#the bear luca x fem!oc

[b1ackbunny]

no thoughts just will poulter in the bear… it feels criminal that I barely see any fics/oneshots for Luca yet this man is so fine omfg THE TATS like LOOK AT HIM

[consistentlyamess]

Wild Sweetness ⎮ Prologue

[1.4K]

pairing(s): luca x fem!oc MJ

summary: MJ has just settled in after opening back up a bakery in Chicago when some unexpected news

warnings: not much so far, takes place after season 3, 18+ , MDNI, swearing, eventual smut, second chance romance, pining, slowburn, flashbacks in italics, lmk if i missed anything!!

A/N: heeelloo!! this idea has been sloshing around in my head since i watched season 2 and started working on it while waiting for season 3. comments, likes, reblogs are appriciated as always or just come chat at me! And as always 💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!!💜💜💜

Fic Masterlist I Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

‘Well, well, well, look what rhubarb season dragged in!’ 

‘Morning, MJ’ Marcus greeted with a big, bright smile.

‘Please, say, you have some coffee for me!’ 

‘Not even a ‘good morning’, damn, you must really be tired.’ 

‘I’m sorry, I stayed up reading again and drank two glasses of wine, so now I’m tired and also a little hungover because somewhere between re-opening the shop and last night I also became an old lady.’ Marcus laughed and shook his head. 

‘You’re not an old lady, but you do need to get out more.’

‘Weird, I don’t remember asking that coffee with a side of unsolicited advice.’ 

‘Careful, chef, you might not get the coffee either if you keep being a smartass.’ Marcus quipped back with a cheeky smile but also handing her the takeaway cup.

‘Oh, you’re a godsend, my friend.’ She took a sip and sank deeper into her place behind the counter for a second. ‘So, what's the agenda today?’ 

‘You said it: it���s rhubarb season. And we’re changing the menu.’ 

‘Excellent! Let me grab my jacket and we can go! Lucy’s is already on the fresh croissants.’

‘Hi Lucy!’ Marcus bellowed so she can hear him in the back.

‘Morning Brooks!’

‘Still no first name, huh?’ 

‘Told ya’, you gotta earn it!’

‘Be nice Lucy, I’ll be back in the afternoon!’ 

‘Got it, chef!’  

Marcus and Marjolaine (just MJ for him and most) have been doing this routine for almost a year now. With a changing of seasons came the changes of the menus and so they went out looking for inspiration. And that looking always started at the fresh, seasonal ingredients. Rhubarb was one of MJ’s personal favourites and she couldn’t wait to indoctrinate the young pastry chef. Managing a bakery could become a nightmare sometimes but having someone like Marcus, a soothing, calming presence was something she couldn’t have imagined her life without at this point. The first time Marcus wandered into the shop, they were barely open. Chairs were missing and wires were hanging from the walls but MJ set up a little stand outside. First he thought it was a little weird, operating on half-capacity, if that, but while he was drinking his coffee he asked her and it turned out to be quite the trick. 

‘Look, we've been at this for months now, right? Renovating, drilling, sawing, equipment coming in, equipment breaking, equipment coming in again. We tore down a fucking wall for crying out loud!’ She threw her hands, for emphasis and Marcus started to suspect that maybe this flare for the dramatic was some kind of common theme with people who were brave - or crazy, jury’s still out - to open a restaurant. 

‘Tell me about it.’ He said, reminiscing about Fak and Richie screaming at eachother. 

‘Right, and they know nothing about who I am, what we’re gonna do here, we’re just annoying and inconvenient as fuck. So, I thought, let’s just show them! The kitchen is almost up and running, I can also do some of it at home, some french press, some fresh pastry, bamm, nice neighbourhood bakery girl!’

‘Allright, I see you, nice bakery girl! That’s actually pretty fire.’ 

‘Well, why thank you! And while we’re at it, can I ask, where this inquiry is coming from.’ 

‘Oh, shit yeah, sorry! Hi, I’m Marcus, I work at The Bear, just down the block and I’m the pastry chef there.’

‘Sussing out the competition. Clever. Hi, Marcus, I’m Marjolaine. Yes, it’s a french name, no you don’t have to say all of that every single time. Some people call me Margie, some call me Margot, anything goes. And this place here’ she said, gesturing behind her like a circus presenter ‘is going to be the Wild Sweetness, bakery and breakfast place.’ 

‘Wow, that’s a lot of info in one breath chef.’ 

‘You don’t have to call me chef.’

‘I have to call you something, till I figure out my name for you.’ 

‘I just gave you like 4 options.’ 

‘Yeah, I know, but I want something original, welcome you to the hood properly.’ 

‘Yo, boss!’ 

‘One sec Tony! Duty calls Marcus but thanks for the chat, I hope I’ll see you around!’ 

‘Bet! Come check out The Bear sometime!’ 

‘Will do!’ 

And from then on it became a habit. Even after the Wild Sweetness opened properly, Marcus almost always started his day there. It took him about 3 weeks to come up with MJ. ‘The hair and the whole vibe. There’s something very MJ-ish about you. Comic book MJ, not movie MJ.’ 

She took it as a compliment and got to be known around The Bear as just that, MJ from the bakery. 

‘Do you have any ideas yet?’ she asked as they were walking to the market. Well, the first market that is. There was a whole routine now to the whole operation. Start at the Sweetness, since MJ was renting the flat above the bakery, but Marcus insisting that no, you’re absolutely not firing the coffee machine just for this, i’ll grab it on my way, check Frank’s, two streets down, he usually had one or two rare fruits or a new guy bringing homemade jam, so it was always worth a try. Also Frank was a staple of these mornings, in and of himself. Without fail, without a hitch greeting with a gravelly and grouchy ‘You kids are goin’ to be the death of me I swear, who wakes up like this, ass crack of dawn on a Saturday, unbelievable! Now, come on in, I got somethin’ to show you.’ Rough cut man with a thick Chicago accent, who was a real fiend when it came to very niche, hearty jams. After Frank they usually headed for the markets, browsing for hours, trying some things then getting some lunch. 

‘I’m not sure yet. A compote feels too on the nose. Rhubarb and strawberry, while a classic for a reason also feels played out. Something about, like. a deconstructed rhubarb crumble keeps popping up in my head but nothing else.’

‘Ouh, I like the sound of that. Have you talked to Carm about it?’ 

‘Not really, he’s been in a mood lately.’ 

‘Lately? I feel like he’s always in a mood.’ 

‘Yeah, fair enough.’ 

‘What’s been going on? He’s still in over his head?’ 

‘Yeah, I don’t know, I feel like he’s just, I don’t know, like he’s just stuck. He thinks that pushing himself harder is always the answer, you know?’ 

‘Yeah, I know people like that.’ 

‘Yeah, and you just can see that he’s not getting enough sleep, not talking to his people, meanwhile Nat is home with the baby, and I get it, failing is not an option but he just doesn’t need to throw a fit over how tape is cut, you know?’ 

MJ snorted a laugh. ‘Yeah, I get you. And yeah, if being hard on yourself worked, it would”ve worked by now, right?’

‘Fuck, yeah, exactly.’  

This morning in particular has been a little slower, a little quieter than usual. Marcus talking about Syd in a hushed tone while they walked from stand to stand, one she recognized immediately. She wasn’t going to meddle. Not in this anyway, but she felt for the young chef. A crush that was going nowhere. There was something so brave and defiant about the whole thing though. Holding those feelings, stepping back and still trying, still keeping an eye out for when maybe his number gets called. But it was also noticeable how he got a little quieter, a little more soft-spoken since his mother passed. 

‘You guys had that tiramisu on the menu a while back, right?’ MJ asked while looking for some peaches. 

‘Yeah, we did.’ 

‘Well, how about something in that direction? Maybe not mascarpone but something with heavy cream, make it light, little lemony, infuse it with rhubarb, ladyfingers soaked in strawberry liquor, something like that.’

‘Okay, throwing this out like it’s not a big deal. That sounds pretty fire actually.’ 

‘You give me too much credit, it might not work.’ 

‘Maybe, but you always set me on a good path, even if it’s not, like, perfect.’  

‘Allright, now you’re just sucking up.’ MJ said with a small laugh. 

They keep browsing and first she doesn’t even notice that Marcus gets lost in his phone for a minute.

‘Oh, shit!’ he exclaims, so suddenly startles her. 

‘What’s up?’ 

‘Yo, this is so cool! You remember that pastry chef I staged with in Copenhagen?’

‘Luca, right?’ 

‘That’s him! He’s coming to town! He’s taking a sabbatical and he’s coming here, to check out the restaurant and shit, yo, this is so cool, you guys can finally meet!’ 

‘Well, how about that.’ 

[ceirinen]

December 2023

I decided to make a list of every fic I read each month.

I would like to interact more, but life has been complicated recently and when it comes to interacting, I get very anxious which is something I'm trying to overcome.

So, here I made this to appreciate such amazing writers and stories that inspire me and others everyday. To the authors, I want to thank them for their dedication and time spent on writing to offer us fascinating stories.

I totally recommend their work.

(If you are in this list and you don't want to, please let me know so I can fix it).

@cillianmesoftlyyy

So New | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader Method Acting | young!Cillian Murphy x Reader

@runnning-outof-time

Research | Tommy Shelby x Reader Bedtime Stories | Tommy Shelby x Reader & Daughter

@zablife

teacher!Luca Changretta x Reader Funeral | Tommy Shelby x sister!reader A Visit to the Peaky Blinders Set | Cillian Murphy x wife!reader

@gypsy-girl-08

Festive Spirit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader All I Need... | modern!Thomas Shelby x Reader A Gentle Warning | Thomas Shelby x wife!Reader

@pacifymebby

Arthur Shelby x Reader

@fkmarrycill

Pre-Gaming | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@holacia3

Lost and Lucky | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader Surprise visit | modern!Tommy Shelby x Reader

@beastofburdenxo

Let Me Praise You | Tommy Shelby x Reader Raising Catherine | Tommy Shelby x Reader

@look-at-the-soul

If I let you go | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@your-nanas-house

What does my princess want? | sugar daddy!Cillian Murphy x sugar baby!reader I'm pretty sure you're mine | sub!William Killick x dom!fem!Reader What are we, idiot? | Neil Lewis x best friend!Reader Thirsty | Tommy Shelby x secretary!Reader

@raincoffeeandfandoms

To the end of the world | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Tommy, the teddy bear | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Emergency surgery | baby!Tommy Shelby Fanfiction | Alfie Solomons x fem!oc Anon | Alfie Solomons

@lis-likes-fics

Loner | Edward Cullen x Reader At the End of the Day | Tommy Shelby x wife!Reader

@rafeology

Mentor!Finnick Odair x victor!reader

@wife-of-all-dilfs

Flower Therapy | Finnick Odair x Reader

@darlingsfandom

Cillian Murphy x Reader Tommy Shelby x artist!reader Soft sugar daddy | Robert Fischer x Reader

@pinguwrites

Home Is Where the Heart Is | William Killick x future!reader

@http-finnick

Skin to skin | Finnick Odair x fem!insomniac!reader

@acewritesfics

Lost Love | Tommy Shelby x Reader 36 Minutes | modern! Tommy Shelby x Reader

@dearshelby

Had you first | Tommy Shelby x Reader Little Tommy | Thomas Shelby x oc

@lau219

Red Carpet | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@peakyswritings

I Do Bad Things | demon!Tommy x Reader

@shelbystales

Ceramic Lessons | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@darthannie

Day eighteen: breeding kink with Lenny Miller | Lenny Miller x f!Reader

@hllywdwhre

Afterglow | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@red-write-hand

I'll be home for Christmas | Thomas Shelby x Reader

@mysaintkitten

Bad Behaviour | Mike Kiernan x fem!Reader

@notyour-valentine

The Spirits that I summoned | young!Tommy Shelby

@brummiereader

No Son Of Mine | Tommy Shelby

@youbyradiohead

Strawberry Syrup | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillianthinker

British accent | Cillian Murphy x Reader Young and in love | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillspropertea

Coming home | Cillian Murphy x Reader

@cillmequick

Operation Christmas Tree | modern!Tommy Shelby x fem!Reader

[wri0thesley]

cycle - lucas (yandere oc) x reader (4.3k)

it all comes back. again and again and again.

as before: if you would like a primer on lucas, reading this is probably the best thing to do!

cw: yandere, cannibalism, kidnapped reader, descriptions of gore, non-explicit mentions of past dub-con/non-con, physical violence against reader. reader is fem, referred to as 'good girl' and is implied to be chubby.

this was a commissioned work.

You have gotten good at pretending. 

It is far easier for everyone if you pretend you have always lived here; that Lucas’s cabin, and the woods surrounding it, the chickens outside and the old dining table and the cosy decor are all you have ever known. 

When you had first come here, in those first few weeks, you had tried desperately to hold onto all of the vestiges of your old life. You had squeezed your eyes shut in the shower and tried to recall the scents of your own shower gels and shampoos and not the mixture of half-empty bottles that sat on shelves in Lucas’s bathroom. You had crawled beneath blankets and pillows and hugged yourself and tried to remember the feel of your own mattress and your own threadbare teddy bear. You had been terrified that they would slip away, and you would find yourself forgetting all of the things that made you yourself--

Now, you think it would be easier if they had. 

If you had been granted a blank slate, you wouldn’t have to worry about the things you’ve been given and the things that adorn the cabin and their provenance. When you pulled a blanket over yourself on the sofa, or laid the table with a new embroidered tablecloth, or looked through the shelf of curling old paperbacks, you wouldn’t need to think about how many other hands that they have passed through. 

So you pretend that you have it instead. 

Things are just things, after all; merely objects, not people, not memories themselves. Who is to say that when Lucas goes into town, he doesn’t take an hour or two to wander into thrift stores? That he doesn’t have a weakness for things that have already passed through many hands before his own? Out here, in such a solitary existence, perhaps he even enjoys the reminder that there are other people in the world--

Well. From what you’ve seen of Lucas, and heard him mutter beneath his breath on days where his eyes go dark and angry and his face sets into a scowl . . . from what you remember in flashes of the night that you and he crossed paths. . . You don’t think that’s it.

But it’s still a comforting lie to whisper to yourself when you find a pair of initials stitched into the napkin you delicately wipe your mouth with. 

Lucas himself is more than happy to help you lie to yourself, even if he doesn’t realise he’s doing it. He’s a man of few words already, but even fewer of those words ever seem to concern anyone aside from the two of you. To listen to him sometimes, you would think this cabin was the last place standing on earth - that you and he were the only two human beings who lived. 

He mentions, once or twice and only off-handed, a childhood. He says something about milking cows on the farm growing up; he mentions his mother’s apple pie when you make an attempt to bake one after finding a recipe in an old cookbook. 

(You do not mention the careful handwriting that occasionally interrupts the recipe; the crossed-out ‘half a tablespoon’ of cinnamon into ‘a tablespoon and a half’. The note to the writer, for future reference, that the oven is finicky and to give the pie crust an extra ten minutes. You convince yourself that those, too, are simply the echo of some secondhand store that Lucas picked the recipe book up in). 

So you know at least that he did not spring into being fully-formed, though the thought of this huge hulking man as anything other than scarred and gruff seems almost laughable, when you see him going out in the middle of the night with an axe swung over his shoulder.

(“Go t’bed, angel,” Lucas had said, without even turning around to see your form silhouetted in the doorway. “It’s late. I’m just checkin’ on things.” He had said it like a man who had said the exact same thing a hundred times before, though as far as you could remember this is the first time that it had happened to you.

Waking up in the bed and not feeling the solid, warm form of Lucas himself beside you had made you nervous; made you felt as if there was something missing. And, of course, there was a horrible kind of sickness in that feeling too; that you have become so comfortable with your kidnapper that you are more perturbed to find him not there. 

No. Easier to forget that. To whisper over and over to yourself that Lucas is not your kidnapper, he is simply your . . . Your lover? Your boyfriend? Your husband? You don’t let the thought get that far. He is simply Lucas.)

He does not seem to think much of nostalgia. A practical man through and through - though he smiles, a few months in, as one of the little plants outside of the windows sprouts into bloom. 

“Daffodils,” he says. “Your dress had them on, that first night.” 

You amend the mental note. He has nostalgia only for things that concern you--

You try not to think of it, but the thought floats to your mind unbidden anyway like a blight on a field of flowers. If Lucas has had others who he has professed his love to . . . has he remembered those things, too? One day, will you fade into the rest of them and Lucas will not be able to remember if you were daffodils on a dress, or larkspur behind an ear, or a daisy chain around a neck? 

You turn away from the flowers and force yourself to smile at him; to let him wrap his arm around your waist and pull you against him and press his mouth against yours in a motion that you convince yourself is fine. 

Time passes. Lucas trusts you more; lets you wander about the cabin at will. Lets you into the kitchen without him despite the sharp knives - and, in return, trusts you to give in to him whenever he wants you. You let him kiss you and hold you and murmur sweet nothings and take you to bed, as you continue to chant to yourself that this is right, this is fine, this is how it is supposed to be--

There are no ghosts hovering above your heads. 

As it turns out, the ghost is hovering in the spare room, inside the drawer of a desk with an old typewriter sitting on it. 

Lucas has gone into town for supplies; you’re running out of milk, and you had gone to him, flushed and awkward, and asked if maybe he could try and pick up some body wash in your favourite scent; you had said ‘please’ and looked at him hopefully and Lucas had barely even needed you to finish before he’d been smiling at you and kissing the top of your head and adoringly telling you that he’d get you anything you wanted, so take a think about it for ten minutes and bring him back a list.

(You hadn’t pushed your luck too far, but you’d made a modest little list anyway - a fantasy book, if he could, because so many of his books were crimes and thrillers. A bar of chocolate or two. The aforementioned shower gel. Lucas had even smiled at you and told you what a sweetheart you were, how he’d keep an eye out for a surprise--)

But you were allowed in here, now, so you hadn’t felt bad about looking for something to do. You can only bake so many pies and cakes; Lucas had mentioned that there was probably stuff in here for drawing, if you wanted, or even sewing or embroidery, a jigsaw puzzle or two . . . You’d picked up a few options and discarded them (neatly) before you’d even gone near the desk. If you hadn’t - if you’d decided, actually, you would sit and do this cross-stitch kit of ‘home sweet home’ instead - perhaps things would have turned out differently.

But you don’t. You open the first drawer and disregard safety pins and discarded post-it notes (one of them has ‘help’ scrawled over it in black ink, over and over and over - you definitely disregard that one). You rifle vaguely through stubs of pencils and a manual for a sewing machine before you open the second.

The second drawer contains only one medium sized sketchbook; the spiral-bound kind with a wooden kraft cover that people like to draw straight onto. This cover, though, is totally free of any stickers or drawings or even a name - so you assume that it’s empty and fish it out of the drawer, wondering if maybe taking up drawing to pass the time might help (you see plenty of wildlife and fauna through the windows, after all). You even sit down at the desk before you open it and get one of those stubby little pencils, just to draw some circles and exercise the wrist before you become unavoidably disillusioned by your inability to draw even the simplest blob of a bird or flower.

And then you open it, and you feel your heart plummet directly into your stomach. 

It is so much easier when the ghosts that haunt the cabin are faceless; when you can pretend. But whoever had this book before you and floated about this cabin before you and had your side of Lucas’s bed . . . they were using it like a scrapbook, and you’re faced with a Polaroid picture smiling directly up at you, the backdrop very obviously the sofa of the cabin. 

(Lucas holding the camera, then).

You shouldn’t look at her. You should close the book and forget this ever happened and go back to pretending - but some kind of roiling fear in your stomach means you cannot do that. You stare, instead, directly into her eyes - and you’re struck by how much she looks like you. How even her body language is similar to yours. She has the same shade hair, the same figure-with-a-little-too-much on it. 

(Lucas has a type, then). 

She has a name, written there plain as day. You read that too, and wish you hadn’t. 

Once you have opened the flood-gates, you can’t stop yourself. You flip to the next page - it’s some kind of scrapbook-come-diary, and the date (six years, three months earlier) is written neatly in the corner. A drawing of a robin, in a shaky but careful hand - a pressed flower that the note says Lucas picked for her, with a smiling face. You can’t breathe.

The next page details a day spent baking. The next one, excitement that Lucas had let her go with him to see if the chickens had laid. The days aren’t one after another, but they’re close together - and they’re sickeningly similar to the days you spend with him, trying to fill the stretches of time without going mad. There are even direct references to things that you’ve seen and touched and handled - the sewing machine was bought for her, it was her hand that embroidered the napkins, the half-empty bottle of the rose scent perfume that you hadn’t liked had once been hers. 

There’s a pause in days. A few empty pages, where she’s half-heartedly tried to draw a chicken pecking at her feed, a snowy landscape. 

The ninth of September. 

“It would have been my dad’s birthday today. I wonder if he’s thinking about me? I wonder if he’s looking for me. I tried to ask Lucas if I could at least send a card.”

She does not bother recording Lucas’s answer. 

The twenty first of September. 

“It’s like being a dog on a leash. I asked him if I could go for a walk into the woods; I promised him I’d come back, but he broke the glass he was holding and I didn’t ask again.” 

He’d have the same reaction to you asking, you know it. Your stomach writhes, bile rising in your throat. There are no more drawings on the pages now; weeks between entries, her handwriting getting looser and wider, like she’s writing in a rush afraid of being caught. 

There’s frustration and anger and sorrow bubbling in her words. She talks about being trapped. She mentions the blood on his clothes, the sharpness of his axe, that she knows exactly what it is she’s eating when he brings her meat from his freezer. 

The eighth of November. 

“I think he’s getting tired of me. I think I pushed him too far. I think I’ve been bad; I think I’m not what he wants. He still says he loves me but . . . maybe he loved the others too.”

She mentions the pyjamas in the drawers; the different sizes. She asks the notebook who else has lived in these walls and who else has wanted to run. It makes your heart ache. 

The twenty-seventh of November.

“i want to go home i want to go home i want to go home i want to go home’

Here, you recognise the handwriting and you know that it was her hand that had scrawled ‘help’ so many times, and you can no longer disregard it like you wanted to. 

The eighteenth of December. 

“He’s going into town. Before he gets back . . . I’m going to do it. It’s snowing. It will cover my tracks. I’m going to do it. I’m going to go home.”

There are no other entries. 

It gets harder to pretend. 

Snippets from that scrapbook float to the front of your mind unbidden, at the most inopportune of times. Lucas notices you’re shivering and insists he’ll make you a steaming hot cup of tea, and as you raise it to your lips you can’t help wondering if she drank from this cup. How many other mouths have lingered on this rim, how many other hands have cradled this porcelain? 

Lucas tells you that he loves you, his eyes tender and the smallest smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you wonder how many others have heard the same three words; the same inflections, stood in the same place? 

He brings a present out, the week after his trip into town, that he tells you he was saving for you - another book. Ordinarily, you’d be thrilled to have something to fill the time - but instead, as he passes it to you and smiles and waits for you to thank him, you can’t stop thinking about all of the other things that he’s bought as presents for people who are not you, that still sit here unused in this graveyard of a home. 

He never even mentions them.

Maybe if he did, that would be better. 

But Lucas treats you like the two have you always coexisted; like neither of you had too much of a life before this. Oh, he doesn’t mind hearing about your far-off childhood - but you have the distinct impression that if you mentioned your job (the one you have not returned to for months), the man you were having the briefest flirtation with, the wedding of your cousin that you missed because you were kidnapped by a murderer in the woods . . . that would not go down so well. 

The thoughts won’t stop coming; the reminder that Lucas is, for all of his gentle kisses and low voice when he speaks to you and his careful touches so he doesn’t hurt you, more monster than he is man. That you are eating people, when you take a bite from the end of a fork that has surely been in other hands. 

(How long does human meat last, you wonder. The ones who did not make him happy . . . do they end up in the freezer? Are you eating someone who once laid their head upon your pillows?)

And if he has done it before . . .

Who is to say that he won’t grow tired of you, too? That one day you will say the wrong thing, and the cycle will begin anew? You have never thought of yourself as ‘special’ before - you have always been secure in the knowledge and comfort of your own ordinary existence. So what is it that Lucas sees in you, that makes you any better than the rest of them? 

(The thought of other people wearing the things Lucas has picked out for you, of someone else rifling through your fantasy paperbacks or lathering their hair up in your shampoo haunts you at night). 

You think about asking Lucas. 

He never misses a chance to compliment you; he tells you how beautiful you are, how much he adores you, how he would kill for you and protect you with his last breath. So perhaps, if you worded it well enough, he would explain to you why you have not yet found yourself sizzling in a frying pan or bleeding out in the woods--

No. You can’t.

You are walking a fragile tightrope already. Your spine stiffens whenever you say something to Lucas, in case you say the wrong thing - you lie awake in bed next to him, his arms wrapped around you as tight as a vice. You stumble over yourself to please him, just in case--

You feel the way that you’re running yourself ragged. The ache in your bones, in your head - the dark circles beneath your eyes, the way your hair dulls as you begin to forget what any other setting other than ‘stressed’ feels like. You hope that Lucas doesn’t notice. 

Your hopes are dashed. 

It’s before bed, one night. Lucas has pulled you into his arms and peppered your face with kisses, has insisted that you let him brush your hair (the monogram on the brush shines in the light of the bedside lamp; it is not your initial). And he says to you, turning you to face him, his voice very soft and cajoling and just a little awkward;

“Darlin’? Y’mind if I ask you a question?”

Your heart races; hammers against your chest, tries to crawl into your throat.

“N-no,” you manage to squeak out. “Of course not.” 

“I ain’t trying to offend you,” he says to you, his voice still awkwardly gruff. “But . . . sweetheart, you ain’t been looking well recently.”

“I--”

You grasp wildly for a way to respond. 

“If you need anythin’ . . . You ain’t been sleepin very well, have you? You need a hot water bottle? Some . . . pillow mist, or somethin’? Onea those fancy drinks you have before bed to get you to sleep? You name it, sweetheart, I’ll get it from somewhere--” 

He sounds so concerned.

Had he sounded like that to all of the other people? Had he noticed that their nerves were fraying and tried to soothe them, like he actually cared? How much of the concern that leaks into that warm Southern grit is real; how much of it is an attempt to hide that he’s mad at you, that he’s getting sick of you, that he’s already wondering what you’d taste like? 

It tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it; a bitter little bite of a question. 

“How many others have there been?” 

You regret it before you’ve finished the last syllable.

The air changes between you; a charged fizz that tells you just how dangerous the ground you’re treading on is. Lucas’s eyes narrow; his mouth sets. 

“Others?” He asks you, and you know that you can’t get out of this now. Sometimes, when you’ve said something that has set his senses on high alert, you’ve managed to apologise and backtrack enough that he’s calmed. But now, his eyes are like keen green searchlights, and there is no way to avoid the question. 

You swallow. 

“How many other . . . people?” You say, lamely, not sure how to word it. “How many other people have lived here?”

His own voice is clipped, too. He doesn’t like this subject.

“Why does it matter, sweetheart?”

There’s a barb to the pet name that makes you feel sick, but now you’ve opened the floodgates of your own paranoia.

“How many others have you loved?”

There’s a barely perceptible twitch of his mouth. His words are infuriatingly even. Usually, his temper flares at the smallest things; you don’t understand how he isn’t hacking you into pieces. 

“None of ‘em who deserved it, except you.” 

Your breath begins to shorten; you can hear that you’re panting, when you next speak. Your chest is heaving. 

“A-and what if you decide I don’t deserve it any more? What are you going to do to me?”

“Angel--”

“I’m not - there’s nothing special about me! What if you decide that you’re sick of me and you . . . you killed them, didn’t you? What if one day you kill me? What if you--”

“Darlin’.”

This one is more forceful; it’s clearly intended to stop your panicking diatribe where it’s already going off the rails. But you are too far gone to be stopped now. Your voice just keeps going, the words like a flood, your entire vision blurring at the corners with the tears that you hadn’t even realised you were crying. 

“What if you kill me and eat me and you get someone else and they live here and wonder about me--”

If nothing else makes him kill you, it will be this; outright telling him that you know what the meat is, and what it is he’s doing when he goes out in the evenings with an axe glinting in both his hand and his eye. 

He reaches out for you and you try to slap his hand away, your movements erratic and awkward. You’re flailing and more nonsense is falling out of your mouth, the world around you a blur. Lucas is reaching out still, undeterred by the way you’re trying to push him away as you helplessly wriggle and struggle.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” he says, and there’s a note of panic in his voice. His brow pinches. “Poor baby, angel, you’re cryin’ - shit, you’re gonna make yourself ill carrying on like this--”

There’s that fake comfort. You are so far gone that you forget the thing that makes Lucas feel softest at all; you, helpless. You forget that he likes the crying and the sniffling, that he likes to protect and coddle and care - because all you can think about is what it would feel like for an axe to slam through your ribcage so your innards are strewn out on the floor. 

“Please, calm down-- breathe, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself--” He’s still talking to you all soft and sweet, and you’re still utterly lost in your own sleep-addled anxiety induced spiral as he tries to restrain you; he reaches for your arms, to pin you down so that your thrashing doesn’t impact you--

One of your flailing arms catches him, right across the face. 

There’s a sickening noise; the slap of flesh on flesh, the hard noise of a bone meeting another bone. You don’t think it’s hard enough to really hurt him, but it’s like a trigger has been pulled in Lucas’s mind and the air changes again. The fizz deadens where it was hovering; and instead, a heaviness settles over you.

You stop thrashing. You stop jabbering out nonsense. Lucas has you on the bed, pinned beneath him, and his face when he looks down at you is like thunder. You think it must be the same face that his victims see, before they die. 

You’re about to be added to their number, you think. You wish you’d left something as tangible as that scrapbook behind. A guide to survival, perhaps. Advice on how to try and break the cycle.

“Oh,” Lucas says, and that one syllable practically quakes. “Darlin’. You shouldn’t have done that.” 

Lucas tells you, afterwards, that you’re lucky he didn’t lose his temper.

He’d been infuriatingly calm, even though every movement blistered with unspoken anger, as he’d dragged you up and off the bed and you had trembled and quaked and waited for death. He’d been infuriatingly calm as his work-roughened, calloused palms had slid over your bare forearm, the soft inner flesh of your elbow, to grip your upper arm with both hands.

“You can scream,” he’d said, with that terrifying flat-and-angry-and-calm all at once tone again. “It’s goin’ to hurt. It’ll be clean. I know what I’m doin’. But it’s gonna hurt anyway.” 

And he’d twisted his wrists and he’d snapped.

Your humerus, he’d told you, afterwards. A break that won’t need surgery; that you’ll be able to recover from in the cabin. A sling and someone to take care of you is all that you’ll need, he’d said, and then he’d said;

“It’s for your own good, angel. It’s a warnin’.” 

He tells you that he’ll cut up your food for you, carry on brushing your hair, and help you in the shower. He lists off all of these things calmly - all of the things you’d once earned the ability to do for yourself, because you’d been so good and he’d loved you so much and wanted you to be happy.

You fucked that up, didn’t you? 

“It’ll hurt for the rest of your life,” he tells you. “It’ll remind you.” 

You wonder just how long ‘the rest of your life’ is. 

“Hey,” Lucas tells you, after you’ve stopped sobbing and whimpering and screaming. “C’mere, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty face.” 

Your eyes are puffed up and swollen; your nose is dripping, your throat feels raw. But Lucas still looks at you like you’re unbelievably beautiful. Like he’d kill for you. There’s a steel in his eye that hasn’t been there for some time, but . . . He gives you a small smile.

“Ain’t you beautiful.” He wipes an errant tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Be a good girl for me now, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t lose my temper.” 

It’s almost bizarre enough to frighten a laugh out of you.

You wonder how many others were given this kind of warning; broken ankles? Broken wrists? Broken fingers? Is it possible that you’re an echo of them down to Lucas’s violence? 

If this is him not losing his temper . . .

You dread to think what will happen - what has already happened - when he really loses control.

[badwritinghabit]

Chef's Kiss | Carmy x fem!OC x Luca | Chapter 7

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Warnings: none this chapter! Let me know if you see anything you think I should add.

Word Count: 5,033

Summary: Luca invites Sophie to a night out with his chef friends where Carmy and Claire are surprise guests. And Sophie and Luca spend a day together as tourists.

As he dropped her off, Luca invited Sophie to join him for tapas with some of his chef friends later that night. He said he’d call her later when they were headed to the restaurant. Some part of her assumed he’d change his mind. This was a one night thing, surely. He’d return to Copenhagen and she’d never see him again. But even so, she felt lighter than she had in a long time.

She spent the morning lazily reading and listening to music, feeling good. She was tempted to text her sister, she wanted to tell someone about what had happened. But Mallary was on vacation with her family and she didn’t want to interrupt.

Syd texted her in the early afternoon asking if she wanted to join her to get lunch at another restaurant on her list. She was on a mission to try as much new food as possible in the lead up to the opening of The Bear and Sophie had joined a few other times to keep her company and to expand her restaurant experience in Chicago. Sophie eagerly accepted her invite, knowing Syd also wanted to talk about what ended up happening with Luca.

They talked over pancit and lumpia. She filled Syd in on the date, no sordid details, but blushing enough when she talked about him inviting her back to his hotel that Syd grinned and Sophie felt she basically knew everything anyways.

“He invited me to come out with his friends tonight. It’s strange, right? It seems like a lot for something casual.”

“Maybe he likes you and wants more than casual?” Syd asked, taking a sip of water.

“He lives in Copenhagen. That seems unlikely.”

Syd shrugged. “So are you going to see him again tonight? Night two?” She was smirking at Sophie.

“Syd, I’m a little worried this is the best sex I will ever have. If he wants a night 2, I will be there.”

Syd laughed loudly and Sophie swatted her arm with a laugh of her own. “You said it had been a while right?” she asked at her nod, she shrugged. “Don’t build him up in your head too much. You have nothing to compare him to. College boyfriends are not the best measuring stick for sexual prowess.”

“You’re not wrong there,” she accepted. “I do feel a bit like a teenager. Honestly it is kind of embarrassing.”

“You’re down bad.” Syd nodded, faking understanding.

As if being summoned, Sophie’s phone started ringing. It was Luca.

“Hey,” she answered, motioning to Syd to be quiet. Syd shook her head with a silent laugh.

“Hello. I’m with some chef friends and we made our way to Boystown early, I thought I’d see if you wanted to join us early. We’re going to a bar.”

“I’m actually eating with Syd right now,” she said, biting her lip. “I’d still be up for joining afterwards though.”

“Yeah that sounds good. I’ll let you know when we are headed to the bar.”

“See you then,” she said, voice a little too excited. She hung up and looked at Syd’s grinning face.

“See you then.” Syd teased her. Sophie groaned and put her head in her hands. “Down bad.”

—

She was, she realized. As she walked into the bar lobby and felt her whole body light up when she saw Luca. She made herself walk over calmly and not call out to him or do anything embarrassing.

He greeted her with a hug and kiss on the cheek- the kiss surprising her a little- and then introduced her to his friends. Sebastian, Lyssie, and Carlo, all Chicago area chefs. They were intimidating and a little too much like the chefs she usually avoided. All eager to talk about their newest accomplishments.

She tried to make a good impression, be complementary and kind. But she ended up feeling most comfortable with Lyssie’s wife, Laura. She seemed equally uninterested in hearing the gossip about the chef who had added too much lemon juice in a reviewer’s dish and had never recovered. The two ended up by the bar chatting for a bit and then she stuck close to her when they rejoined the group. Laura was a science writer working on a book and the two bonded over writing.

Sophie picked a bit at the tapas and eventually wandering back over to the chefs who happened to be talking about Chef Thomas, the owner of the restaurant she worked at in San Diego.

“You worked with Johann Thomas, didn’t you?” Luca asked as she joined them, pulling her into the conversation.

“I did. Ivy Green. Fantastic restaurant.”

“He’s a handful. Very old school techniques.” Sebastian added, looking judgmental.

“He’s unbelievably talented,” she said with a warm smile, wanting to defend her friend but not wanting to get into a debate. She watched as recognition flashed in his eyes.

“Wait, you’re Sophie Miller?” Sebastian asked, looking shocked.

“Yeah?” she responded, more of a question.

“Of course. I didn’t put it together,” Sebastian said, eyes still wide. “He certainly speaks highly of you. I saw him last year. He said you and Carmen were the only chefs under the age of 50 that were worth seeking out for their food.” Sebastian explained.

Sophie squinted, unsure. “That doesn’t sound right. He was on my ass the whole time I was there. Said I julienned carrots like a fuckhead.” She laughed to herself. “Once Chef Thomas found out I worked with Carmy he constantly talked about how much worse I was than him.”

“That’s not what he says to other people.” Suddenly, Sebastian seemed much more interested in her. It annoyed her a little.

They were interrupted before she had to respond. Carmy and Claire walked in the restaurant. Sophie smiled at the two of them, trying to remain calm. She didn’t know Claire would be coming- didn’t think about it. But she realized this was a good way to get the introduction over with. Lots of other people around to help hide her nerves.

Carmy did the rounds, shaking hands. He seemed as uncomfortable as she was.

“Carmen Berzatto and Sophie Miller in one place. We were just talking about Chef Thomas’ favorites.” Sebastian said after a bit, seeming to want to get back to that conversation. Carmy just nodded.

“I still don’t know about this favorite thing. Whenever I talk to him he asks if I’ve learned how to sharpen my knives yet. One time he caught me slacking. Never gonna live that down.” She grinned, trying to get Sebastian off her case with a joke.

“He said your sister single handedly took out the best up and coming chef,” he said, curiously.

Sophie froze, drink pressed against her lips. She wanted to be flattered, she respected Chef Thomas’s opinion greatly. But she hadn’t been prepared to talk about her sister. And her heart started racing. “He has a flair for the dramatics, hasn’t he?” she asked with a shaky smile.

Carmy chimed in. “He does. Remember the year he wore a gold suit to the James Beard award ceremony?”

Sophie looked to Carmy gratefully as everyone changed direction and started talking about the James Beard awards. She was surprised he spoke up, he so rarely did in these types of conversations.

“Does anyone else need anything?” she asked, motioning towards the bar, wanting to escape for a second to catch her breath. Carmy volunteered to go with her and Claire followed.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said, reaching a hand out to shake Claire’s. She wasn’t going to get the break she wanted but it would be good to talk to Claire. She should get it over with.

“You too. Carmy has told me a lot about you.” Claire smiled, her hand sliding into Carmy’s. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“I didn’t either,” Sophie said with a small smile as she sidled up to the bar. She looked at Carmy for a second with a grimace. “Luca invited me. I think I somehow convinced him I might fit in with the chef friends,” she said with a self deprecating sigh. She looked back to Claire with a shrug.

“You were fine,” Carmy encouraged, his gaze heavy on her. She smiled and ordered another drink. Carmy wasn’t drinking but Claire ordered wine.

“Have you been here before?” Claire asked, steering the conversation as she got her drink.

“I have not. Have you?” She turned to Claire.

“Yes, just once. The food here is really good.” She smiled. “At least, I think it is. You all are the chefs.”

“Our palettes are all fucked.” Sophie joked. “You’d be the better judge probably.” Carmy was grinning. “Oh Carm, did you see? Figs and goat cheese.” She raised her eyebrows.

He huffed a laugh and shook his head. “Height of cuisine tonight.”

At Claire’s confused look, Sophie explained. “I’m being mean. Carmy and I were working in New York when the fig and goat cheese fad swept the city. It’s delicious, don’t get me wrong. But it became a bit of a joke,” she tried to explain. Claire nodded politely but Sophie felt bad, she didn’t want to make a bad impression. She was still reeling from the question about her sister.

“I’ve heard you work in the emergency department at a hospital? That is so impressive. Are you one of those people who get super calm in tense situations?” she asked, trying to win her back over.

“Actually, yes! I feel like my brain thrives under the pressure. Like a puzzle. It’s really rewarding work.”

“That’s amazing. I feel like Carmy is similar. Obviously different –scales?” She faltered on the last word, not wanting to insult either person. “But I’m so jealous. Not my strong suit at all.”

“Really? But it sounds like you were quite good at cooking.”

“The yelling and the rush got to me. I ended up being a much better pastry chef. I like getting up early and prepping at 5am when no one is around and then being able to leave when things get heated.” She smiled.

She asked Claire more about herself and shared bits of her story in turn. She was lovely. Of course she was, she was Carmy’s girlfriend.

It wasn’t long before Luca wandered over with a small plate and handed it to Sophie. “I thought you might want to try one,” he said, handing the plate over before wrapping an arm around Sophie, hand warm against her lower back.

Carmy huffed out a laugh, looking away and putting a hand to his mouth. Sophie glanced to Carmy and then down at the plate and bit back a laugh as well. Luca had brought her the fig and cheese appetizer.

“What?” he asked, looking confused.

“Thanks! This is sweet. We were just joking before you walked over,” she said, leaning into him slightly since both hands were now taken up, one with a drink and the other with the plate. “Should we re-join the group? I was hoarding Claire’s time.”

As they walked back Carmy slyly grabbed the crostini from the plate and slid it into his mouth. She shook her head at him, grinning.

The rest of the night was calm. Luca and the other chefs shared stories. Unfortunately for Carmy, the chefs were all hounding him with questions. He always answered them briefly. He seemed to get more comfortable over time but still disliked the attention.

Eventually she snuck off to the bathroom and checked her phone, making sure her sister hadn’t contacted her. She felt a little panicky, worried she’d messed up somewhere. Particularly worried about her conversation with Claire. The other chef’s opinions didn’t matter too much but she wanted the night to go well. Wanted to leave Claire with a good impression.

Mallary hadn’t texted. She held her phone and took a breath.

She decided to text Chef Thomas, giving herself a little more time before she had to go back and face everyone again.

“Just met some Chicago chefs who told me how much you appreciate my julienning skills.” 

He responded right away, “They’re lying to you.” He texted again. "Just sharpen your knives, you'll be fine." And then a third time. “How’s your sister?” 

She replied quickly, letting him know Mallary was doing well. She walked out of the restroom with a smile on her face.

His reply cheered her. She could practically hear his disapproving voice in her head. Feigning annoyance with her but still always supportive. She was ready to go back. Sophie spotted Carmy at the bar as she left the restroom so she walked over to him. “Hiding at the bar, chef?” she asked.

“Getting another glass for Claire,” he responded. “And also hiding.”

She laughed. When the bartender asked if she wanted anything else, she asked for a glass of water. “How’s Luca?” he asked her, the glass of wine in his hand but he hadn’t turned to leave yet.

She bit her lip and looked at the bar. Her heart sank a little. She shrugged. “He’s lovely. Of course. But I think I messed things up.”

She met his eyes and felt the immediate pull to spill her guts to him.

“I just– fuck. I don’t know. Yesterday I pretended I could flirt and go on a date with someone and be normal. But–” she stopped, feeling selfish. “It’s stupid really. So many bigger things happening. Don’t know why I care anyways.” She forced a smile and pushed away from the bar to go back to the table but Carmy grabbed her arm. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She wished he hadn’t touched her- hadn’t reminded her what his hands felt like.

He stood in front of her. “Look, Soph. I get it. But Luca is a good guy. And it really doesn’t matter what any of them think of you anyways.”

She forced herself to smile at him, ignoring the pounding of her chest. “Yeah, thanks Carm.”

---

They said goodbyes at the end of the night. Sophie felt slightly hopeful that things went better than she had feared because Claire hugged her as she left. The chefs clearly weren’t as interested in networking with her once they found out she had no immediate plans to start cooking again, but they were all cordial and she was glad she met them at the end of it all.

She and Luca stood in front of the restaurant after everyone left and she shifted on the balls of her feet. “Thanks for inviting me,” she said with a small smile.

“I’m sorry if they made you uncomfortable,” he responded, clearly looking concerned.

“No! It was fine. I’m just in a weird place with cooking and everything I guess. But they were all very nice,” she finished, realizing she was digging herself deeper.

“Do you want to go for a walk? Find another bar or something?” He ended up asking. “I haven’t really explored much.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she agreed.

He seemed to hesitate as he looked down the street. “I’ve never actually been here before,” he admitted and she grinned at him and reached over to grab his hand in hers.

“How about we go this way? There’s a tiny park and a garden we could see. It’s not far.” He nodded and followed her lead.

“Do you not like talking about your time in San Diego?” he asked, curiously. He seemed open and curious, like he just wanted to get to know her. If this were a normal date, she’d think this was lovely. But she was getting confused. They couldn’t actually date, this had to be something casual. So why was he doing all of this? Was he just a kind person? She wished she could summon the fake confidence she had in fits and bursts the previous night. But she felt drained.

“I don’t mind talking about it! It was actually really nice. Chef Thomas has a reputation of being rude but he is really very kind once you get to know him,” she said. “And I loved San Diego. Even more than New York City. Have you been to California at all?”

“Just L.A. I’d like to see San Diego someday.” He paused. “Carmy has a lot of fans, yeah?” he said when she didn’t offer more.

“Oh yeah. Poor guy. He really isn’t in it for the fame. It throws most people that he isn’t going around bragging about it.” She grinned. “For all of the jealousy that comes with being friends with someone so talented, Carmy not particularly enjoying the accolades really helps.”

Luca grinned at her. “You seem close,” he said. “He talked about you a lot when we worked at Noma.”

She nearly tripped over an uneven sidewalk section. “That doesn’t sound like Carmy,” she said, slowly, shocked.

“He did. Said you were going to be the best pâtissière in New York. Everyone in Noma heard about Sophie Miller. I was secretly hoping to meet you, if I’m being honest. Not because I thought this would happen.” He squeezed her hand, a blush dancing across his cheeks. “But because I wanted to know who could impress Carmy. He really cleared up any notions I had about being the best chef when we worked together.”

“He sees the best in people,” she said after a bit. “I don’t think I’m particularly talented but he saw how hard I worked. He actually nudged me towards becoming a pastry chef. I think he saw how bad the stress of the dinner rush got to me.” She was lost in her thoughts again, about New York. About her friend who had helped her so much. Even in ways she didn’t know.

She had impressed on Carmy the importance of trying to make a name for himself. She had dragged him to a few events and had followed to his own James Beard award ceremony. She had made it her mission to repay all of the help he gave her by getting his name out there to everyone. She knew she could be good at it, the networking thing. And she knew Carmy hated it. And to be fair, he didn’t need the help, not really. His cooking spoke for itself. But if she could get people to go try the food, she knew it would help him in the long run. She hadn’t realized he’d done it for her too.

“He absolutely thinks you’re talented, by the way. He was so happy Marcus could learn from you,” she said, realizing she had nearly walked them past the park and turned them down another block.

“Marcus is a fantastic pastry chef. Carmy knows how to pick his people.” Sophie smiled at him and blushed as she felt him run his thumb up and down the back of her hand, still held in his.

They walked through the garden, her steps loud in her ears. She didn’t know what to say. She felt like they’d gotten quite close in only a little over 24 hours. She wasn’t excited about the prospect of him leaving. “I didn’t really want to move to Chicago, to be honest.” She found herself looking at the tiny garden, surprised at how few people were around on such a peaceful night. “I was finally finding happiness in San Diego. But it has its moments”, she said. “I do love this garden.” She remembered she hadn’t told him about her sister’s cancer. Hadn’t wanted to deal with being the sad girl, and yet here she was, being sad. She turned to him with a smile.

“Do you think you’ll stay in Copenhagen? Or are you going to return to London someday?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve found a restaurant I love and it is hard to want to leave that,” he said, looking at her thoughtfully.

“I understand that.” She smiled at him. The two had started walking again, over to the tiny corner park. “Want to go on the swings?” she asked when she saw no one was using them.

He grinned at her and agreed. She started leading him over and had an idea. “Race you there,” she said, dropping his hand and rushing forward, the sound of his laughter chasing after her.

She made it there with barely a second to spare before he reached her. She beamed up at him from her place on the swing. “I thought with those long legs you’d be a little faster,” she taunted him. He chuckled and pushed her swing before sitting on his own. She watched his feet drag across the ground on the swing until he lifted his legs.

“I think you might be too tall,” she laughed at him. He reached out and shoved her swing sideways causing her to swing away and then back, nearly bumping into him. She laughed. He reached over and dragged her to him for a kiss. She melted instantly, sighing as he pulled away, his free hand reaching up to cup her cheek.

“Tomorrow’s my last full day here,” he said, quietly. His eyes burning into hers.

She didn’t know what to say. She knew their time was limited, that this was it. But she supposed she hoped they’d somehow get away without saying goodbye. That they could just have this magical moment and walk away from it with some nice memories. She didn’t want to think about how much she’d have liked it to last longer. “What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.

“I have to go see the Bean.” She laughed at him and he released his grip on her swing causing her to swing the opposite way. She kicked her feet out to stabilize herself. “Hey don’t laugh at me! I’m a tourist. I never got to do the touristy things when I worked here.” He paused. “I also wanted to go to the art museum. I like going to museums while I’m traveling,” he said.

“Do you want company?”

"Only if you're willing to be a tourist with me," he said, teasing edge to his voice. She smiled. Being a tourist with Luca sounded like a whole lot of fun.

Realizing they were running low on time, she stood and walked over to him, standing between his obnoxiously long legs. She grabbed onto the chains of the swings and stood looking down at him. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?” she asked, pulling the swing toward her slightly.

She pressed her lips against his in what she planned as a quick peck but turned passionate, Luca leaning up into her, his mouth opening against hers causing tingles to shoot down her spine.

She forgot that she was holding the swing in place and let go to tangle her fingers in his hair. She realized a second too late what she'd done. He started swinging back and she stumbled towards him. He grabbed her around the waist and put his feet down harder, stopping the movement.

“Sorry. I forgot I was holding the swing.” She laughed breathlessly, holding herself up against his shoulders.

“I noticed.” He smirked up at her, his hands shifting from holding her up to sliding down her waist and holding her hips, taking her breath away.

“Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him up, walking him away from the park and towards her home.

---

For the second day, she awoke wrapped in Luca’s arms, head buried in his chest, feeling warm and comfortable. She felt him stir underneath her and tried to stay still, not wanting to have to wake up just yet.

“Good morning.” His grumbly morning voice sounded from above her on the bed.

“Five more minutes,” she whined, wrapping her arms tighter around him. She felt him reach over and comb his fingers through her hair.

“I’m not planning on leaving anytime soon,” he said, his grin clear in his voice. His hand grazed down her shoulder and back and slowly slid back up. Warmth spread through her, feeling too comfortable. She sighed and relaxed into him.

I don’t want you to leave. She slid her hand up his side and burrowed her face into him, eyes shut. Two days of waking up with a warm, soft, sweet man in bed with her. She didn’t want to go back to waking up alone. She took a breath and forced herself to keep moving. “I suppose we should get ready. We have tourist stuff to do.”

“Can I make you breakfast first?” he asked.

She lifted her head to look up at him for the first time that morning, a smile on her face. “You want to cook for me?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes warm and soft. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he grinned wider watching her react. He rolled onto his side and tilted his head at her. “You do realize we are both lying naked in your bed, yeah? Why are you blushing about breakfast?”

She matched his posture, lying opposite him. “It’s just–” She hesitated a second. “You’re so– wonderful.”

“Wonderful?” he asked, his grin softening. Then he leaned forward and kissed her sweetly on her lips, then her nose, then her forehead. “That’s it. I’m making you breakfast.”

 ---

Luca stood in her kitchen in his rumpled clothes from the previous day. Coffee had just finished brewing and she was leaning against the kitchen island watching him cook for her.

She sipped her coffee and found herself watching Luca, his hands as he whipped some egg mixture in a bowl to make french toast. His hair flopped over his forehead, messy and perfect. She had the sudden urge to take a picture. She tried to be quiet, reached to the end of the counter with her phone and quietly took a picture of him. She put her phone down as he turned and he smirked at her.

“Did you take a picture of me?” He grinned and stepped over to her. She blushed. “I need a picture too then,” he said, grabbing his phone from his back pocket. He patted the island and she hopped up. He took a selfie of them, his arm wrapped around her, her cheeks still pink as she held the coffee mug between her hands. “Now let me work, yeah?” he said, before kissing her on the cheek and getting back to cooking.

---

Their afternoon was the picture of perfection. They walked around the museum, commenting on pieces of art as they went. Sophie would grab Luca’s hand and pull him to look at a painting before dropping it again. After the third time he grabbed her hand and wouldn’t let go.

Sophie flexed the one Art History class she took in college, pointing out pieces and movements she recognized. They eventually turned it into a game, pretending to be art critics talking about the works. Being a tourist with Luca was fun.

They took pictures at the Bean. Sophie made sure to get a few of them together. She wished again that this wasn’t about to end. That they could have time to actually date. She pushed the thought away. They lived in different countries, after all.

As they walked around they shared pieces of their lives. Sophie told him about her nieces, how she was excited to see them since they’d been gone for the past two weeks on a family vacation. How one of them, Cecily, was in her silly joke phase. She started sharing her favorites with Luca.

“I only know 25 letters of the alphabet. I don’t know ‘Y’.” she said, with a wide grin at her own joke. Luca chuckled and returned with his own silly jokes. And the two spent a while trying to make each other laugh.

Luca also told her about his family. His sister had married recently and was living outside of London. He hadn’t visited in over a year but was hoping to go back home soon. She learned about Luca as a teenager, who to her surprise and delight had an emo phase similar to her own. Their easy conversation made it harder for Sophie to think about the upcoming goodbyes.

“Thanks for all of this,” he said, as they walked down the path towards the fountain.

She grinned at him and grabbed his hand again. Don’t leave. The thought wouldn’t stop spiraling through her head. She hadn’t felt this happy in so long.

She knew some of it was her just avoiding thinking about everything else, giving herself a vacation from her life for a bit. But there was something about being with Luca that made her feel so happy. It just felt easy, in a way so few things did. Like things would turn out okay as long as he was there. She knew she wasn’t putting a very convincing smile on her face by the look Luca was giving her. “I’m trying not to be sad,” she admitted quietly.

He squeezed her hand. “Me too,” he said and she looked at him. “If you’d like, you could come visit me. I’d show you around Copenhagen,” he offered, quietly.

“Yes. I’d love that,” she responded, perhaps too eagerly. The idea that he wanted to see her again cheered her up so much she didn’t think about how that would work. And her immediate reaction seemed to cheer him up too. He grinned at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him.

They said goodbye at the subway station. Sophie got on her tiptoes to kiss him. As they pulled away, she put a hand to his chest. “It was lovely meeting you, Luca.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her, one more time. Slow and easy and perfect. “It was lovely meeting you, Sophie.” he said with a small grin. She smiled at him, knowing her cheeks were pink. Still feeling her heart jump the tiniest bit at the sound of him saying her name.

As she walked onto her train, she felt her phone buzz. He had sent her a joke. “I’m reading a book on anti-gravity.” 

Her phone buzzed again. “I can’t put it down.” 

She laughed and sent a text saying “loser 🤣 ”. And then, before she could talk herself out of it, sent "❤️". She put her phone back in her purse.

[fizzyxcustard]

I've Loved You Forever (2)

Part 1

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: North & South (modern AU)

Pairings: Modern John Thornton x Fem!Reader/Fem!Reader x OC

Warnings: Language, angst, pining.

Summary: It is the Christmas party for John Thornton and his workers from Marlborough Mills. You have all been allowed to take partners, and that means your boyfriend of eighteen months is there. When he is asked if he loves you and can't answer, John Thornton's rage comes out full throttle, especially as he's been in love with you for quite some time.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. I’m gradually removing people from my tag lists who do not interact.

I tend to use Lucas North pictures as my modern Thornton images. This idea actually came to me randomly a few days ago when I was reading on the train.

As soon as you got home that night, after Stuart had dropped you back to your flat, you said farewell to him. Your mind was ablaze with John Thornton, and so much so that Stuart had to call you back for a kiss. The kiss was quick and only a peck. Of course Stuart noticed a difference in it, but he put it down to what he had said earlier that night and just told himself that you would be alright in a few days. Whenever you had a falling out, it didn’t take long for you to get over it. 

John paced his kitchen, his phone in hand. Should he call you? After he had admitted his feelings for you, you had disappeared back into the full pub where your boyfriend was still sat with everyone else. Thoughts and emotions raced. How could he put this right? Had he made a mistake telling you how he felt? The truth was, it would never be a mistake in his mind because he really did love you, more than he could express. Bearing his heart to you would never be a mistake in his eyes, even if your answer wasn’t the one he wished for. 

Suddenly your name flashed on his screen. With a grin and a sigh of relief, he answered the call. 

“John? We need to talk about tonight,” you told him. “I left without telling you where I stand. You shocked me; I’d never got that impression from you at all that you thought anything for me which surpassed friend and colleague.” 

Shit! Where was this going? Were you going to politely reject him? John held his breath. 

“The truth is…” 

John’s heart was pounding so hard now and he gripped his eyes closed, praying with everything inside him that your answer would mirror his confession. 

“The truth is…” you began again. “I…love you, too. I’ve never had anyone tell me they love me, and look me in the eyes and have so much passion there. John, it’s something I’ve always yearned for. And the way you spoke to me earlier, I know I can’t walk away from you. Even when I had all the rough times with Stuart, you were the one who was there in the midst of it all. I miss you already, and I’ve only been away from you about half an hour.” 

“Will you let me come and see you? I need to,” John asked. “Hearing you say this, I need to see you.” 

You sighed. “I want to see you so much, but I need to do the right thing and speak to Stuart first. You do understand, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do. I’d do the same,” John said, still smiling. Even at a time like this, you were faithful and honourable in your relationship with Stuart. 

“I’ll call you as soon as it’s done, John, I promise. I…love you.” Those words felt alien on your lips, but so right. They connected to your heart and your soul. The act of speaking them felt alien, but the place the words came from felt as though you had been born with it in your heart. 

“I love you, too. Goodnight.” 

Your conversation with Stuart got straight to the point, and you initiated it by recalling the events at the pub. “I know we’re not in love, Stuart. Tonight made me see that it’s like that from both sides. We’ve been together for eighteen months and surely something should have started to blossom now and it hasn’t.” 

Stuart chuckled. “And I’m guessing your boss has got something to do with this as well?” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked defensively. 

“It’s obvious he fancies you. The way he snapped at me, and then he followed you outside. I’ve known for a while now that you’ve got feelings for him, and I never said anything. I know we stayed together out of familiarity. We’re too different. When you had hard times, you went to him and not me. I knew a long time ago that you felt something for him.” 

Stuart’s understanding and cooperation shocked you, and for a second you were speechless. 

“John seems a nice bloke, apart from his temper. He’d be good for you like I never was.” 

The call ended with you both saying goodbye to each other and walking away on polite terms. For a few seconds you held your phone in your hand in disbelief, staring at it stupidly. You’d just broken up with your boyfriend of eighteen months and he was okay with it, very okay with it. Had your relationship really been that bad? In the sense that it was too familiar and comfortable.

John was still awake, sat in his living room, scrolling your Instagram page. There was only one photo of you and Stuart. The rest were memes, quotes, childhood photos and holiday pictures. There were even a few of you with your natural beauty hidden beneath a stupid filter. 

Are you still up? The text pinged on his phone. 

Yes. Is everything okay? He asked.

It’s done. You replied.

John couldn’t help but allow his urge to push him to make the call to you again. He sighed as he heard you answer. “It’s done?” he asked, his voice a whisper. 

“This means I’m now single, Mr. Thornton,” you giggled. 

John chuckled. “I was hoping that I could change that in person. But it’s midnight.”

“My door will be open if you get over here in ten minutes.” 

Anticipation raced up your spine and butterflies flapped in your stomach with such ferocity. You watched at your window, until you saw a familiar vehicle pull up outside your maisonette block. A tall figure got out of the car, all veiled in shadow. That walk: you could spot it anywhere and recognise it amongst a dense crowd. 

John reached out to press your bell, but instead was greeted with your face. The door opened swiftly. He couldn’t help but smile at you, falling even more in love with you. He inhaled sharp, and stepped inside the flat. 

Your cheeks flushed bright red as John reached out and cupped your cheek. Then, slowly, he leaned down, being taller, and kissed you softly. Your arms immediately curled up his back and you both sank into the kiss. 

John wound his arms around your waist and pulled you in closer against him, your kiss deepening. 

***

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[consistentlyamess]

Wild Sweetness ⎮ Chapter 1 - Actin' like a sweet car crash

[2.9K]

pairing(s): luca x fem!oc MJ

summary: MJ has just settled in after opening back up a bakery in Chicago when some unexpected news

warnings: not much so far, takes place during and after season 3, 18+ , MDNI, swearing, eventual smut, second chance romance, pining, slowburn, flashbacks in italics, lmk if i missed anything!!

A/N: heeelloo!! this idea has been sloshing around in my head since i watched season 2 and started working on it while waiting for season 3. comments, likes, reblogs are appriciated as always or just come chat at me! And as always 💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!!💜💜💜

Fic Masterlist I Previous Chapter I Next Chapter

London, 5 years earlier 

Everyone warned her about the harsh English autumn dawns. It would be cold and dark and dewy. And it was. But it was also cosy and quiet and nice. She liked that every now and then a grumpy early bird smiled back at her after she handed them their order, she liked that she had a steady trickle of people for a about an hour before the morning rush flooded in and she liked the thought of being done by 3 pm and still getting to go for a walk or sit in the library and study for her classes. But not all of it was fun. Not all the time anyway. There was always one asshole. And sometimes she could deal with them just fine. With a cold but persistent smile on her face. But sometimes they just struck a nerve. 

‘Hi! Welcome to Crumbly Delights, how can I hel- oh, Marcie, hi!’ 

‘Hello, sweetheart, how are you doing?’ 

‘Oh, I’m good, how are you? Long night?’ 

‘You know it. We’re re-organizing the whole kids book section and it just feels like a never-ending task.’ 

‘Woof, I can only imagine. What can I get ya’ darling? And knock yourself out, it’s on me.’ 

‘Oh, now I can’t possibly accept that!’ 

‘Yes, you can and you will! Come on, don’t break the heart of a generous American. And besides, how many times have you let me stay after closing? Or waived late fees?’ 

‘Alright, alright, just this once. I’ll have a raspberry-vanilla danish and a cappuccino to go then.’ 

‘Atta girl, coming right up!’ she said with a warm smile. She didn’t miss the man who walked in with a serious look on his face. Even though he had this boyish streak to him, his eyebrows somehow made him look like he was perpetually stern and concerned about something. She didn’t pay him any mind until she heard him mutter under his breath. 

‘It is waaaay too early to be this chipper in the morning.’ 

She dealt with assholes every single day. She knew how to take care of them, she knew how not to take it personally. But in front of Marcie was another thing. The nicest, wisest British lady, who saved her on so many lonely nights. Not with her. 

‘Well, fuck you too! You wanna try again?’ she replied with a cutting tone. 

They all froze for a moment. Her, fixing this douche with a glare, Marcie, with rounded eyes and a hand raised in front her mouth in surprise, and the douche with a slight embarrassed blush and mouth moving like a fish’s, stranded on shore. She raised an eyebrow that said, ‘try me you dick’. 

‘Uh, uhm’ he started stammering. ‘Shit, sorry, fuck I-uh, I’m sorry! I’m- i’m a chef and I have early mornings and I never, ever wanted to greet anybody like this, at 5 in the morning. I was taken aback a bit, I think, I’m sorry.’ 

‘I’m not a chef, I just work here and I’m paid to be cheerful and nice with dickheads like you all day. So, if you want to buy something, the least you can do is keep your mouth shut if you din’t have anything nice to say.’

‘We- You’re right. I’m sorry. Everything you just said was right. I’ve had a rough week, which is not an excuse, just an explanation. I’m not usually like this.’ 

‘Apology accepted. So, what can I get you today?’ 

‘I’ll just have a coffee and a croissant. Please.

‘Great, coming right up!’ she said, still with a smile on her face. She shot a ‘this fucking guy’ glance at Marcie and got to work on the on orders.

‘Have great day darling, I hope I’ll see you soon at the library.’ Marcie said as she left. 

‘Oh, don’t you worry, you will! Have a great day Marcie!’ The coffee she was making for the douche (she decided, she’ll just call him that) was ready but she thought she’ll take her time with it. 

‘Alright, here’s the croissant and the coffee, it’ll be 5,50 please.’ 

‘Right’ the douche said. He started searching for change in his pocket and she was somewhat ashamed to admit that the flustered haze pleased her a little bit. He eventually put a 10 pound bill on the counter. ‘Here.’ She started looking for change before he said: 

‘No, no-no, I don’t want the change, sorry. I was a dick and this is the least I can do.’ 

‘Well, thank you.’ She started to feel a little bad now. ‘I’m sorry that I snapped at you. It is early and even though you were being a dick, I shouldn’t have.’ 

‘Given the circumstances I think you were remarkably merciful. So, again, sorry, uhm Ma-’ he was looking at her nametag. 

‘Oh, Marjolaine. It’s French. But no one really calls me that.’ 

‘Really? It’s a beautiful name.’ 

‘You already gave me a tip, you don’t have to keep buttering me up. You’re forgiven.’ 

He chuckled at that. 

‘I actually think it’s a beautiful name. And I’m honestly surprised you didn’t spit in my coffee. The servers I worked with definitely would’ve done that.’ 

‘Well, you would’ve seen me do that. Sue us for healthcode violations or just never come back here. Can’t really risk losing business here.’ 

‘Oh, I definitely would’ve come back. Even with the spit, my conscious will only be clear, if i can leave you a tip like three more times’ 

It was now her turn to chuckle a little bit. 

‘Are all chefs such smooth talkers?’ 

‘Most of them are- how should I put this? They do tend to find some enjoyment in uhm, smooth talking and conquests.’ 

She blew raspberries as she laughed in surprise.

‘Conquests? Where are you from? The 1800s? You guys fuck the servers. Everybody knows this since the Kitchen Confidentials, there’s no need to be coy about it.’ 

‘You Americans and your straightforwardness.’ 

‘You guys and your weird prudishness.’ 

‘Well, this is where the Victorian values started. Also, not all chefs shag anything that moves. Pastry chefs generally tend to be a little more tender.’ 

‘Ah, pastry chef, huh?’ 

‘Yup, a late one at that. I better get going.’ He started leaving and she found herself wanting to say something that would make him stay. Almost as if hearing her thoughts, he turned back before stepping out. 

‘I’m Luca by the way. If you’re ever in the neighbourhood, come check out the Mimosa, my treat. Have a nice day.’ 

‘Thanks, you too.’

Chicago, Present day

The first time MJ moved into the small apartment above the bakery she immediately fell in love with the kitchen. It was probably the biggest space in there, wide counters, big fridge, small pantry that definitely made up for the lack of a bathtub. But the absolute knockout had to be the fact that it had not one but two windows. On two different sides making sure that sunshine and light could always get in. A far cry from the gloomy little London apartment she used to have. A far cry even from her first Chicago apartment from like two years ago. Coming back to the States was difficult enough, feeling like she had to start everything over at almost thirty. But there was something about the kitchen and the curtains with the small flower print that immediately had her heart. After moving in, the first thing she did was bake a peach pie. After the frenzy of moving, the uncertainties of starting a new job - the only thing she could think of at that moment, finally stopping after a gruelling month, was baking something. Nothing was unpacked, boxes filled nearly every surface area. Except for the kitchen. Getting ready to bake back then involved setting up her workspace for the first time, which finally filled her with some excitement. Feeling the space, deciding where the pots and pans should go, which drawer should store the cutlery, the cutting boards, the napkins and the clean towels - almost a form of meditation. Peach pie was always the first thing she baked in every new oven she came across. The baking of the crust gave her a general idea about times and temperatures, hot and cold spots in the oven, if it came out burnt or underdone was maybe even better if it turned out perfectly. Gave her more information. The peach had to get a little colour but not too much for it not to get mushy, the sugar or honey glaze on top browning a little but too much. 

She’s made a lot of peach pies since then but none of them felt like this. It was frenetic, hurried, it felt more like something she had to do, not so much something she wanted to do. She was always messy but this went over anything she’s ever done before. Flour everywhere, some eggshell made it into the better, trying to roast the peaches a little turned into burning them quite badly. She huffed and puffed and just couldn’t get her mind to shut off. Her hands weren’t cooperating because she wasn’t really paying that much attention and she knew it. She knew it and hated it. The tense muscles, the tightly shut jaw, her breath in her throat that just would not go deeper, the shakiness of her exhales, the headaches she gets when she can’t relax her face for too long. Everything went on autopilot but that also seemed to be glitching.

Even hours later, running errands, stepping into the bakery to help out, nothing worked. It was stupid. Down right idiotic, really, if she wants to be honest. Which she doesn’t, hence her current predicament. Pacing up and down in the kitchen, waiting for Sophie to finish her shift. Curses being murmured, no use for that of course, but still. She’s hoping that maybe if they keep coming out in these strings, maybe she’ll exorcize something, that maybe the tightness of her chest and the grip of her stomach will eventually go away. Maybe a miracle will strike and she’ll get out of this.  A long shot for sure but which one of us hasn’t hoped for one in times like these? 

‘You okay, boss?’ Sophie asks, finally wandering back to the kitchen. She noticed it earlier for sure but not wanting to hit a nerve, she ignored it. Also hoping that whatever was going on would sort itself out, that she would sort it out, which she somehow always managed to do. Apparently not this time. MJ contemplates for a minute, with a long sigh, with arms wrapping around herself. Cuticles and nails long gone due the anxious gnawing and tearing she’s been keeping at for the last two weeks. 

‘Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m- you know just-’ 

‘Okay’ Sophie interjected, putting the plates in her hand down. ‘Look, I wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause maybe it’s none of my business but what the fuck is going on?’ 

She should’ve seen this coming for sure. Sophie always figured it out. She’s been with her since they started the renovations, through the opening, through money troubles, through broken fridges and missed deliveries. If she was being honest, Sophie was as close to best friend as she managed to have in her adult life. She absolutely should’ve known that there was no way of hiding this from her. 

‘Jesus Margo, you’re starting to scare me.’ 

‘I- fuck me! It’s not a scary thing, I promise, it’s just’ Everything comes out in huffs, in between heavy breaths and she kind of hates it. ‘Okay’ steadying breath, palms pressing into the cold metal of the counter while Sophie stays there, waiting. 

‘Do you remember that guy I told you about? The one I met in London?’

‘Sexy pastry chef guy. Of course I remember, still haven’t shown me a picture.’ 

‘Well, you’re in luck. You can see for yourself in, like, 2 days.’

‘What?!’ Sophie’s voice rises, along with her eyebrows, eyes growing big and she simply cannot blame her. ‘But, wait- that’s-’ The wheels are turning and she’s patient. She‘d much rather Sophie put it together for herself than her having to spell it out anyways. ‘No. Are you kidding me?! Sexy pastry chef guy is Luca?’ 

‘Yeah.’ 

‘Luca, from Copenhagen.’ 

‘Yup.’ 

‘Marcus’s mentor, who, I’m still not sure he’s not in love with, Luca?’

‘Yeah, Sophe, that’s all him.’ 

‘But- What?! How’s that even possible? Why the hell didn’t you say anything?’

‘I just- I don’t know, okay? When Marcus first mentioned him when I was too shocked and I couldn’t say anything and then I kept not saying anything while we became friends, thought it would be really weird, and then suddenly almost a year passed and I thought, well, now it would be really fucking weird to say anything and I just kept on not saying anything and then Marcus said he was visiting and- I don’t know, it all just got away from me a little.’ 

‘No shit.’ Sophie can’t even be mad. The fear and the sadness that settled into her MJ’s eyes is more than enough for her to know that this is not the time for scoldings you could’ve told mes and the like. ‘Again, how’s that even possible?’ she asks, still wanting to understand at the very least. 

‘It’s not that complicated, really. I was in London for two years during college, with a scholarship. We met there, my scholarship ran out, he got Noma, I moved back here, he went to Copenhagen and we broke up not too long after that.’ Still vague, still no details, still hesitant and a little closed off. Sophie nods. Not the time for prodding either. 

‘Do you want to close up, get really drunk and continue this after?’ 

‘Absolutely, I do.’ 

‘Good.’ 

***

After going through the motions, closing up shop, it’s still just 7PM. Perks of running a bakery. 

‘Is it okay to ask how you see this playing out?’ Sophie finally chimes over her third glass of Pinot. 

‘No fucking clue.’ They both laugh because this is ridiculous. Absolutely hysterical.

‘Maybe he doesn’t even remember me, you know? It’s been a while.’ 

‘Yeah, fat fucking chance of that happening.’ 

‘Yeaaaah, I’ll just have to suck this one up, I think.’ 

‘You still could just talk to Marcus, you know? Tell him not to bring him to the bakery or work something out, change shifts, bring him when you’re not there. Or you can still just get the fuck away. Make an excuse about someone’s cat dying or whatever.’

‘Sure, not suspicious at all. Also Marcus is so excited. And it’s already eating me up that I didn’t tell him earlier.’

‘How has he not figured it out though? Luca, I mean, not Marcus. Your name is a pretty huge giveaway. It’s not like there are a shit ton of Marjolaines running around Chicago.’

‘Well, Luca never knew that I ended up in Chicago. When I moved back, I went back to San Francisco. It wasn't until a couple of months that Dylan called me about the bakery. And as for the name, Marcus was the one who started calling me MJ. My best guess is he calls me that with him too and he ever felt the need to explain how that happened.’

‘Right.’ They fell silent for a while. MJ loved these nights. Hanging around for a couple more hours, for a couple more drinks. The bakery was closed, but the smells still lingered. The sweetness of vanilla, the fattiness of butter, the slight bitterness of cooked or baked fruit, lights out, most of it leaking out from the kitchen and seeping in from the streets. Lower, softer, warmer twinkles that would only stop the hardest of stone-cold hearts from opening up a little. Even now, when the jig was up and she had to actually face what was coming her way, which did kind of feel like watching a car crash in slow motion.

‘Is it okay if I ask questions about him?’ Sophie asked eventually.

MJ just nodded, eyes a little hazy. Of course she can. When, if not know? Memories being stirred up and tongue loosening from the wine. She still appreciates it. The checking in, the earnestness and caution of this younger generation.

‘How long were you guys actually together?’

‘About two and a half years.’ 

‘Did you love him?’ 

‘Shit, Sophe, big fucking questions tonight.’ 

‘Sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just- you never talk about him. And until now I thought it was because it was just kind of a fling or something. Hot pastry chef, college years, you know, the works. But seeing you now, I’m starting to think it might have been the opposite.’ 

‘Meaning?’ 

‘You know what I mean, bitch.’ Sophie pushed her shoulder a little and a laugh spilled out of her despite the ache in her chest that not even the wine could dull down.

‘It’s been such a long time. But yeah, yeah, I loved him.’ 

Sophie just hummed. 

‘Why did you guys break up?’ 

MJ just groaned as if she pulled a muscle she didn’t really use. 

‘Can I plead the fifth on that one? Just for tonight. It’s a long and sad story and-’

‘Hey, of course, you don’t have to explain.’ 

‘Okay, look!’ she slammed her glass down, turning towards her, wine splashing up on either side. ‘We can do this, alright? ‘ I’m sure Marcus will understand, and as for that douchebag-’

‘He’s not a douchebag.’ 

‘Well, he fumbled you, so he will have to try and prove that to me. So. As for that douchebag, you can handle it, and I’ll be here with you, the whole time. How long is he staying?’ 

‘I don’t know, I didn’t have follow-up questions.’ 

‘Nevermind, it doesn’t even matter, we’ll get through this, okay?’ 

MJ nodded. Sophie’s confidence was moving but she wasn’t nearly as sure of that as she was.

[consistentlyamess]

Wild Sweetness ⎮ Chapter 1 - Actin' like a sweet car crash [TEASER]

Coming tomorrow! ✨

[2.9K]

pairing(s): luca x fem!oc MJ

summary: MJ has just settled in after opening back up a bakery in Chicago when some unexpected news

warnings: not much so far, takes place during and after season 3, 18+ , MDNI, swearing, eventual smut, second chance romance, pining, slowburn, flashbacks in italics, lmk if i missed anything!!

A/N: I'm moving at a fucking snail pace and I'm sorry!! but she's here, she's going up tomorrow. we're still early days but everyone's favourite pastry chef is making a (flashback) appearance! comments, likes, reblogs are appriciated as always or just come chat at me! And as always 💜💜💜 TY for reading!!!!💜💜💜

‘It is waaaay too early to be this chipper in the morning.’ 

She dealt with assholes every single day. She knew how to take care of them, she knew how not to take it personally. But in front of Marcie was another thing. The nicest, wisest British lady, who saved her on so many lonely nights. Not with her. 

‘Well, fuck you too! You wanna try again?’ she replied with a cutting tone. 

They all froze for a moment. Her, fixing this douche with a glare, Marcie, with rounded eyes and a hand raised in front her mouth in surprise, and the douche with a slight embarrassed blush and mouth moving like a fish’s, stranded on shore. She raised an eyebrow that said, ‘try me you dick’. 

‘Uh, uhm’ he started stammering. ‘Shit, sorry, fuck I-uh, I’m sorry! I’m- i’m a chef and I have early mornings and I never, ever wanted to greet anybody like this, at 5 in the morning. I was taken aback a bit, I think, I’m sorry.’ 

‘I’m not a chef, I just work here and I’m paid to be cheerful and nice with dickheads like you all day. So, if you want to buy something, the least you can do is keep your mouth shut if you din’t have anything nice to say.’

‘We- You’re right. I’m sorry. Everything you just said was right. I’ve had a rough week, which is not an excuse, just an explanation. I’m not usually like this.’ 

‘Apology accepted. So, what can I get you today?’ 

‘I’ll just have a coffee and a croissant. Please.

‘Great, coming right up!’ she said, still with a smile on her face. She shot a ‘this fucking guy’ glance at Marcie and got to work on the on orders.

[badwritinghabit]

Chef's Kiss | Carmy x fem!OC x Luca | Chapter 5

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Ao3

Warnings: This chapter swerves wildly away from canon. Luca comes to Chicago for a visit.

Word Count: 3,871

Summary: Sophie returns to The Bear to welcome Marcus home. She meets Luca who invites her to dinner.

Sophie had never really faced the feelings she had for Carmy before, always assuming nothing could come of it. And it left her reeling a little, the whiplash. But she tried to accept that Carmy had made a mistake. Caught up in the moment of nostalgia. And he had realized it wasn’t what he wanted.

Her call let her vent all of her feelings to Mallary. Her sister was mad, thought he was selfish and cruel. But Sophie found she couldn’t stay angry with him, not really. With Mikey, and the restaurant, and Carmy being Carmy, she couldn’t feel anything except heartbroken.

She was supposed to go into the restaurant again to talk about design decisions but when she begged off, claiming to need to see her sister, no one questioned her. And the next few weeks passed, quietly.

Carmy had called once to ask if she wanted to visit for a mini taste testing of some menu options Syd was trying out, but she could tell he felt awkward about it. She assumed Syd must’ve pushed him. But she couldn’t see him yet. So she made an excuse and he didn’t press her.

Her and Syd had gotten closer in the intervening weeks. Syd had called a few times asking for a chef friend to talk through recipes with since Carmy was busy. Sophie had jumped at the chance, desperately wanting to make more friends in her new city and happy to continue to bond with Syd. Thankfully the one time Syd asked her to come to the restaurant, she seemed to accept it without asking for an explanation when Sophie turned her down.

But Sophie didn’t want to avoid Carmy forever. He was her friend, still. Always. Even as she lay in bed the night he cooked for her and left her broken-hearted, she couldn’t help but remember how much Carmy had helped her. She didn’t want their friendship to end. She wanted to still be around to help him, if he needed it.

And she wanted to be there for Marcus's return. She was excited to hear what he had learned. They had been texting sporadically throughout his time abroad.

Early on in his travels they talked about making improved versions of desserts. He talked about cinnamon rolls and honey buns, making something that reminded him of his childhood. And Sophie had latched onto the idea after her sister had mentioned that she was craving cake pops. Sophie had toyed with a few recipes and ended up finding one she liked quite a bit. She decided to bring some in for Marcus and the others at The Bear as a sort of Welcome Back treat for Marcus. She thought it would get a laugh. And playing around with a recipe had been a good distraction.

She steeled herself as she walked in the front door and put on a smile. The restaurant was already so much farther along than the last time she'd seen it. "Wow. It's amazing in here," she said to Sydney, who walked over to give her a hug.

"Sophie!" Marcus exclaimed, walking over and pulling her into a bear hug after Syd released her.

"I missed you!" she said, hugging him back awkwardly, one arm still holding the glass bowl of cake pops. “How was Copenhagen? I need to hear everything,” she said excitedly. She stepped to the side slightly to place the bowl onto the table and realized someone was standing beside Marcus.

“Is this Sophie Miller?” She was slightly surprised by the British accent. She felt her cheeks warm immediately. Something about the way he said her name shot a thrill down her spine. He was tall, wearing a fitted t-shirt that made her look at his impressively muscled arms. His caramel blonde hair combed back into a swoop on top of his head. He was painfully attractive, though she pushed that thought aside. More importantly, something about him was familiar.

“That’s me,” she responded, with a confused smile.

“I have it on good authority that you are the best pâtissier in New York City.”

She laughed at that. “Where in the world did you hear that?” she asked with a grin, smile fading slightly as she turned to see Carmy had walked into the room.

Carmy looked embarrassed. “This is Chef Luca. I worked with him at Noma. And he helped Marcus in Copenhagen.”

“Chef,” she said in greeting, stepping forward to shake Luca’s hand. He returned it, his other hand clasping her wrist and holding her there for a second or two longer.

“What did you bring?” he asked, nodding towards the bowl she had placed on the table.

She had temporarily forgotten that she had brought them. She opened her mouth and shut it again before putting the heel of her hand against her forehead with a sigh.

His grin grew as he watched her.

“It is sort of a joke,” she said, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

“Are these–?” Marcus trailed off. She nodded to him and he chuckled. “Yes!” He laughed and grabbed one, looking it over.

“Cake pops?” Somehow it sounded even more absurd in his accent. Luca looked between the dessert and Sophie and she blushed.

“Marcus and I were challenging ourselves to try to make improved versions of some of our favorite popular desserts. I do get a hankering for a cake pop sometimes,” she trailed off.

“A hankering?” he asked, his accent making the word sound silly. “May I?” He was still looking at the dessert.

She nodded to him and pushed them closer. “Strawberry, white chocolate.” Luca and Marcus grabbed one each. She shifted on her feet, nervous to see Luca’s reaction. Carmy had walked over to grab one too and she felt her palms start to sweat. She had always appreciated his advice on her cooking. His palette was probably more precise than anyone she knew. And she trusted his critiques. He was blunt, but kind. Never judgmental or personal.

She forgot what it felt like to have him try her food. She was nervous.

“These are delicious,” Marcus said, finishing his bite. She smiled at him.

Luca had drawn her eye as he was looking up after finishing his. “This is really light. Almost like a shortcake.”

“Yeah I was trying to go for a less dense version. Whipped cream based frosting..”

“Marscapone?” he asked, his tongue running across his lower lip. As if he knew she was now staring at his lips, his mouth quirked into a grin.

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“It’s delicious,” he said and she smiled at him, feeling some of the tension melt away. The approval was surprisingly heartening, considering she didn’t really know him.

She glanced to Carmy, still silent. “Of course it’s amazing. You made it,” he said, voice sincere. She blushed, not knowing what to say. She glanced around, hoping to dodge having to respond to that statement.

“So what are you doing in the lovely city of Chicago?” she asked, changing the topic, and looking to Luca. Hoping to find out more about him. Marcus spoke so highly of him, she had been intrigued about his mentor. She didn’t think she’d get to meet him.

“Visiting friends, going to restaurants. I’m going to New York on Tuesday but thought I’d take the chance to see some old friends in Chicago before that.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you,” she said with a smile. “Are you and Marcus working on things here? Or can I steal him so I can hear about what he’s learned?”

“You go right ahead, I was going to talk to Carmy.” He grinned at her again and she swore he was looking at her a little longer than normal. Some suggestion in his eyes. She tried to ignore it, not wanting to assume some connection when it could very well just be her imagination.

“Marcus, are you going to share your dessert ideas?” Sophie asked, excited to hear more. And wanting to stop overthinking Luca’s friendliness.

“Yeah, I have three recipes ready,” he agreed immediately. “I can show you.” He pulled his notebook from his bag sitting on the counter. Sophie followed him to his station, watching from the corner of her eye as Luca walked over to Carmy to speak with him.

Sophie eagerly looked over Marcus’s sketches and notes. She was excited to try all of it. He had clearly done his research. She could feel his excitement as he talked through his new recipe ideas. She was happy for him.

The two talked for a while before Luca walked back and joined their discussion.

“What is the verdict? Do you think Copenhagen was worth it?” he asked, seeming to point the question more to Sophie.

“These look amazing. It seems like time well spent,” Sophie said, looking down at the notebook again to avoid holding Luca’s suddenly intense gaze.

“It was a great experience,” Marcus said. “I feel like I learned so much more there than I could have staying here.”

Sophie smiled at him. “I’m so glad. You deserve it. You are a fantastic chef.”

Syd called Marcus over to her and then Sophie and Luca were alone in the corner of the kitchen.

“Have you ever thought about visiting Copenhagen?” Luca asked, drawing her eyes back to his.

“I’ve heard good things,” she said. “I’m glad Marcus could make the journey. Thanks for taking care of him. It seems like this was just what he needed.”

“It was my pleasure. He is very talented.” He was smiling at her, eyes soft. “Well if you are ever traveling, you are always welcome in my kitchen.”

There was some edge to his words. A teasing lilt. Or a challenge. “Are you saying you could teach me, Chef Luca?”

“Oh I wouldn’t assume anything like that.” He was leaning on the table and she found herself leaning towards him as well. Luca grinned crookedly at her. “But maybe I could show you a thing or two.”

“Making big claims, chef,” she said, grinning up at him challengingly.

The sound of a door slamming closed made Sophie look away. Carmy had gone into the office. She looked back to Luca.

“Have you been to Honey and Grain?” he asked her, standing back to his full height. She hadn’t fully realized it until they got closer but he was very tall. Much taller than her.

She focused back on the conversation at hand. Honey and Grain was a restaurant that had opened a few years back in Wicker Park. She remembered hearing about it from some of the chefs at Ever when she was there. It came highly recommended.

“I have not. I haven’t been to too many restaurants since getting to Chicago, actually,” she admitted, suddenly self-conscious. In San Diego she had made it a priority to go to as many restaurants as she could. And she had made a lot of connections there. But in Chicago she felt more out of place.

“I’m going tonight. Would you care to join me?”

“Really?” she asked, eyes wide. “If you have an extra spot, I’d love to. Yeah,” she agreed quickly.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking a little surprised. “Great.” He pulled out his phone and asked for her number. He seemed excited. “The problem with having chef friends is that everyone is always working.”

Sophie laughed, nodding in agreement. “So I’ll meet you at the restaurant?”

“I can come pick you up,” he offered. “I rented a car while I’m here.”

She blushed, suddenly feeling like this was very much a date. But she realized it couldn’t be, really. He lived in Copenhagen. “That sounds good. I’ll send you my address.”

Luca left to grab tea –how very British of him– with another friend and Sophie stayed for a bit, chatting with Marcus and Syd. But she found she was eager to get home and get ready for dinner. She said her goodbyes and grabbed her things to leave.

“You’re going out with Luca?” Carmy asked. He caught her as she was leaving. She froze, hoping to avoid talking to him one on one. She wanted to be able to brush it all under the rug but she was nervous.

“Yeah. We’re going to Honey and Grain,” she said, overly exaggerating the name to sound elegant. “I don’t think I have clothes for the occasion but we’ll see what I can dig up.” She was a little proud that she sounded calm and direct, not at all like she was freaking out on the inside.

Carmy looked uncomfortable and Sophie was worried.

“He’s your friend, right? He’s a good guy?” She worried that something was wrong.

“Yeah, he’s a great guy,” he agreed.

“Nothing’s wrong?” she asked. They had long ago adopted this phrase as a quick check in. A way to reaffirm that things were okay between them. Both of them had learned they shared a tendency to anxiously react. It was easier to be direct.

He was still looking at her, in that way that made her heart race. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

“Nothing’s wrong, Soph,” he agreed. But for the first time, she wasn’t sure she believed him. They stood, awkward tension still between them.

“Well, I’ll see you next week.” She had already agreed to come in to help Syd and Carmy pick plates and tableware and she thought it would be a good neutral way to get back to comfortable ground. She wanted to be able to help him with his restaurant, she really did.

She was finally looking at him and she realized he looked exhausted. His mouth in a tight, worried line. His eyes dark. She wanted to help him, like he had helped her so many times.

She took a breath. “I’m excited to meet Claire.” She added. She was nervous, unsure what he had told Claire about the situation, but she wanted to be happy for Carmy. Wanted to try and tell him that she could move past it without any hard feelings. That if he was worried about their friendship, he didn’t need to be.

He shrugged and took the cloth from his shoulder and gripped it in his hands. “I feel like I’m missing too much,” he said.

“At the restaurant?” she asked. He nodded and she sighed. “I know it is a lot to balance. But you can figure it out. And I’m sure Claire understands if you need to spend more time here, at least until things get settled,” she said, trying to be supportive. He looked unconvinced and she nudged him gently with her shoulder. “You can do it. And you have a lot of people who are here to help.” She grinned at him, hoping to see him lighten up. And he did, a little. His mouth quirked up at the corner.

“Thanks, Soph. Have a good night,” he said before returning to work.

"See ya, Carm," she called out. Proud of herself. Knowing it had felt nerve wracking in the beginning, but feeling like her and Carm had been friends for long enough she could still talk to him and not have it be weird. They could move past this.

---

She dug hastily through her closet to find something appropriate for a date to a fancy restaurant with a man she had just met a few hours earlier. She eventually settled on a simple black dress her sister had gifted her for her birthday the prior year. It was easily the most elegant item of clothing she owned. She looked in the mirror and was satisfied. Settling on a classic smokey eye and pale lip, she felt fairly confident by the time she was done with her makeup. She ended up picking small heels, figuring she'd probably have to walk enough that wearing anything taller wouldn't be worth it. Besides, he would tower over her anyways. She was slipping the dress on again when she got a call.

Luca’s name flashed across the screen.

“Hello?” she answered, breathless for no reason at all.

“Sophie, this is Luca,” he paused and she felt the same flare of something at the sound of him saying her name, “I’m just downstairs.”

She groaned. “I’m running a bit behind. Were you able to find a parking spot? Maybe you could come up for a second?” She was straightening her dress with her free hand, suddenly nervous. She glanced at the time on her phone quickly.

“I’m a little early,” he replied amiably. “I can come up. Which apartment?”

“4. Actually, I’ll run down, the buzzer hasn’t been working.” She remembered and corrected herself.

His dry chuckle warmed her cheeks. She heard as he closed his car door so she headed to her own door, ignoring her shoes to save time, and instead running down in her house slippers.

She pulled open the door quickly. She was met with a grin by Luca. He was wearing a sports jacket over a navy shirt. She was immediately drawn to his eyes, the blue more pronounced against his shirt.

She realized she still had her phone to her ear. “Hi.” She waved, awkwardly, with her phone for a half a second before realizing she was being strange and motioned behind her towards her apartment. “I’m up here.” She smiled through her nerves.

“I like your shoes,” he teased, gently.

She laughed, relaxing into his company. “Slippers are on trend for fine dining, haven't you heard?” she asked as she reached the top of the stairs and popped a foot out behind her.

She led him to her apartment and apologized quickly.

“Almost ready. Just have to grab my bag. And my shoes. Feel free to be nosy,” she called out with a smile as she ran back towards her room.

“Way ahead of you,” he said, heading over to her small bookcase and cataloging the titles. Cookbooks. Of course. A few textbooks. Some contemporary novels.

“Almost ready.” She grinned at him, walking over to the door to slide her heels on. “Find anything good?”

“Syntax textbook?” he asked, nodding towards the small stack of textbooks at the bottom of her shelf.

“Ah yeah. I went to college for Computer Science– well, Natural Language Processing and Linguistics. For a bit,” she conceded, sliding her left shoe on and standing up straight. She caught him glancing down at her legs and back up to her eyes, the flash of embarrassment was overridden by the warm tingly feeling of his eyes on her.

“For a bit?” he asked, curiously.

“Yeah, I dropped out Sophomore year and went to culinary school,” she said with a soft smile, more to herself than anything.

“I am so curious about this career path,” he said, looking at her with genuine curiosity. She was blushing again.

“Not too much of a story. I can share on the way though?” she asked, with a smile. She walked over to the door to let them out.

“Right, let’s go,” he said, seemingly forgetting for a moment they were on their way to a restaurant. He smiled and walked past her and the smell of his cologne filled her nose. Warm, and dark, almost smoky. He smelled good. She realized she had lost focus and quickly stepped out and locked the door behind her, hoping he hadn’t noticed anything.

He was charming the entire drive, asking about her life and sharing pieces of his own. It felt surprisingly comfortable. Being with Luca came so naturally it was like they had been friends for years by the time they got to the restaurant.

One they arrived, Luca was a gentleman in a way that made Sophie a little nervous. He opened the doors for her and pulled out her chair. She felt pressure to be the kind of person who would be taken to a date at one of the most well regarded and exclusive restaurants in Chicago. She hadn’t been on a date in such a long time that she felt out of her element.

She found herself at least temporarily distracted by the beauty of the restaurant. The dim lighting, beautifully laid tables, warm and surprisingly homey feeling decor. It wasn’t the cold, immaculate white linen and emotionless art she had imagined it would be when she had heard about the restaurant.

As if he could tell she was feeling uncomfortable, he smiled at her kindly. “A friend of mine works here. Chef Murray. I am looking forward to trying his cooking.”

“I’ve heard nothing but amazing things,” she said, glad to be talking about food. “And I really like the design of the restaurant. I think I was imagining some of the restaurants I went to in San Diego. This is a lot more–homey.”

“Luca.” A man with a very heavy Scottish accent had approached their table and was reaching out to Luca. He immediately stood and embraced the man, clapping him on the back. Sophie hesitated but followed him and stood, holding out a hand with a smile. He shook his head and pulled her in for a hug.

“Glad to hear Luca brought along a lass. Can’t have him eating on his own in Chicago,” he said with a grin, raising his bushy eyebrows at Luca who gave him a look.

Sophie was laughing, feeling immediately comforted by this loud, outgoing man with his charming Scottish accent. “Your restaurant is beautiful,” she said to him.

He beamed at her. “Thank you. But I will need to hear the review after you try the food.” He turned back to Luca. “I hope you both enjoy.” He once again clapped Luca on the shoulder and walked quickly away.

“He’s a lot.” Luca said, with a quirk of his mouth. She found herself looking at his lips before responding.

“I really like him,” she said genuinely. “I feel like I’m going to enjoy his food.”

She did. The food was amazing. And the waiter kept coming around to fill their glasses of wine. She found herself in a little bubble with Luca, smiling and laughing throughout the meal. Discussing their own restaurant experiences. Excitedly complimenting and talking through each dish. She found herself feeling lighter than she had in months. He was just so kind and warm.

At the end of the night, the two of them stepped out into the cool night air. She kept stealing glances at him, smiling when their eyes met. She knew he was only going to be in Chicago for three nights. Knew this couldn’t be a relationship of any kind. But they were flirting, right? The grins and the giggles and the compliments. It felt like flirting.

“That was amazing,” she said, feeling as if she was repeating herself but wanting to fill the silence with something.

“It was,” he agreed, his eyes burning into hers. He seemed to hesitate a second. “My hotel is near here. If you’d like to come up –”

“Yeah. Yes. I’d like that,” she responded quickly, too quickly. She felt her cheeks burn. But then he was smiling at her again, his whole face lighting up. And she couldn’t feel embarrassed for long.

[badwritinghabit]

Chef's Kiss | Carmy x fem!OC x Luca | Chapter 4

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Ao3

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, Carmy panicking

Word Count: 2,501

Summary: Sophie and Sydney bond over dealing with Carmy's bullshit. And Sophie and Carmy get close in the kitchen.

Sophie started building a friendship with Sydney, the sous chef in Carmy’s kitchen. Their short time cooking together at The Beef acted as an introduction and when Sophie ran into Sydney at a farmer’s market, they reconnected and ended up spending the afternoon together. They wandered the market and eventually decided to chat over coffee and pastries at a coffee shop nearby.

The two bonded over their experiences in restaurants, exchanging stories. Sophie learned about Sydney’s catering experience and her time in culinary school. Sophie shared about her time in San Diego, how she missed California but had to admit Chicago had its own charm.

Sydney updated her about the restaurant. Carmy and the crew at The Beef had found money Mikey was hiding in cans of tomatoes. And they were planning to rebuild into an entirely new fine dining spot, with a window to keep hold of their roots and still sell their famous sandwiches.

Sophie was happy for them. Carmy had talked about his dream to help Mikey turn the restaurant into the Bear for so long. Syd was also excited to be working in a restaurant more fitting of her experience. She deserved the role of CDC and Sophie was thrilled for her.

“I needed this,” Sydney sighed into her coffee mug, looking at Sophie after she vented some of her frustrations. “Carmy is driving me insane.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s been even more unresponsive lately. And I know after his brother– I mean, I can’t imagine.” Sydney had quieted. “Tina was telling me how close they were. How Mikey had been a little unstable but no one ever expected–” she trailed off and Sophie went cold.

“Richie told me he had passed but I didn’t realize.. he- Mikey killed himself?” Sophie asked, feeling her heart start to race.

“You didn’t know? Oh shit. I assumed since you and Carmy were friends you must’ve– it was all over the internet too. With the Beef. There was a couple articles. And Carmy being Carmy…” Sydney was clearly uncomfortable, feeling guilty for spilling something she worried she shouldn’t have.

“No it’s okay, Syd. Carmy and I hadn’t really talked since he went to work at Noma. And I hadn’t really kept up with his career,” Sophie regretted not trying harder to keep track of where he had ended up.

“It’s hard because I know it explains some of this. I can’t blame him. But also, this is my future too. I can’t risk my career if he isn’t all in. And he keeps leaving me hanging.”

“You are absolutely right. Even if he has a reason it doesn’t make it okay for him to abandon you,” Sophie agreed, head still spinning with the news of Mikey’s suicide. “Damn, sorry Syd. I wish I could help. I don’t think me talking to him would be any help though.”

“Did something happen between you? It seemed like you two were talking and now you’re avoiding each other,” Syd said, leaving it open for Sophie to respond.

“It’s a long story. We had a bit of a disagreement,” she paused. “But I wish I knew about Mikey. My dad– uh. My dad also took his own life. A few years before I met Carmy actually. So I know what it’s like,” she said, softly. “Should have given him the benefit of the doubt. He has other things on his mind,” she explained.

“Oh I’m so sorry Sophie,” Syd was instantly sympathetic and Sophie nodded. “I’m sure you and Carmy will work it out,” Syd smiled at her encouragingly.

Sophie hoped she was right.

---

It seemed as though Sydney must’ve said something, done some urging, because Carmy called Sophie a few days after they spoke. He asked her to visit, to come see what they were doing with the new restaurant. And to discuss their decor decisions. He said she had the better eye for art and design. She disagreed, Carmy was one of the most detail oriented people she’d ever met. But she did enjoy it and it was a good excuse to put what happened behind them.

Her visit was fairly short and Carmy was quiet, as usual. She learned a little about the stress of kitchen prep, getting all of the permits, making sure the new space was up to code. She met Carmy’s sister Sugar and offered her help where she could.

She still felt a little awkward around him, a little annoyed at him and herself. But she wanted Carmy’s restaurant to be successful. He deserved it.

She left before they could ever interact without Sydney or Sugar also there.

---

Weeks later, Sophie received a call. Carmy’s voice sounded through her phone. “Soph. I– I know this is sudden. But I have an idea for a dish and I was hoping I could cook it for you.”

“A new dish for the menu?” she asked, confused.

“Yes. I had this idea and I couldn't get it out of my head. Could I come over? I want you to try it.”

“Oh– of course, Carm. Tonight?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay,” he sounded unsure. As if he just realized he was making a strange request.

“Yeah. That would be fine. You can come over whenever.”

Carmy called when he got to the front door and she found him outside, looking slightly flustered, holding a giant bag of groceries. She grinned at him and led him upstairs.

“I won’t get in your way but let me know if you need help. Or a taste tester,” she said. She walked back to sit on the couch and tried to work a little on her laptop.

Something about the sounds of Carmy cooking in her apartment made her feel at peace. Like all of the nights in New York, shuffling around in her tiny apartment, cooking into the early hours of the morning. She missed it. The comfort of just having him around. Eventually she stopped pretending to work and found herself just looking over at him while he cooked.

“This feels a lot like New York, doesn’t it?” he asked, as if he could feel her attention on him.

“I was just thinking about that”, she admitted, walking over and leaning against her kitchen island to get a better view of his cooking. She hummed. “Do you remember that night we made those god awful ginger prawns?”

Carmy laughed, loudly, caught by surprise. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“My roommates were so mad. Our apartment smelled terrible for a week.” She shook her head with a grin.

“This smells amazing though. Almost like–” She stopped for a second when she saw the chicken and herbs in the cast iron skillet on her stove. “Chicken Paillard?”

“It is. A little bit of a twist. Because you used to be obsessed with potatoes. And bacon lardons.”

“This is like our lazy sunday dish.” She was astonished. “But French.”

“A little French. A little Danish. Mostly just– our dish. It’s what I want the Bear to be. All of the things I love.” Sophie blushed at the softness in his voice.

He had started plating it, his hands sure as he placed the chicken over the salad of greens, roasted veggies, and crisped polenta– alongside the small caramelized potatoes. An herb and lemon scented pan sauce carefully poured over the top. He turned and handed it to her.

She bit her lip but took the plate and looked it over. Devouring the details, the mix of colors, the golden potatoes and the bright greens and the crispy, browned chicken. She took a bite.

“It’s amazing,” she said, knowing she was blushing. After another moment of thought, she looked up at Carmy with wide eyes. “I remember these potatoes. The Danish recipe.” He had cooked them for her the night he told her he was applying to Noma. She remembered so clearly sitting and watching him cook for her. Sad about his possible departure but happy for him. He was so excited. And he deserved good things.

This dish was all of it. It was New York. It was them, sitting in the kitchen at 2am laughing over complete nonsense because they were so exhausted they had become giddy. All of the quiet joy they had found amidst the chaos. She took another bite. Then she slid the plate over to him. He reached over and took a bite as well, looking at it thoughtfully. “You’re too talented for your own good,” she said, voice too intense for what she meant as a way to play off how much it meant to her. For him to make this dish.

He smiled at her, his own cheeks flaring pink. “I’ve been so fucking lost. Making the menu for The Bear. Syd has helped a lot but we’re both just taking swings wildly, trying to make something memorable. But for some reason this afternoon I couldn’t get our chicken dish out of my head. And I wanted to make something that felt like that. I wanted it to feel like your kitchen in New York.”

Her heart pounded. She was getting caught up in him again. She didn’t want to mess it up. She knew what he was going through. With Mikey. Didn’t want to make things worse for him.

“It’s perfect,” she blinked and looked away, trying to cut the tension. “But you improving on our dish feels a little like that terrible Bobby Flay show,” Sophie joked, lightly. He huffed out a laugh before looking at her with his unbelievably emotional eyes. “I think this is my new favorite dish,” she said, thoughtfully. His eyes lit up and she decided to tell him just how much she loved his cooking– had always loved his cooking. “For years my favorite has been that veal saltimbocca you made for us on our last night in New York,” she admitted quietly, hoping he didn’t feel odd about her obsession with his food.

“That was your favorite?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Are you kidding me? It was simple but perfect. Back to basics, that’s what we talked about back then, remember? I was so annoyed with fine dining then, turning everything into foam. I feel like that conversation, that dish changed my career. It has stuck with me ever since.” She realized she had rambled, gotten too passionate, and bit her lip.

Carmy had stepped closer to her. “That day– those dolma you made? I tried for months to get that recipe right,” he said to her, eyes burning into hers. She felt the air leave her lungs. It had changed– the energy between them. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, nervous. “And those caneles– I get a canele every time I see it on a menu now.”

She blushed, feeling nervous energy shoot up her spine as he stood in front of her, hands on either side of her hips against the counter. “I remember wanting to make something so you wouldn’t forget me when you were off traveling the world,” she responded softly.

He was standing so very close and shifted even closer, she moved slightly, making space between her legs so that they were on either side of his hips. Her heart pounded. He moved his hands and the feeling of his palms on her thighs burned through her jeans. “It worked.” It was a whisper.

And then his lips were on hers, the taste of lemon and smoke still on his tongue from the dish. He was soft and gentle, hands unmoving on the outside of her thighs. But she wanted more. She lifted her hand and tangled it into his hair.

Her thoughts had found her here numerous times before but none of it compared to the reality. The feel of his lips against hers. His hands as they smoothed up from her thighs to her hips, pulling her against him. His hand traveled up the curve of her back and cupped the back of her neck, fingers entwined in her hair. She was burning, every inch of her he touched suddenly alight.

And then it was over.

He pulled back and she found herself looking into his eyes. Something had changed. He was pulling away again.

“Wait.” He stepped back and pushed a hand to his forehead. “Shit, I shouldn’t have.” He was panicking, eyes wide. Gripping his hair, he turned and cursed to himself.

She reached out to him, still breathless. Her brain struggled to catch up but something kicked in, seeing Carmy’s clear distress. “Carm, it’s okay. I know you are about to start a restaurant. Not a good time to make things complicated,” she said, quickly changing to comforting mode. She was still thrown for a loop, her lips and fingertips tingling from the kiss. But she was worried about him. “It’s fine,” she said, again. Trying to mollify whatever feelings he was having. Remembering what she learned about Mikey. Knowing he must be so fucking exhausted with it all. She didn’t want to be another problem.

“No.” He shook his head, hands running through his hair. “Fuck. I ran into Claire. From high school.” She recognized the name, of course. The two had talked about their childhoods and she came up. “We ran into each other and then I helped her move some furniture. And she took me to a party.” He had let go of his hair and it fell across his face. He looked disheveled and broken and apologetic. She realized what was happening. He was choosing Claire. Then why did he kiss her?

Her heart raced. Shame burning the pit of her stomach. But she forced herself to respond. The embarrassment and hurt could come later. “Oh that– that’s good, right?” She asked, her voice sounding much more clear and confident than she expected, even with the stutter. “I know what she meant to you,” she said when he remained silent.

Why did you kiss me? She wanted to ask. Wanted to rewind and have him take it back. It wasn’t fair to do this to her. Make a dish for her. For them. Kiss her. Then say he was with someone else.

“I’m–fuck.” His hands were shaking. “Fuck I’m so sorry, Soph.” He walked over to the table and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going.” And he ran out the door.

She stood there in the kitchen as he left. Eventually she turned to look at the plate of food. Their relationship on a plate. Their hopes and dreams as young chefs. The little safe friendship they had built. She grabbed the plate and threw it into the trash.

She felt tears streaming down her face before she realized she had started crying. She walked over to her couch, grabbed her cellphone from the table, and called Mallary.

“Hello?” her sister’s voice answered almost immediately.

“Mal,” Sophie’s voice wavered, a sob escaping before she could help it.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“He kissed me.”