressed into yours. The kiss and the heat from your bodies warmed the cold air around you, melting the icy tension that lingered between you as you, too, melted below him. The time seemed to slow down and the melody of howling wind and fire was now a white noise to the soft sounds and whimpers you were making. Your mouth parted and Choso took the invitation eagerly, running his tongue along your lower lip and reaching yours. They twirled and twisted, danced and explored each other and you swore at the moment that the world around you had fallen away.

It didn’t take long since you were bare, completely exposed underneath his muscular body; the cold air around you a stark contrast to the extreme heat that was coming off of Choso. He was all around you, exploring your shapes with touches so tender, you couldn’t help but feel worshipped. The way he touched you, the way he kissed and drank every inch of your skin made your heart rumble against your ribcage. He went down, tracing the ups and downs of your figure with wet, sloppy stamps of his lips until he reached your thighs – both of which he kissed with as much attention.

It was intoxicating. Kamo felt as if everything around him twirled and he was drowning in the soft feeling of your plush skin. The curves of you filled every bit of his mind. Addicting, you were, so addicting he couldn’t find a strength to pull back and before he knew it, his tongue was already lapping at your clit. The beautiful melody of your moans filling his ears as he worked his mouth over the puffy bud, sucking and licking simultaneously. Waves and waves of pleasure you felt, spreading from your core and reaching every part of you. It was hot, it was like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.

“Oh god, Choso~” you were whining, a surprise to you cause up until this time you would swear you’re not the one to make such lewd noises during sex. All of that went out the window when it came to the man between your legs. He was flicking his tongue, twirling it and pressing it flat; every movement centered and focused, sharing one objective – to abuse the most sensitive, sweet spot on your body. He took his time, it was wet and sloppy, it was messy. The silky sensation of his tongue, warm and soft… oh, man has a talent.

Your breath was stuttering, hands grabbing the fluffy fibers of the carpet as your thighs were trembling and the urge to squeeze them over Choso’s head was slowly becoming irresistible. The way he was making out with your clit drove you insane, it brought you to the edge and pushed you over. You came undone and you came hard. He wasn’t stopping, just slowing down and leading you through the high as if it was his job and the very core of his existence.

“Feeling warmer?” He asked, once slowly coming back up above you. His face was now a real painting, covered with your essence and his lips, swollen and wet, stretched into a grin of satisfaction as he was taking in the sight of your breathless form. You nodded, barely registering the subtle teasing undertone he had in his voice. “Good. But I’m going to make you even hotter.”

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knavesflames · 2 months ago

Text

Arlecchino’s Christmas Gift

Hello omg sorry for not posting I’ve been crashing out in terms of physical health (yes yes, I’m sick again, yay me!!)

Anyway, a little Christmas present for you all. Apologies if the standard is not Normal, but it will be soon.

Word count: 1497

Contents: soft Arlecchino, bottom!Arlecchino, fingering

Nsft utc<3

Christmas is a busy time for the House of the Hearth. With God knows how many children, Arlecchino works hard to make sure they all have a lovely day. Barbecues are out of the question, the snowflakes sticking to the ground a definite rejection of yet another barbecue. Instead, she opts for cooking a huge feast (or rather, you cook, she tells you to stop adding seasoning).

Watching the children eat and open the gifts she’s spent too much mora on, you can see that her eyes have softened significantly, even if her smile is small and barely there. “I don’t want gifts,” she’ll mutter when you ask her what she wants, she does it every year. “Gifts are unnecessary and superficial. The children receive them because they are children.”

You think she says this because she doesn’t know how to receive gifts. The House of the Hearth before was.. unkind, to say the least. The poor woman has been so busy, she’s barely had time to think about herself (you wonder if that’s the point), you know very well that the children are her priority, always. You, too. She’s made it abundantly clear multiple times to multiple times that it’s you and the children who come first.

When you see her sigh and wipe her forehead in slight frustration, you start to get an idea of what you can give her. Something she wouldn’t deem superficial, something she looks like she needs. And of course, when you excuse yourself early with the claim that you’re ’so tired’ and ‘the day has been exhausting’, she lets you leave with a soft kiss on your forehead and a murmur of affection. You don’t go to sleep, though, no. You wait until you hear the children leave the main dining hall and shuffle to their rooms to sleep before you start putting your plan in motion. You know she won’t go to bed for a little bit, she never does.

You waste no time in making yourself her gift. Putting on the lingerie you know she adores, dimming the lights and putting the small box of.. objects, by the bed, you position yourself comfortably. With clumsy movements, you manage to tie the ribbon around your wrists the way she’s done to you so many times. You admit it’s difficult, doing it with one working hand, but you get it done well enough. Then, what else is there to do but wait? The whole idea is for her to feel better and have whatever relief she desires, but you can’t help but feel excitement bubbling inside of you with every second that passes. She doesn’t feel good unless you feel good. That became obvious when she couldn’t cum until you were just as desperate as she was.

You let out a small breath when you finally hear her soft footsteps, and you’re trying to picture her reaction in your head. For some reason, you suddenly become nervous— what if she just wants to go to bed, or what if she just hates the idea? The ideas run through your head until—

“My dear?”

Your thoughts are cut short when your eyes snap to her. She looks a little shocked, her lips parted slightly, and her eyes scanning you, but she doesn’t seem repulsed or uninterested.

“Merry Christmas. You dislike gifts because they’re superficial, but I’m not, am I?”

Arlecchino swallows, her throat suddenly dry. You’ve always been the thing that gets her to react the most, both of you know that. Her words falter for a second before she manages to murmur.

“No, no you are not,” taking a step forward, then another, her hand reaching out to graze your skin gently. “Archons, look at you. You’re beautiful. All wrapped up, too.”

You smile sweetly at her, all worries dissipating at the look on her face. For someone as ruthless as her, she certainly softens up when you’re around, her touch gentle and her words quiet.

“How long did that take you? Wrapping oneself with one hand is a difficult task, no?”

“It took a while. Worth it to see your face. You can undo it if you want, or you can keep them like this.”

“Stay like that.”

“Okay.” Your own words are a whisper, and you continue to smile softly up at her. Her hands are delicate when they move over your skin, nails gently scratching in the places she knows makes you shiver.

“You wore my favourite.”

“For you.”

“You’re too good to me.” A breath, barely a whisper, but it’s heard nonetheless. It was only for you to hear anyway. She leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips until you return the kiss, letting her tongue meet yours with a soft sigh. You go to wrap your arms around her, before remembering that you have, in fact, tied yourself up. You think you feel her smile slightly into the kiss before her hand wraps firmly around your binded wrists.

Her kisses move downwards, sucking gently at the pulse point of your neck to feel you shiver. She seems to enjoy doing that, working you up only to make you wait. But, as promised, it’s her turn tonight, so you don’t complain. When she’s satisfied that your hands will stay in place and won’t struggle to get out of the ribbon restraints, her hand moves, fingers ghosting the hem of your underwear before slowly pulling it down. You help her, lifting your hips and stretching your legs so they’ll come off as quickly as possible. When they do come off, landing on the floor with a quiet noise, she leans on the bed, knee parting your legs.

Arlecchino grumbles when she realises she’s still fully clothed, and you think you see her hands trembling as she quickly fumbles to unbutton every single button she has and shed the fabric. She returns to her place soon after, her bare skin warmer than flames against yours. Her knee resumes its actions, pushing your legs apart until it meets your core, already aching. You gasp, and she relishes in the sound. She does the movement again before stopping. Digits move swiftly in finally unwrapping the ribbon around your wrists, tossing it to the side.

“I need you,” Arlecchino mutters, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I need you. Please.”

“How?” Although you enjoy occasionally being dominant, you can’t bring yourself to tonight. The poor woman has been so stressed, and this is her gift, after all.

“You know how.”

“Fingers or tongue, Peruere?”

She gasps at the usage of her actual name, her movements of her hands caressing each part of your body she can reach before she manages to speak.

“Fingers. Please.”

So, you waste no time in letting your own hand slip between her legs, moving until you find her clit. You give it a few experimental rubs, finding a rhythm she seems to enjoy before letting your lips land on her neck. You’d tease her for the quiet gasps she lets out, or for the way your fingers slide so easily into her, but you don’t think you have it in you, especially not when her hips start rocking into your hand with a rhythm so messy it’s almost pathetic, in an affectionate way. But she’s getting impatient and frustrated, and she can’t chase what she wants so badly with the rhythm she has.

You let her try for a bit longer, but the small whine that escapes her usually quiet mouth almost makes you feel bad. So, your free hand moves to her hip, gently stopping her before guiding her into a rhythm that causes all sounds to cease— only out of pure pleasure, her mouth hanging open and her eyes, usually so piercing, squeezed shut.

“It’s good?” You hum, struggling to contain the small giggle at the sight of her as needy as she is now.

“Quite.” Comes the only strained reply before her head buries back into your neck. She’s close, you can tell that much by the way she clenches around your curling fingers again and again.

“Are you going to cum for me, Peruere?”

“Yes, for you, yes.” She rasps out. It’s a struggle for her to get out any words at all by this point, and anything she does get out is less than coherent. Then her body tenses, she lets out a sound you know all too well— a mix of a grunt, groan and a whimper all in one, before she collapses onto you, her legs shaking.

You mumble sweet praises into her ear, stroking her now tousled hair until she regains her breath and stops trembling.

“Merry Christmas.” You chuckle, kissing her shoulder.

“That.. may have been the best gift I have ever had. My birthday is in August, if you’re curious.”

She’s being silly, you know that much, but you have one too many ideas to let them fizzle out now.

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adelheidvonschicksal · 1 year ago

Note

hii i have a request for megumi x reader where he is unaware of readers attraction to him and he is doesn’t realise the effect of when he does something like scratch his neck and his shirt lifts and it happens one too many times until she admits that he’s pretty which makes him all flustered😭 can be sfw or nsfw

Staring Problem

Five times Megumi caught you staring at him + the one time you caught him staring at you

Notes: I got carried away whoops. Flustered Megs is my fav followed by feral. (I actually had another scenario like this for Christmas except the Reader was doing it on purpose rofl; this one is just a bit ditzy). Thanks for the request. It was fun! Thank you @avidbroswer and another friend for beta reading!

Relationship: Megumi x Fem!Reader

Tags: Fluff, humor, mild sexual context but overall SFW (i.e. no sex), 5000 words

The first time Megumi notices you staring at him is after the baseball game with the Kyoto students.

The game was a big win for your group. Everyone was loudly cheering and celebrating your victory over your sister school – aside from him. It’s not that he wasn’t pleased with the victory. Who wouldn’t be? The cheering and high-fiving wasn’t his scene though. The most celebration he required was simply brushing his hand through divine dog’s fur for a job well done before dismissing the creature.

Megumi walks back to the dugout, steps into the drop-off, and peels his helmet from the top of his head. The sweat accumulated in his helmet causes his hair to cling to him, forcing it down against the back of his neck and his bangs into his line of sight more than usual. He never liked what he considered too much hair on his nape; and for some reason, Gojo hated it even more. Not that he ever understood why Gojo would care about how he styled his hair. He was just weird, he guesses.

Either way, it was annoying.

Gripping his shirt collar, he brings it to his forehead to clean the moisture away, and there’s the added bonus of the breeze cooling off his stomach as his shirt untucks from his uniform pants. He finishes off his grooming with a quick stroke of his fingers up through his bangs before reaching for his water bottle.

It isn’t until he’s finished drinking and wiping away the small bead of water that escapes his mouth to cascade down his pointed jaw with the back of his wrist that he catches the sudden sensation of someone looking at him.

He glances behind him, scanning the crowd of cheerful faces, and he catches your gaze pinning him down. There’s no mistake you’re watching him, but he isn’t sure why you have that clouded, half-lidded stare locked on him like a homing gun.

It makes him antsy even when your neutral lips turn into a gentle smile, and you move to congratulate Itadori on his victory-winning home run.

The next time he catches you, you’re at the café with the other first years, pouring over schoolbooks together. He doesn’t often study with the others outside of class; but out of everyone in the school, he has the best head on his shoulders academically so he can’t really refuse when the three of you earnestly ask for his help for once.

As he draws one leg over the other, Megumi shifts his weight to sit more comfortably in his chair. He rests his chin against his palm, allowing his lengthy fingers to massage the increasingly growing migraine from his throbbing temple while his elbow braces against the table to support the position. His other hand tightens around the handle of his mug and brings it to his mouth. The drink – coffee, black, always – is the only thing stopping his mind from going numb at reviewing the same information he already knows as Nobara struggles to read the chart on this particular page.

“Toos-day.”

“Tuesday.”

“When-is-day.”

“Wednesday,” Megumi corrects.

Stomping onto her feet, her hands slam on the table causing it to shake. Megumi holds his drink closer to his chest to avoid it spilling over as she growls out. “This is so stupid! Why do we need to know English anyway? Why couldn’t it be something like French? Then, we could at least hit up Paris Fashion Week.” She pulls at her hair in frustration, stopping only when you mention that she’ll cause split ends. Sighing, she releases her tension and falls back in her chair. "I need a break."

On that, you're all in agreement.

Taking the opportunity to ease his head, Megumi blows away the steam swirling from his coffee. He closes his eyes if only for a moment to bask in the roast. The liquid is hot and smooth on his tongue, a welcome sensation after walking through the cool evening to get here. It’s enough to earn a small sigh of approval.

When he opens his eyes, he sees that you’re nursing your own drink by pinching your straw between your lips. However, your eyes are on him 'or maybe the mug near his mouth?' he thinks. Regardless, you’re doing it attentively with an affectionate glint like you were smiling on the inside. It makes his eye twitch.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

You flinch like you’re snapping out a hypnotic trance. Slowly, a meek smile forms as you innocently tilt your head and place down your drink. “I was?”

“You were," Itadori corroborates. "You do it a lot actually," Itadori adds between bites of his sandwich. The fact is something Megumi has begun to notice recently as well.

Noticing everyone looking at you, your eyes widen slightly before you force them back down to look at your textbook. You slide your hands from the table and rest them in your lap. “I must’ve zoned out,” you say apologetically.

Megumi scoffs.

“If you’re going to ask me to help you study, you could at least pay attention.” Megumi sighs at the growing remorse on your face. “Forget it,” he dismisses and decides to go back to his coffee, but the peace doesn’t last long as he catches that same gaze from you a minute later.

Your eyebrows push in together as you narrow your eyes briefly in thought, and he can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your mind as you cock your head to the side again.

“Ne, Fushiguro,” you begin hesitantly and quietly. He doesn’t think he would’ve noticed you speaking to him with how soft your voice was had he not already been looking at you. “Did anyone ever tell you that your voice is kinda husky in English?”

Suddenly, his face is hot along with his tongue as he inadvertently chokes on his drink while the other two at the table burst out laughing, drowning out your frantic mutterings as you collapse your face into your palms.

It seems to be a cycle now. Megumi would be going about his day when he would occasionally (usually twice a day) get this sensation of being watched. Sure enough, he could find you following him with your eyes. There isn’t any anger when you’re doing it so he’s fairly sure that you’re not cornering him with your sight out of aggression, but he couldn’t think of another reason his presence would be of interest to you.

Megumi tried to ask Gojo the reason why someone might stare at him. When he explained that you were the one doing it, the older man only laughed at his predicament. Megumi didn’t know why he expected him to be any help in the first place anyway.

Maki was even less help (she seemed reluctant even), but at least she didn't look at him like he was an idiot like Nobara. Finally, there was Itadori, who only caused him more difficulty.

(“Are you sure she doesn’t just LIKE you?” Itadori suggested.

Megumi could only roll his eyes then. It always came back to that with him. “Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously—“

”I am!”)

Megumi almost entertained it until he thought ‘what reason would she like me?’ After all, you didn’t know each other that well. There was no explanation available so it had to be something else.

Out of everyone, he decides to take Maki’s advice that it's best to get the answer from the source.

However, whenever he asks what’s the problem, you never seem to give him a direct answer, explaining away your strange…habit. Even stranger was that he was starting to become accustomed to it, slowly losing the annoyance he held for it early on in your relationship – or maybe he was getting better at ignoring it.

Nonetheless, it would still be nice to have an explanation.

When he sees you early at breakfast, and you undoubtedly see him early at breakfast, he finally decides to broach the topic. He sits himself and his plate at your table, and he doesn’t give you the time to make excuses when he knows for certain you were staring at him.

“Alright. Enough already. What's the deal?"

“Hmm?”

“The staring,” he reiterates.

Your mouth opens like you want to say something but throughout the many times he’s confronted you on your manners, not once have you ever given him a straightforward answer.

“Don’t try to give an excuse. You were definitely watching me.”

As the small silence extends in the air so does the embarrassment on your face until it finally fades away along with your resolve. “Okay, this time I was,” you admit very specifically.

“Why?”

“There’s not really a reason," you explain while looking anywhere but directly at him, and it's an easy tell to sense that you're lying.

Megumi narrows his eyes at you.

“For some reason, I feel like that's not the case."

There has to be some reason your attention is on him so much. He’d at least like to know if it was something he did to you.

“It’s nothing bad really,” you confess, avoiding eye contact with him while your fingers fidget. “Do…you want me to stop?”

Megumi would very much like to say he wants you to stop but somehow he doesn’t think he would be able to force you not to look at him. “I’d prefer it.”

“No problem,” you say and purse your lips tightly. “But…I probably wouldn’t be able to help it every now and then,” you warn him, which piques his curiosity even more.

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, that’s because, uhm—to tell you the truth,“ you pause, and he wants to prod more from you but you’re quick to excuse yourself, leaving him with two weeks free from your staring. Or, at least you attempted for that long.

As he accepts that you're not going to stop, it comes to him that he doesn't really care anymore in the following months. It's just how you are, he figures sentimentally. It would feel weird if you stopped at this point. However, it leads to you catching him off guard too often, especially in moments like these.

The two of you were assigned to a mission to dispatch some low-level curses together. It was surprisingly easier than what the mission report suggested, not that he would complain about an easy mission.

Nue is behind him as he requests a ride back to the school over the phone. The bird shikigami is being needier than usual, nudging at the width of Megumi’s back with his head causing Megumi’s voice to be unsteady as the thick plate of Nue’s mask braces between his shoulder blades.

“Cut it out,” he scolds gently, reaching his free hand back to briefly ruffle at random mounds of feathers.

There’s a soft crooning in his ear, begging for attention. He isn’t used to Nue being this affectionate, not like his divine dogs. As he hangs up the call, Nue starts to stroke his head against his side again.

Amused, he huffs softly - as close to a laugh as anyone has ever heard from the taciturn teen – and raises his arm to let the bird cradle better against his side. The gentle cuddling from the shikigami is enough to lighten his mood as auburn feathers tickle against his fingers and coax the smallest smile from him.

“Alright. Alright. That’s enough,” he says affectionately before returning to the serious matters at hand. “We need to regroup with our partner. Can you go scout for her?” Megumi asks; but to his surprise, Nue flutters his wings and twists his head around to stare directly to the side of him…at you, a few feet away.

Megumi didn’t know how long you’d been standing there, watching him. He thinks any time was probably too long in this situation. (He also thinks he might demand you start wearing a bell when you go on missions together.)

With a goofy smile, you walk towards him, and his heart is pounding, anticipating what you could possibly be about to say as you shorten the distance between the two of you, so close that an outreached arm would be enough to close it. The childishly smug look on your face makes his cheeks burn as you gently begin to trace the outline on Nue’s faceplate and press your head against the top of Nue’s.

“Before you say anything, I wasn’t watching you. I was admiring Nue.”

Megumi scoffs. He can’t say he isn’t amused that out of all things to say, you start with that. As if it isn’t obvious by now that he knows that you’re failing hard to hide your bad habit – for whatever reason you have it. And even more amusing was the way your face would highlight in embarrassment as you tried to hide the fact.

“Convenient story.”

“It’s the truth. Isn’t that right, Nue? You’re so handsome that I can’t tear my eyes away,” you praise, cuddling the owl until he ruffles his feathers and chitters, happily letting you drown him in attention.

And for the first time, he finds himself watching you instead with your face buried against his shikigami, and Nue is equally happy for your touch. It’s a sweet scene as Megumi concludes where Nue might have started to learn these overly affectionate tendencies. That is until you turn your head, naturally searching for his presence. When you meet his gaze, you smile warmly at him causing heat to crawl up the back of his neck and his heart to jump in his throat. With your focus on him this way, he is overwhelmed by a new sensation that he isn’t sure why he’s feeling in the first place. It’s not like he was unused to you looking in his direction.

Astonished by the moment, you point out, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before.”

Confused, Megumi blinks at you. Had he been smiling?

Your expression softens. “It suits you.”

Surprised by your tender observation, he shifts his head away, hiding his rapidly reddening cheeks from you.

“Let’s head to the meeting point,” he manages, thanking whoever above that he was able to keep his voice steady at least.

One day, you decided to stop at the café together again. This time it’s only the two of you since the others are still out on their own duo mission. Even with that being the case, he would still have accepted your invitation regardless of the availability status of your other two friends. He isn’t really sure when he started to be okay being alone with you, and he also isn’t sure when you began to get comfortable with him as well. But he finds he doesn't mind either of those anymore.

“You’re staring,” he points out flatly, not bothering to look up from his book to confirm his accusation. He knows it’s true. “What is it this time?”

There’s a laugh from you, drawing his attention up. “Nothing.”

Normally, he would let you get away with that answer nowadays; but today, Megumi is determined to finally get to the bottom of whatever is up with you and him.

“Nothing?” he questions again skeptically. You nod, and he holds his gaze on you, pointedly, securely, determined to not even blink as he watches your face.

You frown. “Why are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asks, one long blink to reset himself before firmly keeping royal blue eyes locked on you once more.

“That,” you say, motioning to all of him.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Uh-huh."

There’s a small beat of quiet as you return your focus to your book, but you look up every so often (probably to check if he's stopped eye-ing you down, which he doesn't). Holding an arm across your chest to scratch at the other, you squirm. As awful as it is, he feels a bit smug at the way you curve in and start to grow self-conscious.

“This is weird.”

“It is,” he agrees bluntly causing you to pout. He notes how funny it is to finally see the tables turned between the two of you and to have you overly aware of his watch. Even if he doesn’t get his answer, teasing you like this and eliciting that cute reaction is strangely worth it.

“How long are you going to do that?”

Megumi crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, never letting you leave his vision. He shrugs. “Depends. Are you going to tell me?”

You scowl but manage to hold your resolve for the better half of five minutes.

“Okay, I get it. I’ll stop,” you say, but he isn’t satisfied with that answer. Choosing to keep his rebellious challenge against you, he leans in closer and keeps up the wall until you finally start to crack under the pressure. “Well…it’s nothing really.”

“Then, tell me.”

“It’s,” you begin then pause.

He hunches in closer as if to keep your secret.

“It’s just that…” he can see you start to fidget in your chair, and for some reason, he feels his own anticipation growing. “You have a really pretty way about you.”

That was not the answer he was expecting.

“Huh? I have…a pretty way about me?” he repeats in disbelief, his face scrunching. “You must be joking.”

“I’m serious,” you tell him. “It’s something in the way you move, it makes it hard to concentrate.”

Megumi could only guess what kind of answer you would have but it wasn’t one that instantly makes his temperature skyrocket and causes his heart to start swelling against his ribcage, spreading the feeling of liquid butterflies through his veins.

“That's the only reason,” you repeat, noticing the way he seemed to completely stop functioning. “I’m not making you uncomfortable, am I?”

He uncrosses his arms, trying to sputter out a coherent sentence but his mind wouldn’t supply him with one as he fights to keep his own blushing down. “No. I’m not—it’s not that I’m—I just didn’t know what it was about—I—pretty?” he stammers, completely bewildered to the point he thinks his voice might crack for the first time in years.

You nod, growing more embarrassed. “I mean in a masculine way! Like your eyes, your hands, your voice, and the way your shirt drapes your shoulders. Ah! Basically…you’re really handsome,” you finish quickly when you realize you are rambling stupidly, and you squeeze onto the edge of your chair to calm yourself.

It’s so quiet between the two of you that you could possibly hear one of the cheap plastic straws from the front counter drop.

“Fushiguro-kun?” you ask bashfully.

He focuses his attention on the passerby's walking by the window as he shifts and squeezes at his uniform collar, attempting desperately to hide a fraction of his burning face behind the dark blue fabric. You…were simply attracted to him for some reason he would probably never understand (why in the world would you think any of that about him is attractive?) all this time.

“Let’s pretend this conversation never happened,” he tells you frantically.

Nodding, you confirm. “Yeah! That’s a good idea.”

For once, you’re not staring at him yet Megumi still feels like he can’t breathe despite the rapid rising and falling of his chest showing that he was very well breathing. As his face continues to burn and his stomach churns with this unfamiliarly pleasant and confusing emotion, he wishes his shadow would open and swallow him whole. Forever, perhaps.

It isn’t until later that night when his mind is heavy with thoughts of you, he admits to himself that he doesn’t exactly hate your reason.

Bonus

Before you enrolled in this school, your clan already outlined your priorities in life. Study, learn, become the best sorcerer you can for the benefit of the clan and your own survival. There isn’t time for things like friendship and even less for love, your family taught you, at least not until you’re older.

You agreed with that sentiment, going through your younger teen years not ever having a crush on someone or a strong preoccupation with romance. However, this school is proving that you still very much feel attraction.

Specifically for your withdrawn classmate.

Something about him was just so pretty. You’re not sure if it was the way his hair falls ever so neatly over his forehead before turning back into spiked peaks, or how deep blue his eyes are especially when shadowed by gorgeous rows of midnight eyelashes, or the way he carried himself like the stoic protagonists in the love comics your friends were obsessed with last year.

Maybe it was the entire package.

At the time you first started to notice him, you didn’t have the answer pieced together yet. Seeing that you also hadn’t learned anything proper about romance and attraction from your clan let alone flirting, the only thing you could do was stare at him as you failed to decipher this newfound infatuation that made your heart stutter and your lower body hot with tingles similar to the sensation of ginger spice on your tongue.

‘Is this that puberty thing they were talking about in health class all those years back,’ you wondered. They did say it could happen late, but this late? You weren’t sure, but you did like looking at him. That much was certain.

So, you continued to do so.

It's not like you were exactly going against what your clan told you.

After all, your clan would always say it’s important to be aware of your surroundings as a sorcerer, remember every little detail, and save it to memory, that could be the difference between death and victory in a battle.

Shouldn’t you take that advice to heart when it comes to your teammates as well? After all, these are the people you will be relying on while working. It’s important to learn their mannerisms.

Another thing your clan told you was that hands are an important thing to watch. Any sorcerers’ hands were a danger from Itadori’s hand-to-hand combat style, Gojo-sensei’s domain expansion, and Fushiguro’s entire technique.

His hands were always coming together to summon shadows, and he talked and explained things frequently with them to the point it became a distraction for you.

You also like the way his dominant hand always seems to climb up and curve around the back of his neck in the mornings as he stretches out the tightness from a cramped sleep. You would watch as he glosses each finger across his nape and shoulder, wondering what it would be like to have them coming across your own and to have fingers that could expertly craft signs tickling at your skin. Would you shudder or would it tickle or would it feel like nothing? Fortunately, you always resist the shaking urge to glide your own hand across your collar to find the answer.

It isn’t always the way his palm brushes his neck that entirely gets you but the way his sweatshirt rises, barely revealing a ring of beige skin that was normally hidden away under layers of comfortable cotton. It not only exposes him to the stagnant air of the school building but to your wandering eyes that had a bad problem of not being able to remain where they should be.

Objectively speaking, you were aware from day one that Itadori was strong and well-built under his clothes, but you didn’t realize the same could be said for Megumi until you saw the slip of his lower abdominal and the constellation of pale brown freckles hidden in the groove of his hip.

By the time your attention would return to his hands, you would be locked on the gentle way his knuckle catches the edge of his shirt's neckline. It was unknowing to him during those times that the action was teasing you by causing the fabric to lightly shift and expose the crux of his collarbone.

Then, you didn’t even want to get started on his face or eyes. The same ones that are gorgeously blue even when stormy with annoyance or softened with confusion every time he would catch you.

From your point of view, you admit that both looks were handsome on his face. However, you’re starting to realize from your last interaction that maybe you were being a tad…invasive. You refused to say creepy without a pillow to scream into.

So, you convince yourself to stop staring whenever you notice your eyes drifting to him. Only small peeks for his comfort unless you were talking to him or he to you. In hindsight, you think you are better at talking to him without embarrassing yourself all the time at least.

Your new resolve would be tested today as you prepare to head to the training field for another day of close combat drills with your upperclassmen. You dress in layers, wearing a light jacket and thigh socks with your shorts, fully intending to ditch both once it heats up a little more in the afternoon.

When you make it to the practice field, you notice two things: that Megumi is there (which you swear you only took note of for two seconds) and that you’re the last to arrive, meaning that you’re going to be the first put through the wringer with Maki-senpai.

The only positive is that you manage to last an extra round against her more than usual, and you’re left with only an aching butt as you hit the ground. You hiss and rub your wounded rear before dusting the ripped-up blades of grass from your lap. Noticing your socks bunched against your ankles, you click your tongue. Bending your legs, you start to shuffle one back up the length of your calf then your thigh. You unfurl it as high as you can until there’s only a small circumference of skin left between your shorts and the top of your sock. Satisfied, you start to repeat the process with your other leg before Maki taps your hip with her staff.

“Megumi is staring at you,” she grunts in a quiet warning, and you blink at her before trying to glance back over to the first row of bleachers. “Not too obvious.”

You force your gaze back to her, using the opportunity to catch Megumi in your periphery. Sure enough, you could barely make him out looking in your direction while Itadori talked to him. That was weird. You don't think you can recall a time where he was watching you unless you did it first. ‘He was probably watching me train,’ you begin to decide.

Before you can register what's going on completely, Maki calls out dryly, "Hey, Megumi, pictures last longer!”

Barely from this distance, you can see his head snap back and a scowl glowering on his face as he glares at her direction. “What are you talking about?”

“So, you want to play that way,” she mumbles and singles him out with a point of her staff and a crooked smile. “In that case, I’ll explain while we train!”

Megumi looks more annoyed than you have seen him in the last few days as he declares from the bleachers that he’s training with Panda instead as soon as he’s done with Nobara.

“That guy,” Maki grumbles quietly, slapping her staff back against her shoulder and layering a hand on her hip. “He makes things so difficult for everyone, including himself. I guess I’ll have to have a chat with him later.”

"Huh?" you huff as she twists her waist to look at you.

“Well, I can’t exactly have my darling little relative turning out like the rest of those perverts from the clan, after all,” she explains vaguely but instead of anger, there’s a rare hint of sarcastic amusement in her words. Suddenly, it starts to dawn on you what Maki means as your fingers brush the side of your inner thigh, and your throat starts to tighten with something akin to anxiety, and you want desperately to bury your face in your hands as you realize that he was looking at your legs. That he must like your legs…

The thought makes your heart pound, and something pulses inside you with what feels like anticipation as you catch his attention on you again. You were used to lusting after him but it was a different feeling to experience it in reverse – mutually even.

Is this what it felt like? Have you ever made him feel like this by watching him?

You didn’t know what to do.

“What do I do?”

She gives an incredulous look. “Call him out naturally, especially if it bothers you,” she replies. "But that isn't what you want, right?"

You frown, not entirely sure yourself. It didn’t bother you necessarily. If anything, you like his attention on you. It makes your body otherworldly hot when he gives it to you. Pulling your knees to your chest, you think back to what someone in one of those television dramas would do in this situation. It takes some courage, but you find your answer.

You wink at him.

It elicits an immediate response that involves him shoving his hands in his pockets and scrambling to break eye contact; so much that you can see Itadori twisting towards him with concern.

“Hah, that was a good one." Maki lets out a short and harsh snort. "Wait until I tell Panda.”

Smiling proudly, you can’t resist staring at the flush that he has to stand and stalk off to the other side of the field closer to Inumaki and Panda to hide. Out of all the attractive things about him, you think that might top your list; and truthfully, you wanted to see it again.

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #megumi x you #fem!reader #jjk fluff

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kaybreezy3000 · 2 months ago

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It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

~ Number Five X Female Reader Insert ~

A life with Five Hargreeves is always full of fun surprises but bring on the holidays and watch out.

~Tags and Warnings: explicit sexual content, fluff, flirting, humor, family, You x Five, Daddy Five, co-written with @badkitty3000

Chapter One: Your Sharp Dressed Man

As you stumbled in the back door, your snow-covered heels started slipping out from under you the second you hit the hardwood floor. “Ohhh-sssshhhh! Help, Five!” you cried, teetering backwards.

Only just now realizing you were home, Five immediately dropped the cheese he was grating, blinking himself across the kitchen to catch you before you fell.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you pull in,” he apologized, while trying to unburden you of all the boxes and bags you were holding. “What is all this stuff?”

“Quiet!” you shushed, worried your son in the other room would overhear. “It’s stuff for Christmas,” you explained. “Hide those somewhere before he comes out here.” You gestured to two of the larger boxes in Five’s arms as three other bags slipped from your grasp, landing at your feet.

Blinking again, only a few seconds later, Five reappeared, free of all the presents. He smiled, marveling at your inability to get yourself out of the mess you had somehow managed to get yourself into.

Still trying to untangle yourself, your car keys and travel mug dangling off two fingers and your purse weighing heavily at your neck, you glared at him. “A little more help please.”

Unfazed by your visual daggers, kindly coming to your aid again, Five eased four more bags off your arms, eyeing them skeptically. “Did we really need to do more shopping? I thought we were done.”

“We…didn’t do any shopping,” you corrected as you rubbed the blood back into your arms, then set your hands at your hips. “If I recall our trip to the mall, you disappeared right away and found yourself a cozy bookshop to hide in while I wandered around all by myself trying to pick out nice things for your enormous family. So, thanks for nothing, you big jerk.”

“Hey…” Five scrunched his eyes, trying to look insulted, but really, that wasn’t that far from the truth. “Who says I didn’t shop?”

Tripping over the bags on the floor, you brushed your lips against Five’s over exaggerated pout. “I do, because I know you. You hate shopping, and when you came strolling up to me in that huge toy store, I could smell the coffee and old books all over you.”

“Fine, you caught me,” he conceded, his smirk growing as he prepared to substantiate your belief that he hadn’t done any shopping, not even for you. “But isn’t me smelling like coffee and musty old books better than me smelling like strippers and bad booze?”

“Marginally better,” you said, then smiled, because you knew Five had no interest in ogling naked women unless that naked woman was you.

As you planted another tiny smooch on his waiting lips, Five quickly fastened his hands on your butt, so he could prolong the kiss. Pulling you off balance, one of your stilettos lifted off the floor, coming down a second later, loudly popping a hole in a shipping bag, startling you both.

With his advance foiled, Five looked down at your feet. “What is all this crap? It looks like you brought home three of the exact same, hideous looking shirts.”

You grinned diabolically but Five didn’t see it because he was angrily kicking your purchases away from your feet.

“Hmmm,” you hummed, your fingers slowly moving up the firm expanse of his chest, stopping to toy with the collar of his dress shirt where he had it unbuttoned just enough to show some skin. “It smells so good in here.” You leaned in, applying a few gentle kisses to the sexy protrusion of his Adam’s apple. “You smell good too,” you seductively added. “Looks like someone’s trying to get lucky tonight by looking all hot while making me my favorite dinner.”

Five rolled his eyes as he dropped his head back so you could get at more of him. “I’m insulted you think I would stoop that low just to get some ass. Especially when we both know you’ll give it up for me, dinner or no dinner.”

“DAD!” your son shouted from the living room. “When is the food going to be ready? I’m hungry!”

Automatically pulling away from him, Five let out a high-pitched sound of distress, sounding so much like his discontent son. “Kids,” you tiredly huffed, looking back at your husband’s overdone look of disappointment.

“We could ignore him,” Five hopefully suggested.

“Awww,” you soothed, your hand playing at the back of his neck, fingers threading through his neatly combed hair. “Don’t worry. There will be plenty of time later to find out just how willing I am to give it up, and for you to fill me in on your day, but right now, we better feed the monster in there before he blinks himself out to get Taco Bell.”

Knowing all too well that thanks to him, your seven-year-old son could easily do something like that, but also thinking about how he could get what he wanted, Five’s lips pulled to the side. “If I move fast, I could fill you in right now…”

In case you weren’t already aware of what kind of filling he was referring to, Five rolled his hips against yours while giving your ass a hard slap.

“Oh, really,” you giggled, jolting against him. “I do love it when you fill me in, but first thing’s first.” Smirking, you gave him a condescending pat on one of his nice taut butt cheeks. “Be a good boy and go serve us up some of that mouth watering food, and I'll let my other sweet guy know it’s ready.”

“Fine,” Five grumbled as he turned back to the stove top, sullenly whisking his bubbling concoction of creamy cheeses.

~~~

“This was just what I needed tonight,” you said, stretching your legs under the table as you savored your last sip of wine. “Thank you for making such a wonderful dinner for us, Mr. Hargreeves. You are unable to do anything half ass and I love it”

Taking your plate back to the sink, Five smiled to himself. He couldn’t be happier. He was living his dream retirement. He finally had a real home, and getting to play Mr. Mom while being your trophy husband was more than he could have ever wished for.

Making nice meals when you got home was one of his absolute joys. Of course, your compliments flaming his insatiable ego didn’t hurt. That, and how you’d be repaying him later for his efforts.

Speaking of which…

Just as Five finished loading the dishwasher, before he could get his hands on you and blink you upstairs, you bent down, picking up your discarded packages.

“Really, what are those ugly things?” he asked, his eyes on the red and white striped pile of clothes in your lap.

Your face lit up. “They are our matching outfits for this year’s Christmas card photo.”

Five’s smile instantly evaporated. “No.”

Your grin got bigger. “Yes,” you excitedly chirped. Further appalling him, you stood up, letting him see the true extent of your horrendous plan.

Unfolding in front of your body was what appeared to be an adult sized pair of footie pajamas. If that wasn’t bad enough, they were striped like candy canes, with the added addition of smiling cat faces mixed into the ridiculous print that extended from head to toe.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m wearing that,” Five said, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter, lifting his glass full of Scotch to his mouth.

“Awwww, come on!” You twirled it around, showing him the back of the ensemble, as if seeing that you’d bought butt-flap pajamas was going to somehow help change his mind.

However, thinking of all the fun he could have with you while wearing those, biting the inside of his cheek, Five couldn’t fully contain the twitch of his mouth or how his dimple deepened.

“No,” he said again, as sternly as possible.

Frowning, you dropped the outfit, stomping over. Knowing how to get your way with your husband, you pressed your body against his, your hands sneaking into the front pockets of his fitted slacks.

Pretending not to care that you were feeling him up, Five took another drink of his Scotch, uncouthly choking on it when you started caressing his dick.

“Please, Fiiivvve,” you begged, your slightest touch already getting him hard. “I’ve always wanted one of those funny family Christmas photo-cards like everyone else sends out.”

Clearing his throat, Five set his empty glass down on the counter. Taking your hand from his pocket, encasing it in his, he forced you to grip him even tighter, moving your hand up and down his shaft.

He glanced down the hall towards the living room, then cocked his chin at you. “I love to hear you beg, darling, but nothing you say or do is going to change my mind. I wouldn’t be caught dead in those stupid pajamas.”

“Really?” you challenged, moving your hand a little faster.

He laughed. “Yes, really, and if the Lego king wasn’t out there, probably about to come back in here and tell us he’s already hungry again, I’d have you on your knees, shutting you up with my dick in your mouth.”

“Maybe I want your dick in my mouth,” you breathed, really getting into it, your palm moving over the entire length of his cock before coming back to fondle the protruding fabric covering the girthy heat of his deliciously swollen tip.

“Oh, Fuck, you are relentless…” Five groaned. “I never said we couldn’t do a family picture for your card, I am just not wearing that.”

“Please,” you pushed.

Five looked over at the pile of clothes laid out on the table. He took in a long, unsteady breath, his hips jutting into your hand as he leveled you with one of his menacingly sexy looks. “I am a suit man, and only a suit man. Always was and always will be, and you trying to make me cum in my pants isn’t going to change that.”

You lowered your hand, gripping his balls. “And you look so hot in these suits of yours, sweetheart. But what if you try something else, just once? I promise it will be fun. You’d look handsome in anything you put on. Pretty please, do it for me?”

“SHHHeee-It!” Five loudly groaned as you tightened your grip.

With your teeth sinking into your lower lip, and that dreamy look in your eyes, and your hand back on his cock, massaging… He was so fucked.

“NO!” he gruffly barked, determined not to back down. He gripped the counter behind him to keep from thrusting into your hand. “You knew damn well before you brought that junk in this house that I wouldn’t wear it.” His eyes droopily fluttered closed as his lips parted on tiny hitched breaths.

Not giving him a moment to regather himself, you kept at it, increasing the friction of your hand over the expensive wool covering his erection.

Five sucked in a sharp breath as he grabbed the back of your neck, his power crackling violently as he spontaneously blinked you both upstairs. As soon as his polished Oxfords hit the floor, he chucked you on the bed.

“I hate when you do that,” you dizzily whined, your body still mid-bounce off the mattress.

“Sorry,” Five laughed, not sorry at all. “Time is of the essence; I promised our son I would finish reading him The Christmas Carol before he went to bed, but that’s not happening until we settle this first.”

Climbing over you, Five pushed your legs apart with his knees, his hands racing to undo his dress pants, but only enough to free his cock. Shoving your panties aside, he took aim, rubbing his tip over your slit, getting himself slicked.

“Please, Five,” you moaned, not sure what you were begging for anymore when he started prodding your clit with his glistening shaft.

Weren’t you just talking about cat pajamas? Or was it his dick in your mouth?

“Oh-fff!” you cried out, when he bottomed out inside you with no warning.

Wincing with pleasure, Five hissed his own song of curses but he didn’t let himself enjoy the ecstasy long. Gritting his teeth, he pulled out half way. Pants bunched around his knees, his fingers digging into the backside of your thighs, he started pistoning his strong hips, working the ring of his engorged cock head back and forth across your g-spot.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you helplessly chanted with each shallow thrust.

Sitting up a little, flipping his head back to get his hair out of his eyes, Five smirked. “That’s it. Take daddy’s cock like a good girl. I’m the one that wears the pants around here, not some stupid fucking adult onesie and you better not forget it.”

Pumping you harder and harder, he ruthlessly worked his fingers over your clit. Head thrown back as you moaned his name, you quickly fell over the edge, trying to muffle your moans with your pillows so your son didn’t hear you from the living room below.

Your orgasm still ripping through you, a few seconds later, Five spilled his seed as deep inside you as he could, losing all his momentum as he nearly collapsed on top of you in a dizzying wonderment of pleasurable shudders.

Catching himself at the last second, elbows buried in the blankets next to yours, Five gave you a sloppy kiss, then pulled away with a happy smile. “Why don’t you take a nice relaxing bath, my love? When I’m done with my other daddy duties, I promise I will be back to really rock your world.”

You tried to form a reply, but your mind and body were so fucked already, you couldn’t; making Five feel even more certain that he had made his point. He wasn’t going to wear Christmas pajamas. He was the daddy there, after all, with decades of seniority over you to back up that claim.

~~~

“Good,” you said, quickly checking the locks on the tripod, before you set the camera settings to allow you to use the small remote in your hand. “Stay just like that. It’s perfect except for that look on your face, Five. If you don’t smile on your own, I am going to make you,” you warned.

Your son looked up from where he was sitting on his bean bag, taking in Five’s sulky expression. His identical green eyes narrowing, your little boy’s brows knitted together, mimicking his dad’s look perfectly.

Stuck in a standoff he knew he couldn’t win, Five begrudgingly twisted his features into something much less sour looking, but it still wasn’t great.

“Just smile dad,” your son exasperatedly sighed. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world. It’s just a picture. Just do what mom says like you always do, and we can be done faster.”

After being put in his place by a grade schooler, Five took a long drink from the crystal tumbler he was holding, letting the amber liquid burn as he formed his reply.

He cleared his throat. “Apparently you two aren’t seeing my vision for this one.”

“And what’s that?” you asked.

“I’m going with the classic, man of the house look. Which, I would like to remind both of you, I still am, last time I checked.”

Like a hawk tracking its prey, as he had been doing most of the morning, Five was eyeing up the small amount of cleavage you were unable to cover due to the low neckline of your outfit. His wandering eye only made your chest heave up and down even more with giggles.

“I don’t need to smile. Stoic and amazing has always been my look,” he calmly continued, before tipping back his drink again.

Despite the speech and his stupid reasoning, he knew all too well that you were going to win this one; just like you’d won and got him in the stupid cat pajamas he was wearing.

Well… You’d mostly won.

Getting dressed while smirking at his reflection in the mirror, Five had pulled up his footie pajamas, putting them on backwards so the buttoned-up ass flap with the giant cat face on it was covering his crotch instead of his butt. Seeing that he at least had it on, you let him keep it that way.

With everything finally at the ready, your husband’s handsome grin in place, you sprinted over to your family, positioning yourself behind Five’s chair, with one hand resting on his shoulder.

“We are doing several shots guys,” you said as your fingernails dug in, “so keep smiling, damn it.”

Trying to sound scary as you purposely clawed your husband, he smiled.

The room filled with the bright flash of the camera. You hit the switch several more times before sprinting back to check the digital image to see if you got one that would work for your Christmas card.

“Five! I am going to-!”

Instead of going off on your husband, or further tainting your son’s innocent ears since the headboard banging against the wall the night before had been bad enough, you held your tongue. Marching over, you plunked yourself down on Five’s lap, making you all into one big mishmash of red white and white striped cat pajama Hargreeves madness.

“Ready, kiddo? I’m going to make your grumpy old dad smile if it’s the last thing I do.”

Five tensed just as you started sneakily tickling him between the legs with one hand while the other hit the rapid fire button on your remote.

With that well timed move, you got your perfect picture.

~~~

A few hours later, while you and the rest of your guests were out in the kitchen getting more hors d'oeuvres and drinks, Diego and Five sat in opposite armchairs, in front of the crackling fire.

“You look like an asshole. You know that right?”

Five looked over at his brother, contemplating blinking behind him so he could flip his chair backwards. The itch to smear Diego on the floor was getting harder and harder to ignore because this was about the twentieth time he’d pointed out his ridiculous Christmas onesie.

Seeing that it was the holidays, and not wanting to hear a lecture from his loving wife, Five refrained from throttling his brother. You had invited his family over to have a small get-together before the larger one that Luther and Sloane would be hosting the next day. He promised to behave, and it was very important that he kept his promises, lest he risk facing the repercussions of your kittenish wrath.

That was the reasoning Five was using to keep his ire in check, but when Diego kept staring at him, like he expected him to answer, he finally snapped. “I am very aware of what I look like,” he testily informed him. “This is my damn house and if I want to look like an asshole, then that’s my business, so shut your trap about it already.”

Hearing his brother defending his silly choice of party attire so vehemently, Diego smiled. Seeing Five like this was something that he never thought he’d witness in a million years. You and his son were the best things that could have happened to the Hargreeves family’s slightly unhinged time traveler, and they all loved you.

As your voices in the kitchen drew nearer, fresh drink in hand, Klaus sauntered in wearing his own hideous Christmas sweater, paired with a very nice, flowy red skirt. “What are we chatting about?” he asked, sprawling out on top of the bean bag that was sitting in front of the Christmas tree.

Diego laughed. “Oh, you know, just how Five became the world’s biggest push over.”

“I wore this by choice,” Five dryly retorted.

“Sure you did,” Diego chuckled back, downing the rest of his cocktail as he looked over at you and Lila coming back to join the party. “Just in time, babe.”

Reaching out, he took the refilled glass Lila was handing him. Taking a sip, he immediately sprayed a fine mist of his beverage all over himself.

“Damn woman! Are you trying to get in my pants later or kill me?” he questioned, his mouth puckering from the 100 proof liquor she just served him.

She eyed him with her usual look of enamored disdain. “If I wanted to get in your pants, Diego, I wouldn’t waste my time getting you plastered first. I’d just tell you to drop your pants, and you’d happily comply like you always do. As for killing you…well, you’ll just have to risk it.” She clinked her glass with his. “Cheers, babe.”

Nodding like he thought her logic was reasonable, Diego took another drink, this time, not making as much of a disgusted face about it. “Very true,” he agreed while pointing to Five. “See. I’m just fucking with you. It’s totally fine to be pussy-whipped. Even if that means you look like a big man baby who doesn’t know how to dress himself.”

Five glared at his brother. “I know how to dress myself, you idiot.”

“No. No you don’t, dude. Your dorky outfit is on backwards, and even more interesting is that you cut the feet off the bottoms. What’d you do? Have another growth spurt?”

Grinning over their exchange of brotherly wisdom and slights, you approached Five. The sparkle of mischief in his eyes had you instantly worried.

“You mean the hatch doesn’t go in front?” he asked you, his dark eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “How else is a guy supposed to get to his junk in these things?”

Covering up little Gracie where she’d fallen asleep on the couch, Lila let out a loud snort, and before Diego could say anything else helpful, Five had his arms around your waist, pulling you down over his lap.

His hand smacked across your ass with a throbbing thwack, thwack, thwack, as he shamelessly spanked you in front of everyone.

“See, darling?” Five taunted. “This is what you get for making me wear this dumb shit!”

Hearing the commotion from where he had been squeezed in next to Grace, playing with the action figures Uncle Klaus brought him, your son looked over. Way too familiar with you both being embarrassing weirdos, he grabbed his headset and his tablet off the coffee table, going right back to ignoring all the adults.

With you squirming and laughing hysterically, taking you with him, Five vanished, leaving an intense burst of static in his wake. Thinking about how much he didn’t want to make you sick, but not thoroughly thinking through the new addition of his evil plan, Five landed his jump inside the front hall coat closet, only a few yards away, within earshot of your guests.

Stumbling into him in the dark, having been one second bent bottoms up over his lap, and now being turned upright on your feet, your hand flew to your mouth. “Oh, lord. I think I might throw up.”

“Sorry, my love,” Five lied. “Agreeing to wear this adult sized infant wear comes with a price and railing you in this closet is part of your punishment.”

“You already spanked me!”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “and the huge boner I am sporting because of that is a large part of why we are in here now rather than me waiting until later to attack you.”

“Five?” you shrilly whispered, but he quickly covered your mouth, muffling anything else you could say. His other hand came around to your front, holding you with your back against his chest as you got your bearings in the dim light creeping in from the crack under the door. “We can’t do it in here!” you frantically mumbled against his fingers.

Pressing you up against the coats, his whisper came out hot against your ear. “Yes, we can. I’m going to fuck you right here and now to teach you a lesson about picking out my clothes. While I’m at it, I might as well make use of these stupid butt hatches.”

“I knew you liked your jammies,” you accused as you shoved your rear end back into him, forcing him to let go so you could spin around and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Diving right in, Five replied while feverishly kissing your neck as his hands glided around your waist.

“These are like wearing body condoms,” he complained as he frantically searched between your legs for a way in but couldn’t find one. Growling, he pressed his face against your neck, the sharp points of his teeth grazing your skin as he said, “Looks like you're getting it the old-school way.”

Before you could comprehend what that meant, Five started rubbing his erection against you at a jarring pace, humping you like the heartbreakingly lonely and sexually frustrated teen he had been while stuck in the apocalypse with nothing but Dolores and his hand to keep him busy.

“Oh-mmm-my-gah-god, Fff-ive,” you stammered.

Greedily squeezing your butt, your hilariously horny husband finally remembered your pajama hatch was on your backside. Before you could tell him not to, he tore the flap open, the buttons tinkering somewhere in the dark, the goofy cat face that had been decorating your ass now presumably hanging limply at your knees.

Freely exploring the curves of your bare ass since you’d skipped underpants to avoid panty lines, Five’s brain took even more of a vacation. Doubling down, he spun you around, pushing you up against the wall. Dark objects clunked against the walls and rained down on your heads, the hangers screeching along the rail as your coats tumbled to the floor.

“I’m all for a good dry hump,” Five teased, now that he had you pinned how he wanted, “but it would be such a shame not to use this handy-dandy back door you’ve got here. Hence why I have mine positioned backwards.”

“They are going to hear us,” you warned, getting confirmation that he’d put his clothes on backwards on purpose.

“I don’t care,” he breathed, kissing the back of your neck, all the while knowing that the only one he cared about hearing him fuck you was wearing headphones.

“That feels so gah-good,” you whimpered as he groped your chest and suckled your ear lobe.

Fumbling with his own buttons, Five anxiously pulled his dick out, then wrapped his other arm around your midsection, fingering you from the front while he rutted himself between your warm butt cheeks.

“Bend over a little,” he ordered, impatiently trying to stick himself inside you, but finding he couldn’t quite get the right angle.

More things fell to the floor as you tried to curl in on yourself, the wall hitting your forehead as heavy wooden hangers clattered to the floor.

There was no way someone didn’t hear that, but wantonly ramming your butt against Five dick made it clear that you didn’t care either.

Just as Five managed to find the right position to slip himself into your heavenly tight sleeve, the latch on the old door he had been leaning on gave in. Not expecting the door to burst open like it was, Five came crashing out with you falling backwards on top of him. At the sound of your yelp of undignified terror, everyone’s heads spun your way.

Rolling to the side with him still in the big spoon position, you saw that Five’s chocolatey dark hair was standing up in every direction, and no matter how fast he got his flap back up, there was no fooling the crowd. You tried to help save the situation by backing your ass up against Five’s big boner, but based on Lila’s amused expression, it was a lost cause.

You were already laughing so hard you were crying, but your tears got worse when Five’s nostrils flared, a whistling sound of desperation coming out of him that made him sound like a dying animal.

Trying to fix the situation, Five attempted to blink away with you again, but you saw it coming in his frantic clenching of his hands and the telltale clench of his jaw. Not wanting to go for another ride, you broke away from him, quickly getting your feet under you before taking off into the living room on slippery, cotton covered heels.

Forced to blink without you, crazed at this point, Five reappeared in the middle of the room, over-rotating out of his portal. He grabbed for you, but with no grip on his feet, he was unable to stop his forward momentum. Tripping over your son’s bean bag, you both went flying, falling into the Christmas tree, knocking it down with an impressive explosion of airborne pine needles and breathlessly panted profanities.

A rainbow of glass bulbs skittered across the room as you lay there in a tangled mess. To make it all the merrier for your guests and your frazzled husband, there was sparkling tinsel from the tree flung everywhere.

Springing forward from his spot on the couch, Klaus burst out laughing. “Holy shit! You two are amazing. Five, I fucking love you, you crazy bastard! You guys sure know how to throw one hell of a Christmas party!”

Seeing that his parents were being dumb as usual, kicking his short legs out into the space his uncle just vacated, Five’s tiny-look-alike son slowly rolled his eyes to the ceiling, then went right back to his video game. Next to him, Grace stretched her little body out and yawned, sleepily looking around. “Mommy… Is Uncle Five being a tosser again?”

From her new position in Five’s abandoned recliner, Lila nodded. “Yes, he is, sweetie. Now go back to sleep.”

Picking up one of the dozens of ornaments that were littering the living room floor, Lila flicked the shiny ball, bouncing it off Five’s head. Adding insult to injury, he could do nothing to stop it from hitting him because his hands were still occupied trying to cover up his and your private parts.

Still lazily toasting his feet by the fireplace, Diego looked to Lila. “Next time I say we do Christmas at our house, just go with it.”

“Why?” she laughed. “I’m with Klaus. Best Christmas ever.”

“Fuck,” Five huffed, trying to blow a glittery piece of tinsel out of his face. Giving up, he flopped backwards, trying to hide himself in the pile of presents. “Sorry,” he groaned so pitifully that it only made everyone laugh even harder.

Klaus raised his glass. “Cheers to another blockbuster Hargreeves Christmas! It’s never a dull moment with you two sexy perverts around.”

Faking a gag, Lila tipped her drink to that while Diego continued to shake his head. “Can we just take a moment to ponder the fact that this asshole here is supposed to be the genius in the family?”

“Shut up, Diego,” Five mumbled.

“No, seriously. If you…the dumbass in the backwards cat pajamas that tried to bone his wife in the coat closet…is the smartest of us…that might explain a lot of things.”

Rolling his head to the side, the boxes under him crunching, Five looked his way. “What things?”

Diego shrugged. “I don’t know. Off the top of my head, I’d say things like your failed time traveling, getting your family stuck in the 1960’s, mistakenly dialing back your age by quite a few years. Although, that one probably worked in your favor, seeing as how your wife probably wouldn’t be interested in banging your wrinkly old ass.”

Raising your arm, you gave a thumbs up of agreement to that, Five tackling your single digit of approval back down in a feisty game of thumb war.

“That’s it! Say your prayers, asshole!” he growled to his brother, after you let him beat you. Jumping up to beat the shit out of Diego, your reenergized husband forgot that his front dick flap was still undone.

Accidentally exposing himself to his entire family again, suddenly a bright flash of light filled the room, blinding everyone.

As soon as you could see through all the little black and white stars floating in front of your face, you looked next to you, thinking Five would be gone, but he was still standing there, hands covering his crotch, gaping like a fish.

Grinning, Klaus held up the camera remote.

“Merry Christmas, my dearest sister-in-law. There’s your card for next year!” he yelled as he dashed away, trying to escape the murderous clutches of his red-faced brother.

Chapter Two: When Number Five Steps Out, He's Gonna Do You In

It was December 30th and Five was sitting in his living room, enjoying the quiet of the house after all of the craziness of Christmas. Glad that this time of year was finally coming to an end, he tipped his head back against his chair and let out a long, tired sigh.

It wasn’t that Five hated Christmas, or the holidays, or spending time with his family. But if someone were to come to him right now and tell him that all holidays that required family gatherings were now canceled, he definitely wouldn’t argue with them.

All he wanted to do now was stay home with his wife and son and not have to interact with others or leave the house. After all, he was in his seventies now, despite the fact that he didn’t look a day over twenty-five.

Shouldn’t that mean he was entitled to indulge in some old man activities?

A few days of sitting by the fire in his robe and slippers, doing sudoku puzzles, and watching The Weather Channel were sounding pretty good.

“Yeah, ok…meet here tomorrow around noon?” your voice echoed from the hall. “I have plenty of food and drinks for the kids and us. We can go sledding and then you can stay for dinner and drinks until midnight. See you then!”

You came walking in as you hung up the phone. Sitting down on the couch, you gave Five one of your excited smiles that slowly evaporated when you saw his face.

“What?” you innocently questioned.

Five did not look impressed. “Even though I know what you’re going to say, darling, who were you talking to?”

“Lila. I asked her, Diego and Grace to come over tomorrow for New Year’s Eve. We can take the kids sledding and ice skating.”

Five ran a hand down his face as he groaned dramatically. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? Sledding is fun!”

“No,” Five deadpanned. “No, it is not. It’s the furthest thing from fun, actually.”

You frowned at him. “It’s the holidays, and you’re supposed to spend time with family and do fun winter activities.”

Five threw his hands in the air. “We did spend the holidays with family! A week ago, for Christmas, remember? I assumed that meant I did my required time and now I can be left alone to do what I want to do. Which involves a lot less dragging sleds up freezing cold hills and a lot more mid-day naps in this chair.”

“Five, really…get over yourself,” you said, laughing at him. “It’s not going to kill you to spend a day with your brother and his family, and take your son sledding.”

“It might. You don’t know that,” he replied, still looking entirely serious.

As you huffily stood up, placing your hands on your hips, Five saw the signs that he was about to lose the argument.

“We are going sledding, and we are going to spend New Year’s Eve with Diego and Lila. Because you know why?”

Five assumed that was a rhetorical question, but when you kept standing there, waiting for an answer he narrowed his eyes. “I bet you’re going to tell me,” he grumbled.

“Because for the past month I have busted my ass to do everything around here, making sure we all have a magical holiday, while all you have done is eat all the cookies, complain, and try to fuck me in a closet and ruin our Christmas tree! So, I think the least you can do is suck it up for one more day.”

Five went to open his mouth but he was cut off. “I swear to god, unless what you’re about to say is along the lines of ‘yes, dear,’ then I advise you to shut up,” you snapped.

Five closed his mouth again, looking both pissed off and also resigned to the fact that his wife had won yet again. He sat back in the chair with his jaw clenched tight, looking adorably baffled.

Seeing that, you smiled, relaxing a little. “Look, I know this isn’t your idea of fun. But if you can just make it through without trying to murder anyone, I promise I will make it worth your while in the end.”

Watching you walk away, Five had his doubts that anything would be good enough to make sledding worth it in the end, but that didn’t mean the gears in his head weren’t spinning.

Thinking of his New Year’s resolutions list, he grinned.

---

The next day, you and Five were standing at the top of a sledding hill, ankle deep in fresh snow, as your son waited patiently for Five to push him down the hill in his new sled. Even though Five loved watching his son having fun, he was still not thrilled about the chosen activity for the day.

He turned to you with a grumbly expression. “You know, I walked around hauling Dolores and all my shitty things with me for 45 years, so wrap your head around that when trying to understand why I am not interested in doing this kind of shit for fun.”

You rolled your eyes. “Stop complaining. I bet at least your feet aren’t freezing right now.” You looked down at your boots. “I should have listened to you about that second pair of socks.”

Five jut his chin haughtily. “You should have listened to me about staying home, but yes darling… Rule number one of winter survival: you can never have on enough socks.”

“Well, since you’re Mr. Prepared For The End Of The World, can’t you give me one of your extra pairs before my toes fall off?”

He shook his head. “As much as I normally love hearing you ask me to take my clothing off, this time it’s a big fat no. You didn’t want to listen to me before, so now you have to face the consequences, so you learn your lesson.”

“You and your lessons,” you grumbled. Smirking, you glanced down to where Five had the sled tied to his pants. He clearly did it so he could better pull the weight of your son and keep his hands free if his boots slipped out from under him, which right then they did. Arms flailing, with you laughing, Five found his balance again followed by a loud curse.

“Five…” you giggled. “Your survival skills truly are impressive, and I love you for that, even when you look like a dork. You’re so sexy, sweetie.”

Five shot you a wicked grin that was all white teeth and bite. “Oh… If you love me so much, then why don’t you let this sexy dork sneak you off into those pine trees over there so I can warm up those cold feet of yours.” He playfully quirked a brow, then added, “Skin on skin contact brings on the heat, all survivalists know that. Add some friction and your blood will really get moving again.”

Finally trudging back up to the hill with her daughter on the sled she was tugging along behind her, Lila overheard that and said, “Yeah, you would know, Captain Hands In Your Pants.”

Just as Five was opening his mouth to retaliate, your son toppled off the back of the sled, sliding down the icy slope on his back. “Help!” he shouted, slipping halfway back down the hill on the hard ice.

Five looked over at you, your arms whirling because you’d just lost your footing too.

“God damn it,” Five huffed, reaching a hand out to steady you.

“You got him, daddy?” you breathed, hands still out, your body clumsily poised and ready in case the icy surface got the better of you again.

“Yes,” Five grated out while turning around to go save his son.

As soon as he started down the hill, Five slipped on his ass and proceeded to slide the rest of the way down, like an angry man-sized starfish. Helplessly gliding down the slippery slope, he made a show of loudly threading together as many expletives as possible.

Once he was able to right himself again, and he set his son back on the sled, Five started lugging him up the hill, still cursing to himself.

Like a light bulb turning on in his head he was suddenly hit with an epiphany.

“Wait a damn minute…” he muttered as he stopped. He rolled his eyes. “Jesus, I’m an idiot.”

He looked down at his snow-covered gloves, the faintest blue glow emanating from them.

“Why not? Screw it”

In a whirling flash of blue, Five snatched up his little boy, just as he was about to fall off the sled again.

Landing at the top of the hill, looking down at the rest of the gang that still hadn’t finished getting to the top, Five crossed his arms over his chest, while giving you all a cocky grin.

Standing only halfway up the hill, having witnessed the whole thing, you threw your hands up in the air in frustration. “What the hell? That’s not fair!”

Five shrugged, his smirk growing. “Sorry, darling, all is fair in love and war. Or in this case, horrible winter activities.”

Landing next to him in a flash of blue light, Lila stuck her landing much more smoothly than Five had, beaming at him with her own self-satisfied smile.

“I didn’t give you consent to steal my abilities,” said, glaring at her. “That’s a violation of my body and privacy.”

Lila laughed. “Don’t flatter yourself, you little kinder-shit. I wouldn’t violate that body of yours with a ten-foot pole.”

Five sneered. “We’ve all heard your whole ‘anything you can do, I can do better line,’ but you and I both know that’s bullshit and that you will never be better than me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe it is.”

While they were squaring off, the rest of your group finished making it up the hill, out of breath and mildly annoyed.

“Would it have killed you two to maybe bring your spouses along for the ride? Just saying, it would have been nice,” Diego huffed as he pulled his daughter up next to him on her sled.

Lila glanced over at Diego, waving a dismissive hand. “You know you’d get motion sick if I jump with you, so quit whining.”

She opened her mouth to go at Five again, but before she could, you piped up. “I may not like getting thrown through the blender of time and space that much either, but it would be better than-”

Cutting you off, Five made a snapping mouth hand motion at you with his mitten, which did not go over well with you, but before you got a chance to express your displeasure, Five was back at it, barking at Lila.

“I bet my son and I can make it to the bottom of the hill before you and Grace are even half-way down. What do you say? Up for a race?”

“That’s not fair,” Lila complained. “You have more weight on your team. I may not be a self declared genius like you, but that’s just simple physics and an unfair advantage, you cheater.”

Five smirked. “Fine, I’ll give you a head start.”

Lila’s own grin became even more devious looking. “So, what do I get when we win?” she questioned, as if she and your husband were talking about something much more serious than a sled race.

“The winner will be declared the official King of this Mountain and the loser has to buy the next round of hot chocolate,” Five smoothly retorted before adding, “And using any powers is an automatic disqualification. So, just keep that in mind when WE win.”

“You’re on, old man.”

Oblivious of their parents' kindergarten level pissing match, the kids had wandered off to go make snow angels, leaving them to set up the sleds for their epic race alone.

After dragging them back over and plopping them down in front of them on their slick pieces of red plastic, the two ex-assassins eyed each other up.

“Get ready to lose,” Lila declared, tightening her hold on Grace as she stuck her tongue out at Five.

“Real mature,” he scoffed, his lips twisting up to one side despite his best effort not to smile.

As promised, Five gave Lila a very brief head start before he pushed off after her, kicking off with his heels as he leaned forward with all his weight so he could catch up to her.

As he was concentrating on gaining speed and overtaking her lead, Five didn’t notice that he was headed straight for a small child that had fallen off their sled and was lying in the snow in the middle of the hill. At the very last second, he saw them, but with no time and barely any control over his sled, Five had no choice but to blink himself and your screaming son out of the way to avoid a crash.

Since spatial jumps when already moving at an accelerated rate were tricky at best, Five ended up making an ass of himself anyway.

Falling out of his portal in a crackling burst of frosty air, he and your son landed at the bottom of the hill, narrowly missing a group of teenagers, before sliding further, then smashing into a snow covered evergreen.

Covered in heaps of snow, with his giggling son lying on top of him, Five groaned like an old man who’d fallen and couldn’t get back up.

While still trying to get his boy up on his little rubber boots, Lila came triumphantly sliding by on her sled, smiling and laughing obnoxiously loud.

Ungracefully rolling out of the shrubbery, looking like the abominable snowman, Five glanced around, searching for a weapon to take down his opponent. Finding nothing but the twigs and dried leaves sticking out of his knitted hat, he was forced to concede.

“Alright, alright, stop gloating,” he muttered while Lila danced around him gleefully, swinging Gracie in the air as she giggled.

“I can’t help it” she sang back as they twirled. “Any time I see you make a fool of yourself it’s glorious!”

“Uncle Five is funny,” Grace pointed out, to which Five gave her a silly look he knew would get her laughing again.

Sharing in her daughter's joy, Lila said, “Now, don’t forget, Uncle Five. I like extra whipped cream on my hot chocolate.”

“Me two, Uncle Fivey!” Grace happily yelled as she ran off.

Seeing that his son was abandoning him to go play with his cousin, Five glowered at Lila for a moment longer because it just felt right, then he blinked away to the top of the hill. As soon as he appeared, you covered your mouth so he couldn’t see you laughing at him.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a devilish smirk as he took a few strides towards you, like a lion about to pounce.

Backing up, you shook your head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Oh, yeah?” he challenged as he grabbed your hand, pulling you into him with an arm around your waist. “Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

Still trying to suppress your laughter you reached up, picking a small piece of tree out of his hair. “I am on your side,” you assured.

Lowering his chin, his mouth an inch away from yours, he whispered, “The thing is, my love, I’d rather have you on your back.”

Before you could react to that in any way, you were being tackled backwards, feet flying out from under you before your backside landed on the sled. Landing on top, like he’d planned, Five had you trapped.

Your screech of surprise quickly turned to uncontrolled gasps of laughter when you unexpectedly started flying headfirst down the hill, the combined weight of your bodies sending your sled skittering off much further than everyone else’s at the bottom of the hill.

Bouncing on the icy surface, you ripped past the legions of teens and other young kids, slamming into a snowbank where you then toppled over like total assholes.

As you were trying to contain yourself and catch your breath, Five climbed back on top of you, pinning you down as he kissed your frozen cheeks and lips until you were wildly giggling again.

“Stop!” you yelled half-heartedly.

“No,” he simply stated, before crashing his lip into yours, hard and passionately, with enough need behind it to get you to let out a little moan of surrender.

“Five!” you gasped when he finally let you up for air. “We can’t make out in the snow like this in front of all these kids.”

“We most certainly can. And I’m going to do much more with you than make out.”

He went in for another kiss, while you tried wriggling out from under him, your argument turning into laughed exclamations of shock. “Oh my god, Five! That better not be what I think it is that you are rubbing against my leg.”

Nudging your scarf down with his nose, kissing the side of your neck, his words vibrated your skin as his lips spread in a smile. “What do you think it is?”

“Good lord, what is wrong with you? We’re out here doing family stuff and you think it’s a great time to get your fuck on?”

“They can’t tell what we’re doing, we’re wearing too much padding. It’ll just look like we’re wrestling. So, just shut up and let me hump you in this stupid fucking snowbank!”

“Why in the world would we be wrestling? That makes no sense,” you breathlessly argued.

Five let out an aggravated groan. “I don’t know…Can’t you just go along with it?”

“Five, you know I love you and I would normally let you do whatever you want to me and be perfectly happy with it. However, I’m not going to lie here in the snow while you hump me like a dog.”

Strategically digging your cold gloves under the back side of his coat, Five hissed a few fucks, while letting you escape, but as soon as you removed your frozen hands, he retaliated. Grabbing the back of your hood, playfully tugging you back, he said, “Oh come on, honey. This will only take two minutes. Three, tops.”

Sitting down on top of him, Five assumed he was going to get lucky, so he tried to go in for another kiss, but you quickly pushed his shoulders back down in the snow, smiling as you scolded him. “You have some serious problems, Mister. Now go back up there and try to be a normal person who’s out here having a normal day with their family.” He opened his mouth but you slapped a hand over it. “And try not to hump anything on your way there, either.”

“Okay,” he mumbled against the waterproof fabric.

Lying there rejected, Five watched you trudging away. Even in a million layers of insulation, you still managed to look sexy, and now his balls were a little blue and he was even more irritated with all of this.

If he was being forced into this “fun” family outing, the least you could do was indulge him in a little ass. While ruminating on that flawed logic, Five had the urge to call after you and tell you that at least his first wife actually liked being humped in the snow. Deciding that would be a bad move, however, he kept that fond little memory to himself.

---

A little while later, after everyone was worn out from sledding, your son asked Five to build a snow fort for him, and his eyes lit up with renewed purpose.

Now this he could do!

It had been a while, but Five was fairly confident he could still build a structurally sound snow fort that would be habitable for at least a week in the right conditions. Excited to show off his engineering skills, he got to work, piling up mounds of snow and ice.

“Now, if you want a real igloo, you need a parabolic cross section,” Five rambled while on his knees in the snow, digging and making blocks out of ice while his kid pretended to help by kicking piles of snow around. “Which, obviously as you know, is the locus of points on that plane that are equidistant from the directrix and the focus…”

By the time he was done constructing the massive snow fort, putting all of the other dads in the area to shame, Five realized that he’d been abandoned yet again. He looked around, seeing you and your son in the distance, doing god knows what.

Immediately annoyed, he muttered under his breath, “God fucking dammit.”

After going over to retrieve you both, Five proudly gestured to the snow fort. “Not bad, right?”

His son, visibly impressed, crawled in right away, complimenting him. “This is so cool!”

Looping your arm through Five’s, you kissed his cheek. “Good job, Daddy.”

Five smiled as he dismissively raised a shoulder. “See? Not all my survival skills have gone to waste. Not that I want to spend several days in one, but at least I can amuse my kid.”

Just as he said that, your son emerged from the fort. “Let’s go ice skating!”

Five’s mouth dropped open, his smile melting away just like that. “Ice skating? I just spent half a damn day building this thing for you!”

His excited little clone looked back at the fort and then back at you both. “I know, but there’s not much you can do in there.”

Five’s shoulders slumped forward in defeat. You turned to your son. “Don’t be ungrateful. At least thank your father for building that for you.”

He ran up, giving Five a big hug, his small arms not even wrapping halfway around his dad’s waist with all of the winter layers they were wearing. “Thanks, Dad, I love it.”

Five patted him on the back. With a small smile, he softly said, “You’re welcome, buddy.”

Just like that, your little boy was running off to catch up with the others who were already on their way to the ice skating rink.

“Sorry,” you said, leaning your head against Five’s shoulder. “Kids are really fun to make but then after that…not always so much.”

Five laughed at that, then kissed the top of your head. “So true.”

“Well, I need to check out this marvel of engineering for myself,” you said as you started to crawl through the opening of the fort.

Watching your snow-pant-clad ass disappear into his fort, Five naturally assumed that this was an invitation to follow you, so on hands and knees, he made his way in, squeezing in next to you.

“It’s pretty nice in here,” you stated, laying on your back, staring up at the dome over your head. “It’s not going to fall and trap us in here, is it?”

Five turned his head your way. “What do you take me for? An amateur?”

You smiled. “This really is impressive.”

Five smiled back, only his was predatory. Rolling over so he was on his forearms and one of his legs was thrown over yours, he said, “I can show you something else that’s impressive.” He tried to wriggle his brows.

“You’re not giving up on this, are you?”

He shook his head, his lips brushing against yours with the softest touch. “All you have to do is lie here, I’ll do all the work. You can be my snow angel,” he whispered.

Laughing, you rolled your eyes over that corny line. “Five, come on, cut it out.”

“Look, I built this damn thing, I might as well get some use out of it. Besides, what are the down sides?”

As he lightly kissed, then nipped the tip of your cold nose, you giggled. “For one, I don’t want snow up my ass crack.”

Sliding himself over you, Five’s mouth pushed against your, his hips pressing firmly against you. “That’s an easy fix. You get on top,” he purred, moving his mouth along your jaw, his warm breath rushing down your neck.

Even though you were turned on by all this, you resisted. “If it were just you and me, I’d let you make me your snow angel. But there are kids all around so that’s not happening. Can’t you control yourself for a few more hours until we get home?”

Five lifted his face from where he had it nuzzling against your throat, staring back at you in horror. “A few hours? We’re going to be here for a few more hours?”

“Well, I don’t know, maybe. Once we go ice skating and get the kids that hot chocolate…it might be a while.”

Five groaned, collapsing on top of you and pressing his face into your chest as he gyrated his hips but with little strength to it this time. “Please. I cannot take much more of this holiday togetherness, and my guy down here misses you,” he whimpered.

Your suppressed laugh came out as a very unlady-like snort that only made it harder not to laugh about all this. Feeling bad, you pat the back of Five’s neck with your gloved fingers, unable to sooth him like you normally would by playing with the ends of his hair. “Just hang in there, honey. You’re going to make it.”

Like a child who just came down from a hysterical tantrum, Five lethargically shook his head against your coat, his voice muffled. “No. Go on without me. I am done for. Save yourself.”

“I think you’ve survived worse,” you laughed.

“Nope. This is the worst, trust me.”

After giving him a quick kiss on the forehead, you shimmied out from under him, making your way out of the fort. Once outside, you poked your head back in to see Five still lying there, looking miserable.

“I’m going to the ice rink. Once you’re done with your pity party, please join us.”

After you left, Five slowly got up, sitting himself in the entrance to his fort, a sour pout making him look even younger again.

Stewing, he concluded you were wrong. Just because he was miserable and wanted to go home did not mean he was having a pity party.

Absentmindedly rolling a snowball in his gloves, he imagined all sorts of things he’d like to be doing instead of this. Like sitting in his warm house, maybe eating some nice hot soup, and then banging his wife up against a random wall before going to bed at a reasonable hour.

Was that really too much to ask?

“I’m too old for this shit,” Five heatedly mumbled, his breath forming a white cloud in the cold air in front of his little man cave.

Just then, he was hit dead square in the head with a giant snowball.

Snow melting and dripping off his face, Five saw Diego at an impossible distance away from him, pretending to tie his shoelace.

Rather than kill him, Five decided to stay there a little while longer, sitting there like a sad, puffy marshmallow.

---

Hours later, with his ego bruised as much as his sore ass was from showing off just how not good he was at ice-skating, Five finally got to go home. By then, he figured the only way to redeem himself, and the last few weeks, was to end the evening with a bang.

As everyone else was downstairs, shedding their winter wear and pouring drinks, Five was upstairs, preparing for war.

Within a brilliant man, a brilliant plan has formed.

Peering at his reflection in the dressing mirror, Five tightened the knot on his silk tie. He was the embodiment of sexy perfection in his favorite three piece suit.

His cool green eyes dropped to the side table, to the very important list he’d made shortly after he smashed the Christmas tree.

With his best black dress shoes stealthily descending the staircase, Five moved with all the confidence of a deadly man on a mission, because he was.

Instead of kissing at midnight, he was going to bone you at midnight, in the foyer coat closet, while the rest of the Hargreeves crew were out in the living room not far away, watching the ball drop on Times Square.

Part of his grand idea originated simply from the sheer excitement of doing something so ridiculously depraved again. But it was also because Five couldn’t stand failing, and failing his wife was the worst of all.

You were right, he didn’t do much to help you make the holiday memorable, other than multiple stupid things. Dressed to kill as he entered the living room, Five was determined to right his wrongs and show his family he still had it.

The moment you saw him, your jaw dropped. Strolling up to you, he played it cool, pretending not to see your eyes running up and down his body, taking him all in.

“Five?” you questioned, sounding so flustered already that he couldn’t help it when his lips hitched up just a little.

Smoothly taking the drink you were offering him, he deliberately let his full smile assault you. “Yes, my love?” he calmly replied, looking down where you’d positioned yourself on the couch. In your short little holiday cat sweater dress and matching knee high stockings, somehow you’d managed to make a ridiculously hideous outfit look hot. But there was no way he was going to let on that you were getting to him, like always.

“When you said you were changing into something more comfortable, I’d thought you meant something else…”

Even with your son sitting right next to you, bonking you over and over as he jabbered with Grace, both of them with headphones on, and talking extra loud to each other as they played a video game, you only had eyes for him.

His plan was working, but before Five could further fluster you with his reply, Lila got in the way. “Looking like an uptight jerk is Five’s comfort zone. It nicely complements the permanent stick-up-his-ass look.”

“I tink Uncle Fivey looks nice,” Grace corrected her, to which Five offered his niece a charming wink that made Lila, probably for the first time ever, speechless.

“Five is a lady killer, nothing more to say,” Diego chuckled as he tipped back his glass, looking at the TV, clearly not moved by his brother’s suave transformation.

“You do look nice,” you agreed, a little breathlessly, lifting your own glass to meet Five’s in the offer of a little toast of recognition.

After bringing his mouth to his glass for a little taste, Five leaned next to your ear, his free hand softly brushing a stray strand of your hair back as he whispered, “You look ravishing, my love. You always do.”

While you were still drooling over him, all wide eyed and flushing, Five pulled away, striding over to the fireplace. Placing his elbow on the mantle, he pushed his hand in his pocket and casually glanced back at you, a flirty smile pulling his cheek to the side.

“These dipshits out there on the street look like they are about as ready for them to drop that big stupid ball as I am,” Diego huffed at the TV, then repositioned himself on the loveseat next to Lila so his feet were thrown up on her lap. “We don’t have long now, babe, but I am tired as shit. You better do something to liven this party up or you’re going to be carrying me and Grace out to the car.”

Lila gave him the glare of death.

Mostly ignoring them, Five swirled his glass, watching the bubbles in his champagne rise to the surface. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you still looking at him and how you were anxiously biting at your lower lip, taking that as a sign that things were going according to plan.

He looked up again, his eyes meeting yours. He refused to do more than give you the smallest of smiles; but it was one that was about as soft and tender as it could get.

Draining your drink, you crossed your legs tightly, bouncing a socked foot with noticeable agitation.

Making note of that, Five lazily brushed his dark hair out of his eyes, then set his glass down on the mantel. Letting the firelight illuminate the sharp angles of his face, he mouthed for you to get over there.

Unable to take it a second longer, you hopped up off the sofa, heading his way.

“What are you doing over here all by yourself?” you questioned as you poured a little more bubbly into your husband’s half empty glass.

“Thinking.”

“Oh? About what?”

Five’s soft pink lips parted, the words he wanted to say left dangling in silence as he twirled a lock of your hair between his fingers.

“Five…? What are you up to this time?” you pushed.

With a quick intake of air, he smirked and then said, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

As he expected, you didn’t look thrilled by his reply or that he was acting uninterested in the fact that you were pressing your hips up against his, but Five was very much enjoying playing hard to get. It was a nice change from being the pursuer, and making you work for it was most definitely turning him on as much, if not more, than him doing all the hard work.

As if he held some magical, sex God power over you, the next thing he knew, your fingers were curling around his belt loops, pulling him in tighter. “I am not sure if you recall, but I promised you that if you went along with things today, I’d make it worth your while,” you quietly said, just loud enough for him to hear, your eyes pleading with him for attention.

“I remember,” Five simply replied. Then he looked past you, addressing the rest of the living room. “Who needs a refill? I’m going to go get another bottle of champagne.”

As he removed your hands from his pants, Five relished in the shocked look on your face. With a smug grin, he passed behind you, making sure to slide his crotch across your backside, one finger tickling briefly up the channel of your spine before he left you standing there in a dither.

Returning with the champagne a few minutes later, Five continued to pretend he wasn’t aware he was getting to you while he topped off Diego and Lila’s glasses. When he got to you, eyes locked on yours, he took your glass from your hand, his long fingers brushing against yours as he poured.

Heat rushed to your face, your cheeks turning a rosy pink that he loved. When he deliberately fingered the antique ring he’d given you for Christmas, spinning the filigree pattern around your finger, your breath hitched.

“Are you ok, darling? You look a little warm. Should I put out the fire?” he said in a low voice that made you instantly wet.

“I- I…”

He had you.

Raising a brow as he smirked, Five stepped in closer, taking up all your personal space, his semi hard cock pressing up against the heat between her legs. “You what? You want something, darling?” he breathed, his lips moving over the shell of your ear.

With a bright flash of blue filling the space you both had been standing, your drinks hit the floor, the glass shattering on the hearth. Like deja vu, your backside was rammed up against the mass of coats hanging in the dark coat closet.

Exhaling a moan of pure lust against your lips, Five forcefully flipped your skirt up, one hand painfully grabbing ahold of your ass cheek, the other going right between your legs, his index finger slipping under your underwear, going inside you, hooking as he pumped it hard and fast.

“You did this all on purpose didn’t you?” you accused between heaving breaths, your hands quickly working their way up under his vest. “God, you are so fucking hot in this suit and it’s not fair.”

“What’s the matter, love? You don’t like being teased like you’ve been doing to me all day?” he taunted with lips brushed lightly over your cheek.

“Teasing you? How was I… You know what, I don't care. Let’s do this.”

“I am going to ruin you,” he whispered before his mouth crashed into yours, followed by hangers slipping off the bar and a series of loud clunks and bangs.

“Oh bloody hell!” Lila yelled, intentionally loud enough that both of you could hear it from inside the vacuum-like space of the small closet.

“Five! You better not be doing what I think you’re doing!” Diego bellowed.

As you frantically unbuckled Five’s belt, he let go of your ass just long enough to free himself faster and shove your panties down, your mutual struggle causing his foot to thud backwards into the door.

“Five! What the hell! The kids, man!” Diego shouted.

“We’re moving my office furniture!” Five yelled back.

Kissing along the length of Five’s smoothly shaven neck you tugged his hair, your fingernails tracing lines across his scalp. “You are such a liar,” you mumbled.

“What?” he laughed, his fingers wetly moving faster inside you. “They don’t know we aren’t upstairs…”

“Yes, they do,” you corrected, just before biting his neck

Letting out a moan, he went at it harder, his fingers inside you squelching, the other possessively digging into your hips, commanding your body to let go for him.

Your body still spasming, guiding his tip between your shaking legs, Five’s cock slowly filled you, the guttural sounding groan he let out growing in intensity with each inch he took of you.

Before he could answer with anything but a weakly whimpered, fuck, Five widened his stance. Lifting one of your legs up to his waist, pushing himself inside you, he violently jut his hips forward. Lifting you off the floor, your body swayed back into the pile of coats again as your stockinged feet slipped out from under you.

Bottoming out, Five hissed a curse of joy, then pulled back and did it again, that time making sure to hold you tighter so you didn’t go careening into the door like he had the last time.

Almost immediately Five’s quick thrusts had you breathlessly moaning little sounds of poorly formed words.

“Ffff- Aaah-ah- Fu-ck-fffivvvvv-”

Loving the sound of you saying his name like that, but also not wanting to let the kids hear too much, Five quickly clasped a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhh,” he directed, his thighs burning as he pumped his cock inside you, the fast cadence of his fucking not slowing.

Your muffled cries cut sharp against his fingers as you started to fall apart all over again. He started to slow, and you thought he was about to cum but instead, he swiftly pulled out, then twisted you around so fast you staggered into him, getting totally disoriented in the darkness.

With no warning, Five pulled your hips backwards, his dick impaling you from behind. Bracing yourself against the wall, he slammed his cock into your quivering hole at the same time his hand clapped over your mouth again.

This time, when you bit into him, Five bit back, his teeth sinking into the side of your neck to the sound of skin on skin smacking, his cock pumping in and out of you at a blistering pace.

“Fuck you feel so fucking good. I am so lucky you love me,” he breathed, with near suffocating heat building across his mostly clothed body.

He was close. With pressure building in his stomach, his abs working hard to deliver the best fuck he could, he moved his newly freed hand up your dress, cupping your breasts as your round ass absorbed the beating his hips were giving it.

“As much as I love to defile your tits, baby, I love it more when you come on my cock.”

With those dirty words coming from Five and his hand abruptly coming down between your legs, his long fingers rubbing circles around your overstimulated clit, your second release hit you hard and fast, the pulsing waves of your orgasm mimicking the rhythm of Five’s steady thrusts.

“Five!” you gasped as you pawed at the mess of fabric pushed between you and the wall.

In the dark, she couldn’t see it to confirm it but you didn't need to. Five was just as ruined as you were. His mouth was agape, his eyes closed as he waited for the mindless bliss he knew was coming.

With his wet fingers gliding across your hip, Five latched hold of you, pumping hard, his dick sliding in and out a few more times before he broke.

Before he pulled out, throbbing hot spurts rushed out of him, filling you, the evidence of his love for you seeping down your thighs. As his climax subsided, he was reminded this was his favorite place to be. Not the closet, but with you, where he was always loved and never felt the need to second guess himself about anything.

“I love you so much,” he breathed through his full body shudders.

“I love you, Five.” You dropped your head back against him.

He kissed your temple. Taking his pocket square, he carefully and gently wiped between your legs, then righted your clothing, then his.

Though Five could have held you captive forever and his blood deprived brain wasn’t quite yet working at full capacity, he knew this part of the evening needed to end for the rest to commence.

Spinning you around, giving you a quick kiss, and filling the closet with light, he disappeared.

Stumbling out of the coat closet, slightly disoriented, with your eyes still adjusting to the light, you sheepishly wobbled into the living room thinking Five would be out there already, probably smugly sitting there, acting like you were the one making all that noise by yourself.

Looking at the clock, you saw that it was a few seconds before midnight, and even though the ball was dropping in Times Square, everyone in the living room was looking at you instead of the TV.

Running a hand through your hair, trying to come up with some lame excuse for your appearance, the widows facing the street light up like it was a sunny summer day.

The kids sprang from the couch, racing towards the large living room window just as a loud explosion sizzled through the sky, lighting everything up again.

“It’s fireworks!” your son excitedly yelled as he looked out at your street, the loud, thunder-like noise echoing through the dark winter neighborhood, mimicking the pounding of your heart.

Still dazed, you moved toward the front door, your family, minus Five, not far behind.

Out on the porch, standing there in his sexy suit, looking like a fuck god of amazingness, your husband turned and smiled at you. In one hand, he was holding the lighter you had used to start the fire earlier, while in the street were what looked like over a dozen boxes of fireworks; the illegal kind that put on a show to rival many of the more professional pyrotechnic displays.

In awe, looking at the sky, you padded your way over to Five. Just as moved by seeing you as you were by all this, he quickly pulled you into his arms. A second later his little boy was by his side, his chin turned up at the flashing lights, his face a picture of childlike wonder that matched his fathers perfectly.

“I love you, dad,” he said as he wrapped his arms around Five’s waist.

“I love you both, too. Happy New Year,” Five whispered as he kissed your hand and pulled you both closer.

A few feet away, Diego was holding his little three-year-old in his arms, while Lila silently watched the sparkles of fire dancing across the sky.

The moment was perfect. Everything this family deserved, you’d thought, your eyes misting over with emotion you couldn’t begin to hold back.

Five was your everything, your dream come true that never stopped delivering, giving you things like this, and your beautiful son.

But if he really had been so insistent on staying home and doing none of this, then how the hell did he…

“When did you go get-”

Five quickly shushed you, placing a finger over your mouth; the same one that he was fingering you with. “I have a few tricks up my sleeve, darling. I might have a stick up my ass sometimes, as everyone likes to point out, but I still know how to have fun every now and then.”

Diego looked your way, the glow of the bright lights overhead illuminating your faces. Your hair was still in a fucked out mess of snarls, your silly cat dress was all wrinkled, and one of your knee high socks was bunched around one ankle, about to fall off. He laughed. “Looks like your old man still has enough stamina to pull off two vigorous explosions in one night.”

“Three explosions, right, honey?” Five said, beaming at you proudly.

“Three,” you confirmed, blushing with embarrassment as he bent down to hike up your sock for you.

As a cop car came rolling down your street, Five’s smug expression disappeared in an instant, but the resounding evidence of his last box of fireworks couldn’t be erased so easily.

He looked over at Lila, who was already laughing at him getting busted.

In the blink of an eye, both of them had opened portals, wrapping the energy fields around all of you, bringing you all back inside the house.

Right before the cops passed your house, Five sprung forward, shutting the curtains, while Lila dimmed the lights. You and Diego were worthless, giggling your dizzy asses off while you flopped down on the couch with the dim light of the TV showing images of the revelers downtown, all of them gazing up at the famous glowing orb. With your spouses coming to your side, you all remained still as the law’s flashing red and blue lights, mixed with the last of the fireworks, faded away.

Having avoided getting arrested over her brother-in-law’s big dick display of lights, Lila sat down next to Diego and picked up her wine glass. “Sometimes I’m not so sure about this little twat,” she looked at Five, “but I’m willing to conceded that you’re one potent adversary I’m happy to have on my side. Cheers,” Lila snarked, clinking her glass with Five’s.

With a contented sigh, he kicked up his heels on the coffee table, then pulled out his checklist, marking it off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Holidays! Thanks for reading. ❤️

Note: These two chapters were originally written to be a part of Kitty's @badkitty3000 'Halo' series. That series had a very lovely OC that Five shared his life with but for this Tumblr posting/request, we decided to rewrite it as a reader insert to hopefully make it more enjoyable to the masses who want to envision living this fun filled life with our favorite guy.

Cheers, Lovelies

~Link to 'Halo'

~Links to KayBreezy's Master List or all Tumblr posts option or Direct to A03

~Link to Kitty's Master List or Direct to A03

169 notes · View notes

carmenized-onions · 5 months ago

Text

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!

portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.

possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry

kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!

The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!”

—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired— You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.

“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!”

In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days.

The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.

Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.

Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.

Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.

It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—

At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today.

“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.

The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—

Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.

Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.

With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed.

Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.

You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.

“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?

The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.

You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…

Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”

You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.

It’s snowing.

That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.

That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.

You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.

…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”

There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.

“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”

You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.

“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”

“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.

“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.

“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”

Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”

“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.

You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”

“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”

“And��And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”

Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”

You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”

Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”

Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?

The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.

“Are you good?”

Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”

You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”

“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”

“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”

“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”

You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”

“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?”

You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be.

“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—”

“You want the old one?”

Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.

“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one— You didn’t throw it away, did you?”

When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”

“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”

“...And you want that?”

“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”

A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—”

“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”

“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this.

You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic.

He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”

You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”

The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.”

Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be.

You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.

Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.

“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”

Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”

“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”

“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”

You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?

“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”

“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”

“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”

He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”

“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.

You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”

“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.

You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”

“So where should I send flowers?”

You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”

“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing.

“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”

You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”

You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”

You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—”

Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”

“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”

He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu.

When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers.

You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”

Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”

“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.

Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.

With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant.

You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.

“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”

“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand, “Sorry, continue.”

Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed– Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.

Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”

“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”

The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”

Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”

The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”

You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.”

You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”

When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?”

“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”

“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”

“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”

“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”

“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?”

“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”

“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”

“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”

“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”

“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”

“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”

“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”

“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”

“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”

“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.

But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”

“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”

“Microgreens.” Says Syd.

“Yes. Do less of that.”

And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.

You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.

He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?

You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you.

“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”

He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells.

You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.”

“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”

Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”

“Cicero.”

“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?

You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”

Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”

“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you.

“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer.

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.

You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.”

“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”

“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.”

“You got somethin’ better?”

“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!”

It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it.

You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”

“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations.

“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”

“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”

“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”

“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”

“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”

“A lot high.” He corrects.

“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”

Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute. Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit.

He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”

You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”

Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.”

“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”

Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”

Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.”

“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened.

“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’

“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”

“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”

“Your options are fucked.”

“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”

Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”

“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”

“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—”

You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”

“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”

Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.

“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”

You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”

You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better.

“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask.

“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”

He nods, “Good.”

“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.

But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”

“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”

“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”

“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”

“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”

“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”

Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”

You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”

“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”

“A short amount of time, angel?”

“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’

Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—

“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”

Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?

“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.

You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”

Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”

“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”

You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”

“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.”

“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.”

“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression.

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.”

You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”

He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”

Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”

“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.”

Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”

“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.”

With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.

“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”

“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.”

“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”

Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.

“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.”

“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”

“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”

“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.”

“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them.

“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”

A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats.

“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.

You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”

You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.

Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.

Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass.

“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while.

“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”

Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience.

“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.”

Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”

Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?

“Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”

And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.

“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer.

You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”

“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t.

“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”

“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”

“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”

Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”

You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”

“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons.

A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”

You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”

Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”

“Dad—”

“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”

“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later.

Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’

You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms.

“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”

“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”

“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.

“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”

There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say.

You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”

“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!”

“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”

“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—”

“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”

“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”

“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”

And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.

“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”

You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”

“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”

“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”

That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?

After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”

“Oh, Adamu?!”

Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.

“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”

“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”

“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”

You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”

She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”

“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”

Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”

She sighs, “Trying to.”

“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”

“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”

Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”

“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.”

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”

“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”

The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”

But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”

That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?”

Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.

“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”

“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad.

But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”

“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”

“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”

She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’

“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”

Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.

“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”

“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”

“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”

“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”

Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.

Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”

“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”

“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.

“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”

“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”

“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.

You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”

“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”

“What the fuck—”

“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already, you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”

“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”

“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”

“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no.

You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”

“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”

And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”

“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”

Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”

“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”

Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”

“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—”

There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”

Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win.

“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”

It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”

“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”

“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”

“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”

“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”

“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”

“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”

“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”

“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”

“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—

“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”

“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”

Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.”

And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”

Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”

Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”

“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”

“I am not getting you a card.” “I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”

Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”

You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”

“Crime is bad in January.”

“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”

“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”

“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”

Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”

And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed.

“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.

“Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce.

Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”

You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”

“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other.

“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.”

“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”

“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.”

Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”

“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”

Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”

And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”

“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”

“Yessir.”

“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.

You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”

“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”

“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”

“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”

“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.”

“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front.

“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.

You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”

Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?”

“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”

You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?”

“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point.

“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now.

“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”

“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together.

Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?”

“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”

“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—”

Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them.

You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”

“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”

“I could do it.”

“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”

His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”

You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”

“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick.

You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”

Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.”

“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing.

“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”

He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.”

“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”

“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”

Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”

“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”

Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”

And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”

“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.

“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances.

Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone.

You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be.

The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”

“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”

Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week?

“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”

“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”

“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”

“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”

Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured.

He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”

“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.”

Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”

“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”

“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting.

It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece.

“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”

Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”

He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.

“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”

You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.

“...Has that been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.”

That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”

“Sounds fucked.”

“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”

Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”

That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”

You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”

“Tricks?”

“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”

You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks.

“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”

He’s the best?

He’s the best.

“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.”

Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best.

He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.

“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back.

“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”

“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”

“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”

You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”

Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.

“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”

Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him.

“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”

Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety.

All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.”

He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”

“I’d agree.”

“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them.

“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.

“Come to dinner with us?”

would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"

was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach

DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!

anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt

oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant

#carmen berzatto #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear #the bear x you #carmen x reader #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen x oc #carmy berzatto

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paddockletters · 4 months ago

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fractured silence | jude bellingham

paring: jude bellingham x reader summary: during a holiday gathering, tensions rise between the you and Jude after a fight request: yes/ thank youuu! hope you like it! 💗💗

The scent of pine needles and warm cinnamon filled the air, enveloping Jude's family home in a festive aura. Twinkling lights adorned the Christmas tree in the corner, and cheerful laughter echoed from the kitchen where his family was preparing the holiday feast. But in the midst of all the joy, there was a palpable tension hanging in the air between Jude and me.

We had fought earlier that day, our voices raised in the privacy of Jude's bedroom, a stark contrast to the warmth surrounding us. I didn't even remember what we were arguing about, but I could still feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface. I had stormed out, and now, surrounded by his family, I felt like I was playing a role in a holiday play that was going horribly wrong.

As I sat at the dining table, fidgeting with my hands and avoiding eye contact with Jude, his family members exchanged worried glances. Jude's younger sister, Mia, glanced at me sympathetically, as if she sensed my discomfort. I offered her a weak smile, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.

The meal progressed with polite conversation and laughter, but I felt like an outsider in my own skin. Jude was unusually quiet, but every now and then, he would shoot me a glance, filled with confusion and frustration. I couldn't meet his eyes; I felt like if I did, I might just crumble.

"Jude, could you pass the gravy?" his mother asked, breaking the silence. He obliged, but in doing so, his elbow brushed against mine, igniting a spark of tension between us.

“Do you think you could just chill for once?” he muttered under his breath, not loud enough for anyone else to hear but clear enough for me to catch it. The irritation in his voice struck me like a blow.

I felt my heart drop, and suddenly, I couldn’t hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill. I stood up abruptly, pushing my chair back so hard that it scraped against the floor, causing everyone to look up in shock.

“I need some air” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, I turned and fled from the room, leaving a stunned silence behind me.

I could hear Jude’s voice calling after me, but I didn’t stop. I ran up the stairs, my heart racing, and locked myself in his bedroom. Leaning against the door, I tried to catch my breath, but the tears flowed freely now. I felt lost in a whirlwind of emotions, battling anger, sadness, and confusion.

Outside, I could hear muffled voices as his family tried to figure out what had just happened. Jude’s mother sounded worried, and Mia’s soft voice reassured them that it would be okay. I hated that I was putting them in this position, but I couldn't face anyone right now.

Minutes felt like hours, and just as I thought I was finally calming down, there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Hey” Jude’s voice came through, soft and cautious. “Can I come in?”

“No!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “Just leave me alone, Jude!”

“Please, just let me talk to you” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Then why did you say that?” I interrupted, my frustration boiling over once more. “You’re just adding fuel to the fire!”

There was a long pause, and when he finally spoke again, his voice was filled with pain.

“I don’t know what to do, okay? I just… I thought we were done fighting.”

I felt my resolve begin to crumble, and after a moment, I sighed. “I just need a minute. I need to think.”

“Fine. I’ll be right here when you’re ready” he said quietly, and I heard his footsteps retreat down the hallway.

I sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands. The warmth of the holidays felt so far away, replaced by this unbearable weight of confusion and hurt. But as I sat there, I realized something—no matter how tough things got, I didn’t want to lose Jude. Not now, not ever.

After what felt like an eternity, I took a deep breath, wiped my tears, and stood up. I needed to talk to him. I needed to fix this.

Opening the door, I stepped out into the hallway, and the laughter and chatter of his family felt strangely comforting. But I wasn’t ready for that just yet. I needed Jude.

“Jude?” I called out, my voice still shaky.

He appeared from the living room, his expression a mix of hope and worry. “Yeah?”

“Can we talk?” I asked softly, my heart racing at the vulnerability of the moment.

Jude nodded, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he gestured for me to follow him to a quieter corner of the house. We slipped away from the bustle of the kitchen and the laughter of his family, finding refuge in a cozy nook filled with twinkling lights and a softly crackling fireplace.

“I’m sorry for what I said” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to make things worse. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you.”

I sighed, feeling the heat of the argument still lingering between us.

“It’s just… I don’t know why we keep getting into these fights. It’s like we’re stuck in a loop.”

“I know” he said, running a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with regret. “I hate it. I really do. But we can’t ignore what’s bothering us. I just wish I could figure out how to say the right thing.”

“Maybe we just need to communicate better? I feel like I’m walking on eggshells sometimes, and I don’t want to feel like that with you.” I shifted my weight, crossing my arms.

“You’re right. I don’t want you to feel that way either. I love you, and I care about how you feel. I just… I want to be the best partner I can be for you.” Jude stepped closer, his gaze steady.

My heart swelled at his words, but the tension still clung to the air.

“I love you too, Jude. But sometimes, it feels like we’re not on the same page, and it hurts.”

“I know” he replied, his voice softening. “But we can figure this out together. We always do. Let’s just take a moment to breathe and talk things through without shouting.”

I nodded, my defenses starting to lower.

“Okay. Let’s try that. Just no more snarky comments at the dinner table, okay?” I added, attempting to lighten the mood.

A small smile broke through his serious expression. “Deal. But only if you promise not to roll your eyes at me when I talk about football” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in my chest easing a little more.

“Okay, that’s fair. But only if you promise to let me help you pick out your outfits for the next family gathering. We need to address that terrible Christmas sweater you wore last year.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Hey, that sweater was iconic! But I’ll consider your offer if it means avoiding another fight over it.”

We stood there for a moment, sharing a comfortable silence. I felt the warmth of the fire nearby, and for the first time that day, I was grateful for the holiday spirit surrounding us.

“Can I ask you something?” I finally said, breaking the silence. “Why did you seem so distant at dinner? You were quieter than usual.”

He sighed, looking away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts.

“Honestly? I didn’t want to bring our issues into the family gathering. I thought it’d be easier to just stay quiet, but I guess that just made it worse.”

“I appreciate that you wanted to protect your family from our mess” I replied, feeling a rush of affection for him. “But we’re in this together. They love us, and I think they’d want to support us, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I just get caught up in trying to make everything perfect, and I forget that it’s okay to be real” he admitted, his vulnerability making my heart ache for him.

“Life isn’t perfect, Jude. And neither are we. It’s okay to show our flaws” I said gently. “I just want us to be honest with each other.”

He nodded, looking back at me with a newfound determination in his eyes.

“Let’s promise to communicate better moving forward. I don’t want to keep having the same fights over and over again.”

“I promise” I said, reaching for his hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Let’s focus on enjoying the holidays and each other’s company. We can tackle the tough stuff later.”

Just as I said this, we heard a burst of laughter from the living room, and Jobe appeared around the corner, a mischievous smile on his face.

“Are you two lovebirds done moping? We need your help with the gingerbread house competition! It’s getting intense out there!”

Jude shot me an amused look, and I couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a warmth spread through me.

“Let’s go” he said, his voice brimming with excitement. “I want to see how competitive you two are!”

As we headed back to the chaos of the living room, I felt a renewed sense of hope. Sure, the holiday season was filled with challenges, but with Jude by my side, I knew we could face anything together. Even if it meant putting up with a gingerbread house that would probably end up looking like a lopsided mess.

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter, icing-covered fingers, and lighthearted banter. Jude and I worked side by side, decorating our gingerbread house while playfully teasing each other about our decorating skills. His family joined in, their chatter blending with the sounds of Christmas music playing softly in the background.

By the end of the night, I felt lighter. Despite the earlier tension, I was grateful for the chance to reconnect with Jude. And as I watched him interact with his family, I felt a sense of belonging that I hadn’t expected during the holiday chaos.

As we finished our gingerbread masterpiece—if you could even call it that—Jude leaned in and whispered. “You know, I think we make a pretty good team, even if our house looks like it was built by a bunch of toddlers.”

“At least we did it together, right?” I laughed, nudging him playfully.

“Exactly” he said, grinning.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham blurbs #football blurb #football imagines #football imagine #footballer imagine

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dearggntlereader · 2 months ago

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Nr.10 Songs that just won't leave your mind ༻¨ : ·.. ｡⋆⍋*｡

Ekko x reader CW: cursing, probs OOC, picture does not represent the readers looks

Ekko doesn’t like Christmas. At least, not anymore.

Christmas isn’t really a thing in the lanes because the adults are too busy surviving with their various forms of trouble, mostly addiction, and the Children don’t remember it from the pre-Silco times.

At his little hide-out Christmas exists.

If you can even call it that.

Scar always does his best but there are no presents because they can’t afford any which means there’s no Santa clause, since Santa’s whole being is based around gifts.

They don’t have a Christmastree, instead decorating their big Tree, not with red and gold baubles or pine cones but with berries tied together on a string and some paper ornaments that scream self-made.

And while there is no snow it’s still so fucking cold, which means Ekko has to work overtime trying to get materials for blankets and to tinker together some form of heating system.

You, however, love Christmas.

Obviously, you prefer the old Christmas. The one where your parents sang Songs with you and held you close while you drank hot cocoa. Where you got a new sweater or fixed Socks, instead of a little kid tugging at your pants.

But how could you hate Christmas when said kid is giving you his small “Christmas Note” that’s really a leaf from the tree with his wiggly handwriting on it telling you that you’ve got a nice smile.

You and scar started a little Tradition everyone gave everyone a note with something nice or told them directly, so each year you spend the days around Christmas reading through your Notes and trying to tell by the handwriting who it’s from.Wic

Apart from that, Christmas means no work. (Except for that one time you had to destroy some Shimmer, last minute)

Ekko completely ignores that rule.

It’s gone so far that you should know not to bother him on Christmas, but you’re dating now which means you actively chose to bother him.

This leads to him working while you’re sitting on his bed, singing some songs you still remember. You stand up as you belt out the song particularly vivid in your memory, “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart! But the very next day, you nah nah nah naah!!”

Maybe not that vivid after all.

As you twirl around mid-song, now dancing next to Ekko, he stops his tinkering. His eyes meet yours and you can just feel the happiness he’s trying to hide behind his annoyance.

“Your voice could scare away Silco himself,” he grumbles, the fondness in his Voice betraying him.

You let out a loud, carefree laugh. The kind that makes you throw your head back and contort your face without thinking of the way you look, “Maybe I need to start bringing a microphone to battles, instead of guns.”

“Maybe you should.”

His soft smile only vanishes when you leave his room hours later to ask Scar a question.

Thank you all for supporting my blog!! As always, I appreciate all comments and reblogs. It's what keeps me going.

Comment to be added to the taglist: @dustie-faerie

#writing #x reader #prompt advent calendar｡⋆⍋*｡#ekko x reader #ekko league of legends #ekko arcane #ekko lol #ekko #ekko x you #ekko x y/n

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ggsbooks123 · 1 year ago

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Memory Garden

peeta mellark x female mc (Jude Slone)

summary; you made haymitch promise, if it came down to you or Peeta that he’d save Peeta. And he did. But now you’re back from the Capitol with one thing certain, Peeta Mellark is the one true enemy.

warnings: angst angst angst, mean thoughts ab peeta beloved and honestly just a lot of writing i didn’t need to do

———

Peeta did this.

The mantra floated through my head, as I yanked on the restraint again.

He’s the reason everyone you love is against you.

Another yank.

He blew up District 12

“Jude, feeling hungry yet?” Haymitch’s voice breaks the static but the mantra just quietens but doesn’t stop. My hand drops the bind.

“What do you have?” It was a better response than i’d given lately. What if Peeta tried to kill me and poisoned my portion… I couldn’t risk it. “No, I don’t want it”

He sighs, still coming towards me with the tray “I promise you, Peeta doesn’t want you dead. You know that, think”

I scowled, “I know what I saw. I know what he did. He’s a monster, Haymitch. Don’t make me, I dont want his filthy blood on my hands” He scoffed, dropping the tray onto the table next to me.

“Let’s hope lover boy comes and feeds you bevause I’m not putting up with this” And with that he leaves the room.

I glanced at the tray, tomato soup with toast coated in possibly cheese, but it’s not the delicious toast that catches my eye, the soup, it’s not red. They’ve added ingredients to make it appear more orange… Not bright orange.

A sunset.

“I still remember that Christmas he brought me that green sweater. Green doesn’t suit me” I say, the air was brisk and I hated walking in the Winter but I couldn’t turn Peeta down when he came to my door.

“I refuse to believe you look bad in anything” I scoff, glad it’s cold knowing he might take that as thhe reason my cheeks are now red. “What is your favourite colour?”

I raise my eyebrow at him “I’m sure there are better things to talk about then my favourite colour”

He watches me as we walk for a moment “I don’t see anything more important” It makes me slow to a stop, “Tell me, please. I want to know”

I look to him, his kind blue eyes and blond hair that looks incredibly soft without all those products they use during interviews, he looks beautiful.

“It used to be red but I think i’m leaning towards purple” I shrug, “It’s only fair that i’ve revealed that secret you tell me yours”

He smiles before looking up at the sun, it’s setting letting the streaks of orange paint the sky “Orange, right there. It’s the second most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen” I glance at him unsure as to why he’d say second until I see the look in his eyes.

My head snaps at the memory, cruel and unforgiving. That’s what Peeta was, and he would hurt me so I had to kill him before he tried first.

His face twists in the memory as I replay it over and over again, he doesn’t look like himself, Hatred flared in a moment that was full of pure adoration. I see it now like i’m looking through a camera at the two of us.

He looks like he loves me… Then his eyes lose their spark like a snap and he’s spitting awful words at me, one’s ill never forget.

I’ll never forget he’s the reason i’m like this.

—

The food goes cold and I go another day without eating and under sedation after I nearly come out of binding when they try to insert the needle into my arm to get food into my body.

I awake in an empty room but there’s a buzz in the air, I look to the mirror across from me. I look better than I did the first time I looked inside, I’d look better if I ate proper food but I can’t, he wants me dead and he won’t fail again.

The door hisses open bringing my attention away from my strangely hair, Katniss stands at the door, tears in her eyes.

“You need to eat something” She whispers but the room is so quiet i’m not surprised if she can hear my blaring thoughts or the alarm going off in my head.

“Get out” I spit, turning away from her. Katniss was close to Peeta, never too close for respect of me which I hated now, she should have stopped whatever was forming between the two of us. Now it’s this. “I don’t want to see you.”

“It’s been months, I thought-“ She tries to speak but she stops when my head snaps to her aswell, her eyes are searching my face. I still look awful, I know that and it seems she still hasn’t come to terms with what I had gone through. Why don’t they see it’s his fault? Always.

“He’s the reason this happened to me, Katniss. And you’re still going to side with him. If you don’t kill him then he’ll kill me Katniss, Don’t you see!” I scream, her back hits the door and it hisses open and my heart stops.

There, he is. He’s not expecting the door to open, the surprise on his face is evident as those blue eyes bore into mine and I steel myself preparing for the hatred, his attempts to end my life.

But neither happen, he watches me with nothing but sadness and his hands are empty, just slack at his sides as he takes a step forward and I’m frozen, It’s not making sense.

He keeps coming closer and my heart is beating out my chest. Run! He’s going to kill you! My head screams but he doesn’t look like he will kill me, he looks like he wants to be next to me and holding me through this, possibly the one feeding me the tomato soup like Haymitch suggested.

“Jude… Please, I’d never-“ He seems to choke on his words as a tear slips down his cheek “Come back to me” Come back and trust me so I can kill you, I hear instead. The words make me flinch, the movement is so large the whole bed moves with me, screeching.

He backs away, the door hisses open again but he doesn’t move to get out “You’re just here to kill me!” I cried, wishing him out of the room.

Get out. Get out. Get out!!!

I must’ve screamed the last time because he’s gone and finally the screaming in my head stops and I fall to the bed, the thought of food or anything fades, only the want to be far from him stays.

—

I am Jude Slone, I won the 73rd hunger games, i’m from District Twelve and Peeta Mellark does not want me dead.

I repeat in my head over and over again, as the truck rolls over cracks and bumps, my body jumps at each bit of debris we hit and I hit the metal seat hard each time but the pain is real. Which is hard to say about a lot lately.

Peeta Mellark wants doesn’t want you dead.

I shake my head, thst one was the hardest to remember and at times, it was no where reachable and all that would sustain me in that moment would be his blood on my hands.

Finally the truck pulled to a stop, I straightened my shoulders. I’d been taken by the Capital and my memories have been distorted, my first thought may not always be the right one.

With that final word of encouragement I let the anxiety slip from me as the back door opens and I’m led out. The sun blinds me for a moment, I’d only seen it for a moment when they made me leave base but only to be stuffed back in the van.

Now I could see the destruction. His fault. No, no, no. I took a deep breath, before turning to seeing the loving welcome party at the front of what seemed to be an abandoned building.

Katniss with her bow, Gale with his crossbow and the five members of their squad had their guns trained on me, including Peeta. My heart hammered but I kept upright as I took the empty gun from the guard before waltzing my way towards the group.

I am Jude Slone, I won the 73rd Hunger Games, I am from Distrisct 12 and None of these people want me dead.

“What is she doing here?” Katniss is the first to speak and though her eyes are trained on me, i know she doesn’t want me to answer.

“Coin wants her to be shown on screen, the victors fighting on the same side” A dark man, who screamed military spoke and he was the only one besides Finnick who hadn’t raised their gun at me. “I don’t like the gun”

“Cant have me fighting with my bare hands on screen” I mutter, before shaking the weapon “It’s empty”

The tension seemed to ease slightly in the group but while half of them had lowered their weapons, Peeta, Katniss and Gale hadn’t. I had to remember what I’d been like this past month, I wouldn’t trust me either.

“I don’t like this” Peeta. His words cut deep and I deflate at them before the military man waves everyone to come inside, not before a solider by the name of Jackson, she told me, quietly instructed me that i’d be restrained for their safety.

“I understand, but I’m not a child”

“No just someone who went through a lot of shit” Finnick says behind Jackson, and my eyes dart up. I didn’t know where my mind stood with Finnick, I didn’t feel like killing him but I hadn’t felt like killing Peeta a moment ago but we all knew it would come.

It was why I was being restrained in the first place. I nod at his words, unsure of how to respond before they lead me inside. The wall along the door was made of glass and I watched as the van that stopped me off, vanished in the distance.

I was stuck here and I didn’t know if I would ever leave this ruin of a city. I kept my distance from the group as they moved into the centre and I took a seat beside the window.

“We’ll have to set up an around the clock guard on her, we can take shifts” Military man said, turning to look at me. “I’ll take the first shift, Names Boggs.”

I preferred Military man but I nodded all the same, “I want a shift” Peeta’s voice is small compared to Boggs but it silences the room all the same.

“Not happening” Jackson speaks up this time, confusing me on who’s in command.

“I can do it!” Peeta argued back, standing from his seat “It’s not her… The Capital killed her and whoever they sent back to us, i’ll be happy to put a bullet in its head” I flinched, turning my eyes down to my hands. Clenching them, was I dead? The girl I was? I shake my head, I am Jude Slone and I did not die in the Capital. They broke me but I am not unfixable. I am broken not unfixable.

I am unfixable.

“I’m not sure seeing as a mutt helps” Jackson declares but Boggs cuts her off

“Give him a shift, Katniss too.” There was no room for argument as Jackson nodded and began to schedule the guard clock. I wanted to be more helpful, tell them that maybe they could go an hour and they could all rest, but I didn’t even trust myself to do that.

Instead I kept silent, letting the rest of them discuss our plan while I watched the day pass by through the glass. “How’re you feeling?” Finnick’s voice from beside me makes me jump. I turn to him and he looks almost glowing, I’d heard something about him and Annie.

I knew I would feel happy for him if I didn’t feel so disconnected. Finnicks memories that came to mind now only brought warmth, nothing haunting. Which was relieving, he was a breath of fresh air.

“Away, I feel like everything’s happening and I’m not really here” I try to explain and he seems to understand. “I don’t want to be a problem, I don’t know why they sent me here… I’m not ready.”

He frowns, “I think you’re where you need to be, normally whenver Annie gets confused she asks me, and I promise you, you’ll find nothing but the truth here” I glance over to the group who had begun to seperate and close their eyes.

It must be Finnicks shift. The thought made this whole encounter turn cold but still, I took in his words as my eyes trained on the baker boy. “Peeta was the reason this happened to me… Real?”

He shakes his head, “You made Haymitch swear if it came down to the two of you that he’d get Peeta to safety” Finnick explained but my mind screamed at me that he was lying. Why would I ask that? Peeta and I didn’t get along, no, we did and we’d almost- I didn’t know what we almost did or if he hated me or loved me and it made me want to rip my hair out as my thoughts banged against my head.

He was not the reason you went to the Capital, you chose this. You didn’t want him to go through this… That felt right, staring at him now, I would never wish upon him those nights in the Capital.

“I know it must be hard. Annie went through a lot but they know that the Capital never left you alone, you were their main priority.” Finnick places a hand on my shoulder, bringing my fully to the present for what felt like the first time. “None of us blame you at all for what happened.

I forgot how long it’s been since someone had been gentle with me. Skin to skin, human contact. My body released its pressure, relaxing in my seat. “Thank you, Finnick”

He smiled before sitting up straighter, and we together sat in silence watching the night sky slowly fall upon us as the rest that were awake finally knocked off

“Get some rest” Finnick muttered to me softly, tapping my leg as he got up. I could see his eyes dropping a while ago but he still stayed and it relieved me that he was finally putting himself first.

I nodded, I would not be sleeping tonight. Each time I closed my eyes another memory would wash over me, I’ve started to get better at knowing if it’s real or not without verification.

Like the one of Peeta and Is confession of our favourite colours, it was easier to picture him smiling at me now instead of anger and whenever it did dissolve to the image it was almost too perfect, his freckles gone and the scar he got from the 75th games vanished, as did the dark circles under my eyes and the few strands out of place were perfectly flat. Too perfect.

I watched Finnick rouse Peeta and point over to me. Of course, I could only get so lucky. I heard someone clear their throat before they took a seat across from me. I didn’t look up. I didn’t know where my mind would jump to.

And he seemed to take the message, he didn’t try to speak to me either. She asks me. I promise you’ll find nothing but truth here.

Finnick was right, I couldn’t close myself off and hope I’d be able to fix myself. If it was that easy, I’d be normal again. “Finnick told me that whenever i’m having trouble differentiating real from not real I should just ask…”

I glanced up at him, in the darkness it was hard to make out his uniform but his blonde hair and pale skin were easy to spot and it made my body tingle as I registered just how close he was and I didn’t feel like wringing my hands around his neck. Relief.

“Shoot away” I raised an eyebrow “Not literally” I smiled softly at that before cycling through my head and I settled back into his favourite colour. What if I asked and his favourite was blue or something? Sunset orange was just another lie they filled into my head. Ask.

“Your favourite colour. It’s sunset orange, real? Not real?” I clench my fists, please. please.

“Real… Yours used to be red but after the hunger games you couldn’t stand it” He explained, and he was right. I used to tie a red bow into my hair everyday until my reaping now the colour reminded me of the slaughter in the 73rd Hunger games.

“But you said you were beginning to like purple… I remember that day, I told you the sunset was the second most beautiful thing i’d ever seen… And the first was right in front of me” I stiffened, though the confession didn’t shock me, looking back I could’ve seen it if I looked hard enough in the moment “And it’s killing me, bevause you’re right in front of me again but you’re like the stars I can’t reach. I… Can adore you from afar but that’s all I can do. And it feels really, really shitty, knowing we might never get through this”

He stands abruptly from his seat “I can’t do this” And he storms out, but I’m clenching my fists too tight to stop, swearing at every god to let this memory stay and not be corrupted by fear. I can adore you from afar but that’s all I can do because if I came closer you’d kill me. Was the truth.

— — —

do we want a part two?!?

part two out now!

#hunger games #books #peeta mellark #peeta supremacy #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark works #peeta mellark imagine #peeta #mellark #peeta mellark x reader

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morphean42 · 1 month ago

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Falsettos unpopular opinions because two people asked for this and honestly I don’t give a fuck anymore. I want to state this isn’t in response to anyone in particular, though, and if you get offended by any of these think about why. For a good reason? Please tell me and I’d love to debate it, truly. For a petty reason? You’re simply part of the problem.

1. They are Jewish. End of story. If I see anything related to Christianity or Christmas or whatever the fuck with them… shut up. Yes Whizzer is half-Jewish, yes in the revival Cordelia isn’t Jewish (WHICH BRINGS ME TO ANOTHER POINT ILL GET INTO LATER), yes they are most likely secular as evidenced by Mendel’s “religions just a trap” and ‘Days Like This’, no this does not give you the right to ignore their ETHNICITY AND CULTURE.

2. It’s okay to like the revival more. It’s not okay to ignore the original just because you get blinded by conventionally attractive men. Going to my Cordelia point, she’s Jewish in the original, her line ‘Shiksa caterer’ is ‘Kosher caterer’. Again it’s fine if your headcanons and fanfics and fanarts are based on the revival, I love it too, but stop acting like it’s the only version.

3. Whizzer’s entire personality does not revolve around being gay. He’s not a sassy twink. He’s a full grown man with issues that need to be addressed. Again, I reiterate, he is not a twink. Stop. Drawing. Him. Skinny. And. Hairless. I don’t care if ‘ oh but but that’s just my art style!’ Shut up.

4. Correlated to the above point, here are things Whizzer is not: a prostitute, a drug addict, relying on Marvin for everything, a twink (saying that again to get it through peoples fucking skulls), innocent. I’m 100% positive if the people who had these headcanons watched the OBC version of the show they’d never continue to advocate for them… once more I’m begging you guys to look past Andy Randy’s beautiful face and actually use critical thinking skills when it comes to Whizzer.

5. Short but (not) sweet: don’t claim to understand Marvin if you haven’t watched In Trousers. Just don’t.

6. If you flat out hate any character in the show, you’re wrong. Yes I’m still mad about the Mendel thing; if you think any one character is worse than the rest and isn’t just a fully human person with flaws and nuance, you don’t understand the musical as well as you claim.

7. It’s not the ‘gay’ musical. If you like falsettos for Whizzvin and nothing else, please, just… I don’t even know. There’s so much more to it than ‘ooo boys kissing.’ Please grow up, this leads into a whole other point but fetishisation is never okay, no matter who does it.

8. So many people treat Trina as either a perfect angel or just the side character in the way of the gay people. She’s an entire person, an entire character with flaws and hardship and terrible actions done by her and to her. Treat my homophobic queen with the respect she deserves, and acknowledge her faults too. It’s more misogynistic to treat her as perfect when she has issues too than just saying ‘she’s never done anything wrong’.

9. Stop making AIDS jokes.

10. This next one is probably the most iffy on the list. I will never be one to police fandom and creation, you can engage with material in any fucking way you like it literally doesn’t matter to me… but I dislike AUs. Now, I’ll always enjoy a little fun, adding in a twist like lesbian Whizzvin, or enjoying a feel good college AU. But. Especially for Falsettos the canon events are so fucking important and cannot be disregarded as casually as some do. AIDS is an extremely important part of the story, as well as the fact that both Marvin and Whizzer are men. I’m trans myself, but I dislike making them so simply because everything about their characters, all the characters, are so highly specific and important to take these aspects away is to disrespect the message of the musical.

11. It’s very important Mendel is straight. I see some people headcanon him as bisexual or trans or so on, and this just feels so wrong to me. Trina and Mendel are straight and that’s why their acceptance and love for the others in the Tight Knit Family is so important, especially Trina struggles with moving away from the idea that these ‘homosexual tendencies’ are wrong. They are straight but they love Whizzvin and the lesbians just as much as anyone else.

12. This one is so petty and I accept that, but… HIS NAME IS NOT MARVIN GARDENS. GARDEN IS A JOKE CHRISTIAN BORLE MADE BASED ON MONOPOLY. Jesus guys please just stop it it’s so stupid, William Finn didn’t have a last name for Marvin on purpose, and though I can’t do more than theorise what that purpose was, Gardens is so stupid. It’s not even funny. Same goes for Cohen, which just is odd. The only name I could begin to accept is Falsetto, and even then… just work around the last name in your fics.

12 1/2. SIDE TANGENT Jason would never take Weisenbachfeld as his last name. As a child of divorce… no. He’ll never view Mendel as a true father over his own dad, especially after Falsettoland, and he wouldn’t take that name. Hell, I’d known my ex step-father since I was two and I’d never have taken his last name. So, please, I never want to see Jason Weisenbachfeld again. That’s just not how it works.

At the end of the day this is just me alone in my room bitching… I just hope these points resonate with others.

#falsettos #falsettos opinions #don’t like this? just scroll and move on with your life #I’m tired of seeing these points #marvin falsettos #the marvin trilogy #whizzer brown #whizzer falsettos #jason falsettos #trina falsettos #mendel falsettos #mendel weisenbachfeld #Charlotte falsettos #Cordelia falsettos

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wangxianficfinder · 2 months ago

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Fic Finder

Dec 3rd

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1. I’m looking for a specific fic. It’s was on ao3. It’s book cannon compliant but from LWJ perspective. It’s less than 15 chapters (I think 11 is the number but I’m only 60% sure on that) (unless they’ve added more for the special chapters).

Thank you for the work you do ❤️💙 @smnthncl

FOUND? 🔒 The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67k, WangXian, Minor canon divergence, Angst, POV LWJ, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, semi-verbal!LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide) might be this one, although it has more chapters than mentioned

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2. Hi! I recently noticed one of the fics I had bookmarked has been deleted and I, foolishly, had not downloaded it! I suppose i was hopeful someone might have a copy, if the author is okay with it. (Though if I recall, it was either an orphaned work or by Anonymous, so not sure how that would work!)

It was a fic where wwx is an artist and lwj is a famous musician. He commissions art from wwx for his album and then hires wwx to give his son, lan yuan, art lessons at his home on this huge CR compound kind of thing. They cook for each other and lwj writes a song for him and they fall in love! (I think there was a small sequel about food too.)

The name of the fic is escaping me entirely! If anyone has copies they are willing to share, I would much appreciate it. @annerbhp

FOUND? I believe #2 might be 'light travels faster than sound' (Anonymous). It's been deleted but it's on the wayback machine (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27328495?view_full_work=true&view_adult=true) The sequel about food's also there too (https://archiveofourown.org/works/29110269?view_adult=true&view_full_work=true)

Number 2 is definitely “light travels faster than sound” by Fruitys (now deleted) - I dl’d it when I read it but if you would like options that have the same vibes I can recommend: “paint smears on sunny days” tho lwj is not a musician, and “Sonata, Acrylic on Canvas” in which LWJ is a music student & WWX is an art student

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3. looking for a fic i read a while ago where wei wuxian is a voice actor/barista living in a little new england town and lan wangji is an author looking for inspiration who moves to the town with his little son lan yuan, and wei wuxian is disabled after an accident on a movie set when he was 16/17

FOUND? Ornaments Under the Stars by trippednfell (M, 62k, wangxian, Modern, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, the wangxian Hallmark Movie AU no one asked for, plot and title were randomly generated, Kidfic, Disabled Character, debilitating injury as substitute for missing golden core, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Guest starring Lan Zhan’s sky blue coat, The Coat deserves its own tag, disordered eating habits - not a major plot point, WIP)

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4. Hi! This is fic finder. A little warning, this fic is R-18. There was a war between the wen and lan (i dont remember if its with lan only or with other clan too). WWX is the wen general. Because of him, LXC's golden core gets crushed by WZL. That makes LWJ hates WWX. And then WRH died and WC (I dont remember if its WX or WC) send WWX and others as a "bed warmer" (Sex slave) to lan. But only WWX that are treated worse because he was suspected as WRH killer. LXC tells LWJ to be kind to WWX, but LWJ is consumed by his hatred did not kind to WWX. WWX is sent to the lan, bounded with talisman and some object insertion locked with talisman. I dont remember how, but the jin sent someone to lan to "teach" WWX to became a good bed warmer. It was cruel. At first LWJ ignored the cruelness because of his ignorance but after he knows, he put stop of that. I think the wen invite the lans ro attend something to qishan. Thats all i think. I honestly dont remember what tag i used to find this fic in the past. Thanks @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND!🔒Captive Prince by Aquadrazi (E, 19k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Angst, Slow Burn, Implied Sexual Content, Explicit Sexual Content, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Torture, Accidental Voyeurism, Voyeurism, Public Sex, Sexual Slavery, Bondage, Dom/sub, Top JGY, Top LWJ, Bottom LXC, Bottom WWX, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Crack, Not Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe, Smut, Shameless Smut, Sex Magic, Orgasm Denial, Forced Orgasm, WangXian Endgame, Hurt/Comfort)

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5. Hi! Can you help find this fic for me? All i remember is a scene, lan zhan is wandering the world and when he arrives back home, lan xichen is waiting at the gates and lz thinking something like ' my brother has aged' he has white hairs etc. But lan zhan didn't change, didn't age a day, may be immortal?

Thank you so much💙

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6. Hey if you really don't mind, I have a favor to ask! Some trying ro fina a banger fic tht I cannot remember the name of foe the life of me. O read a lot of fics so it's a struggle. It's about Wei Wuxian being disowned by the Jiangs in the modern day bc he started dating lwj on a bet (jc bet that lwj would say yes if he asked him out and wwx was like "no way" And so he did and lwj said yes ofc) they then turn into boyfriends and jin zixun reveals to lwj that wwx only started dating him on a bet. This severely hurts lwj and angers everyone around him, to the point that madame yu just disowned wwx, leaving him no contact with anyone anymore. He becomes homeless and struggles a lot (including a traumatic dick sucking for money) and ends up being adopted by the Wens at a cafe. He stays there for 13 years, (while also attending classes I think) until lwj (who is now a famous musician) comes in for a tea 13 years later. They meet up, fall back in love, and clear up a lot of things and jc and jyl reconnect with wwx via lwj. It was a really sweet fic with feels and I need it in my veins.

FOUND? 💖 love wakes me by dea_liberty (E, 46k, WangXian, Happy Ending, Angst, Childhood Sweethearts, Misunderstandings, Famous LWJ, Coffee Shop Owner WWX, Finding each other again, Found Families, lots and lots of feelings, so many feelings, Stupid Grand Romantic Gestures)

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7. Hi! This is for the fic finder.

I'm looking for a modern au. It started in lxc's pov. Lxc & lwj were having dinner with lqr and they are supposed to not use their phone but lwj is getting constant calls which he doesn't receive and then lxc gets a call and it turns out to be wwx. He receives it and it turns out that wwx is at some sort of club where he was drugged and and he's stuck in the washroom while some man is banging at the door to try assault him. Lxc and lwj go to the club and I think lwj punches the the dude. Lxc also makes wwx puke up the drug by inducing vomiting with his fingers. Hope it helps @aristocraticteacup

FOUND! Please Let Me Take Care of You by incidentallyWangxian (G, 9k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Sexual Assault, ish, kinda assault, drugged WWX, big brother LXC, Nightmares, the horrifying ordeal of being known, Modern, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Hurt WWX, crying WWX)

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8. looking for help finding a fic!

wangxian based on a tumblr post (a witch offers a challenge to retrieve a key from her cat's neck, only one person tries to make friends with the cat, the cat is the witch)

the yiling laozu has offered a challenge to retrieve a bell from a pet crow and become his partner/husband(?). lwj is in the area to look for something and makes friends with this crow. eventually the crow offers the bell, and lwj must decline because he's in love with wwx. eventually he takes the bell and the crow is revealed to be wwx.

FOUND? ❤️ chasing you by jaws_3 (T, 10k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, WWX isn't found au, Shapeshifting, Pining, Identity Porn)

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9. This is so helpful! I'm looking for a long modern AU oneshot where Wei Wuxian is a doctor, and he's just gotten off shift when he witnesses a car accident. Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi were in the car (LSZ's arm is broken, but they're both okay). WWX has been away for 10(?) years and has recently moved back to the area to work at the local hospital. I'm not sure if I've forgotten to bookmark it, or if it has been disappeared. Thank you!

FOUND! plant a little happiness (let the roots run deep) by fleurdeliser (E, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, Car Accidents, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Non-Explicit References to Injuries and Death, References to Addiction, Doctors & Physicians, Falling In Love, soft romance, background 3zun, [Podfic of] plant a little happiness (let the roots run deep) by knight_tracer, [Podfic of] plant a little happiness (let the roots run deep) by exmanhater)

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10. Hello, hope you're all having a good day and thank you for your time and this iniciative.

For the fic finder: I lost sight of a fic a long time ago, set during the study arc.

In the morning the disciples wake up to find their swords have been stolen and they blame Wei Wuxian for it since he is missing. Later, though, they find Wei Wuxian in the forest where he has been badly hurt by someone (YLLZ Wei Wuxian, I believe?).

FOUND? For the Dust and the Dirt by Nyxelestia (M, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel Fix-It, Cloud recesses study Arc, It gets worse before it gets better, WWX Whump, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending)

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11. i am looking for a fic that i can’t find. it’s been a while since i read it but basically i remember wwx sends jiang chang on his way against his will so he can kill wen chao. the whole murder is very graphic and brutal but it was written very beautifully and it takes a lot out of wwx @sunshinepkjm-blog

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12. Hi I've been looking for two fics that should be on ao3

A) First has deity wangxian but they got seperated, WWX get captured by the Wens which maybe starts the Sunshot Campaign? and Jin Ling is like a spirit demigod thing that picked Jin Zixuan to be his father. I think Wen Popo and Wen Ning were also deities or some kind of nonhuman being and Wen Ning had something about eyes

B) Second one I only remember had a scene where WWX rides on his sword broomstick witch style and gets teased about it?

Thanks if you can find them <3 @nyankokoko

Hi hi I'm #12 from the Dec 3rd fic finder

Just letting you know that someone has found A)!! It was Black Jadeite by Tysis

I'm still looking for B) but I've realised that it have been a twitter/X thread fic so who knows where someone will stumble upon it but my search shall continue on!

Thank you mods and community members for all the help! <3

12A)

FOUND! Black Jadeite by Tysis (G, 27k, WangXian, JYL/WQ, 3zun, JC/NHS, Immortality, Fix-It of Sorts, LWJ Will Cause Problems On Purpose, Qishan Wen Catches a God, Patron God AU, LWJ Will Also Solve Problems On Accident, Non-Chronological, Everyone Lives, If it looks like character death, just wait a few hundred word and they’ll get better)

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13. Hiya! I have a ask for a finder! I'll try my best but I switched hyperfixations for a year so it is lost to my mind palace and before I was able to make a account on AO3. It's a fic that gives Firefly feels. Wwx is a consultant for looking at Resenment in ships and meets Lwj while he's supposed to go around in hiding.

The main thing I remember the most, stupidly enough, is the fact that the chapters open up with verses from songs. The song, as I started to listen to it religiously, was Follow Me by Written By Wolves in one of the chapters. "You've spent your whole life living by every rule they gave you. Don't you think it's time that you cut out all the lies, boy" <- That was the lyrics. I know that the first part is complete, but it was going to be a series, and now I can't find it. I humbly ask for help!. @skylar-lei1634

FOUND! Follow Me by unbirthdaydance (T, 37k, WangXian, Science Fiction & Fantasy, magic cats, Ghost Hunters, Supernatural Elements, Secret Identity, Emperor LWJ, Royalty, Necromancy, Magic, YLLZ WWX, BAMF WWX, Spaceships, Flirting, Awkward Flirting, Familiars, Worst Fanboy XY)

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14. Love this blog! Usually my bookmarks don't fail me, but it has this time. Help! I'm trying to find a (very well known, I'm certain) Yilling Wei fic where wangxian build traditions and rituals of their own, and Yuan comes up with spinning as a symbol of turning a new leaf. The scene wangxian get married has everyone invited, including Zewu-jun and other sect leaders, spinning and all find it adorable. I know this is a really well-loved one but my search-fu is failing. Thank you in advance!!!

FOUND? Hi! 14 is 🔒 Ceremony by scifigeek13, the last story in the series 🔒 The Yiling Wei Clan by scifigeek14 (G, 45k, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ & WWX, JYL/JZX, JC/WQ, Canon Divergence, POV Alternating, POV Third Person Limited ,Happy Ending, Living Together, Families of Choice, Yílíng Wèi Sect, Epistolary, Not Canon Compliant, Letters, Family Feels, Everyone Lives, POV Child, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Crush, Politics, Exposition, Mud, Alcohol, Weddings, Marriage, Children, Family)

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15. Hello! I'm looking for a fic, it came out a while ago(over 2 years).

In it, the lans the nies and the jin (well, lxc nmj and jgy)are all united and LWJ is the emperor. They r at war with the jiang and WWX is one of the generals for the jiangs. He's really smart and clever and LWJ fell in love with him across the battle field bc of how he kept outsmarting his generals (the polycule). LWJ and WWX only met one time on the battle field and LWJ had his face hidden even though he was present as The Emperor.

Sometime down the line LWJ sends over a peace treaty saying they'd cease hostilities(or something like that) with the Jiang in exchange for wwx to come to the capital. Everyone assumes including wwx that this means hed be like a political prisoner and wwx decided he's just gonna go bc even though he's a super awesome general with several victories , the situation at lotus pier is still shitty with madam yu still hating his guts. So he accepts the proposal and heads out in the dead of night only there's factions(?) Of people that keep trying to kill him to prevent him from meeting up where he's supposed to(the letter said to be by a specific bridge by a certain date).

Little does he know that LWJ actually wants to marry him and make wwx his empress, so bc he's a simp he left to go wait at the bridge in disguise(reg lwj not emperor lwj) and he brought a lot of stuff that could be used to make wwx s trip to the capital easier(like a tea pot etc). Lwj sees fire in the distance and rightly assumes somethings gone wrong and goes to investigate.

Its people who r using wwxs battle strategies against him(I think it was called the gauntlet or something) but in the fic it was really funny bc the ambushers set the forest on fire and wwx and some of his troops who followed him in secret to help him bc loyalty keep being like "but its raining?!?!"

I think wwx gets shot at one point and his troops hand him off to lwj to get him outta there bc they r all exhausted from running around trying to avoid dying.

Lwj is all mushy on the inside bc he gets to hold wwx, but wwx doesn't know who he is(I think he thinks lwj is like, the emperors personal guard sent to retrieve wwx?) and they r trying to get back over to lan territory to avoid getting killed and wwx is like "I doubt it'll stop once we cross the border, it's probably people on both sides who want to keep the war going and to do that they will want to sabotage me getting to the emperor who's just gonna hold me hostage." And lwj is like "the emperor wouldn't do that" and wwx is like "well ofcourse you'd say that u swore loyalty to him."

I remember early in the fic nmj was talking about how awesome wwx was bc nmj had these elephants he set onto the field and wwx just ordered his troops to spread out so they'd go in between the space between the war elephants. And nmj was like "that was some cool shit no lie"

Any and all help is appreciated with finding this fic, thank u so much!! @hilariousseagoat

FOUND! Veil by a_single_step (Not Rated, 96k, WangXian, WIP, Royalty, Arranged Marriage, War, General WWX, Emperor LWJ, Romance, Angst, Falling In Love, Pining LWJ, Misunderstandings, WWX doing his best, Sweet, Fluff and Humor) sounds like this fic especially the elephant part. It hasn’t updated in four year tho (´；ω；`)

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16. Hi! I am looking for two stories:

A) The first is a modern AU, no magic. WWX is in the process of adopting A-Yuan and never mentions this to any coworkers, so come time for the summer company picnic, he decides (maybe prompted by NHS??) that the only thing to do is gas light all his coworkers that he has absolutely had a child all along. LWJ then returns the favor by speed running ‘pining from a distance’ to ‘in a committed relationship, next Tuesday is our wedding anniversary.’

B) The second is much less clearly remembered. AU of canon. LWJ meets WWX on a night hunt (I think on a farm??). LWJ was too young to have participated in the war and therefore doesn’t know WWX is the Yiling Patriarch, since LXC was the Lan who fought the war. The Burial Mounds Settlement is more established when the fic starts.

Thanks for all your hard work!!! @agedsolarwhisk

16A)

FOUND! Let’s Play Pretend and Live Our Lives by Tassos (E, 50k, WangXian, Modern, On Purpose Baby Aquisition, Accidental Husband Aquisition, Idiots in Love, WWX Has Self Esteem Issues, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, Light Angst, the Lans and Jiangs make an appearance, NHS Gives Great Advice, Pining, Getting Together)

16B)

NOT FOUND! Awaiting Your Return by Karmiya (E, 126k, WangXian, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, the opposite of slow burn, Found Family, Canon Divergence, Age Difference, discussions of wwx's canonical abusive childhood)

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17. Hiii. Thank you so much for your time. So i definitely have this fic downloaded but I’ve lost it amidst hundreds of downloaded books. So all I remember is that LWJ is an omega, he has to look for a mate. WWX is the demon? If yiling Patriarch and the two are close as in he came in for tea lan Zhan pours him tea etc think WWX is dark in this fic, all i remember is him pushing lan Zhan against a tree and taking a bit if advantage and lan Zhan obviously liked it. He says marry me somewhere as well @ruyipavillion

FOUND? Sanctuary by lunarvelle (E, 153k, WangXian, WIP, A/B/O, Bottom LWJ, Alpha WWX, Omega LWJ, YLLZ WWX, Demon WWX, Intersex LWJ, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dubious Consent, Feminization, Pack Dynamics, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Breastfeeding, Male Lactation, Lactation Kink) maybe? it's been a while since i've read it, so i'm not sure, but it sounds similar

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18. Hi! This is for fic finder. Its omega wwx. Set in burual settlement days. WQ is omega too. There are pregnant wen remnant. She, WWX, and WQ bonding together. She asked wwx that if she didnt survive he will raised the child. There are childbirth but the woman not survived. That baby is a-yuan. WQ and WWX takes turn taking care a yuan. Between the two, WWX produced milk that WQ says an omega sympathy if i remember correctly. Thats all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! The Unrestrained Love by orphan_account (T, 60k, WangXian, LXC/JGY, WIP, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death, A/B/O, Omega WWX, Alpha LXC, Omega JGY, Alpha LXC)

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19. Hi! My gosh I've never done this before so I hope I'm doing it right but I am desperate?? I'm searching for a very specific wangxian fic that had Wangxian as established couple, married even I think, and Wwx was contemplating what to wear to some sort of event (i think it was a conference of some sort) and because he wasn't happy with his own robes he chose to wear lwjs robes and when he went in lwj had heart eyes and it was all really cute and incredibly well written (also it wasn't the one where lwj gave him his own gusu robes, I know that one!!) Pls pls help?

Much thanks for being a lifesaver anyway! @yes-i-guess-nevertheless

FOUND! Lord of Joyous Flowers by stiltonbasket (G, 2k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Married WangXian, Wardrobe malfunctions, or the one where WWX has a closet full of clothes but nothing to wear, Smitten LWJ, Fluff, Parenthood, Introspection, Happy Ending)

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20. im looking for a modern fic where wwx and a-yuan move in next ro lwj. wwx is running from the wens and goes by mo xuanyu. pretty sure that jiang cheng/wen qing is a side pairing, wq is working at a hispital and jc is looking for wwx?

FOUND? Stop and Stay by Fantazy_Eyeland7 (M, 98k, wangxian, LXC/NMJ, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, LXC/JGY, SL/XXC, WIP, Blood and Violence, Hurt WWX, Kidnapping, Torture, WWX discovering weighted blankets, Pining LWJ, Modern, FBI Agent NMJ, Protective LWJ, Emotional Manipulation, Toxic JGY, not JGY friendly, LWJ learning how to communicate, WangXian have competence kinks, adopting children, Bad Parent YZY, Protective JYL, Protective JC, Protective NMJ, Past Child Abuse, Precious LSZ, Baby LJY, Warning: XY, Blind Character, slaps top of WWX: This bad boy can fit so much trauma inside, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Everyone is ending up in well-needed therapy, Child Abandonment, Genius WWX, Obsessive XY, Yunmeng Siblings Feels, Eventual Smut, Bad Parent JFM, Junior Quartet Dynamics, (As Babies!), Implied/Referenced Suicide, sort of a slow burn, but not really, because they KNOW, they just can’t, Good Uncle LQR, eventually)

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