#the world is a little less fun now that shes gone

[phoenixremix69]

Holy fuck guys, i just thought of the saddest Owl House AU ever. I call it the unified world

It all stems from one very simple premise; What if the Day of Unity happened before Luz ever came to the isles?

imagine it, your parents all leave to go to this massive celebration and you're watching on the crystal ball, eager to see this glorious new world. and the next thing you know, everyone is dead. and not just them, adults, older siblings, neighbors, everyone with a sigil all over the isles just slumps over dead. Only about 100 or less wild witches are left scattered around the country. and the children are left to rule over the dying country full of dangerous monsters that love to eat flesh they've inherited

Amity made it out better than most, Ed and Em didn't have sigils so they're still alive. But dammit, Hexside needs order and it looks like she's got to be the one to do it. The children have to be protected. So she takes over with Boscha as her number two. and they make hexside...not safe, but better than outside. Order must be maintained

Gus and Willow leave. Amity's made it pretty clear how she feels about Willow and she's not about to let anything happen to Gus, someone needs to be his rock. poor little guy, not even 12 and his whole world is gone. at least they met up with the legendary owl lady. surely she could protect them if anybody.

She can't. Oh, it was a normal day. she was watching her sister and her ex on the crystal ball, lamenting days gone by. then suddenly, everyone she's ever loved is gone. It's just her, King, and Hooty left. And now these two kids on top of that. And they have to keep moving. The owl house was safe for a few weeks, but then this one monster showed up, covered in eyeballs and screeching about a door and attacking the crap out of them. She almost lost an arm to it. looks like whatever it is heard about her human world goods and thought it could escape to the human realm. Well like crap she's letting that happen. It doesn't matter that without Morton around she's slowly losing her body and magic, she has to keep the kids safe. Worst case Scenario, She's shoving all the kids through and giving them the key. Let this rotten world rot with all of them inside it.

The Collector doesn't like this game. It was going to be so Fun! the Day of Unity would happen, Philip would free him, and they could start a new game. But none of that happened, All he did was shove the disc in his latest grimwalker's arms and shove them both down a big hole, and even if the toy survived the broken leg(gross, did all mortals have that weird red water inside them?) it started dying anyway once the spell started. At least it listened to him when he told it to slice it's arm off. But then the lack of food(right, mortals need food?) made it turn to stone to conserve energy, and it's not like HE can wake it up stuck in this disc. Now he's got no one to play with

ROTTEN UNFORGIVABLE WITCHES! HE'S WON! YOU'RE ALL DEAD AND YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE COURTESY TO GIVE HIM WHAT HE WANTS FROM YOUR CORPSES! WRETCHED PALISMEN ALL RUNNING TO THAT FALSE IDOL THE BAT QUEEN! HE NEEDS THAT DOOR NOW! HE WILL HAVE THAT DOOR! HE WILL GET WHAT HE DESERVES! IT'S ONLY A MATTER OF TIME!

[iamnotlookingidonotseeit]

fascinating revelations out of my dad's professional coaching of the whole family today

my mom scored astonishingly high on empathy and caring for a woman who seemed to find it next to impossible to express that to me

my dad has done an insane amount of work to be so warm and personable considering that his natural inclination is towards strong reserve rooted in anxiety (just like me!!)

my sister shocked - SHOCKED 🙄 - to learn that she scores almost zero in empathy AND very high on manipulation

actually shocking reveal that my sister always knew she was my mom's favorite. like I kind of assumed she was mean to both of us but apparently most of the biting comments were for me

[goldsbitch]

Kiss with a fist

To his twins, the world is ending. To Lando, it’s another exhausting reminder that parenting might actually be harder than racing.

or - No boys allowed near the girls from now on, especially not his rivals' son.

warning: dad! Lando, none, fun, domestic 3k word count stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

//

There is a loud crying sound coming from the room the seven year olds share and Lando has never felt so old in his bones. He'd just come back from an exhausting race and those don't exactly get easier with age. In times like these, he longs for the days when he was in his first years in F1, blissfully unaware of just how capable and seamless his body was. Anyway. No time to sulk in. One of his daughters is in distress and the day he does not respond to that will be the day he willingly puts himself up in jail.

He gets up from the couch and rushes over to the kids room. The crying is not stopping and when he enters it somehow starts clicking all in. He kneels down and hugs Maya, who looks like is determined to cry her eyes out. Meanwhile, Olivia is sitting on her bed, exceptionally quiet and has never looked more suspicious in her life, ever.

"We need to keep a closer eye on Liv, I think she's teasing Maya too much these days" he recalls Y/N saying over the phone one late evening. It was an early morning call for him, due to the timezones, but he remembers it clearly. He brushed it off, telling his wife that it's getting late over back home and that she should go and get some sleep while she can. But right now, assessing the current situation, he is not so sure about his previous judgement. Long gone is the time he was scared of being a bad parent, of fucking up. He's come to realization that he will inevitably fuck up - not in the same way as his parents, but in a completely new and original way. The fact they were blessed with twins making it that more likely to happen. He's hugging and caressing one daughter, while eyeing the other. Olivia has this look in her face and his stomach sinks down deeply, because he has seen this look before. In the mirror, many times. He was what most would consider a peaceful quiet child. Unless it was him and his sister alone. He'd tease her mercilessly, wait for her to start crying and then play innocent. His parents fell for that so easily.

And now, he's looking at his own daughter, who stares right back at him, and they both know. He shakes his head, making sure Maya does not see and while it does make him mad, it makes him less mad that it should. Because ultimately, he knows that him and his sisters grew up just fine and this teasing eventually stopped. Still, his other daughter is wallowing in his arms and he can't ignore that.

Maya is the first one to speak. "Daddy...I don't want to have a baby," she leans back from his embrace and pouts at him in a way only seven year old know how. So raw, honest and unfiltered.

Lando must have misheard her. “Come again, sweetheart?”

He brushes few tears away. At least she’s not sobbing anymore and is focused on trying to get the words out. “I don’t want to have a baby, I’m too young for that”.

It’s hard not to agree with that. She is seven years old.

He smiles gently, trying to somehow untangle this. "Why would you have a baby?" Another stream of tears and cries follows and she wraps herself in his arms again. He sighs, as it is does not get easier with time to hear your little daughter cry and he looks up to Olivia, who's still sitting on her bed. He's not mad per say, but he's silently asking her to help him find an answer to this all. This is the first time that Liv's expression shakes up and cracks away, hinting on either guilt or at least a sorrow she feels at the sight of her own twin crying. Good, Lando thinks. He tries as much as he can to avoid automatically blaming her for anything without having enough information about the situation. But, his it's hard to ignore his intuition.

He turns to Maya again. "Sweetie, why would you have a baby? You're so young?"

Maya's voice trips over her own sobs, but she finally speaks again. "I...I kissed a boy today."

Now - hold on. First of all, why is his seven year old daughter kissing some boys? He feels himself tense up. Of course he knew this days would come, but he was silently hoping for ten more years of keeping his little angels as they were. Just young, tiny kids running around playing tag. Not kissing boys, girls or whomever. "Who did you kiss?" he can't stop himself from asking, silently hoping he does not know the parent of said boy, because there is no way of preventing himself from making the "concerned parent phone call". Monte Carlo is small, there is only few nursery schools around here. It's an everyone sort of knows everyone kind of situation. "Maya, don't worry - you're not in trouble," he adds, trying to make sure he keeps up on having his daughter willing to tell him stuff like that. She is not in trouble - the boy is. Lando used to be a boy. He knows what's up.

Maya's lip is trembling and her eyes are wet. He can't bear that sight. "Sweetheart, you're not pregnant. I'm sure of that," he consoles her and after few moments of deep thought, she seems to believe him. She ask once more for confirmation. His answered is interrupted by his other daughter, who now looks equally concerned as Maya was just a minute ago.

"But she is pregnant. That's how it works. Boys at the playground said so," she speaks, oh-so-sure of her claims. He face is serious and has a sense of fatality around it. He begins to understand how other children would fall so deeply under this spell.

Ah, Lando thinks and the penny drops. He runs his hands through his hair and has to chuckle just a bit. He doesn't want Maya to think he’s making fun of her, but the absurdity of the situation is too much. He leans back on his heels, looking between his two daughters. Maya’s face is still flushed from crying, and Olivia is sitting with her arms crossed, looking like a pint-sized prophet of doom.

He clears his throat, trying to sound as serious as possible. "Okay, let's get something straight out of the way. Kissing someone is not how you get pregnant," he speaks and his mind briefly flashes to the panic he and Y/N felt the moment they found out she was pregnant with the twins. It's been a long time ago and enlightening journey since, but he can somewhat understand the sentiment. He tries to ground his children down some more. "Look at me and Mommy. We kiss all the time and she is not pregnant, right?"

Olivia seems intrigued. "So, how do you get pregnant?" He looks at her and curses himself for walking right into that one. It's clear in her face and maneurism that she is going to be a very difficult teenager one day. "Ask Mommy when she comes back," he blurts out, not at all prepared for that talk. He's also already mentally ordering apology bouquet for his dear wife for throwing her under a bus like that. He turns to Maya again. "Anyway, you don't worry. You're not pregnant," he caresses her cheek and once she really does seem more calm, he asks. "Now - who kissed you?"

Maya glances at Olivia, and Lando notices his other daughter watching with laser focus. Olivia’s lips are pressed tightly together, her expression that of someone who knows something and is dying to spill it.

“Do you want me to tell him?” Olivia asks suddenly, looking unable to contain herself any longer.

“Liv,” Lando says with a sigh, shooting her a warning look.

“What? I already know who it was,” Olivia says, folding her arms across her chest with a dramatic flair that only a seven-year-old can pull off. He averts his gaze to Maya, who looks like is ready to fess up.

"You're not in trouble," he says and hopes he can keep up on his promise.

She tenses up and something tells Lando he actually does not want to know. "It was Lucas." Too late. “Lucas,” he repeats, his voice carefully neutral.

Maya nods slowly, her cheeks flushing pink. “Lucas Verstappen,” she specifies. Lando feels his stomach drop. Max Verstappen’s son. Of all the boys in the world, it had to be Lucas, the mini version of the Verstappen gang and what one would call a true heir of their infamous blunt approach to life. If this is true, it marks the beginning of a lifetime of headaches. His poor, sweet little daughter - one he'll have to protect until forever.

"And she kissed him too!" Olivia nearly screams out, letting her opinion on this known by the judgy tone.

Lando eyes grow wide and he silently thankful for Olivia spilling it like it is. Maya's guilt ridden face gives it away all. "Maya, honey, aren't you a little young to be kissing boys?" he asks rhetorically, because of course - his little angel should definitely not be doing that.

"I would never kiss a boy! They are gross and annoying," Olivia blurts out, ever-so-competitive. He's not sure what scares him more, Maya who's running around kissing boys or Olivia, who reminds him of himself more each passing day. Let's see about that, Liv, when in ten years I'm warding off boys from your window, he thinks, but does not say it out loud.

"He kissed me first!" Maya defends herself and snuggles into Lando's embrace more. He sighs. It's not been the quiet chill down he expected to return to.

"Okay, ladies. Let's all calm down. How about some ice-cream?" he offers, hoping that cheap bribing will buy him some time to think. The sudden cheers confirm it and he's adding another five flowers to the bouquet for Y/N, knowing she won't condone this.

//

He's watching his daughters munch on the impromptu ice-cream sundae, both of them sitting silently on the kitchen counter, apparently dead set on destroying their pajamas with colorful stains.

The name Verstappen still rings in his ears. They're suppose to have a little family get together tomorrow and for some reason, that's starting to increasingly bother him.

He excused himself for a moment and goes to the balcony, making what he fears is one of the first distressed "my daughter kissed someone" call in his life - and not the last one. Headache. That's what it is.

The phone rings twice before Max picks up, his voice sounding tired and politely annoyed.

“Lando. What’s up, mate? Is it urgent, I'm kind of dead tonight.”

Lando takes a deep breath, trying to sound calm. Oh, you and your son will be dead very soon.

"Hi Max, yeah, it sort of is," he murmurs, trying to think his strategy through. "We have to cancel tomorrow, something came up." Genius. That's who he is. Now, he just has to move his family away from Monte Carlo and make sure Maya never meets Lucas Verstappen ever again. Problem solved.

Max doesn’t miss a beat. "Cancel? What do you mean cancel? Lucas has been talking about seeing the girls all week." Of course he has. Lando groans internally. Of course Lucas has been excited. This wasn’t just any hangout. This was apparently the next chapter in their little playground romance.

"Yeah, not gonna happen, mate," Lando insists, leaning on the balcony railing, running a hand through his hair, overlooking at his dearest angels, who will need his infinite protection. "We can’t do it. Something came up. Okay, bye."

Max is quick enough to speak before he manages to hang up. "Wait, what? If it's a problem for you and Y/N, we can just take care of the kids, no problem."

Is it the whole Verstappen family that wants to take his precious daughters? Lando knows he might be overreacting, but he is a tired man with a resposibility over two seven year old. Cut him some slack.

"No. Canceled. Bye," he says and kills the call. There, all sorted. He immediately goes on figuring out some back up activity for the family, something that will sound so exciting that they will all forget about the Verstappens.

Max calls him right back and he does not pick it up.

The young father goes on putting the girls down, everyone is now calm and there are no more pregnancy scares. He is good at this. Everything is great. Just as the girls are tucked into bed, eyelids drooping and calm finally restored, Lando’s phone buzzes once more. He glances over at it, expecting Max to be trying again. Instead, he sees Y/N’s name flashing on the screen.

“Hi, love,” Lando answers, trying to sound casual. He winks at his daughters, who are always excited when Mommy's around. “How’s dinner?”

“It’s nice,” Y/N replies, but her tone has an edge, the one where he knows she’s about to interrogate him. “How’s everything at home? The girls okay?”

“They’re fine,” Lando says quickly and decides to leave the kids bedroom, so that he can pace around, as he always does when Y/N sounds like that. “All good here. No problems.”

There’s a beat of silence. He can feel her narrowing her eyes through the phone. He can hear the rush of the restaurant she's at, so her calling him must have a pretty good reason.

"Mm hm. So why did you cancel tomorrow’s hangout with Max and his family?"

Lando rolls his eyes, his brain scrambling for an answer while cursing Max mentally. Ugh. “Uh… something came up?”

"What "something," exactly?" Y/N presses, her voice filled with wonder.

"Just… things," Lando says vaguely, mentally kicking himself.

"Things," Y/N repeats flatly. "Lando, Max is suspicious. He just called me, distressed, asking what was going on, and now he thinks you’re mad at him."

This fires him up again. "Well, I am mad at him! So he got that right." Saying this makes him feel like the child in this scenario. Headache. Again.

Y/N sighs. "Did something happen on the track?" he asks patiently.

"What?" he asks, confused. He shakes his head. "No, no, it's um...The girls don't want to meet Lucas tomorrow, that's all."

Even he can't believe his tone.

"The same girls that spent the whole of yesterday excited about the bouncy castle they have at home?" she speaks with almost annoyed tone now. Lando groans, resting his forehead on the cool countertop. He does not have an answer. Just as he's about to fill her in on the whole kissing debacle, he continues. "Look, unless they're sick or something, can you please call Max and talk this out? I'm at the dinner and I can't just spend it all on the phone with my husband and his friend. Call him and talk it out."

Why is life so hard on him? "Do I have to? Can’t we just-"

"Lando," Y/N interrupts firmly. "You canceled without an explanation. You absolutely have to."

"Fine," he says, defeated. "Have a nice dinner, honey. I miss you," he concludes genuinely.

"Me too," Y/N says, her tone softening slightly. "I’ll check in when I’m on my way home. Love you."

"Love you too," Lando mutters, hanging up. He stares at his phone for a moment, then reluctantly dials Max’s number again.

It rings twice before Max answers, his voice dripping with faux innocence.

"Hey man. What the fuck?" Verstappens - always the pleasure.

"Max," Lando starts, rubbing his temple. "How are you? All good?" he asks politely, like the Brit he used to be once.

"What the fuck do you mean, how am I. You cancel out of nowhere and now Lucas won't talk to me, so yeah, great night off for me," he hears unfiltered tone coming through the speaker. He can't say it does not please him a bit.

"Well, it's late, he should be sleeping anyway," Lando let's out of his mouth before he thinks that through, ragging Max even further.

"You stop giving me instructions on how to raise my child and act like an adult for a moment, would you?"

"If someone should act more adult, it's Lucas," Yeah, Lando. Great comeback. Wow. The eight year old should act more like an adult.

Max manages to brush over that. "Did he do something to the twins? You need to tell me these things, how am I suppose to fix it if I don't know what happened? Or if something has even happened?"

It's hard to fight that logic. Especially after the evening Lando has had today. Lando sighs. There’s no way out of this, so he decides to just rip off the band-aid. "Maya told me… that Lucas kissed her. The silence on the other end is deafening. "And she kissed him back," Lando adds, cringing.

Max’s response is immediate: he bursts into laughter. "Oh, my God," Max wheezes. "Lucas and Maya? That’s amazing."

"It's anything but amazing, Max,” Lando snaps, pacing around again. "She thought she was pregnant because of something the kids on the playground told her! Do you know how much emotional damage I’ve endured in the past hour?"

Max is still laughing, clearly delighted. "Mate, you’re overreacting. They’re small. It’s harmless."

"This is the first boy she’s kissed, Max!" Lando argues. "Your son is now part of her origin story!"

"Oh, please," Max says, still chuckling. "What do you think is going to happen? They’ll run away together? They’re kids, Lando. Relax. It's normal for the to do this."

"I can’t relax," Lando grumbles. "And what’s worse, Olivia is now convinced she’s never falling in love because, and I quote, "boys are gross.""

Max cackles again. "Honestly, that’s probably for the best. Liv’s smart."

Lando's cup of patience, small one to begin with, is truly overflowing.

"Alright, alright," Max says, finally calming down and sensing that teasing Lando is not the way to go about it tonight. "Look, Lucas is a good kid. He probably just thought Maya looked pretty and didn’t know how else to say it. I’ll talk to him, alright? But you don’t need to cancel tomorrow over this."

Lando hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He knows they would all team up against him anyway. He lost this one. "You’re sure he won’t try anything else?"

Max snorts. "What, like propose? No, Lando, I don’t think so. He’s seven."

Fine.

//

The sound of children’s laughter fills the Verstappens’ backyard, the air warm and bright with sunlight. Like it's all mocking Lando specifically. The infamous bouncy castle stands in all its glory. Lando leans against a chair at the patio table, his arms crossed as he surveys the scene with the intensity of investors watching their car getting overtaken on track.

Maya and Lucas are bouncing together, grinning ear to ear like they’ve completely forgotten the events of yesterday. Meanwhile, Olivia stands off to the side, arms crossed and nose wrinkled in distaste, looking like she’s silently judging the entire scenery. She’s probably drafting her manifesto on why boys are, indeed, “gross.” Lando feels proud. At least one of his daughters is strong enough not to fall for cheap boy's tricks. Not even Y/N seems to understand the gravity of the situation. No matter how long Lando spent trying to explain it to her. Cute, that's what she called it. He hopes this is not a precedent. For now, he stands alone.

"You’re watching them like a prison guard," Y/N comments, nudging Lando gently as she sits down beside him.

"And for good reason," Lando replies, narrowing his eyes at Lucas, who’s apparently successfull at making Maya laugh. "He’s already made a move once. I’m not letting it happen again." He will sit happily sit in every playground they happen to encounter each other at.

Y/N hides her smile behind her coffee cup. "I think we’re safe for now. They’re just kids, Lando. You don’t have to treat Lucas like he’s some F1 rival trying to steal pole position from you."

"He is trying to steal something," Lando grumbles under his breath. Max strolls over, holding a plate of snacks, like the responsible dad he pretends to play, and looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Enjoying the show?"

Lando gives him a side-eye glare. "You think this is funny, don’t you?" Max smirks, popping a grape into his mouth and just nods.

"Your son traumatized my daughters yesterday," Lando fires away.

Max rolls his eyes. "And now they’re bouncing around like best friends again. Kids bounce back back. In this case, literally." Oh, he thinks he's so funny.

As if on cue, Lucas lands a little too close to Maya, sending both of them tumbling onto the floor of the bouncy castle in a fit of giggles. Lando tenses, halfway out of his seat before Y/N grabs his arm.

"Relax," she whispers. "It's fine." "For now," Lando protests, settling back reluctantly. From across the yard, Lucas suddenly stands up and calls out: "Mr. Norris!" Lando freezes, his eyes narrowing as the devil child approaches him. "What?" Lucas grins, holding up a flower he’s picked from the garden. He's rushing over to his and hands it to Lando, eyes filled with expectation and anticipation. "This is for Maya!" Speechless Lando accepts the flower, albeit confused as to why he's handing the flower to him and not to Maya, if she's the supposent recipient. Lucas flashes one look towards his father and in the corner of the eye, Lando can see Max nod approvingly. They really have all teamed up against him. Everyone is watching them and waiting for something exiting to happen. Olivia, the only one having Lando's back, lets out an audible groan loud enough to be heard across the yard.

"Oh, come on," she says, throwing her hands in the air. “This is ridiculous. I’m never falling in love. Ever!”

Y/N snorts into her coffee, Max doubles over laughing, and Lando buries his face in his hands. Meanwhile, happy Lucas runs back to the bouncing castle.

"Why is my life like this?" he wonders, looking up the sky for answers. None come. Y/N pats his shoulder affectionately. "Because you’re the dad of two amazing girls. And one of them might have a little crush. It’s not the end of the world."

"It’s the beginning of the end," Lando mumbles dramatically. Max grins, leaning closer. "You know, if Lucas and Maya end up together, we’ll officially be family. Imagine that, Lando," he pauses dramatically. "Maya Verstappen."

Lando's stomach turns upside down, he groans and turns to Y/N. "We're moving to another continent."

The domestic afternoon continues, adults laughing and talking - apart form Lando, who sits in his observant position, regularly sighing, back leaning and forth in his chair. It’s going to be a long, chaotic road ahead. And it looks like he's the only sane person around - in his opinion exclusively.

----------------------- note: fire up them ideas for this pseudo series!!! love you all

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

[milawritess]

stand and face me, my love, and scatter the grace in your eyes – gojo satoru

pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader synopsis: the kids catch on to how the reader is struggling with the loss of her powers. tags/warnings: angst, fem!reader, reader is a motherly figure to the kids, swearing, lots of fluff, loss of identity, loss of powers, unstable relationship with Satoru, Yuji being a dork and Megumi being protective word count: 2.1k previous entry: ii next entry: iv series mlist

Eventually, Satoru had to go back to work. He hadn’t gone back to teaching just yet, but that doesn’t mean there weren't curses that needed to be exorcised. You knew there was a whole world out there that needed him. He had dreams and aspirations, a bigger purpose that demanded attention. You just always thought you’d be fighting by his side while he was doing it.

You never thought there would come a day when he’d have to leave you behind.

The house seemed bigger, emptier. Shadows lingered in corners where they didn’t belong. You tried to distract yourself. Dusting, sweeping, rearranging books on a bookshelf you’re sure Satoru has never even touched. Yet, nothing could distract you from the gnawing loneliness. 

Except three persistent kids. 

The ice rink was lively, teeming with laughter and the sound of metal blades slicing through layers of ice. 

“Urg! The last time I did this, I went flying over a wall!”

“Well, take it slow! Stop trying to rush! Skating is the easiest part, but stopping is hard,” Nobara quips, effortlessly skating around the pink-haired boy. 

Meanwhile, you’re inclined to agree with Yuji. The second your feet touched the ice, your ankles and knees wobbled. You used the side wall to guide you, never easing your grip on it. If you did, you’d for certain eat shit. This was supposed to be a fun trip with the kids, yet each step you took was filled with uncertainty and dread. 

Yuji offers Nobara a dubious look. “That doesn’t help, Nobara!” 

Megumi drifts closer to you after finding the gap between you and his friends growing. “You alright?” He offers you his arm. 

“Yup! I’m doing freaking fantastic…”

“If this is too much for you, we can leave. I don’t want you stressed or uncomfortable.”

“I’m good!” you quip. “I got this. I think.” It was a good day today. You think this is the most energy you’ve had in weeks. Sure, you were cold, but it wasn't enough to stop you from trying something new today.

He snorts when you nearly slip, clutching his arm tighter. “Bend your knees a little,” he instructs you. “You’re too stiff.” 

You do as he advises and- 

“Oh!! I’m doing it!” You weren’t, really. Megumi was doing all the hard work dragging you along, but your ride was smoother now. “Guys, look! I’m doing it!”

Yuji glances over his shoulder and gasps. “You’re doing it, Sensei!!” Yuji couldn't care less for the odd stares as he cheered loudly for you. “Look at you go!”

Gee. He certainly puts a smile on your face. These three were definitely your biggest cheerleaders. Nobara grins, clapping her hands as you go. “Megumi, let her go!” 

“Huh– no, no, no, not yet!” But it was already too late. 

“You got it, Mom,” he says, chuckling just loud enough for you to hear. You froze at the sentiment, and before you realize it, he was pulling his arm from you. 

Oh, that little shit.

You wobble, sliding forward, closer and closer to Yuji and Nobara. “Yay!” She cheers. “See? You got it!” 

When you realize you’ll make it over to them, you start giggling, jubilation you hadn’t felt in weeks bubbling in your gut. And, just like that, you crash into Nobara, who easily stops you from sliding any further on the ice. You could hear her laugh ringing in your ears as you clung to her.

You looked over your shoulder to see where Megumi stood, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. However, he was a lot closer than you originally thought. It felt like you slid on the ice for ten kilometers, and realistically, it was less than ten feet away. 

Whatever. A win is a win. 

“Okay, I want to try this on my own!” You quip, fueled with a newfound confidence. You peeled yourself from Nobara, balancing your weight on your two skates. “I think I got this!” 

“–AHH! Get out the way, get out the way! I’m gonna crash!!” 

Your head snaps to the side. Your mouth drops open when you see that the place Yuji had been standing just seconds ago is empty. He was gone! You look across the rink and see a flash of pink. Yuji was sliding away, gaining more and more speed as he flew into a crowd of people who were yelping and ducking out of his way. 

You gasp. “He’s heading for a wall!!”

Nobara takes off after him, anger coating her voice as she shrieks. “What the hell did I tell you, Yuji!!”

“You’re gonna hurt someone, you idiot!” Megumi says just as angrily, quickly following Nobara as they rush to stop their friend from accidentally hurting someone, or rather, himself. 

You wanted to chase after them, too! Yet, you're frozen in the middle of the rink, with no wall or arms to cling to. 

“... oh, what the fuck,” you curse to yourself, looking down at your feet as you slowly begin inching forward. You’d get there… eventually. 

“Ma’am, do you need help?” A stranger asks politely. 

“No, no,” you waved him off, not even bothering to lift your eyes from your feet. You weren’t one for pleasantries, and the idiot was breaking your concentration. Plus, you were tired of needing so much help lately. You wanted to figure this out for yourself. 

“Awe, c’mon. Let me show you, hone-”

You swung your leg, kicking his feet out from under him. You barely caught yourself in time, and the near fall sent a wave of irritation through your body. There was no way in hell you’d let a fucking stranger touch you.  

You turned sharply to face the stranger you knocked down to the ice. There was a growl caught in the back of your throat as you saw his two friends behind him, mouths wide in shock. 

“Can I help you?” You asked with narrowed eyes. However, a sudden movement caught your attention. Briefly, you glance past the three strangers. 

Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara were already closing in.

Megumi's and Nobara's scowls were heavy and grave, enough to make the air thick and heavy with tension. Megumi's jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth. Nobara’s unsettling laugh filled the space as she began slowly pulling out her hammer from the inside of her jacket. Yuji, ever the friendly one, smiled tightly, the veins on his forehead protruding.

Uh oh. 

Yuji stepped forward. “Hey! I’m Yuji!” he says brightly, throwing his arm over the boy you had kicked down as he scrambled to get up. Yuji laughed and kept a tight grip on the kid's neck—nearly trapping him in a headlock. He turns around and begins steering the boy to the edge of the rink. “Why don’t we go for a quick stroll? Riiiight over there?”

“Wha– no way! Who the hell are you?”

“We’re your new friends,” Nobara cut in, twirling the hammer in her hands. “So let's go have a little chat?”

You deadpanned. “Guys, wait, it’s not that–” 

But they were already gone, dragging away the three strangers to the exit. 

And it's not like you could chase after them! 

“Shiiiit. We’re totally getting banned from this place.”

However, a chill racks your spine before you can even dwell on the chaos. You spin your head and find the very man you have felt just seconds ago. It was Satoru, and he was wearing that signature, laid-back smirk when you finally noticed him. He wasn’t too far—right at the edge of the rink. 

“Satoru,” you breathed out, skating awkwardly towards him, inch by inch. Only the rink's wall separates you two when you're finally face to face with him. “What are you doing here? I thought you had a mission?”

However, before acknowledging you, he sighs happily. “I taught those kids so well…” 

“What– oh. That… I tried to stop it, but–”

“No, no,” he dismisses your worries. “This is good... Very good.”

You sigh. It seemed that there was no getting through to any of them. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, me? I’m just checking in, is all.” 

You reach forward, hands gripping his forearms for a semblance of balance. His hands were in his pockets when he finally looked down at you, wearing a smile that made your chest flutter. 

“I suck at this,” you blatantly admit.

“I can see that, sweets.”

You smile despite yourself. “Get out here then. Help me.” 

He leans down, and you meet him halfway, reaching for him on the points of your skates. He pecks your lips three times, humming against the softness of your lips. “C’mon,” you begged him again, using the soft tone that always worked on him. 

He chuckles, the sound low and affectionate. “Fine, fine. Let me put on some skates first.” 

He opens the gate, and you follow him out off the ice, stepping carefully until you can sit on the bench and wait. When he returned, his grin was bright and radiant like the sun. 

“You’ve never gone ice skating before?” you ask, eyes widening. 

“Nope,” he says, popping the “p,” then immediately gliding across the ice with effortless grace as if he’s practiced his whole life.

You gaped at him. “... well fuck you then.” he barks out a laugh, squeezing your hand gently as he guides you. 

“Just hold on to my hand and don’t let go,” he tells you. “I won’t let you fall~”

You two were only gliding across the ice for a few minutes before you heard familiar voices. 

“Sensei? You’re here?” You look up and see Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi approaching again. Yuji smiles widely. “Hey! Been a while!”

“Yo,” Satoru greeted casually, waving at the pink-haired boy. 

“What have you been up to?”  Yuji asks innocently, slightly tilting his head. 

“Ah, just handling some missions I’ve been putting off for a while,” Satoru replies smoothly.

Nobara perks up a bit. “Does this mean you’ll be back to teaching soon?”

“Yup!!” He gleams. “Next week, I’ll be right back in the classroom!”

Yuji cheered, and Nobara looked almost relieved. However, Megumi remains unmoving and unreactive as he eyes his mentor. Something in your stomach twists, and you wonder if Satoru’s picked up on it as well. 

Megumi looked as if he couldn’t bear to even be breathing the same air as Satoru. You’ve only picked up on it a few times recently, the resentment lingering in Megumi's eyes. At first, you thought it was a trick of the light, or perhaps you were reading the situation wrong, but it's apparent. Especially now.

However, not too long after he arrived, you caught Satoru's attention shifting. When he glanced down at his phone, checking the time, you sighed lightly to yourself. You knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth. 

“I’ve gotta head out.”

“Whaaat?” Yuji pouts. “But you just got here like twenty minutes ago!”

“I know, I know,” he ruffles Yuji’s hair. “But I only came to a stop by and check in on everything. There’s still a lot of work for me to do.”

Your heart sank a bit. You felt bad. Had you taken up more of his time than he intended? Probably, you realize as he begins moving away from you.  

Things between you two weren’t perfect right now. Your wounds were still fresh, and the air was always heavy with unspoken words. Yet, even if you were still mad, still hurt, you loved him. So, without thinking, you reached for his hand before he could get away, tugging him back. He stumbles slightly, and even if you couldn't see his eyes under his black eye band, you knew they were on you, taking you in.

“I love you,” you spoke softly. It was something so simple, yet you never felt like you voiced it enough to him. 

A beat passes before he smiles—that lazy, devastatingly charming smile that always makes heat bubble in the pit of your stomach. Instead of a teasing remark like you had expected, he leans down, brushing his lips against the corner of your head. “I’ll see you later tonight," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin.

And just like that, he was gone.  

There was something oddly heartbreaking about it.

His absence seems to rob you of all your warmth as he goes, leaving behind a chill that creeps into your bones. But before your teeth could even begin clattering, a new warmth envelopes you. You glance over your shoulder, and you see Megumi putting his coat over your shoulders. His usual guarded expression softened, and Yuji and Nobara were lingering behind him, their faces lit with soft, reassuring smiles. 

“Hey, Mom,” Megumi says softly, his voice laced with a tenderness you hadn't known you needed. “Why don’t we go get some hot chocolate?"

"It's on us!" Yuji suddenly exclaims. "Well! Not really. Gojo-Sensei gave me his card. So, it's technically free!"

Nobara sighs, rubbing her temples. “Way to ruin it, idiot.”

-

a/n: i want to give a special thanks to @bochichi! she has helped me tremendously with this series! her insights and encouragement mean the world to me! thank you for everything bochichi!

on a different note, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! i wanted to showcase how the kids are doing what they can to keep the reader afloat, while also touching upon Megumi's growing discontent with Gojo.

as always likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

[littlcdarlin]

Into Temptation – The Visit

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (each part can be read as a standalone)

summary: Tommy comes over to scold Joel, and you like his eyes on you a little more than expected. warnings: exhibitionism (not actually — reader just likes the idea and Joel dirty talks about it), big girthy age gap (20 & late 50s), daddy kink, breeding kink, orgasm control (sort of), Joel calls reader "kid" or "kiddo", Joel kind of answers for reader when talking to Tommy, not a depiction of a healthy relationship but not dark enough to be dark!joel, pervert!joel, naive!reader, discussion of free use kink

note: we’re working towards Tommy possibly joining in on some fun, but I’m not decided on whether I’ll go through with that! Let me know what you think and enjoy this piece of utter filth, you freaks <3 I love you

It’s been almost two weeks, and you still haven’t gone home to your place. Joel isn’t sure if there is any documentation about who owns which house in Jackson, but he’d have no problem with Tommy and Maria giving yours away, in fact, the idea of you sleeping in any other bed but his bothers him, even if it’s your very own. Luckily you haven’t made any comments about wanting to go home, more than content with staying with Joel. When he isn’t fucking you, or you’re sleeping, you follow him from room to room like a lost puppy, just as glad not to be lonely anymore as Joel is.

He’s well aware under different circumstances you’d form a less extreme attachment to someone much younger than him, but therapists are hard to come by given that the world has ended, so he tries not to think too much about how severely you seem to need him. You don’t even like showering alone, preferring for Joel to wash your body with his sponge and soap and tenderly massaging your scalp with shampoo. And he obliges every time, if only to pin your wrists against the shower wall and make you come once or twice. It’s efficient, really, no need to clean up afterwards with the shower washing away the sweat and come.

Both of your sleeping schedules have unravelled, because most nights you wake Joel with a throbbing between your legs that needs taking care of, Joel happily fucking you back to sleep with lazy thrusts, plugging you with his cock for the rest of the night, so that none of his spent leaks out of you – he can’t wash the sheets every day, and he’s still trying to get you pregnant.

The mornings are spent with you on top of him, your little body clinging to his, either just lounging around, drifting in and out of sleep, humping his thigh, or bouncing on his cock until he flips you around and fucks you into the mattress.

Afterwards he makes you breakfast, swallows his eggs and guilt about having missed another patrol, watches you drink your coffee, and joins you in the shower to clean up. It’s bliss, a debauched slice of heaven he rationally knows can’t last forever. You’ll snap out of it any day now, and run away screaming when you count the years between the two of you, or Tommy will put a pistol to his head and throw him out of town.

He’s not far off, but when Tommy shows up it’s with a stern expression in place of the pistol. You’re sleeping upstairs, so Joel sighs, and opens the door for Tommy to step in. He knows he can’t avoid him forever, though every part of him screams at him to defend this little bubble the two of you have created.

"Where’s the kid?", Tommy asks, not even pretending his visit is about anything else.

"Upstairs," Joel answers, "she’s sleeping."

Tommy hums.

"Do you…wanna come in?"

"Depends," Tommy answers cooly, "how long are you plannin’ on keeping her here?"

Joel huffs – he knew Tommy wouldn’t get it, would think of this as something it isn’t.

"She can leave any time, Tommy, I’m not keepin’ her anywhere."

Tommy watches him for what feels like a long time, then he sighs, shakes his head, and makes his way into the living room. His eyes drift over your dress, hanging over the back of a dining chair since you prefer Joel’s clothes now anyway.

"I’m gonna say this one last time, Joel, and then it’s outta my hands, alright? She’s too fuckin’ young for you, and you need to send her home if you don’t want this…this thing to ruin both of your lives in Jackson. This isn’t the QZ, and it certainly isn’t the forest. People have a moral compass here, and you’re fucking pushin’ it."

He’s right, of course he’s right. Joel has noticed the glances in his direction when he gets food while you’re sleeping, he hears the whispers at the Tipsy Bison when they see the barely disguised marks he left on your neck and chest. But really, what has he lost because of it? He’s not exactly known for his deep friendships with the other citizens of Jackson, and Tommy’s still speaking to him. Sure, you’ve seen your friends less and less, sitting in Joel’s lap instead of at their table whenever you’re at the bar now, but you’ve told him how little you have in common with them apart from your age. The way he sees it, the both of you are only gaining something.

"She wants this, Tommy, I swear she does. I know it’s…different…extreme, but she’s happy with it. So am I."

"Sure you are," Tommy mutters, but he sighs, and sits down on the couch. "I’m not gonna get through to you, am I?"

Joel walks over to the cabinet in the corner and gets out his bottle of whiskey.

"Look," he says, pouring two glasses, "I didn’t plan this. It just sort of…happened."

"Gettin’ into golf happens like that, Joel, not fucking the barely legal new girl."

They drink the whiskey in silence, and Joel wonders how Tommy would react if you woke up and came downstairs the way you always do, naked except for Joel’s too big shirt, bare feet and legs begging to be warmed up.

"You bein’ safe at least?"

"Jesus, Tommy," Joel groans, feeling like a teenager who brought home his first girlfriend.

"They’ll crucify you if you get her pregnant. Heard the guys at the Bison talking about what they’d do if she was their daughter."

"Well, she ain’t," Joel mutters, remembering your little chants of DaddyDaddyDaddy just last night, as he bounced you up and down on his cock.

"You’ve known her for what, a month? Don’t be stupid, Joel," Tommy presses on, almost begging now. "She’s twenty years old, you’re pushin’ sixty. Tell me she’s not havin’ your kid."

"She’s not pregnant, no," Joel answers evasively. But she will be. Tommy hears the meaning behind Joel’s words and shakes his head.

"Christ almighty, you’re beyond help."

Yes, Joel thinks, so stop trying to help. He drains the last of his whiskey, when the bedroom door opens, and he hears the familiar sound of your bare feet coming down the stairs. Tommy sighs.

Your hair is messy, your eyes droopy, Joel’s white shirt bright against your skin. Purple hickeys are blooming on your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders, and there’s a small bruise forming on your arm from when Joel grabbed you a little too tightly two nights ago. He knows what you look like to Tommy, like some sort of live-in-Lolita, but his brother hasn’t heard you beg for it, plead with Joel to let you come. You’re not here against your will.

"Hi," you say, surprise evident in your sleepy voice.

"Hello," Tommy answers, offering you a small smile. You answer with a blinding one yourself, one that has Joel’s chest growing tight with fondness. 

"I didn’t know you were coming over, I would’ve put on something else," you say timidly, and Joel’s jaw ticks. This is as good as your home now, you shouldn’t apologize for wearing the clothes you like – or lack thereof.

"Come here, baby," he says before Tommy can answer, and you do so without question, no intention of running back upstairs to put on a pair of pants. You sit down on Joel’s knee, his shirt hitching up your thighs a little. Tommy watches quietly as Joel’s hand finds your waist, rubbing soothing circles.

"I wanted to talk to you about patrols," Tommy says after a beat, clearly trying to move the conversion along. "I’ll stop bothering you two if you don’t miss them again."

It’s a fair exchange, Joel thinks, although really, Tommy should stop bothering you either way. Still, people might find it easier to look past what Joel does to you if he performs well in regards to his duties. So he agrees, and Tommy seems to relax a little. Then he addresses you.

"Maria told me you got the first couple of weeks off to get used to Jackson, but they’re almost over. Would you prefer kitchen duty, or the stables?"

Before you can open your mouth, Joel answers for you.

"She needs a little more time," he says, his palm slipping over your stomach possessively. "To…settle in."

He knows he’s really pushing Tommy’s patience, but the idea of you cutting your fingers with a knife or being kicked by a horse…he much prefers having you here, waiting for him. And you don’t object, just settle more comfortably against his front, your hand finding his on your tummy.

Tommy’s brows are furrowed, but Joel can see his eyes flickering over your bare thighs, Joel’s hand on your stomach, and he almost smirks. Even if Tommy is a righteous communist now, he’s also just a man.

"One month," he says, getting up from the sofa, "one month, Joel, and then she’ll be workin’ like everyone else."

Good, Joel thinks, one month is all I need.

He isn’t sure you’re entirely aware you’ll get pregnant if the two of you keep up what you’ve been doing, but every time he plans on pulling out and having a conversation about it, you whine and plead until he gives in and pumps you full of his come. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, even if it might seem the other way around to Tommy.

When Joel agrees, Tommy gets up from the couch, and Joel lifts you off of his lap. His shirt hitches dangerously high on your thighs, he’s sure you aren’t wearing anything underneath it, and Tommy’s eyes flicker towards your legs for just a moment. Joel puts a hand on the small of your back, walking his brother out.

"Come visit us again," you tell Tommy to everyone’s surprise, a sweet smile on your lips. "You’re the only one who does."

Tommy’s eyes linger on yours for a beat, then he smiles back.

"Sure, kid. You keep an eye on my brother."

You chuckle, agree, and then Tommy nods at Joel.

"Think about what I said," he says seriously.

"Alright," Joel sighs, fully aware nothing his brother tells him will stop him from taking you on the couch as soon as the door is closed. 

You smile at him when Tommy is gone, and press your smaller body against his. He leans down to kiss you, his hands sliding up the sides of your thighs and under your shirt – he was right, you’re not wearing panties.

"Jesus, baby, you almost gave Tommy a heart attack," he drawls, one hand trailing down your stomach and over your mound, until his fingers are rubbing circles into your clit. Within seconds you go from kind hostess to needy and plaint in his hands, as if no change occurred at all, as if you would have let him do this in front of Tommy. He gently prods at your entrance, gathers the wetness there and groans.

"Oh sweetheart, when did this start?"

You move your hips, but Joel holds you steady, and keeps teasing you with one finger, not quite pushing in.

"When you told me to sit in your lap," you breathe, burying your face in Joel’s chest, and he chuckles.

"You’ve sat in my lap plenty of times, kiddo, what had you all hot n bothered?"

He knows the answer before you say it, feel it heavy in the air between you.

"Tommy," you whisper, and Joel rewards you by circling your clit again.

"What about Tommy?"

"I…I liked that he watched," you breathe, your hands gripping Joel’s shirt tightly. He pushes one finger into you, watches you tremble, barely able to hold yourself upright here in the hallway, but he holds you steady and makes you take it.

"You like sittin’ in my lap half naked while Tommy watches? Should’ve come downstairs without a shirt, angel, I’m sure Tommy wouldn’t have minded. In fact, I think he liked watchin’, too."

You moan at his words, and when he curls his finger, it turns into a yelp, and suddenly you’re coming, gushing around him, pretty face all ashamed and hidden away Joel’s chest.

He could be angry with you, because you didn’t ask his permission, but he knows you didn’t disobey him on purpose – your reaction was honest and raw. The idea of Tommy watching you naked in Joel’s lap was enough to make you come on only one finger, and it has Joel hard within seconds. It means he’s not your little hide-away fantasy, or an escape from reality. You want him the way you always do, and you want him with the world watching.

When he takes your face between his hands and forces you to look up, your expression is guilty.

"I’m sorry, Daddy," you say nervously, but Joel just kisses you.

"That’s okay, babygirl, you couldn’t help it. You like the idea of someone watchin’ what I do to you?"

"Yes," you whisper, cheeks all scarlet the way he likes them.

 "How about I haul your ass over to the Tipsy Bison and fuck you right there, huh? Bet that would have this pretty pussy gushin’."

You whimper and press your hips to Joel’s, desperately trying to find some friction, but he picks you up easily, and carries you to the couch.

"Want me to do this to ya in front of all of Jackson?"

Your hips twitch, but you shake your head.

"No, D-daddy."

"No? Why not, baby?"

He takes off your shirt, you arms raising for him easily, undressing you a practiced routine by now.

"They’d be angry, Daddy," you breathe, "Tommy said they’d crucify you."

So you heard, heard how pregnancy is a possibility, how people think Joel is a dirty old man, how his own brother felt he needed to intervene, and still, only minutes after, he had you trembling and coming on his fingers. In fact, you want him to continue, and fantasize about people seeing you.

"I see, baby, you want people enjoy the show? You liked when Tommy looked at your legs?"

His hands find your tits, and he teases your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until you’re almost arching off the bed.

"Yes, Daddy, I liked that he could only watch," you say, and Joel feels heady with arousal. There we go, he thinks, cat’s outta the bag. He kneads your tits, eyes on your perfect body, cock straining against his jeans.

"You want Daddy to touch you anywhere he wants, and whoever’s watchin’ can’t?"

His words make you moan, and Joel is only a man, so he lets go of you, and unbuckles his belt.

"Asked you a question, kiddo," he drawls, shoving his jeans and underwear down only far enough for him to comfortably fuck you. He’s rock hard already, and pushes the tip against your entrance.

"Yes," you breathe, eyes wide and on him, and finally, he pushes into your willing body, all soft and open for him. You screw your eyes shut, the initial stretch of him always a lot to take, but he pushes on, knows you can take him.

"Daddy wants that, too," he groans, as you clench and flutter around him. "I’d fuck you so good, baby, make people see how bad you want this cock."

You don’t answer, eyes a little glassy, as he fucks in and out of you with deep strokes, all up in your guts. You move your hips in time with his, legs spread wide for him, and for a second he wonders how it’s possible you’re not pregnant yet. His thrusts deepen, the thought of fucking a baby into you turning him on even more.

You move your hand to rub at your clit, but Joel quickly grabs both of your wrists, holding them in one of his hands easily, and pinning them into the couch above your head.

"You come like this, baby, just on Daddy’s cock," he tells you, and although you whine, you don’t argue, just tug a little against his unmoving grip. His hips punch into yours, your eyes rolling upwards whenever he hits that special spot inside of you, and soon, you’re close again, clenching around him, and throwing your head from side to side in an attempt to stop yourself from coming without Joel’s permission again. It’s almost endearing, how much you want to please him.

"Please, Daddy, please let me come," you whine, and he could deny you, watch you squirm a little longer, but he’s not feeling mean today, so he pulls out almost all the way.

"Want you to come as soon as I push into you," he tells you, just to see if you can do it, and you nod frantically. So he moves, his length spearing you open once again, and as soon as the head of his cock nudges your spot, you’re whimpering and thrashing around, coming hard without him touching your little clit.

"Good girl, you take it so good," he groans, his voice a little broken.

It doesn’t take him long, although he knows you’d let him fuck him as long as he needs to, and soon he’s burying himself all the way inside of you, cock twitching and pumping you full of his cum. Your eyes are big and glued to his face, and when the last spurts are inside of you, he turns the two of you around so that you’re on top of him, his cock softening inside of you. You’re limp, satisfied and fucked out, eyes fluttering closed.

"I like that, Daddy," you mutter, and he strokes your back, fingers gentle and soft.

"Like what, angel?"

"When you touch me in front of people without asking."

His cock gives a weak twitch, and you smile.

"Can’t do it in front of people, baby, we’d make them uncomfortable, but I can stop askin’ if you’d like."

You move your hips unconsciously, and Joel stops you before you overstimulate his spent cock, but your reaction makes him chuckle.

"You’d like that? Want me to just slip right into you, whenever I want to?"

"Yes," you breathe, "please."

Always so polite, even when it’s just what Joel wants.

"Could do it while you’re sleepin’, baby, how’d you like that? Wouldn’t have to wake me up at night, I’d just fix that ache right when you start humpin’ my leg, hm?"

If possible, you grow wetter around him, and hide your face in his chest, once again embarrassed and turned on by his words. Joel chuckles, and ruffles your hair.

"I’d like that, Daddy," you mutter, and he presses a kiss to your head.

"Alright, baby, I’ll make sure to remember."

[sundrop-writes]

How would Spencer react to the f!reader eating a sucker in a very provocative way during a meeting?

I decided to change this up a bit. Rather than it being during a meeting, it's just randomly around the office because eating a sucker/lollipop during a meeting would be annoying af.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

How would Spencer Reid react to you teasing him with a lollipop?

Warnings: reader can definitely be interpreted as gender neutral because there isn't much description of them beyond their mouth (sorry if that isn't what you wanted lmao); this is very sensual/smutty toned (but there is no sex scenes); Spencer is thinking about sex acts/is having sexual fantasies about the reader; heavy sexual innuendo; definitely leans more toward Sub!Spencer; I was thinking of S4/S5 Spencer when I wrote this but you can imagine any Spencer; background Morcia; implications of Spencer masturbating in the bathroom at work. Reader loves teasing Spencer - idk what else. Not really proofread.

"Oooh, what's this?" You asked, walking up to see a large bowl of candy sitting in the middle of Morgan's desk.

"Leftovers from Halloween." Prentiss explained, not looking up from the file that she was reading. "Of course, Garcia put them on Morgan's desk. What was it that she said?"

"A little something sweet for my something sweet." JJ recited the words from her place at the coffee machine with a laugh.

"Oh, he is gonna love that when he comes in." You chuckled.

You knew that he wasn't going to eat all of it himself, and Garcia likely intended it as a pick-n-go for the office anyway - so you took a careful glance into the bowl and then picket an appealing round lollipop. A blow-pop, you quickly realized. Very nice. You knew the gum in the middle was crappy, but you would have fun seeing how long it would take to get to it, and it was cherry flavoured - one of your favourite candy flavours.

You grabbed it up and a few others to slip into your desk drawers, along with taking a few packets of M&Ms for your favourite desk neighbour. When you walked over to your desk that was in front of his, you tossed the candy so that it hit the front of his chest, and Spencer jumped violently, having been scared right out of his concentration from whatever he was reading. A thick academic paper, from the looks of it.

You heard Emily's nasel chuckle in from behind you at how hard he had jumped.

"Good morning." You greeted him with a wide smile as he glared at you, but took the candy and began opening it anyway.

"Yeah." He scoffed.

"You're welcome." You also said, nodding toward the candy in his hand.

"Did you know that M&Ms shortly after their creation, M&Ms were exclusively distributed to the US military during World War II as a part of soldier's rations?" Spencer stated, giving another one of his 'fun facts'.

"Due to the candy coating making them far less perishable, and far easier to transport due to the fact that they were less likely to melt. At the time, they were packaged in cardboard tubes and featured a violet colour among the candies. And that's how they became famously known as 'the candy that melts in your mouth, not in your hand'." Spencer explained, the last words becoming muffled as he stuffed some of the candy into his mouth.

"And now they have gone from feeding soldiers to being the breakfast of a skinny little genius like you." You joked, unwrapping your lollipop and raising it to your lips.

You were one of the people who joked about it, but you secretly loved the fact that he was skinny. You would never tell, but you imagined pinning him down and him not being able to get away because of his lack of muscle.

Spencer would have made some clever reply, but instead, his eyes became locked on your lips.

Watching your lips gently wrap around the roundness of the lollipop immediately sparked something in him. From that moment, his eyes focused on nothing but your mouth, and he absolutely lost all train of thought - including the fact that he had been reading something before you even sat down.

It wasn't even intentional at first. At first, you were just enjoying a random sweet treat at seven o'clock in the morning, going about small things like taking off your jacket and getting the files organized on your desk, and when you looked up to ask Reid if he had a spare red pen that you could use to mark off some things - that was when you noticed it.

That far off, glassy look in his eye that you had never seen before.

He was staring at your lips, hard, clearly not even realizing that he was doing it - at this point, the candy had just barely stained the inner part of your mouth red, and he was being driven insane, imagining himself running his thumb or even the head of his leaking cock along that spot, feeling the pure softness of your lips, having your sweet tongue reach out to meet the throbbing head of his-

"Reid?"

The sudden sound of your voice seemed to shake him from this daydream.

You pulled the lollipop from your mouth with a wet smack, and he swallowed a whimper - it was a sound so subtle that you wouldn't have been able to hear it if you hadn't been carefully listening. You clenched your jaw, suppressing a smirk. You didn't want him to know that he had been caught. Not yet.

"Um - ah - yeah?" He stuttered out, quickly looking back down at the papers in the middle of his desk, trying not to make it seem like he had been staring at you so blatantly.

"Can I borrow a red pen?" You asked, trying to give him your best look of feigned innocence as you placed the cherry red bulb back to your lips while waiting for his answer, gently tracing your tongue around it.

You loved the way his eyes clung to this action like a magnet, his own lips dropping open slightly as he let out a hot breath in awe, his pupils blown wide.

His pants were suddenly very tight.

Spencer had to purposefully tear his eyes away from your mouth when you began oh-so-slowly teasing the lollipop in and out of your lips, forcing him to perfectly picture the round head of his cock fucking between those perfect cherry lips.

He frantically looked around his desk, and grabbed the first pen with a red cap that he could find.

"Here you go." He mumbled, tossing it onto your desk, not even bothering to hand it to you.

He then grabbed his messenger bag from underneath his desk and so subtly placed it at his front while he scrambled off toward the bathroom. You simply let out a laugh and then shoved the candy into your mouth fully, looking back down at your files and getting to work.

Spencer could only pray that you would be done with the lollipop by the time he got back.

A/N: Okay this definitely turned more into the style of a blurb, but what I love about writing requests right in my inbox is that I don't need to do a super defined style, I can just write whatever comes off the top of my head and I don't have to worry about over-editing stuff. It's great for creativity and it's almost like a writing exercise? Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this.

Criminal Minds Masterlist

[joelslegalwhre]

drunk confessions

word count // 2.056k

pairing // jake “hangman” seresin x f!bradshaw!reader

summary // You’ve had enough of hiding your relationship with Jake, so you drink yourself a little courage and just screw it

warnings // established relationship. (slightly)drunk!reader, mentions of alcohol, lightweight reader, nicknames for reader (bubbles, sweetheart, etc.), Bradley is in big brother mode, the mission I mentioned isn’t from the film, the pilots still live in their own apartments (all near the base) for this fic, soft!hangman (that man alone is a warning but him being soft???), affectionate Jake and a ton of fluff

a/n // This is the new version of "drunk confessions" from '22! I just changed the wording a little, but nothing of the plot has changed. I loved writing this two years ago and if anyone wants more Hangman, don't worry I have more to come because same haha Thanks to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers ❀

(as always, please tell me if I missed a warning)

Masterlist

You and Jake started dating almost a year ago when Bradley and him were together at Top Gun. 

Rooster and Hangman had never been the best of friends, everyone knew that, so it was never the right moment to tell him about the two of you. The risk of Bradley being angry or perhaps even disappointed was too big. At least that’s what you thought. 

Jake understood why you didn’t want anyone to know. And although he’d love to just scream it out into the world, that he was dating the younger Bradshaw, that he was without a doubt the luckiest man on fucking earth, he respected your decision. 

Jake knew that you’d do the same for him without a question.

You wanted to tell Bradley eventually, just right now wasn’t the right time. But the real question is, when was it really? 

Jake had a hard time keeping away from you whenever you were at the Hard Deck with the team. You mostly spent your time at the bar with Penny, to keep her company and to catch up with the latest news - often involving your godfather. 

She and Maverick were so obvious sometimes it made you chuckle, but you really hoped he wouldn’t let her down this time. But Amelia and you would ensure that. 

From your seat at the bar, you also had a perfect sight at the pool table. A lame excuse to stare at a certain blonde pilot all night. 

Jake would always be the first to voluntarily get a new round of beers for the group, and no one complained about it. They were all so caught up in what they were doing, that no one noticed how he eyed you all night, ready to be by your side in seconds if anyone were to bother you. 

-

“Hey Penny, sweetheart. Another round please!” he gave her a wink and shot her one of his handsome grins. Penny nodded with a smile in return and turned around to get seven cold beers for the young pilots. 

“You look smokin’ hot, baby.” he whispered to you as his bright eyes met yours. They had this glow in them every time he looked at you. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Seresin.” you teased him with a wink. 

“I can do way more than look good. Whatever you want, Bradshaw.” he grinned while his hand secretly found yours on the bartop, his broad frame shielding it from preying eyes. 

You chuckled lightly, “Oh really?”

“Oh yeah, babe. You better wait for me when everyone’s gone. I need to take ya home with me.” he flirted shamelessly in his southern accent you loved so much. Jake knew you’d do exactly that anyway, since you basically lived at his apartment at this point, but where would be the fun?

-

Not even Phoenix knew about the two of you, so you could say both Hangman and yourself did a rather good job. 

This time was different though. 

They were all going to meet up at the Hard Deck tonight, for another night of pool, darts and what not. The next mission was in less than a week, and you just wanted to spend as much time with Jake as possible. Just like he wanted to with you. 

Jake hated to keep his hands by himself when you were just a few feet away, playing darts with Fanboy or Bob. You never hid from them, after all, Rooster was your older brother. If you weren’t talking to Penny, you spent your nights with them, laughing, drinking and chatting. 

Not tonight… tonight would be different.

You met Penny at the bar in the late afternoon, to help her get everything ready before the first guests would come in. Amelia was staying at a friend’s house, so you gladly took over her part. 

When everything was ready for the Hard Deck to open, you sat down at your regula seat at the bar. 

Penny looked at you from the side while she turned on the lights underneath the bar. “Can I get you anything?” She asked, a hint of worry in her voice. 

“Can I get a beer?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Penny smiled gently. She put the bottle down in front of you, and you took a large sip. 

“So,“ Penny started, putting her hands on the bar, arms on each side of your beer. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart? You’ve been out of it today.“ You looked up at her, and she had this look on her face that gave you so much comfort. You knew you could tell her everything and she’d keep it safe. 

„I… I’ve been thinking about…„ Yeah, what exactly was it that you thought about ever since opening your eyes today? 

You didn’t even know. Not really. 

You thought about telling Bradley about your relationship with his rival, screwing everything. But you’ve also thought about keeping it to yourself just a little longer. The upcoming mission was creeping into your mind at every thought; What if they didn’t make it? You didn’t want to think about that more than just a second. Not about your brother nor Jake. 

He would come back, and he’ll be fine. This wasn’t his first mission.

“I don’t even know Penny, I’m so confused.” you sighed and let your head fall into your crossed arms. 

“You’ll figure it out, sweetheart. I know you will.” she said, caressing your hair. You lifted your head to look into her eyes, her kind smile calming your racing thoughts a little. 

Not enough, though. 

That night, you kind of ignored your limits of how much alcohol you could handle in one night. You got pretty much drunk. Not to a point where you could throw up or blackout, Penny was in charge of the bar after all, but the kind you’d be rewarded with a nice headache the next day and your mind to be pretty foggy. 

Drinking wasn’t one of your strengths. That’s why Jake liked to jokingly call you a lightweight, and he couldn’t be more accurate with it. 

You’ve been sitting at the bar for a good part of the night now. The team had already greeted you when they came in, asking you to come with them, but you declined, telling them you’d maybe join them later.

“Penny.” you tried to get her attention, a sudden certainty in your voice, “Please excuse me. I have to go and get some kisses now.“ 

“That’s his boyfriend duty,” you said with a confident nod. “You know, happy wife, happy life.” 

Penny had no idea how no one of the team could see the glances Hangman gave you. How he couldn’t tear his gaze away from you even if he tried. If anything happened, he’d be there in a heartbeat. And those poor guys who tried to flirt with you were quickly intimidated by his death stare. 

Penny just laughed. She had kept a close eye on you since your third drink of the night, the last two she gave you were non-alcoholic, but you didn’t have to know that. 

She ignored your choice of words at the saying, not changing ‚wife‘ to ‚girlfriend‘ with a chuckle and motioned you to go. “Go and tell Jake then.” You looked at her with wide eyes, “How did y‘know I’m talking about Jake?” 

Penny tilted her head with a smile, “Sweetheart, I notice things.” she winked, “Now go and get your man.” 

The next thing you knew, you were trying to your boyfriend at the pool table. 

“Hey, Jake!” 

His head snapped in your direction at the use of his first name. You were the only one calling him that. And the first name basis got everyone else’s attention as well. 

“Yeah?” he tried to not be too obvious. But his concern about how you were feeling was rising with every second. 

You didn‘t stop at the pool table, but walked up to him. Until you stood right in front of him. You looked up into his bright eyes, filled with curiosity.

“I need kisses.” you told him with a pout, wrapping your arms around his neck. He was so thrown off by what you were saying, that he almost forgot the others around him.

Jake unwrapped your arms from his neck and placed his hand on your lower back. “I think you need some water and sleep, bubbles.” he couldn‘t suppress the small grin that grew on his lips.

„Kisses?! What the fuck is-„ Rooster started but was quickly interrupted by you, “Oh for god’s sake shut up Bradley.” you hushed your brother in honest annoyance, turning to him. 

“I love you, but I’m sick and tired of hiding something from you that’s important to me, just because I’m scared of what you’ll think or do.”

Hangman’s gaze was a mix between shock and pride. That you just straight out told your brother and all of your friends standing around you, about the two of you. Not keeping it a secret anymore. He knew it took a toll on you, and he’d told you multiple times to just tell Bradley for your own sake.

“Oh my god” you heard Phoenix breath out a laugh, while the others couldn‘t find words, still shocked, while some of them were exchanging amused looks.

Bradley didn’t. He looked back and forth between you and Jake, not able to process it all quite yet.

„Sorry man, listen I-„ 

“Just give me a second, okay?” Rooster cut Hangman off, stomping to the bar. 

“Let him be,“ you said while curling yourself into his side, hugging his arm close to your body, “He’ll be fine by tomorrow, the old drama queen.” Sober-you would probably be scared Bradley would be angry or disappointed. 

Good thing you weren‘t sober right now. 

“Babe, how much did you have to drink?” Jake whispered, as he bent down a little until his lips reached your ear.

“Ohh, not that much.” you assured him as you tried to sound sober, looking up at his face, only inches away from yours.

He looked back to the bar, finding Penny’s gaze. She mouthed something like “water” easing Hangman’s concern about your drunken state.

“Let’s get you to bed, huh, sugar?” he softly smiled at you. A real smile, one he had reserved for only you. 

You instantly shook your head in disagreement, “I swear, I’m not-„ you yawned, “that tired.” 

“‘Course you aren't” he mockingly smiled down at you.

“C‘mon, on my back.” he ordered, putting his hands behind his back, ready to hold your legs for support. He bent down, and you tried your best to hop on his back. You wouldn’t win anyway, and sooner or later - you preferred later - he’d carry you out the bar. 

You rested your head on Jake’s shoulder and wrapped your hands around his body. Your eyes already closing as the exhaustion betrayed you.

“Wow, Hangman, nice one.” Coyote teased him, the others joining in with laughter. Who would’ve thought Hangman had a soft spot.

“Shut it, Coyote.” Jake said with a look that would make anyone run for the hills.

“See you tomorrow, lover boy!” Phoenix joked. 

You giggled on Jake’s shoulder, “That’s a good one!” you lazily turned your head in her direction and smirked, Phoenix and the others laughing back at you.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Jake complained, giving your ass a little smack.

“Hey.” you giggled, but did nothing in response. Your head ached a little, and you hadn‘t had the strength nor willpower to do so. Just relived to be carried, you let your head sink back on Jake’s shoulder. 

“I love you.” you whispered to Jake as he carefully sat you down on the passenger seat of his car. He stopped in his tracks, his eyes finding yours. Jake bent down to place a soft kiss on your lips and he smiled. 

The slight smell of alcohol was surrounding you, but Jake couldn’t care less. „I love you, and I’ll never let you go, that’s for sure. You’re all mine, baby.“ he whispered back between small kisses, giving you goosebumps. His scent surrounded you as you wrapped your hands around his neck to bring him even closer. “Good.” you grinned and pulled him into another, longer kiss.

Masterlist

[enwoso]

Lovie having an even worse day than the grump story and hitting Vic pelova and having an all mighty meltdown

TINY TEMPER — alessia russo x child!reader

a long one🙃 got a little carried away when i was writing this, but ENJOY!

grumpy masterlist

travelling was tiring for the average person. travelling to the other side of the world was exhausting. travelling to the other side of the world at the age of four was anything but tiring, until it hits you like a brick wall that is.

alessia knew this would happen. she's tried so hard for it not to happen but when your so little and you get to do exciting things there's no containing your energy.

but it was now officially day two of arsenals post season trip to melbourne and you were past the point of tired.

when the flight landed at seven am yesterday morning you were fast asleep, alessia not thinking anything of it. more thanking her lucky stars she was going to be able to get through customs a little quicker without having to have eyes in back of her head in case you decided to bolt. something you'd done on the layover finding it the funniest game ever.

however, alessia wished she could have gone back in time and told herself to wake you up instead of just trying to make things easier for herself as when it came to bed time last night you had more energy than a duracell battery meaning you didn't exactly have the longest night sleep.

but hey you were four and had no concept of time never mind time zones..

"oh did someone not have a good night sleep?" steph giggled slightly as you sat at the breakfast table with your arms on it as your head rested on them an almighty frown on your face.

"who you asking tiny or less?" kyra teased as alessia glared at the young australian a cup of coffee secured tightly in her hands. steph slapping kyra on the shoulder also giving the girl a warning glare. your mummy placing a bowl of cereal in front of you and a bowl of fruit next to it.

you would usually start digging into it but not today, instead you pushed it as far as you could away from you. not wanting it anywhere close to you. pushing it until it hit steph's plate as she was the one who was sat in front of you.

"lovie, don't do that please" alessia said firmly as she pulled your bowl back to be in front of you. you huffing as you turned your head away from the bowl.

"i never thought i would see the day tiny not eating her coco pops!" kyra tried as you gave her a cold stare. you didn't want to eat them, you wanted to sleep but every time you closed your eyes mummy was tapping you on the shoulder waking you up.

"you'll have to be quick, otherwise they'll go all soggy and yucky-" kyra tried again, usually you would listen to kyra as she helped you create some fun when everyone else was being all dull and serious.

"just leave her kyra, she's not gonna eat them" alessia sighed as she watched you turn so you were sat on the on edge of your chair, kicking your legs back and forth. your white crocs which were on your feet close to coming off.

you swinging your feet further and further until your crocs flew off you feet. them being very close to landing on the table next to you. where katie, cailtlin and teyah were sat talking and eating their breakfast.

"ay whose little croc is this" katie's thick irish accent coming out as she picked up your croc, sending you a pointed smile. you giving katie a frown in return as you went back to swinging your legs back and forth.

"do you want it back?" katie had got up and walked the few steps handing your croc back to you but you just ignoring her as katie looked up at alessia who was shaking her head telling the irish girl a no. katie giving a nod understanding you clearly weren't in the mood.

"i'll just give it to your ma" katie nodded to alessia handing your shoe over as alessia mumbled a small thank you as katie returned back to her seat.

alsssia was exhausted already and the day had nearly just begun and that wasn’t due to jet lag although it probably played a big factor but from the fact she knew she was in for a day from hell with you and your grumpy mood.

you come out your shell a little, playing around with vic in a soft play area that the hotel had, most of the girls had been told to chill before it was time for meetings.

alessia was a little more content knowing you were playing with vic, although she would have preferred it more if you’d had a nap but you were having none of that when the idea was suggested.

so alessia sat in the little cafe next to it doing some uni work. her eyes glancing over every so often to where you and vic were. vic admittedly looking like she was having way more fun in the small play area sitting in a ball pit filled with colourful plastic balls.

you were sat playing with building blocks, building them as high as you could before barrelling most definitely a little too aggressively your foot in the bottom of it watching it tumble before restarting.

“vic me wan that one!” you pointed to another little boy who was in the play area on the other side playing with what looked to be his younger brother, as he also was building a tower with other coloured blocks.

“no tiny, you can’t right now someone else is playing with it” vic smiled gently as she picked up another ball in the ball in the ball pit.

“me wan that one!” you demanded a little louder this time, looking over to the little boy as you glared at vic who was starting to get a little uncomfortable as she didn’t exactly know how to respond or handle the situation which in her eyes looked like it wasn’t going to end with your usual cheesy grin.

“tiny you’ll have to wait your turn.. why don’t you play in the ball pit with me” vic tried, hoping it would help for you to forget about the building blocks.

unfortunately for vic it couldn’t be that easy, you instead shaking your head totally uninterested in the ball pit that was filled with colourful plastic balls.

instead you got yourself up from where you’d been sat, vic seeing you were making a beeline for the little boy. in a blink of an eye vic was up out of the ball pit, colourful balls flying out the pit as she lifted you up just inches away from the little boy.

you letting out an angry scream you began to kick your legs into viv’s body as well as flaying your arms around. what vic hadn’t realised is that there was a building block still in your hand and with your arms flaying around, the block hit vic straight in the eye.

the scream alone was enough to catch alessia’s attention as she shot up leaving her uni work, seeing your temper tantrums finally happen. quickly getting to vic’s rescue you were taken out of vic’s arms as you carry on kicking your legs and screaming just this time on the floor.

alessia quickly asking is vic was okay, the dutch girl flashing a smile and nodding her head. her eyes watering a little bit in all she was in fact okay.

alessia’s attention moved to you, as you were still on the floor of the hotel. screaming and crying while you kicked you legs out in pure frustration. alessia could sense the other guests wondering the hotel where staring at the scene that was happening.

alessia trying to pick you up by your hand but you were having none of it, just letting your entire body go limp. to the point where alessia’s patience had worn and she had to pick you up.

"tiny temper strikes!" kyra says with a proud smile, as the others look at her with a pointed look, totally unimpressed.

"you've been waiting ages to say that haven't you-" steph asks as kyra nodded her head enthusiastically watching on as you pull a tantrum in the middle of the hotel lobby. your over tiredness really kicking in.

"that's a singer you tool!" katie laughs at the young australian as the others look on, kyra sat with a confused look.

"what, no it's not" kyra shakes her head not understanding what katie was saying as it breaks katie into another fit of laughter, caitlin hitting katie on the shoulder for her to quieten down.

“katie your thinking of tinie tempeh” steph corrected the irish girl as katie rolled her eyes playfully, “same thing”

alessia managed to get you back to the room, where your sobs had quietened down as you face was now stained with tears as the occasional sniffle came from you.

you had been sat on your own for the past minutes, your mummy giving you the space you clearly needed before trying to talk to you. alessia had tried to talk to you but you just kept moving your head away from her every time she spoke.

“lovie?” your mummy said calmly, as she stood a few inches away from you. alessia was upset with your behaviour but she also knew it wasn’t entirely your fault as you were only acting this way because you were overly tired and overwhelmed. but still it was so excuse.

you glanced over to your mummy as you came a little closer, sniffles still coming from you. your mummy bending down so that she matched your height as you sat on the end of the bed.

“now y/n you understand that what you did to vic wasn’t very kind?”your mummy spoke in a serious which told you she was disappointed in you, you bowing your head so you just looked at your feet, a little hiccup coming from you from spending twenty minutes sobbing.

“you could have really hurt her or yourself with how you were acting” your mummy continued as you still were looking down at you socks and the patterns that were on them.

“do you understand where mummy is coming from?” she asked as you nodded slightly, you understood that what you had done was wrong and you didn’t feel a little upset with yourself for the way you had acted.

"how uncle gio would think if he saw you acting like this?" your mummy asked as you shrugged your shoulder, slightly confused as to why she was bringing up gio he wasn't even here, you hadn't seen him in person since christmas just before he set off on his big adventure around the world.

you shrugged, "uncle gio not here though"

"well he was coming to see you but i don't think he'll want to now especially if you being not very kind" alessia told you as you lifted your head a little. uncle gio was here, how?

“m’sorry” you mumbled under your breath, still looking at your feet.

“i know you are lovie, but when we see vic next i would like you to apologise to her, can you do that for me?” your mummy asked as you looked up from you feet and nodded a small squeak of a yes coming from you as you nodded.

“good, now lovie i want you to promise if you ever get any big feelings that you don’t know what to do. i want you to tell me and mummy can help you” your mummy told you as you slides down from the bed and hugged your mum. alessia’s arms going around you tiny waist tightly as she stroked her hand up and down your back just like she always did.

“can i make a card for vic to say sorry?” you asked quietly, as you mummy flashed a small smile before nodding.

“i think that would be a lovely idea lovie! i’ll get your pens from the suitcases”

you had spent all your time in the afternoon while your mummy trained making vic a card, drawing yourself on it with vic and all of her favourite things — that you could remember that is.

you wanted it to be perfect, and after training you asked your mummy to help you write what you wanted in it.

your mummy writing it while you told her what to write. you making sure to add your own little personalisation into it.

vic was one of the last ones out of training, having went to make a trip to see the physio. just to get a ice pack for the small bruise you had given her on the side of her eye,

your mummy had told you to leave it on her bag, so you doing as you were told you did just that.

mummy was in a strange hurry to leave training you weren’t quite sure why, but you did as you were told. putting your shoes and jumper on when asked before holding tightly onto your mummy’s hand. saying bye to couple of arsenal girls that had managed to get back to the changing room.

your mummy lead you to the front of where you had been training, stopping in the front lobby. as you looked up and asked why.

“just waiting for a second lovie, then we can go on a walk” your mummy smiled as she looked around the lobby.

“can we go to the park?” you asked with hopeful smile, you had seen one on the coach on the way to the hotel and it looked pretty cool and had things you hadn’t seen in the park near your house in london.

“maybe, we’ll see” mummy said quickly as you frowned a little. you hated when people older than you would respond to you with that as it usually meant no, and that was no fun to you.

but the frown was quickly turned around into a smile as your mummy pointed to someone coming around the corner, you gasped as you realised just who it was.

"uncle gio!" you called out excitedly as he lifted you up in the air, throwing you slightly as giggles escaped you as he caught you. your mummy stood recording the whole interaction.

"hey kiddo, you've gotten so big since i last saw you!" gio smiled as you nodded proudly starting to babble how you'd grown and show him how much with your hands.

"i heard you've been causing some trouble!" gio whispered as you gave him a blank smile back, moving your head to face your mummy who's eyebrows were raised.

"i think we are still adjusting to the new time zone in australia, but still we've had a little chat and tomorrows a new day isn't it lovie!" alessia have you a small smile as you nodded your head before resting it on gio's shoulder.

your mummy and your uncle gio began to talk as gio carried you walked through the streets of melbourne. your mummy claiming she wanted to go shopping as you felt comfort in your uncles arms, pointing things out as he gave you a reassuring nod and smile.

but before you had even got to the first shop, you had fell into a trap of dreams. your eyes had felt heavy when walking past a cute little coffee shop but that's the last thing you remember before your eyes, which had felt heavy since the moment you woke up, closed.

"wait- what how on earth have you done that..." your mummy stopped before entering the first shop, noticing you had fallen asleep, something she had been trying all day to get you to have a short nap.

"done what?" gio looked at alessia with a confused look not quite sure what she meant. he hadn't done anything except walk along the streets with you in his arms.

"got her to sleep!"

"cause i'm an amazing uncle duh!" gio laughed once he realised, alessia shaking her head at her older brothers cockiness.

"well she's got half an hour for a nap, you can be in charge of waking her up" alessia smiled sarcastically before continuing.

"and with those amazing uncle skills i’m sure you'll have no problem with lovie's grumpiness when you have to wake her up" alessia continued, the same smile still plastered on her face as she tapped her brother on the back before leaving him to go and look in a shop.

alessia

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alessia eventful few days😅 tiny on tour continues🛫🧳🦘

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Where Do You End Pt. 3

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have a talk.

Author's Note: Here we go. Dean about the be on his KNEES (for several reasons)

Word Count: 5.3k

A lot was happening. 

Cold wind had filled Dean’s body—Her body—and then suddenly the bunker library was gone. Sammy was gone. Everything was gone, and he felt like he’d been flipped in and out, turned in a circle, and everything was spinning when the world came back into focus. 

And he was so fucking confused.

He was back in his own body. Taller, easier to control, better to reach high things with, and less likely to accidentally move too fast and slam into something. He had his own legs and arms and feet and hands.

Dean had never really appreciated his hands before this. But son of a bitch, he’d missed them. One week without them, and he’d failed to open jars, had Her fancy, looping handwriting that he couldn’t even read, and dropped three guns. She could always hold a gun easily, but Dean had almost taken Sammy’s ear off.

He’d never take his hands for granted again.

He’d never take his body for granted. As fun as boobs had been for about two days—he’d never touched them, She would’ve killed him, but he’d liked watching them bounce—he’d quickly gotten sick of bras and how sometimes they just hurt. A lot of Her body had just hurt at random points through every single damn day. Dean was never going to be sure how She just did things, because he’d gotten a fresh wave of what Sammy had called post-menstrual syndrome, and he’d wanted to kill someone. 

He’d missed being taller, missed having Little Dean, missed not needing to worry about walking through the gas station at night—he’d had to start taking Sammy every time he wanted some pie, and he was never going to leave Her alone in a bar again—and not having to keep track of his goddamn hair all the time.

Even now it was too long. He’d been ready for a cut by the time the curse had hit, and somehow over just one week of being unattended, Dean felt like he had a mane. When he rubbed a hand over his jaw he could feel stubble, and She hadn’t even left him a razor. Or scissors.

If fact, the room seemed to be mostly empty, save for a lot of books, some stray ritual materials on the floor, and the motel furniture. There wasn’t even food or beer, and the bed looked hardly slept in, and Dean had a feeling that all those books would have worn pages from Her attention.

He didn’t quite know what he’d expected, when they switched back. A warning would’ve been nice, or a heads up that he’d suddenly be transported to the middle of freakin’ nowhere. All he knew what that She’d spent the week somewhere rainy, with trees and a view of the ocean, crashing up in waves on the rocks. Somewhere where the motels had cabin-like furniture and a lot of photos of bird and moose. 

This limited information told Dean that he was either on the upper East Coast, or the upper West Coast. 

So if he called Sam and took a gamble, he had a fifty percent chance of getting rescued, along with an equal shot of being stranded even longer as Sammy fucked off in the wrong direction and Dean tried to work out where the hell She’d landed him.

But if Dean was here, She’d be back in the bunker with Sam. So, hopefully, She wouldn’t be so pissed that she’d just leave Dean to find his own way back. 

Hopefully when Dean got back, She’d still be there.

He’d spent most of the week scowling at books and random points on the wall, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix this. He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t lose Her.

And She did love him. She’d said she loved Dean, and she’d used the present tense, and there was still hope. He’d fix this. Dean had spent the whole week repeating to himself that he would fix this. He’d read a bunch on articles online, asked Sam what he did when Eileen was pissed—Sam had said Eileen never got that pissed at him, so Dean had thrown out all his lettuce—and tried to call Her over and over to fix this.

Dean had been worried She wasn’t getting his messages. He’d started to feel something heavy and sickening grow in his stomach, because She could have been in danger. Sam said She’d been emailing him about the curse, but maybe whoever had been hurting Her had gotten her laptop, and they’d been using the emails to throw Sam and Dean off the trail. Maybe She’d been waiting for Dean to come help Her, but he’d just been brooding so now she thought he didn’t care.

Her laptop was still open, and when Dean clicked on her inbox, his emails had been left unread. Her phone was on the bed, and he could still see all his messages on the notification screen. She hadn’t been in danger. 

She’d just been ignoring him. 

And he could feel his jaw clench—his hands fist and his brow draw—as anger began to settle in his muscles and throat, but he didn’t have the right to it.

Because Dean was pretty sure She thought he didn’t care. 

About Her. 

“She just needs space, dude.” Sam had looked up at him from across the war room table about a week ago, his voice dangerously close to a lecture tone. “She just found out you’ve been lying to her for years-“

“I lied for her.” Dean had snapped, glaring at his phone. “Why won’t she call me back-“

“Because as far as she’d concerned, you just lied. She doesn’t care that it was for her,” Sam had put quotation marks around those last words, and Dean had scowled. “She cares that you didn’t think about her at all-“

Dean head had snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “Shut the fuck up, Sammy, of course I care about her-“

“I know that.” Sam hadn’t wavered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because you tell me. But all you’ve done with her is make her feel confused and dumb-“

“She’s not dumb-“

“I fucking know that Dean! I’m trying to tell you how she feels-“

“I wouldn’t need you to tell me,” Dean’s words had been pushed through his teeth, and he’d been damn near ready to punch Sam in the face or smash his phone on the table. “If she’d pick up the phone.”

Sam had given Dean a long, odd look, and then shaken his head. “Whatever, man. Not the love of my life who’s gonna hate my guts.”

Dean had felt the blood leave his face. He’d felt his whole world shatter just a little, felt his heart fucking stop. Just go dead in his chest, because She didn’t hate him. She loved him. Dean had decided that he’d be fine not being able to touch Her or hold Her as close as he wanted, because at least She’d be safe, and She’d never hate him. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to look in the mirror and see anything but a rotten, cracked pile of trash if She hated him.

But he’d looked in the mirror that same night, and he’d seen Her. Awesome, smart, funny Her.

He’d never known what he’d done to trick someone so beautiful into loving him. Dean had been satisfied knowing that possibly, maybe, hopefully, he could’ve been good enough.

That even if he’d never get to have Her, he’d been good enough for Her to trust him, to let him hold Her heart in his hands and keep it safe, just as he’d built his own heart to sit on an alter that was made of Her. An alter that tended to and existed only for Her, that would shatter and cave if he ever became something horrible enough to make Her not want him-

Son of a bitch.

He’d gotten it. 

He’d stared at Her reflection, and he’d felt it, in Her chest. Worked out why he’d spent every moment in Her body trailing after himself, and moving to his will, leaning into his own touch. Why his eyes kept scanning around rooms for something he didn’t understand, but would know when he found it. Why when he’d taken a shower and the smell of his shampoo had drifted through the steam, everything in his body—Her body—had relaxed.

She’d built Her own alter.

To Dean. 

Of all fucking people, She really did love him in the way he’d always refused to hope for. He’d wanted—for Her sake and his own painful reparation—for Her love to be strong and real, but fleeting.

He’d prayed that She did love him, and She’d always like him, but it would pass and Dean wouldn’t have to spend his life forcing himself a few steps back from grabbing Her and fusing Her love into his ribs until he could really fucking feel it.

He hadn’t wanted to feel it. He’d wanted Her love to wither, so Dean could tend to his own selfish desire in peace, and She could be happy.

A piece of him had hated the idea of Her being happy without him. But that had been part of the sacrifice. Dean would have to break himself down until he learned how to stop getting jealous when Her attention drifted, when he figured out how to lie to himself about not caring if She settled safely with some boring douchebag in a way that stuck on his body. 

He’d told himself that one day She’d start flirting at a bar, and his legs would forget to chase after Her because he really did want Her to be happy. 

But now he could feel it. He had been able to feel the part of Her that moved and rolled and hummed only for Dean.

He’d started rehearsing his speech that night.

He had a whole thing ready. He’d tell Her she was right. He’d stay he was sorry, and that he’d make the same choice a million times to keep Her safe but he’d never be able to live with himself She thought he didn’t care. He’d say he cared. He’d say it over and over until She understood that Dean could be reduced to ash and sand, and he’d still care. He was just bad at it. He was just bad in general. But he loved Her, and that made him feel okay.

He’d practiced in his head when he was in Her body—using Her voice to apologize to Her had felt strange and wrong—and he spent the time while he waited for Sammy to arrive going over it in the mirror. She’d forgive him. He’d run the speech by Sam, and Sam had rolled his eyes and called Dean a loser and an idiot, but he’d said it would probably be fine. 

It would be fine.

Sam said Dean would be picked up in a day, and he’d get to back Her, apologize, and everything would be fine.

He packed Her things as he waited, running over the speech one last time as he heard the rumble of Baby’s engine outside.

But when there was a knock at the door, it wasn’t Sam standing on the other side. 

——————

It’s raining. 

It fucking raining.

You’re standing outside in the rain, your hair clinging to you brow and your clothing stuck to your bone, and Dean’s staring at you like he’s seen a ghost, and this is so dumb.

“Hi.” Your voice is flat and not as strong as you’d like, but you’d also been out here for a minute before he’d answered the door, and the cold is already sinking too deep into your skin.

“Uh,” Dean stares at you, a small line forming in his brow. “I thought you’d be Sam.”

“I’m not.” You raise your chin slightly, holding his gaze. “I’ve had enough of being someone else for a long, long time.”

“I- you- Uh,” he clears his throat, and there’s something shaken and slightly off in his gaze, something that makes him falter. “I’ve never been good at-“

“Am I allowed inside?”

Dean blinks at you, his brow fully drawing, and you roll your eyes.

“It’s raining, Dean.”

He frowns, scanning over the grass behind you and the pavement, and the sight of the mist and darkened concrete almost seems to shock him. He stands a little taller, almost stumbles back, and grabs your arm.

Yanking you right inside after him.

Forcing your body to fall right over his, keeping you there for a brief second as you regain your balance, and then just fucking moving away.

He’d been so warm. He hadn’t quite smelled right, but you’d smelled like him, and it had made up the difference. His strong, steady arm had wrapped around your back for a second, and then he’d left you standing in the center of the room as he shuffled away.

He’d left you standing alone.

Nothing had changed.

“I missed you.”

You glower at the air, turning to see that his voice had come from the bathroom. The door has been left ajar, and you can see him moving around inside, and you hate that you’re still listening. That it’s Dean’s voice—his real voice, with all that same gravity he always has and the deep sound almost a bass in your chest—so you’re clinging to it like it’s wood and you’ve been set adrift.

Dean set you adrift. He’s the one stranded you and threw you to the waves and lied. Then he’d always pulled you just close enough to the shore for you to foolishly believe he’d left you rest somewhere warm, and then he’d fucking left again.

“You missed me.” Your voice has a little more fire behind it, and you can feel it bubbling up in your neck and stomach. The explosion. “You fucking missed me?”

Dean’s head pokes through the door, and there’s a small frown on his face. “Of course I-“

“Did you really miss me? Or are you just saying that when you secretly want me gone?”

He flinches. Dean visibly recoils, like you’ve stabbed him, and you’d feel worse about that if he hadn’t broken your heart into pieces with the blunt end of a gun and then fused you back together a little more his than before. A little more devoted—because at least he’d cared enough to pay you any mind—and a little angrier.

Dean says your name slowly, you hold your hand up, and his mouth shuts closed in a second.

“We’re going to fight, Dean.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over his face. “We’re going to fight, and then I’m going to leave.”

His eyes widen, something wild and panicked flashing behind them. “You’re-“

“I’m leaving with you. Or without you. But I,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut because you can’t look at him. He looks wounded and smaller than he should be, and he can’t do that. Not now. “I need to know, now. I need to know why you lied, and why you just made me stay in love with you-“

“I didn’t mean to.” He mutters, and his voice is soft, and you still won’t look at him. “I didn’t- You had to be safe-“

“I was safe-“

“Yeah, you were. But you wouldn’t have been, with me.” 

Something’s passed to your hands, and it’s soft and warm. You risk one eye open to stare at the fluffy towel in your hands, and Dean’s still talking.

“You woulda had a target, people with me and Sammy always get targets, and they always end up dead. And I-“ He chokes on something, and you’re staring at his knees. You still feel like you’re seeing too much. “I couldn’t lose you. I don’t- I won’t lose you. I needed to protect you, and I wanted you to be happy-“

You scoff, glowing at his thighs. “That’s a lie. You always stopped me from moving on-“

“I know-“

“You don’t know, Dean!” You’re shouting at his stomach, strangling the towel in your hands. “You have no idea how- It hurt! It hurt all the time that you’d say you didn’t love me, and then you’d turn around and tell me nobody was good enough for me, and I- I was confused, and lost, and lonely-“

He says your name, and you shake your head at his chest. 

“No! I would’ve been safe! I’m always safe with you-“

Dean’s laugh is dry and humorless. “That’s not-“

“It is. You-“ You choke on the air, and the base of his neck tenses. “I don’t trust just anyone, Dean, and I trusted you with my life, I loved you-“

“Loved?”

You stare at him, and he’s never been so still. Like he thinks that if he even breathes a little too loud, you’ll bolt. 

And he looks pained. 

You can feel it. In your own chest there’s a phantom of something clenching at your heart, and there’s a wired tension in your muscles that you’d grown used to over the past week. 

He’s shivering a little. It’s humid in the motel room, and he’s dry, but Dean’s shivering. 

And it’s a little hard to breathe.

“Love.” You whisper. “I love you. But it hurts, Dean. It really fucking hurts.”

He bows his head, and only mutters, “I- I had to protect you-“

He keeps repeating that, like it’s a mantra or prayer. Like he can make it real, if he just says it over and over until the words are only sounds.

“You didn’t need to protect me Dean, and you know it.” You sigh, rubbing your neck with a hand as Dean seems to curl into himself. “You were just afraid.”

He flinches again. “I-“

“But you are not a coward, Dean Winchester.” You force your voice to be a little stronger, your spine moving to stand slightly taller as you watch him. “You are an asshole, and a masochist, and self-sacrificing dick, and the best man I know.”

He glances up at you, swallowing slightly, and you push on.

“You’re clever, and resilient, and loyal, and caring. You’d give your life in a second for anyone, and you’d give your happiness for the people you love because you are an idiot who can’t see how it kills us. I did not fall in love with you against my will. I am a smart woman, and I chose you.” You narrow your eyes at him, taking a firm step closer. You can feel something charged and bright moving between your bodies, and you don’t know if it starts in him or you, but it’s all the same. Right now, it’s only you and Dean in the whole world. “I chose you because you are brave, so stop being a coward and be fucking happy, Dean.”

“I-“

“Tell me you’ll be happy.”

Dean stares at you. “I- I’ll be happy.”

He frowns at the words, as if they taste odd on his tongue. 

You’ll have to work on that.

You nod. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry.” He almost lurches forward, like he’s physically stopping himself from reaching out to hold you. “I’m so goddamn sorry, and I’m never gonna-“

“Tell me you love me. But,” You stand a little taller, and this could break you. “Only if you really fucking mean it-“

“I love you.” The words are fast. Firm. 

They jumpstart your every nerve at once, and you’re going to be okay. 

“I’m in love with you,” Dean says your name, his hands fisted at his side. “I love you, and I’m sorry, and I’ll be happy, and just- Don’t leave. Don’t leave, please. I love you, goddamnit, so don’t-“

“You can say it all you want.” You swallow, keeping your gaze locked on his. “I want to see you do something.”

There’s a long moment where he just stares at you, but there’s no sickening worry in your body. You didn’t push him too far, you said everything you had to, and Dean might be drawing ragged breathes you can feel tighten around your own lungs—might just be standing there and watching you—but if he does nothing at all you’ll know. You’ll finally know in a way that you can trust, and you’ll be able to walk away and relearn how to move and think in a world where Dean really doesn’t want you-

He moves so fast. One second Dean’s staring at you with a drawn brow and flared nostrils, and the next he’s on you. Bent over your body, his hands molded and perfectly fit on your waist and jaw, his lips slammed over yours and pulling every part of your soul out through your mouth.

And every bit of doubt evaporates without any suffering or pain.

Because Dean cares.

And you can feel it.

It’s not just in how he kisses you, like he’s returned from war and you’ve been a crumpled picture in his pocket, his kiss bruising and searching all at once, as every bit of his adoration and desire and hope—there’s something that’s still delicate in this kiss, because his hands stay on your body like you might be set adrift once more and he’s fighting against all the tides and rocks to keep you at his side—sinks from Dean’s lip into yours.

It’s in the lingering sensations you can still feel between your bodies. It’s in how when your arms wrap around Dean’s neck and you return the kiss with every bit of wrathful and determined love you’ve ever held for the man before you, you can feel the rush of relief in his body.

He pulls you closer, and groans against your skin when you squirm in his hold. Dean presses kisses over your collarbone and sucks a line up your neck that makes you fold into him like putty, and when you scratch at his arms a prickle runs over your own skin.

You think Dean’s feeling it too. He grabs at your hair and tugs it back to bite and kiss at your throat, and his own body jerks slightly. He falls over you on the mattress, and makes a low grunt that matches the weight of him that’s

been dropped on your chest. You reach a hand between your bodies as he nips at your lower lip—palming and squeezing at his bulge, feeling yourself melt into the sheets at his low groan—and when he swats you away he replaces the loss with his knee, his thighs tensing in that brief moment where you’re aching without relief.

Dean rises over you, and furrowed expression on his face.

“Got makin’ up to do.” He mutters, his eyes so dark on yours it feeds something in your gut that had been flickering and humming into an inferno. And you could get lost in that darkness. They’d be warm. “I just- I’m takin’ care of it, sweetheart. You need to trust me-“

You push up to kiss him, cupping your hand around his head and keeping it short and gentle.

“I trust you.” You whisper against his lips, running your thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m staying. Just- I-“

You don’t have the words. For how if this is it, if he’s going to love you and hold you, he can’t drop you. You can’t do this just to be left stranded once more.

But you don’t need the words. 

Because there’s still a little bit of you that is Dean, and he understands. 

Dean lays you back on the bed, pulls his shirt over his head, and now you have nothing but time and care. His hands trace and map over your body as he strips you out of your wet clothing, and lingering cold from the rain vanishes as Dean starts to touch you.

Really, properly touch you.

Rough, calloused hands squeezing and pulling at your breasts and hot, full lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking and pulling it between his teeth with low groans that vibrate through your body. By the time he’s trailing down your stomach—sucking dark marks all over your skin that make your back arch off the bed and your knees spread in a silent plea for him to move further down—you’re tugging at his hair and gasping his name in need.

Then Dean dives right past where you’re dripping and rolling the sheets for him, kissing down your thighs and up to your ankle, switching legs and keeping you pressed to the mattress with one firm hand.

You can see his own need, pushing against his jeans. You can feel it, throbbing and pulsing in your core.

“Dean,“ You moan as he nips at your knee, slowing working his way back up to your center. “Shit, Dean, please-“

His mouth moves to your inner thigh, sucking another, almost possessive spot right near your core before hiking your legs over his shoulders, his breath warm over you pussy and his mouth so close-

“Dean-“

“That’s my name, baby.” He hums. “Get ready to scream it.” 

The asshole winks at you, and you barely have time to glare at him before he dives into your cunt, and everything in your body lights on fire.

It’s infuriating how everything Dean does, he’s good at. How even eating pussy feels like something artful when it’s Dean doing it, and he’s working you like clay with only his mouth. Turning you into a writhing, moaning mess on the bed as he licks and sucks and bites and kisses, and his scruff is just long enough to burn on your thighs in the best way, and his hands are drawing pattern on your thighs in perfect rhythm with his movement between your clit and clenching pussy, humming and growling against you in harmony and pushing his tongue into you right as your hips buck off the bed-

When you start to grind and moan a weak warning of your release—barreling towards you like a tidal wave—Dean keeps you on the edge with teeth on your clit and teasing movement of his tongue for just too long. Just until you’re whining and squirming and trying push your cunt right into his face, and then he pulls your clit into his mouth and flicks his tongue over you in almost a frenzy, and you unravel.

You might be screaming his name. Your heart feels like it’s filled with helium and your body feels a little bigger as Dean presses one calming kiss over your clit and draws away—keeping at least one part of his body pressed to yours as he sheds the remainder of his clothes—and you think he might be proud.

You’ll let him have this. Just for tonight, when all he’s done is eaten you out and you feeling like you’re glowing, you’ll let Dean be pleased with himself.

He settles back over your body, his gaze locked to yours as he bumps against your inner thigh, and every breath feels important.

“I-“ Dean clears his throat, scanning over your face. “I, uh- You didn’t happen to bring protection-“

“I’m clean.” You whisper, your fingers curling on his chest. “And on the pill.”

He swallows, nodding slowly. “And you’re okay-“

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure-“

“Dean.” Your voice gets a little more solid, your eyes firm on his. “If you don’t want to, we won’t, but I’m more than-“

You yelp as Dean slams his mouth down to yours, kissing you into the mattress and swallowing your high sound as he pushes his cock right into you without resistance.

He pulls back to watch you as he bottoms out, reaching down to trace a small circle on your clit, and his hips jerk with a grunt.

The movement make him press right against your g-spot, Dean groans and rolls his hips, you whine and start to grind against him as your own pleasure crest and vaults, and you both freeze as you realize what’s happening. 

Dean pressed his thumb flat on your clit, the movement slow and careful, and lets out a hiss through his teeth. Still staring at him, you purposefully clench around him, and stars cloud your vision as need pools deeper in your gut. 

Something snaps. 

And you’ve never been higher. 

Every movement is doubled, and everything seems to only carry you higher. Dean begins to slam into you at a brutal pace that grows sloppier and sloppier the more you grind and writhing beneath him, squeezing his cock whenever he hits that spongey, needy part deep inside of you, the feeling of practical euphoria doubled and practically intoxicating. 

At some point Dean rolls onto his back, never removing himself inside of you and never breaking his pace. Your nails scratch at his chest as you ride his dick, rubbing your clit over his chest and reaching a hand behind you to play with his balls as he guides you up and down with a tight grip on your hips-

Dean almost roars when you squeeze his balls with light fingers, and you would’ve fallen forward if he didn’t hold you up. One of Dean’s thumbs move to furiously rub at your clit, and you’re not sure who cums first.

All you know is that it’s all an almost infinite high as you fuck yourself on his cock through your orgasm, and Dean pushes up to suck at your tits as his release drips down your thighs. 

You could’ve stayed here forever. Basking in the little, electric aftershocks of your shared orgasm, squeezing around Dean when he twitches inside of each other, watching each other with open looks of wonder because you might have just found a backdoor to heaven. 

But eventually, Dean has to roll you onto your back press a kiss to your brow before shuffling to the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth that gets tossed to a corner of the room once he’s cleaned you up, and wastes no time settling his body back over yours with a low groan.

“Sammy’s gonna have a field day.” He mutters against your skin, and you giggle, letting your fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Been telling me for years to just talk to you.”

You hum. “You should’ve listened. Sam can be wise beyond his years sometimes.”

He snorts. “You’re supposed to be on my side-“

“I am.” You tilt your head to kiss his cheek, smiling against his scruff. “Just not for this.”

“Whatever.” Dean grumbles, and he’s clinging to you like you’re a teddy bear. “Long as he shuts his big mouth about it-“

“We could make out in the war room. When we get home. Just to fuck with him.”

There’s a long pause, and when Dean speaks again, he sounds a little breathless. You feel a little lightheaded.

“You’re my dream girl.”

“I know.” You smile at the ceiling. “Dean, can you still feel-“

“Yeah.” He pinches at your waist, as if testing that the aftereffects are still there. “Kinda hot, though.”

“You wanna keep making it up to me?” You hold his gaze as he pushes up on his elbows, raising his brows at you. “Sam doesn’t know where we are, you still have about four years of missed sex to catch up on, and it is storming outside-“

Dean grunts your name, and you give him your best innocent pout.

“You forgive me?”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I’d like a few more apologies, please.”

He raises his brows. “Am I ever gonna get to stop apologizing-“

“No.” You offer him a small smile. “But mostly just because your apologies are amazing.”

Dean rolls his eyes, you open your mouth to tell him that you have forgiven him—so if he really doesn’t want to keep having sex, he by no means has to—but you don’t have to.

He knows. 

And based on the fervor with which he kisses you back into the mattress, he wants nothing more than to try and fuck you until you’re turned inside out, and he’s gotten that lingering bit of the curse inside of him to stick.

End Note: Rare Dean Winchester dealing with emotions, spotted in the wild! Thank you so much for reading!! Shoutout to the anon who requested a body swap series, huge W for that idea <3, this one's for you.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

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@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

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@dyhsversion @Laurakirsten0502 @megara0224 @funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction

@kr804573

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Roses are red... [W. W]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

[Timothée masterlist]

If you want to request something, leave it in my inbox!

A noise in the distance was responsible for waking you up from your not-so-pleasant sleep in the hard, cold bed that you had been using for almost a year. Could it be Scrubbit? It was too late for her to be doing anything, you thought, much less in the bedroom section. With some curiosity you slipped your cold feet into the even colder shoes to turn on the lamp on your table and left the room with the intention of discovering what that was.

Hallways always made you nervous and the thought of encountering something unpleasant made you even more uneasy, but you tried to keep your mind occupied with something else as you moved forward step by step. Seeing nothing outside the rooms, you continued down the spiral stairs and that was where you finally observed the cause of the commotion: a crouching body that made you jump in surprise.

“Mr. Wonka?” you whispered when you noticed the burgundy coat and this time it was your turn to startle.

“Oh, it's just you,” he laughed, a little more relieved “What are you doing here?”

“The noise woke me up. What are you doing here?” you asked back, seeing him fully dressed and with his shoes on.

“Trying to get out. I need to get an ingredient to finish tomorrow's chocolates” he explained to you.

True, tomorrow would be the big day where you guys would do your best to present your friend's chocolates to the world. You had to admit that at first you hadn't been fascinated by the idea, but after seeing all the good things that this had brought for the entire group you were more than willing to continue supporting in whatever way you could. That was why the next day you would sneak into the gourmet galleries during the day to help operate the shop that Abacus and Noodle had managed to rent. And you could tell that Wonka could barely contain his excitement.

“How do you plan to go out at this time?” you asked, as it was obvious that your usual exit through the laundry tube wasn’t an option.

“There's a space big enough for someone to get out in that part, see?” he murmured, pointing with his cane at a gap above the front door “I just need to get a good grip on this rope and I can climb up there. I will pull it to the other side and before dawn I will climb again.”

“And what if Scrubbit sees you?”

“She won't,” Wonka whispered, completely sure of himself. There was a brief silence between you, where you just looked at him with a certain claim and he returned that look with an amused "Do you want to come with me?"

"What? No!"

"Come on! It will be fun"

“I'm in my pajamas,” you said through clenched teeth.

“Then put on different clothes,” he quickly resolved, with a smile that was too enthusiastic for your liking. Looking at your doubtful expression he added: “It will only be a few hours, don't you want to get out of here?”

Although you were a little hesitant, after thinking about it a little and with the help of the man's hopeful expression you ended up being convinced. Making as little noise as possible you went up to your room to dress properly and when you returned he was already sitting on a step, waiting for you.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” you whispered close to him, half excited and half scared to death by what you were about to do.

You had gone out before, of course, but you knew that doing it at night was even riskier for many reasons you didn't want to think about right now.

He went first, just to check that everything was safe, and then you followed him, albeit with a little less grace. When you were above the door he reminded you to pull the rope for the time to return and when you looked at the height at which you were the idea of going down became less promising than at the beginning.

“Jump and I'll catch you” he exclaimed, noticing your frightened expression and you took a moment to try to calm down by breathing deeply.

You analyzed your options and thought that in that position you would have to go down anyway, and it was preferable to do it outwards, so without thinking too much about it you made a sign to the boy and then threw yourself forward with your eyes closed. You heard him exhale in surprise and the next thing you felt were his arms holding you, perhaps too tightly, as he feared you were going to fall suddenly.

"Are you okay?" he laughed softly, quite close to your ear. Upon hearing that you opened your eyes only to meet his, as green and beautiful as a pair of emeralds.

“Yes, everything is perfect” you sighed, and then he gently placed you on the floor. Without even expecting it you had already giggled too.

“Okay, go ahead.”

Without questioning him, you began to walk behind him and when you were a couple of streets away you were able to breathe more calmly, as if the weight of your captors had been reduced on your shoulders. Due to the schedule of your visits abroad, you hadn’t had the opportunity to appreciate the beautiful lights around you and you were sure that at that moment you looked like a child fascinated by them.

“They're pretty, right?” Wonka asked, confirming your hypothesis completely. Seemingly he had been watching you look at the decorations.

“They are,” you answered timidly. “What precisely are we looking for?” you asked next, still a little distracted by the environment, but trying to get his attention away from you.

“Some young rose leaves to make an infusion for the chocolate roses. I saw a full garden near the park the other time, when we were returning to the laundry. I think they can be useful”

“Are you feeling nervous?” you murmured gently, giving him your full attention now as you crossed your arms to keep some warmth. “About tomorrow.”

“A little… well, a lot actually. But in a good way,” he smiled “The truth is that I have never felt so nervous and excited in my life. All this is like a dream come true”

“I hope it’s perfect,” you murmured and you said it with sincere faith.

You had tried so hard to achieve all this that you were not only looking to do it to pay off your debt with Scrubbit, but also to see your new friend happy. And how would you not want that? Seeing him happy was a wonderful sight.

"Are you cold?" he asked, noticing that your figure was slightly curled in on itself. Apparently he was noticing a lot more than you would like.

"Only a little"

You were going to add that you were fine with it, but suddenly he stopped you by jumping in front of you and when you were about to ask what was happening, he undid the scarf around his neck to wrap it around yours. His movements were careful and the closeness forced you to hold your breath, only for your nostrils to then be flooded with the boy's aroma combined with the cheap detergent with which he had surely washed the garment.

"Better now?" the man smiled and since you didn't have time to assimilate the situation you just nodded, without stopping looking at him just because he kept looking at you.

You thought maybe this was what it would feel like to hug the boy, even though you had never done it, and then you hid your nose in the soft fabric. It had purple and green patterns on a gray background, quite pretty actually.

“The… the park. It’s there,” you stammered, pointing to a point behind your friend.

When he turned around he could see the rose bushes in the distance and let out an exclamation of joy, while his warm hand sought your wrist to guide you in their direction, causing a shiver to run through your entire body.

When you walked through the place and reached the plants he knelt next to the bushes, starting to rant about how functional these flowers would be, whether it was their leaves, the color, the shape... he listed more and more qualities, but you just could focus on the feeling on your neck and the warm ghost of his fingers on your skin.

And in that moment it was as if you had suddenly noticed something about him that you hadn't noticed at first; that there was some tenderness in his features that made you feel nervous or maybe it was his thin, skillful hands walking through the branches or even, daring to sound exaggerated, you would say that you suddenly noticed how handsome he really was. How did you notice it until now?

He said something and then you asked him to repeat it, since you had been too busy watching him to pay attention to his words.

“I asked you if you think any would be useful,” he said again. You took a look at the bush in front of you and pointed towards the first specimen you found, hoping that the talk would take away the thoughts that had invaded your mind.

To your surprise it turned out that the rose you had pointed out was quite pretty and, according to the requirements you remembered, it was perfect for the man's purposes. After congratulating your choice, he took out some scissors from his hat and carefully cut out the flower, to keep it in the same piece of fabric as the others that he had already selected.

“These roses will make the best chocolates, I can already imagine it,” he said with some pride, looking at the pile of plants you had. You hadn't even looked when he cut so many.

"They are beautiful"

"Yes, they are. And this one is for you."

If you had managed to get rid, even for a moment, of romantic thoughts towards him, right now he wasn't being very cooperative. Not when he was offering you the prettiest rose with such a sweet smile.

Why was he doing that? You did not know. Maybe he was just being kind and grateful, like he was most of the time.

“Huh, thank you, Mr. Wonka…”

“Be careful, he still has some thorns,” he warned you, “And stop calling me Mr. Wonka. “We are friends and my friends call me Willy.”

A small smile invaded your face and it was lucky that you were able to hide the blush on your cheeks with the excuse of inhaling the scent of the rose. It was exquisite, by the way.

“Then thank you, Willy,” you corrected yourself, to which he showed a satisfied expression.

And then a pleasant tickling invaded your stomach because, whether they were real flowers or chocolate flowers, it would always be a pleasure to receive such a cute detail from such a cute boy.

[alessandra-14]

A slip of the tongue

Dean Winchester x sister!reader and slightly Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Summmery: After a tough hunt, leaving the three hunters bruised and hurt and Dean angry at his little sister. But when she slips up and calls him "Dad," everything shifts.

Warnings: none really

(It's been requested weeks ago but I just now I managed to get it done)

Being raised by two older brother who don't really know what they're doing, may not be to ideal but for Y/N that's all she could have asked for.

Their dad was rarely ever home, usually away on hunt and blinded by the need to revenge his wife. So Dean and Sam had no other choice than to step in and raise her to be a strong smart woman. And she wouldn't trade that for anything in this world.

Like that one time when Dean tried to get her ready for the day.

“Sam, do you know how to braid hair?” Dean asked, frowning at the tangled mess called a ponytail. She was 5, sitting cross-legged on the motel bed, flipping through an old, dog-eared picture book.

“No, but I’m not the one who promised she’d look like a princess today,” Sam shot back, rolling his eyes. He was fifteen, gangly and awkward but always ready to help.

Then Dean also rolled his eyes and glared at his little brother. "You know you don't have to be so sassy all the time Sammy." He sayed in an obnoxiously annoying tone, to which Sam didn't say anything further.

Dean huffed, trying to mimic the motions he’d seen in some movie Y/N had made them watch. “Hold still, kid. You’re gonna look amazing.”

Or that time when both brothers decided to take her to the fair after she had been begging to go there for days.

The fairground lights twinkled and Y/N was full of energy, practically dragged her brothers toward the entrance.

“Dean! Funnel cake first! No, wait—the merry-go-round!” she shouted, her voice rising above the carnival buzz.

“Slow down!” Dean laughed and quickly tried catching up to her. Sam slightly less enthusiastic, rolled his eyes but followed close behind.

They played games. Dean won her a stuffed lion and they shared a funnel cake, When they reached the ferris wheel, Y/N squeezed into the seat between her brothers, resting her head on Dean’s arm.

“This is the best night ever,” she whispered already sleepy and exhausted after this fun night out.

Dean smiled, pulling her close. “Yeah, kiddo. It is.”

But their lives weren't always fun and peaceful. More often than not it was the complete opposite. John's anger, the constand yelling and fighting between Sam and John, the hunting. Oh especially the hunting.

The two brothers were never a big fan of taking her with them on hunts but John insisted she had to learn, so they hadn't much of a choice than to agree. But after seeing how good she actually is at this they decided to let her tag along even after John was long gone.

The Impala’s rumble was a soothing constant, a reminder of safety despite the chaos that had just unfolded. Sam’s face was taut with worry as he pressed a blood-soaked rag against her arm, the gash beneath stinging like fire. Dean’s jaw was clenched as he drove like a mad man, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.

Y/N sat in the backseat, trying not to wince every time the car hit a bump. Blood was soaking through her white shirt, but she knew better than to complain about a piece of clothing at the moment. Even if she really loved that shirt.

The hunt had gone sideways—what a surprise.

Dean and Sam had both sworn to protect their sister at all costs. But lately, she’d been trying to prove she could handle herself, trying to show them she wasn't just the kid tagging along anymore.

It was supposed to be a simple salt-and-burn. Ghosts were her bread and butter. Something relatively easy to handle. But this one had been different. Angry. Vengeful. And ridiculously fast. Before anyone could react, it had slashed at her, sending the girl flying into a set of windows.

“Pull over,” Sam said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice was calm but firm. “I need to stitch this up before she loses too much blood. We've wasted to much time so far."

Dean didn’t argue, which was how she immediately could tell he was mad. He pulled into the parking lot of a dingy gas station, threw the car into park, and slammed the door shut behind him as he got out.

Sam turned to his sister, pulling out the first-aid kit. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” she said through gritted teeth.

Sam sighed but didn’t push it. His hands were steady as he threaded the needle and got to work, his murmured apologies lost in the sharp sting of every pull. Y/N tried to focus on the familiar sounds of Dean pacing outside the car, his boots crunching on gravel.

When Sam finished, he gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and got out to check on Dean. The girl was alone for maybe thirty seconds before the driver’s side door opened and Dean slid in loudly. He turned to face her, his green eyes scanning her pale and tear struck face and then her bandaged arm.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m fine,” She muttered, avoiding his gaze.

“Fine?” His voice was sharp, edged with frustration and anger. “You know you could’ve died back there.”

She flinched at his firm tone. “I wasn’t trying to get hurt, Dean.”

“You think that matters?” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be careful. You’re supposed to stay back and let us handle it. We know what we are doing!”

“I know what I am doing too and most importantly I’m not a little kid anymore!!”

“Well, you sure as hell act like one sometimes!”

The words hit her harder than she wanted to admit. Y/N looked down at her lap, blinking back tears. She knew he didn’t mean it—not really. Dean was scared. He always got like this when something happened to her or Sam. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered after an intense silence.

Dean sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. His voice softened. “I just—damn it, I can’t lose you. You get that, right? You and Sam… you’re all I’ve got.”

The tears she’d been holding back spilled over, and before she could stop yourself, the words slipped out.

“I know, Dad.”

The silence that followed was definitely awkward.

Her heart sank as soon as she realized what she’d said. “I—I mean, Dean. I didn’t mean. I—”

But he didn’t look angry. His eyes widened for a moment, then softened into something she couldn’t quite place. He reached out, his calloused hand gentle as it gripped her left hand.

“Hey,” he said softly, cutting off her rambling. “It’s okay.”

She looked at him worried and confused, her bottom lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Yeah, you did,” he said, a small, sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And it’s okay. You’re my kid as much as you’re my sister. Hell you’ve always have been.”

The weight of his words settled over her, warm and reassuring. For the first time since she’d climbed into the Impala, the tightness in her chest loosened even for just a moment.

“Thanks, Dean,” She whispered.

“Don’t thank me,” he said gruffly, though his hand lingered for a moment longer before he pulled away. “Just… stop scaring the crap outta me, alright?”

She nodded, a small smile breaking through. “I’ll try.”

“Good.” He started the car, the familiar rumble filling the space and waited for Sam to come back in too. “Now, let’s get you patched up for real. And next time, you’re wearing body armor, I don’t care how stupid it looks.”

Sam climbed back in, raising an eyebrow at the sudden shift in mood but wisely deciding not to comment. As the Impala roared back onto the highway, Y/N leaned her head against the window, a strange sense of peace settling over her.

Dean might not have been her dad in the traditional sense, but in every way that mattered, he was. And now, she didn’t have to pretend otherwise.

[pe4cht3a]

Little something I think about once and awhile but I feel like Killua tells his dad and grandpa stuff about his life. Like just talk about his friends, any training, any enemies, any *crushes* ;). I feel like we see a little of this in the Zoldyck arc before Killua leaves home, AND I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT

LIKEE IMAGINE!! Killua yapping his dad and/or grandpa’s ear off about his smidge crush on reader then turning around and being like - don’t tell Illumi (he already knows). BASICALLY can we get a one shot/headcannons about this? This feeds my obsession with me needing to know what people think I about me

‧ ˚ Hush ˚ ‧

── .✦ a/n: augrhf this sucks so bad but i love this idea sm, pls enjoy :3

after numerous days of being tortured and mutilated by his family, killua was certainly feeling annoyed. why was killua even enduring this in the first place? because he decided it was a wonderful idea to stab the shit out of his mommy and older brother, the fat one, of course.

while enduring the endless punishments and merciless whippings from his family, especially milluki, who kil had stabbed before running off for the hunter exam. oh right! the hunter exam.

during the hunter exam, known world wide to be extremely difficult and hard to pass, killua had encountered some of the most important people to him currently. gon, his best friend. kurapika, an older brother figure. leorio, someone to make fun of. you, his first ever crush.

killua had never, EVER been exposed to girls before his whole life. disregarding his mother, and alluka since he hadn’t seen her since they were like six and five. the only things in life killua had ever been provided for was ruthless training and grooming to become the head of the zoldyck assassin family. of course, this role meant he was destined to marry in the future to reproduce, but talk of women and marriage was left for much of the future. so when kil met you and got to interact properly with you, A GIRL… he did not know what to do at all.

“wow! she sure is fast!” the cheerful gon chirped as he eyed you, pacing along with satotz in the first phase of the hunter exam effortlessly. “tch, that girl will for sure die later.” the albino rolled his eyes as he focused on the dark tunnel ahead of him. “i wouldn’t assume that so early, killua. she does seem strong.” kurapika chimed in as he watched you meticulously.

“oh! i guess you’re the number i’m assigned to collect for.” you slyly but gently smiled at killua, standing right in front of him, surrounded by the lush forest. “in your dreams.” the silverette non-chalantly spat out as he had his hands tucked into his pockets.

before killua could react, you had already swiftly jumped up onto a tree behind him. killua didn’t realise at first, but less than a second later he realised a side of his shirt had felt significantly lighter.

“hey! what the hell?” the boy screamed as he snapped his head around to see your figure atop a tree branch.

you had just taken killua’s badge without a sweat.

badge number 99 was now yours.

you turned your body around, and stared down at the albino, who was exuding embarrassment and anger. “don’t be so angry, kitty.” you smirked, as you placed your hands into your pocket, mocking killua’s once confident and signature posture. the darkened expression on killua’s face was priceless, something to behold, truly.

did this bitch just call him “kitty”? ain’t no way you took his badge, called him kitty AND mocked him. if this was anyone else, killua would’ve slit their throats by now but, you felt incredible.

that was the moment and interaction that caused something unknown to bloom inside killua. how could you take his badge without him noticing? how were you faster than him? he’s a zoldyck, so how? what training have you gone through? who were you, really? how were you so confident against someone like him? how the fuck were you so pretty while doing all that?

killua was now hungry for more of you.

“so killua! whats your type?” the raven haired boy said as he gazed out the window of the airship. “my type? what do you mean?” the pale boy questioned, tilting his head. “you know, what kind of girls do you like?” gon grinned innocently. “girls?” killua had never interacted with a girl before, until you, that is. killua was not sure what to say, his type? he hadn’t even been around enough girls yet to know.

“mhm! personally, i like older women! i think they’re caring and mature.” the ravenette exclaimed as he explained to the dumb-founded albino. “uh.. well…” killua was pretty puzzled, to say the least.

it shattered his ego to admit this to gon, but especially himself. “uhhh.. you know that girl we’ve been seeing around lately during the exam?” the albino stared off into the night lights shining from below. “oh yeah! she’s pretty!” gon smiled, he was pretty surprised killua mentioned you.

“um, i guess you could say so.” killua would never ever talk about this subject to anyone else.

unfortunately, all that was awhile ago. now, instead of spending time with gon and his other friends, he was propped up in his mansion’s cell, abused. everything went south once killua’s eldest brother, illumi revealed his disguise at the last phase of the exam and manipulated him into returning home. killua was not one to reminisce, but those memories were surely treasured.

“how dare you stab me and mama?” the obese creature yelled as he whipped killua. their mother had just entered a few minutes earlier but now, it seems another family member has intruded once again.

“milluki, stop it.” the elder declared as he calmly walked in. “grandpa! you’re always spoiling him! this is why now he’s a fucking brat!” milluki stressed, desperately trying to get their grandfather on board. “shut it.” zeno side eyed his huge grandson as he stepped towards the younger one. unsurprisingly, milluki shut his mouth due to his overflowing amount of respect and fear for his grandfather. what a loser, killua thought to himself, not daring to raise his head to look at his grandpa.

“alright, get up kil. silva wants to see you.” the old man informed, no anger or disappointment in his voice whatsoever. “huh? really? dad wants to see me?” the albino immediately shot his head up in a fit of surprise.

“so kil, i know you ran off.” the respectable man sternly said as he sat in the dimly lit room. “yeah… i did.” killua awkwardly responded to his father, afraid his father will be mad.

“i want to hear all about your journey.”

“really, dad?”

“sit beside me, kil.”

“what kind of people did you meet at the exam?” silva questioned, acting interested. “heh! well, i met gon! he’s so fun! and.. uh kurapika, he’s real nice. i also met some guy called leorio, don’t remember much about him.” killua excitedly rambled, like a little child once again. “i see. anyone else?” the man questioned as he narrowed his icey blue eyes.

silence took over the room for awhile, killua’s head facing down. not sure how to start off about you.

“well, i met a girl.” killua muttered as he looked off to the side. “oh?” silva let out as he tilted his head. how hilarious, such similar body language between son and father.

“mhm uh.. she’s.. really pretty…” killua felt his ears burning up and heart pounding. “describe her to me, then.” silva demanded as he was surprised a girl caught his son’s attention.

sure, killua was a teenage boy but his family expected him to have the mindset and ambitions of an assassin, not some love sick teenager.

“mm… her eyes shine so brightly, she moves so gently.. but yet so quickly. she also… smells good. hmm, i like how she’s so open to conversations with people around her and isn’t shy to say her mind! i love the fact she beat me, to be honest.” the little albino was now completely off in his little dream land about you, pale face now bright pink.

“she beat you? am i hearing this right?” the older man walked in, without any sounds giving him out whatsoever, beforehand. steps inaudible, how typical of an assassin.

“it seems so, father.” silva nodded, eyes still fixated on killua.

killua immediately regretted letting that information slip, now his dad is going to go WAY harder on him during trainings.

“yeah.. we had to claim other people’s badges for a phase, and she somehow took mine, when she was right in front of me!” the silly silverette unknowingly went back into a state of infatuation, forgetting all about how his elders will think of his failure.

zeno and silva exchanged glances, both decided to say nothing about THAT, for now.

killua softened his gaze at both. “her name is y/n. i asked her for her name right before… big brother revealed himself and—” killua’s voice slowly trailed off as he remembered what happened.

“forget about illumi, tell us more about this girl.” silva abruptly cut his son’s sentence off.

the flustered boy raised his head once more and nodded with a smile. “she’s so strong! i’ve never met anyone else who could beat me!” killua excitedly gushed, his heart was now feeling so fuzzy and warm. a foreign feeling, indeed

a good 3 hours had probably gone by.

“after i told gon i found her pretty, he urged me to give her my chicken wing during dinner! can you believe that guy?” the care free boy laughed as his dad and grandpa chuckled along. “well? did the lady accept your generous offer?” zeno teased, in his elderly fashioned humour.

“yeah! she said thank you and said that she really liked my hair colour… kinda weird but i felt good when she complimented me!” killua was now spread out, laying on the floor, as the two elders sat upon the bed. “it seems this gon guy is becoming your wingman.” silva grinned slightly at his son, delighted that killua was interested in strong girls, but unhappy since it was too early for him to be thinking about relationships.

“sometimes, i see her looking at me during dinner time and i feel like as if my heart was going to explode any moment! felt more intense than any training you guys have ever given me.” killua sighed as he was now, running out of breath from yapping so much about you.

“i think me and your father have heard enough to understand this y/n girl, kil.” zeno stood up from his seat and place his hands behind his back. “i agree, father.” silva huffed out. wow, his son sure was interested in you. this is definitely gonna bring some kind of trouble.

killua sat up from the floor, sapphire eyes now looking like an innocent child’s. as if, he was never a ruthless killer who murdered for profit and as a lifestyle. instead, looking like a pure and untouched pale porcelain doll. silver hair no longer dirtied and stained with blood from his victims. rather, silver hair now fluffy and as white as undisturbed snow during winter.

for once, killua felt normal.. no. for once, he is ALLOWED to be normal.

“please don’t tell any of this to big brother.” killua nervously said out loud to his father and grandfather, pleading almost. killua genuinely wanted to find you again, and get to know you properly. he was so so frightened that illumi will get ahold of this news and torture him. worse, he’ll go after you.

“no worries kil, illumi will stay out of this. after all, y/n and everything else is your own personal life.” silva reassured his son as he stepped over and placed his hand over killua’s head, patting him.

killua’s mouth curled into a soft smile, appearing like any other boy. happy to talk to his father about his crush, and getting reassurance.

“how is kil?” the silky haired man’s back leaned onto the cold marble wall. “doing fine, but he’ll leave again.” silva informed his eldest child.

“i know about that girl.”

“i presumed so.”

“should i get rid of her?”

“don’t.”

“okay. may i ask why though father?”

“first, killua will know it was us and never return to us again. second, he might learn a thing or two from forming bonds. third, that girl seems quite powerful.”

“are you suggesting we push him towards her more? that is absurd.”

“illumi, it is my responsibility as the head of the zoldyck family to plan for the next generations. she will produce fine children for us.”

“fair enough.”

“now, hush.”

[astronomoney]

Waitress

Pairing + WC: Jason Grace x mortal!reader, 2.1k Warnings: NOT canon compliant, this takes place in my world where Piper and Jason realized they were best as friends right after lost hero and Leo never got with Caylpso. also TOA never happened because it makes me sad. Also somewhat not proof read Summary: Jason has been sneaking off for weeks and Leo is detirmened to find out why. Or alternativly: Leo, Piper, Annabeth, and Percy go snooping in Jasons buisness Authers note: Hey hey! first fic in what feels like a million years! I definitely have to shake the rust off a bit but this was a fun one to get back into it! I was listening to Waitress at work and got this idea so i ran with it. Honestly not much of the actual relationship, theres a lot of set up and other characters but I think I may do a part two if this does well :)

Jason Grace was a busy man. Going between camps, building shrines to all the minor gods, serving as Pontifex Maximus, taking trips to Olympus to meet deities, and head counselor duties. Everyone knew he had no time on his schedule. His friends were lucky if they could get him to spare an hour to catch up, much less get him to a bonfire. So why on earth is it that Jason Grace would take upwards of two hours out of his day, three days a week, to walk out of camp and go to who knows where?

Leo was determined to find out. He’d watched Jason sneak off for the past month, and he was sick of wondering. He tried to bring it up but just got a red-faced muttered excuse about it’s just a walk in the woods and I have to finish my work before he'd disappeared into his cabin.

“I think we’re lost,” Percy said, stopping suddenly and causing Piper to almost slam into his back.

“We are not lost!” Leo exclaimed, “I swear he went this way,” 

“We’re miles from camp,” Piper butt in, “he could be anywhere,” she crossed her arms and glared at Leo. 

“We should turn back before someone notices we’re gone,” Annabeth added, looking up and down the road they were on. Leo had seen Jason sneaking off just before lunch and had convinced his friends to follow him. Now, here they were, on some back road heading through the woods surrounding the camp a mile and a half away from the border.

“Guys, c'mon! Don’t you want to know where he’s been going!” Leo turned back to the group. “He can’t have gotten far.” He kept walking backward in the same direction they’d been heading for the past 10 minutes. For a little while, they could see Jason walking along the side of the road, far ahead, but they’d kept their distance so he wouldn’t notice them. Then he made a turn at an intersection, and they’d lost sight of him. 

“Maybe he really is just out for a walk?” Piper offered.

Leo hualted now, “For two hours? No way, he’s definitely up to something out here.” He stared at the group, waiting for someone to disagree. No one did. It was definitely unusual behavior from the son of Jupiter to take so much time away from his work.

“We’ve been walking for 25 minutes. I say we go 5 more and then head back,” Annabeth spoke up, sending Leo a you owe me glance. 

“Perfect, 5 minutes!” Leo returned an appreciative smile before turning on his heel and continuing down the road with his friends in tow.

They rounded a corner a minute later, and Leo couldn’t help the I told you so grin that came across his face. In front of them, just a few more meters down the road was a genuine 1950s-style roadside diner with the name The Doo-Wop Diner plastered over the door. “See!” Leo pointed triumphantly, “Now imagine if we had turned back when you quitters had wanted to,” 

The group walked up to the diner, rolling their eyes at Leo’s antics. They peered in through the windows that lined the front. It was cute, with pastel blue on the walls, 50s-style booths, a jukebox in the corner, and a countertop bar.

“Is he even in there?” Percy asked, huddled next to Annabeth and scanning the restaurant.

“He’s got to be,” Leo squinted from Annabeth's other side.

“There he is!” Annabeth pointed to the far end of the bar where Jason was sitting. He had a cup of coffee and an open book in front of him.

“What’s he doing in there?” Leo asked as if any of them knew. “He walks all the way out here for ‘New York's best black coffee’?” He read off the sign in the window. 

The group looked at him for another minute in deliberation before Piper let out a quiet gasp. “It’s not the coffee he’s here for,” she was staring at something on the other end of the restaurant with wide, knowing eyes. “Look,”

When the three others looked back at Jason, they saw a soft, almost nervous smile on his face while he gave a slight wave. When they followed his gazeto the other side of the resturant, they all came to the same conclusion that Piper had. Jason Grace had walked nearly thirty minutes away from camp to a rinky-dink old diner on the side of the road to see you.

You were dressed in a 1950s waitress uniform and serving some of that aforementioned black coffee to an old couple. When you caught sight of Jason, your face lit up, and you waved back. As soon as you finished pouring the coffee, you brought the pot over to where Jason was sitting, even though he still had a full cup in front of him. The four standing outside were frozen in place as they watched the two inside interact. 

“Hey!” You said as you approached. The smile you had on now was so much more genuine than your usual customer service smile. “I missed you last week,”

Jason’s smile mirrored your own as he put a napkin between the pages of his book to mark his place. “Hey. Yeah, sorry, I had a last minute thing, uh, out of town, I had to do,” he had been called back to Camp Jupiter to resolve a minor god conflict and hadn’t been able to come in at his usual time. 

“Ooo, more of your mystery out-of-town work?” He’d mentioned it several times but, for obvious reasons, couldn’t tell you the whole story, and being the golden boy he was, he couldn’t bring himself to flat-out lie. “Is it something illegal?” You asked.

Jason let out a laugh at that. “It’s definitely not illegal.” He pushed his glasses back into place. 

“Are you sure? Because based on what you’ve told me, it’s out of town, it’s odd hours, it’s highly secretive, and it’s hard work.” You listed things out, counting them on your fingers. “You’re either selling drugs or possibly a secret agent.” You finished with wide, questioning eyes.

He laughed again at your list. You always had a way of putting his mind at ease. When it was swimming in work, and he couldn’t think straight, you always managed to bring him back to sanity. “It’s all boring, I promise. I’d much rather be here.” 

Your grin returned. “Oh really? I didn’t know you held our fine establishment in such high regard.” While you spoke, the cook rang a harsh bell and shouted, "Order up!”

“Thanks, Cal,” You called while you grabbed the two burger plates from the kitchen and walked them around the counter to deposit them at a table nearby. Jason watched you while you worked, the soft smile never once leaving his face as you handed out napkins and refilled some water. 

Once you were back, the conversation picked up exactly where it had left off. “It has its selling points,” he mused. The other half of that sentence, mostly about cute waitresses with the brightest smiles and the prettiest eyes, stayed caught in his throat. The pair slipped into an easy routine they’d established long ago. Jason would sit and drink his coffee while you bustled around, taking orders, running food, cleaning the occasional spill, all the while keeping up a steady stream of small talk. 

It was a mutually beneficial relationship. You got a bit of conversation to distract from the monotony of your work, and his blue eyes always seemed to make your day go smoother. Jason got a much-needed break from everything Greco-Roman. At camp, he always had so much responsibility, and so many expectations were weighing him down. Here, he didn’t have to worry about all that. You didn’t know who his dad was or what quests he’d been on, and you didn’t care. You liked him for him and not for the hero he was supposed to be. 

You returned to your spot across from him and picked up a rag to look like you were still doing something. “Have you told anyone at that camp of yours about this place?” You knew Camp Half-Blood existed. You also knew it wasn't anywhere close to normal based on the folks that came through, but they had the best strawberries even in the off-season, so you didn’t ask many questions.

“No way. Trust me, you do not want them coming here,” Jason had told you about his friends, minus a few details, but he had always emphasized that they were trouble.

“Uh huh, so then, who's staring at us from the window?” You asked with a sideways grin on your face.

“What?” Jason wiped his head around in time to see four panicked faces duck below the window sill outside. “Oh, by all the gods!” He muttered angrily under his breath and made a beeline for the door. “I’ll be right back,” he called to you, knowing you’d watch his book and half cup of coffee.

“Take your time,” you called back as he pushed open the door and stepped outside. 

For a second, all the demigods stared at each other without moving. Four crouched on the ground, wishing he hadn’t seen them, and one glaring at the group from above. Jason grabbed the front of Leo’s shirt and hoisted him up so he stood with his hands raised in surrender. “What are you doing here,” he hissed.

“Hey! Calm down, calm down,” Leo tried a friendly smile but was met with a glare. “We just, uh went for a walk?” He offered an explanation that sounded more like a question

“Wrong answer,” Jason sent his glare at the other three. “Did you all follow me?” He let Leo go and took a step back so he could glare at everyone all at once instead of having to shift his gaze.

“Leo made us come,” Piper threw him under the bus.

“Oh gee, thanks, beauty queen. It's nice to know where your loyalties lie.” Leo shot back, adjusting his shirt front.

Percy gave Jason a sly grin. “We were curious, but we never would have come if we knew you had a secret girlfriend out here,”

“She is not my girlfriend!” Jason cut him off. 

Percy put up his own hands, “Sorry, secret crush,” he corrected.

“She isn't! I don't-” Jason was full-on flustered now.

“Does that mean she’s up for grabs?” Leo asked. He looked back inside before getting smacked upside the back of the head by Annabeth. “What? She cute!”

When Jason looked back through the window he caught your eye and you sent him a questioning, yet very amused, glace. Jason had a bit of panic at that and quickly moved to usher the four away from the window and back towards the road. “Absolutely not! First of all, she’s a person; she can’t be up for grabs, and secondly, you can’t meet her!”

“What? Why not, she seems nice,” Annabeth asked.

“She is nice! And she's normal, and she doesn’t need to know any of you,” Jason managed to get them all about 10 feet from the front door. “Go back to camp. Just follow this road east for a mile, turn right at the second intersection, go straight for another half-mile, and you’ll see the border.” Jason gave the hurried directions and prayed to whichever god would listen that they’d all just leave.

“Whoa, man, we walked all the way out here, and now you're just gonna send us away?” Leo asked, putting a hand over his chest in fake offense.

“Yes,” Jason shot back flatly.

Piper spoke up next, “Wait, what’s her name? How long have you been coming here? How’d you even find this place? Does she like you back? It looked like she did.”

“Really?” Jason asked before shaking his head and focusing again. “I mean, I am not answering that,” he was still trying to shew the group away, but clearly, it wasn’t working. 

“Well, do they have good food here?” Percy added

“I saw ‘Breakfast all day’ on one of the signs,” Annabeth walked around Jason and back towards the door.

“And that burger meal she brought out looked really good,” Leo added. The four demigods went right past Jason and headed for the front door. 

“No, no, no, no, no,” Jason muttered as his friends ignored him and went in. “This is not good,” he said to himself, following the group back inside. They obviously had no intention of leaving, and he figured the next best course of action would be to simply die of shame. He knew this day would come; someone would catch him sneaking off, and his best-kept secret would become his worst nightmare. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

Ahhhh first fic in a long ass time, its not my best work but personally I liked the plot so I got a little carried away and might have to make a part 2

[carmenized-onions]

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!

portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.

possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry

kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!

The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired— You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.

“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!” 

In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days. 

The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.

Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.

 Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.

Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.

It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—

At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today. 

“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.

The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—

Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.

Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.

With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed. 

Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.

You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.

“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?

The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.

You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…

Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”

You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.

It’s snowing.

That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.

That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.

You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.

…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”

There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.

“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”

You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.

“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”

“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.

“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.

“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”

Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”

“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.

You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”

“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”

“And—And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”

Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”

You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”

Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”

Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?

The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.

“Are you good?”

Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”

You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”

“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”

“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”

“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”

You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”

“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?” 

You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be. 

“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—” 

“You want the old one?”

Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.

“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one— You didn’t throw it away, did you?” 

When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”

“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”

“...And you want that?”

“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”

A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—” 

“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”

“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this. 

You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic. 

He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”

You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”

The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.” 

Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be. 

You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.

Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.

“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”

Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”

“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”

“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”

You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?

“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”

“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”

“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”

He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”

“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.

You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”

“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.

You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”

“So where should I send flowers?”

You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”

“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing. 

“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”

You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”

You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”

You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—” 

Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”

“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”

He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu. 

When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers. 

You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”

Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”

“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.

Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.

With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant. 

You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.

“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”

“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand,  “Sorry, continue.”

Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed�� Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.

Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”

“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”

The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”

Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”

The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”

You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.” 

You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”

When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?” 

“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”

“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”

“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”

“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”

“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?” 

“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”

“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”

“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”

“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”

“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”

“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”

“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”

“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”

“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”

“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.

But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”

“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”

“Microgreens.” Says Syd. 

“Yes. Do less of that.”

And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.

You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.

He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?

You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you. 

“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”

He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells. 

You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.” 

“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”

Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”

“Cicero.”

“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?

You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”

Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”

“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you. 

“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer. 

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.

You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.” 

“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”

“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.” 

“You got somethin’ better?”

“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!” 

It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it. 

You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”

“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations. 

“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”

“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”

“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”

“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”

“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”

“A lot high.” He corrects.

“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”

Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute.  Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit. 

He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”

You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”

Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.” 

“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”

Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”

Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.” 

“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened. 

“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’

“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”

“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”

“Your options are fucked.”

“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”

Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”

“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”

“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—” 

You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”

“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”

Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.

“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”

You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”

You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better. 

“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask. 

“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”

He nods, “Good.”

“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.

But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It  was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”

“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”

“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”

“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”

“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”

“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”

Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”

You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”

“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”

“A short amount of time, angel?”

“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’

Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—

“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”

Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?

“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.

You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”

Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”

“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”

You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”

“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.” 

“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.” 

“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression. 

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.” 

You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”

He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”

Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”

“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.” 

Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”

“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.” 

With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of  the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.

“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”

“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.” 

“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”

Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.

“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.” 

“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”

“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”

“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.” 

“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them. 

“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”

A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats. 

“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.

You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”

You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.

Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.

Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass. 

“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while. 

“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”

Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience. 

“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.” 

Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”

Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?

“Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”

And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.

“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer. 

You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”

“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t. 

“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”

“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”

“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”

Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”

You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”

“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons. 

A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”

You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”

Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”

“Dad—”

“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”

“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later. 

Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’

You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms. 

“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”

“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”

“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.

“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”

There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say. 

You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”

“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!” 

“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”

“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—” 

“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”

“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”

“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”

And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.

“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”

You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”

“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”

“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”

That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?

After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”

“Oh, Adamu?!” 

Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.

“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”

“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”

“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”

You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”

She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”

“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”

Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”

She sighs, “Trying to.”

“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”

“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”

Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”

“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.” 

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”

“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”

The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”

But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”

That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?” 

Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.

“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”

“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad. 

But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”

“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”

“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”

She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’

“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”

Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.

“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”

“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”

“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”

“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”

Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.

Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”

“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”

“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.

“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”

“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”

“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.

You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”

“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”

“What the fuck—”

“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already,  you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”

“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”

“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”

“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no. 

You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”

“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”

And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”

“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”

Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”

“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”

Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”

“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—” 

There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”

Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win. 

“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”

It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”

“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”

“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”

“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”

“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”

“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”

“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”

“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”

“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”

“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—

“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”

“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”

Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.” 

And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”

Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”

Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”

“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”

“I am not getting you a card.” “I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”

Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”

You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”

“Crime is bad in January.”

“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”

“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”

“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”

Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”

And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed. 

“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.

 “Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce. 

Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”

You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”

“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other. 

“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.” 

“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”

“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.” 

Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”

“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”

Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”

And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”

“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”

“Yessir.”

“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.

You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”

“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”

“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”

“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”

“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.” 

“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front. 

“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.

You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”

Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?” 

“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”

You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?” 

“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point. 

“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now. 

“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”

“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together. 

Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?” 

“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”

“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—” 

Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them. 

You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”

“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”

“I could do it.”

“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”

His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”

You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”

“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick. 

You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”

Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.” 

“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing. 

“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”

He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.” 

“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”

“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”

Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”

“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”

Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”

And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”

“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.

“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances. 

Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone. 

You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be. 

The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”

“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”

Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week? 

“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”

“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”

“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”

“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”

Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured. 

He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”

“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.” 

Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”

“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”

“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting. 

It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece. 

“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”

Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”

He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.

“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”

You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.

“...Has that been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.” 

That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”

“Sounds fucked.”

“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”

Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”

That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”

You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”

“Tricks?”

“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”

You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks. 

“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”

He’s the best? 

He’s the best. 

He’s the best. 

“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.” 

Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best. 

He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.

“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back. 

“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”

“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”

“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”

You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”

Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.

“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”

Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him. 

“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”

Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety. 

All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.” 

He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”

“I’d agree.”

“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them. 

“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.

“Come to dinner with us?”

would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"

was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach

DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!

anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt

oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant

[silhouetteonpaper]

Winter Warning

Summary: When a severe storm rolls around during the holidays, you’re hesitant to let your girlfriend go off on a mission. With New Years right around the corner, you don’t know if she’ll be back in time to celebrate one of the holidays you find most important. Natasha Romanoff x Reader (brief Steve appearance) WC: 1,390 Warnings/Themes: Fluff, slight angst A/N: Happy new year!! I wish you all the best in 2025 <3

The flurries of white nearly covered your entire view out of the New York apartment. Blankets of snow were falling onto the icy city streets that were now empty due to incoming weather warnings. One of the few times of the year where the bustling city noise suddenly disappeared. Out of all the reasons you and Natasha picked this apartment, the view was the most enticing one. A window overlooking the city that gave the cozy apartment a peek into the busy outer world, while still offering shield to the hustle and bustle. You also assumed the wide overlook gave Natasha a chance to keep an eye on things, but she’d never admit that.

Natasha, your girlfriend, was still hard at work as an Avenger. Crumbling cities and alien attacks didn’t just pause for the holidays—no matter how much you hoped they would. December passed in a blur of holiday cheer, each day filled with something fun and special as the two of you created new holiday memories. From picking out ornaments together, to baking new recipes, it was all you could ever hope for.

But the second each present was opened and the entire panettone was finished, Natasha was asked to join a last minute mission. Knowing the way her job worked, it was less of a request and more of a demand—but everyone was still in the lenient holiday mood. Natasha wasn’t one to argue, so off she went packing a duffel for what was supposed to be a couple days away from home.

It had only been a few months of the apartment being called home. Natasha was hesitant to use that word at first, especially when most of her life was stuck in various places across the globe. Once all her possessions were under one roof, it gave both of you some peace of mind. You were relieved to see her settling into this new space, and she was happy you were happy.

You were disappointed when hearing she had to leave home for a few days, but ultimately understood. After giving her a reluctant kiss goodbye, the clock for her return started ticking. Little did you know, she’d be gone more than just a few days. A tricky mission paired with severe snowstorm warnings threatened the next few weeks; you didn’t even consider what that meant until her car was long gone. You would be alone for New Years.

Maybe it was selfish to worry about being alone for a holiday that only celebrates the changing of a calendar, but Natasha knew how important New Years was for you. When she first met you, your warm personality was covered by the cold front you were forced to put up. An enemy agent only working under duress of the higher ups left you to follow tasks in fear of the consequences. But Natasha was intelligent, and knew how to break you down in order to complete her mission. What neither of you could’ve expected was the fearing girl you were underneath it all.

After all that happened, Natasha couldn’t help but take you under her wing. You were ready to change your ways, and staying with the kind redhead was far more appealing than a criminal organization. Besides, it’s not like any of them would dare to challenge Natasha when she stole you for herself. The rest was history; you both found solace in each other’s presence, filling in each other’s mission pieces.

The passing of time allowed you an opportunity to change as a person, to grow and move beyond your past criminal ways. The New Year was an important landmark as it meant you were not only another year forward from your rough past, but given yet another chance to start cleaner than before. Natasha understood this more than you knew, and made it a goal to support you in the face of a fresh start. Though this winter storm posed risk for Natasha’s presence at New Years.

A few other members of the team were still in New York, having been lucky enough to escape the fate of getting selected for the mission. Maybe they knew just how anxious you’d be, because five days after Natasha left, an Avenger appeared right on cue with a knock on your door. You stood from your cozy spot on the couch, looking through the peep hole to find a disheveled looking Steve in the hallway.

“Did you fall into an icy lake before coming up here?” You questioned as he shed his damp winter coat. He was carrying a few bags of groceries, some of your favorite snacks sitting on top. Natasha definitely texted him.

“There’s been three inches of snowfall in the last few hours. I think the universe is trying to bury us in snow.” Steve laughed, hanging his coat up by the door. He easily took notice of the nest you crafted on the couch, nearly every blanket in the house somehow piled around a you-shaped hole in the center. His silence told you he was worried—after all, he knew about the importance of the New Year for you.

“Any word on Natasha?” Although you had texted her every day, her responses only included so many details. Sometimes Nat herself didn’t even know when she’d be returning. Steve likely came from the compound, there was always a chance he knew more than you did.

But he shook his head, making you exhale disappointedly. “Nothing yet.” Steve shot you a sympathetic smile.

“Well, thanks for the groceries anyways.” You shrugged, eyeing the bags full of treats you would rather share with Natasha than enjoy on your own.

“Anytime,” Steve nodded, grabbing his now slightly less damp coat. “Call me if you need anything, okay?” You only nodded silently in response, watching as he left. Then you were alone, just like before. The truth was, you wouldn’t call anyone if you needed anything. The only person you wanted to call was Natasha, and she wasn’t available. So the only remaining option is to isolate yourself. Nat knew that was what you would resort to, which is why she likely asked Steve to stop by with something to cheer you up. A sweet gesture, but you wished it made you even the slightest bit better. Nothing could compare to the presence of Natasha.

—————

Fast asleep on the couch, tangled between five blankets all covering the worn cushions; the fire stoked and raging, offering even more warmth in contrast to the icy layer of blue just outside the window. You had stayed up for hours, just in case Nat came home in time for the New Year only a few hours away—but with your lack of sleep from previous nights spent awake, you didn’t stand a chance. By 9:00pm, you were out cold. Not even the lock clicking on the front door caused you to stir.

An exhausted redhead walked in, duffel bag landing softly on the table beside the raided bags of groceries you were too tired to put away. She smiled at the various open snacks, but nothing could compare to the grin spread across her face when she noticed you on the couch. All bundled up, your worried expression fallen in your sleeping state—yet Natasha didn’t have to see you in person to know how worried you were.

She pushed a few blankets aside, sitting next to you as she admired the peaceful apartment she was lucky enough to return to. Softly brushing stray hair out of your face, she hoped it would cause you to stir. “Hi my love.” You opened your eyes to red hair illuminated by the firelight. She looked ethereal, almost unreal. More than anything, you were grateful to see her.

“You’re back,” You exclaimed tiredly, hands softly attempting to pull her close. She nods with a chuckle, lying down behind you so she can wrap her arms around you fully. “Happy new year.” You spoke softly.

“Happy new year.” She whispered back into your ear. In the solace of each other’s arms, you both knew this year would be even better than the last. With each fresh start, you would always be beside Natasha. No matter how much you grew or who you became, the two of you would face it all together.