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carmenized-onions · 5 months ago

Text

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him.

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck.

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all. “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee.

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink.

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups.

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where.

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy.

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off.

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence.

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed.

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen x oc #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx

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forcemeanakin · 1 year ago

Text

ᴠɪᴄᴛᴏʀɪᴀ'ꜱ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛ ᴀɴɢᴇʟ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʜᴀʏᴅᴇɴ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴇɴꜱᴇɴ

Okay so this is a alternate of @hanasnx starlet!reader but with my own little twist because I just love the scenery and the glamour of the shows <3 So I present to you: VSangel!reader x Hayden Christensen (let's ignore the fact that I've been working on some of these scenarios for YEARS now).

This is hella long and nsfw, so beware. 3K.

Previous inspo: Link

BACKGROUND:

Hayden has probably seen you in a big billboard before, maybe an ad on TV, but didn't remember your name. He thought you were hot though. A pretty little thing that was probably out of an old man's league anyway.

You are in your 20's, so you grew up with the Star Wars prequels and without a doubt Anakin Skywalker was your childhood crush. Posters on your walls, watching other movies Hayden was in just to see him. Most of your classmates probably made fun of your Star Wars obsession because you were only into it because of the hot guy in Revenge Of the Sith. How wrong they were!! It was also because of the hot guy in AOTC!

Also you're like a total SW geek, but we'll talk about it later.

THE BEGINING: How did you two meet?

Considering that both of you are from different areas of show business, you had to meet in a common ground. I don't see Hayden going to a fashion show before you (and then that's the only place paparazzi can catch him for sure <3). So after a lot of thought, you two met at an Award show (my mind goes automatically to the Tiff Tribute Awards). Or more specifically, the after party.

I picture Hayden saying hello to a couple of people he knows before heading to the bar and sticking around there, just sipping on his drink and greeting whoever comes along to shake his hand and pat his shoulder.

You already saw him back on the red carpet, making your best effort to not get your drooling face captured by a paparazzi. Your stunning dress and detailed makeup made you look like a million dollars !!!

And he noticed. Fuck, did he notice.

Walking by the bar, after pep talking yourself into talking to him for like half an hour, you pulled up right beside him to order yourself a drink. A cosmo or some shit like that. Very fancy and pretty, like you.

He was hypnotized by you the second he saw you up close. Actually, the second he saw your ass swinging his way.

That was it. You two were done for the moment your gazes crossed.

He made the first move, saying a polite "hey" and offering to call the bartender for you.

You were batting your eyelashes, grazing his biceps with your long nails and giving those "fuck me eyes" that worked every time. Someone so much more mature and wise, you didn't think he would want you for something besides fucking, so why did it matter if you were a bit sluttier than you were used to?

But you started talking and it was an actual good conversation. He seemed interested in getting to know you and his jokes actually made you laugh. He was all smooth with his compliments and subtle stares at your dress.

I feel like he would give you a nickname from the very first night. Something related to your attire or the sparkle of your eyes, accentuated by the glittery eye shadow.

It would be a downright shame to let that amazing chemistry go to waste for a meaningless hookup. Luckily he didn't let that happen.

Like a true gentleman, he walked you to your car, using the back door and called it a night. Not before asking for your number and teasing a goodnight kiss.

The next day, while you were getting ready to shoot a campaign, you receive a text from an unknown number, but you immediately knew who it was.

"Hey, starlight." There's a whole other version of this with them meeting over a smoke break, but I know that's not everyone's cup of tea.

BEFORE AND AFTER YOU:

Okay so let's set some things straight. Hayden's not a public guy. he hates having his private life printed on newspapers and he's not a fan of social media. At all. Heck. he doesn't even like to leave his house on weekends. But after you? He had to get used to it. You're this generation very own Gisele Bündchen. You're everywhere. You're everything. You are the fashion world. So paps are very much included in every moment of your life.

BEFORE GOING PUBLIC:

You tried to keep it hidden as much as you could. It was not very hard with you traveling almost every day and him living in LA, at his new house. And whenever he could, he escaped to his own little paradise in Canada.

So texting was basically everything you could do.

He even learned new lingo just to keep up with you :)

But you both craved more, so the next time you were in LA, you were going to grab dinner.

The damn paps got a few pictures of you and that's when the rumors started.

At first not many people recognized him, mainly because the pictures were taken from behind him, but the curls and the outfit ratted him out to a few observant fans.

But media didn't believe them, I mean, why? And the selected group that decided to run with that narrative used headliners like: "how the fuck did the awkward guy from SW pulled y/n's ass?"

After weeks of trying to be low-key for his sake: going on coffee runs using his caps and sunglasses so people wouldn't recognize you, having dinner dates at his house and/or choosing far away locations to stroll with a bit of privacy; you gave up. Your already public life was catching up with you two. So it was better to ride the wave than to escape it and fail in the process.

BUT BEFORE ABSOLUTELY GOING PUBLIC, I love the idea that interviewers were trying to drag the information out of you. Maybe at a red carpet or at an interview with a digital magazine, people would throw you some questions to see if you bite the bait:

"So, Y/n, who's your favorite SW character?"

And you would grin knowingly but never backing down. Your answer would vary from Obi-Wan Kenobi (to mess with Hayden) or R2 when you felt like sharing some of your SW passion.

But right before you two decide to go full-on public, you decide to mess with them, for your own entertainment: "You know, I do have a soft spot for Darth Vader."

PEOPLE GASPED AT THAT CRUMB OF CONFIRMATION.

GOING PUBLIC:

It was at a red carpet

You two went in separate cars

Hayden walked first, having his picture staken and signing autographs while you barely arrived at the event

The second you entered the carpet the cameras went off on you, total focus on getting pics of your designer dress

You were posing like an absolute goddess, answering some questions with wit, trying to spot your boyfriend with the corner of your eye

Finally you locked eyes and he raised a dubious eyebrow, like saying: "Are we seriously doing this?"

And you gave him a bright beam, stretching your arm to him as he walked to you, taking your hand and kissing the inner side of your forearm before placing it on his shoulder. Fingers dropping to your waist and pulling you to him while you laugh, his mouth lowering to your ear to whisper: "You always get your way, huh?"

You chuckled and kissed his cheek, you two turning to face the cameras, just for a few seconds before moving on.

DATING:

I'll not get into the heavy details of how you two managed to make your relationship work, with your traveling and photoshoots, because fuck that. I'll only say that there was a lot of sexting and he was a fucking natural at it. Mile high club as well.

You two would still try to remain unrecognizable by the paparazzis but more chill this time.

That meant having more pictures of you on your candle lit dinners or your fun Sunday mornings in the park out there.

I JUST KNOW THERE'S A PICTURE OF YOU KISSING IN THE PARK. YOU ON YOUR TIPPY TOES WHILE YOUR ARMS ARE AROUND HIS NECK. BIG GRIN ON YOUR FACES, LIKE IT WAS TAKEN SECONDS BEFORE YOUR LIPS MADE CONTACT.

The media would still release some mean headliners but thanks to the dilf culture cultivated in social media, some were actually rooting for you. Oh, and fans were torn between you; hating you because you were clearly fucking him and loving you because since your relationship started, you gave them more Hayden content.

The SW questions were constant in the interviews and talk shows, to the point that you were always brought some type of SW merch: a Grogu plush, a kids lightsaber, a little R2 replica. Whatever it was, it was always pulled whenever the question about you and Hayden was brought up.

You still kept answering "Obi-Wan" with a laugh and no additional information. "He has the high ground." You shrugged your shoulders, shaking your head with a cheeky smile.

Later in bed, when Hayden was giving you your daily dose of healthy cum :))) pounding into you with an admirable expertise, he whispers: "Who has the high ground now, baby?"

CLICHE BUT LET ME HAVE THIS

You never revealed to Hayden that he was your childhood crush, I mean, you could have mentioned it the first night but you didn't want to approach him like a fan. And then you didn't want to look psycho so you just let it be. And now it was too late.

But then

In the middle of an interview, a girl that actually gained your honest trust, asked you the anticipated question:

"How does it feel to date Anakin Skywalker?"

And... (the next bit was written by Indy during a brainstorm and I just wanted to share the exact words <3)

"in the interview you’re visibly nervous, rubbing on your knee, leaning forward, adopting a slackened posture. “yeah..” big grin, “he was actually my childhood crush.” “no!” the interviewer says in awe. “yeah! yeah,” you kinda laugh and cover your mouth. “i didn’t tell him. is that bad?” you put your nail in your teeth to fidget, putting on a little lovable twist to your face"

And then he sees the interview and he shots you an immediate text with the link like: "Oh???"

You know what you'll come home to

He's sitting on his usual chair, reading a book when he hears the door creak. You showed up with a shy smile, his arms opening up to let you crawl on his lap. Knowing that he'll bring it up, you hide on his neck, blush all over your cheeks. Hayden is caressing your thigh up and down, while he hugs you with his other arm and snorts: “did you keep that from me on purpose?” with a little swat on your ass (Indy, 2023).

THE REACTION OF PEOPLE ON SOCIAL MEDIA AFTER THE INTERVIEW. you cackle at the comments: "Not Y/n admitting she is dating her childhood crush!! She's one of us!!!" “HE WAS NOT” “bro no 😭 i thought she was single” “darth vader. you win again” (Indy, 2023).

Also dragging you to hockey games <333 you start to love the sport because of him but at first you didn't understand shit

He laughed at your reaction when you saw the first fight in the rink

"Do they just... start beating each other up and the ref let them?" You winced exaggeratedly.

"Yup." He laughs, drinking a sip of his beer.

KISS CAM KISS CAM KISS CAM

Also opening the car door for you after a date night, protecting you from the paps???? That's a head canon I'll take from starlet!reader and apply it here because YES YES YES

FASHION SHOWS AND SOCIAL MEDIA

ofc he goes to your fashion shows !!!!! front line baby !!!!!!!! And he is so fucking proud of his beautiful girlfriend.

So motherfucking supportive it hurts.

He comes home and peppers kisses all over your face, praising you for a job well done.

"I would buy all the clothes you sell, baby"

Or if you wore something he particularly liked, he would be desperate to get home and show you just how much he loved your teeny tiny dress on the runway.

He even learned how to dress appropriately to match with your outfits. NEVER LEAVING THE CAPS BEHIND OFC !! But his personal style improved so much, we are proud of him :)

ALSO whenever he is out and spots an ad of yours he takes a picture of it and sends it to you. Maybe with a little heart or smile, or a little text like: "so proud of you baby." Sometimes he takes a selfie with the campaign!!! such a dad selfie, his head tilted back and kind of blurry because he's trying to get the right angle !!!!

also social media with him !!!! again, he doesn't have any active accounts but you do. For his sake, you don't post a lot of things about him, however, some things are too adorable not to share. And fans love you for the little crumbs you give them

A list of photos I think would be posted on this reader's insta stories:

A photo of him in the garden, checking his tomatoes. I KNOW HE HAS TOMATOES

A photo of your shadows during a coffee run. Bonus points if it's Tim Horton's and it has the Canada location tag

A photo of his back while he's making breakfast

A photo of the view from his house. Bonus points if it is from the bathroom window. Extra points if it has any indicators that you two were previously fucking in there, like steamy doors.

A casual photo of you on his couch and you can see the famous chess game

a video of you two watching the prequels and you can hear yourself saying: "omg who's the handsome guy?" when he appears and he laughs.

A photo of you with one of his caps. Bonus points if it's the Toronto Maple Leafs one.

VS FASHION SHOW

OH YES. THE GOOD PART. THE FUN PART.

He never thought he would be in this position. Front line at the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. But he is. And he's there to support his girlfriend. Heck, that still sounds funny to him-

You're out there, strutting your gorgeous figure for the world to see: with your six inch heels, your pretty wings and tiny lingerie- You're a fucking dream. His dream.

He's there at the front line with the Proud Boyfriend club, along with Adam Levine (I know but he got us fooled for half a decade) and Caleb from Kings of Leon.

His heart is pounding hard when your face appears in the initial video where they present all of the models walking

The first time you walk, he stands up, cheering loudly and smiling brightly at you. You were opening the show!!!!! how huge!!!

You focus on the cameras and getting the pose right but when you turn, walking on the side he's in, you point at him, even blow him a kiss.

The other two times you walk, because the initial pressure is off, you can focus more on him, and shoot him a playful wink and/or wave at him. He's grateful that you're giving him that attention, now he can brag around with hard evidence. :)

They dressed you up in a very flirty little piece, a pair of panties with a black bow on your rear side. When you get to the end of the runway, you turn around and show it off, maybe even playfully shake a little.

You know you'll pay for it back home

You will also pay for flirting with the music guest in the middle of the runway

I mean, you were not flirting, just doing the regular thing of pointing at them and dancing with them for mere seconds. But the music guest really focused on you and your strut. Maybe you did take advantage of the moment to get him all jealous and get some angry sex out of it

He could understand that part of your job. It didn't mean he liked it. He made sure to send some backhanded comments in the after party to make sure the musical guest got the picture. That you were taken.

It was so fucking hot.

He loved loved loved your police woman outfit, offering to pay for it himself so you could take it with you.

He was a fan of your angelic look with the enormous big, white wings. Almost drowning you in feathers but making you look like a real life angel. You were to him at least :)

You take such cute pictures on the pink carpet <3 he's looking like arm candy, an absolute accessory of yours. And he was happy to do it ! It was your night and he couldn't be any happier to be there with you !

Although the paps did catch him while he was staring at your spilling boobs. But could you blame him? That dress was TIGHT.

Hayden also has a photo of one of your VS campaigns in a giant frame in his office <3 you were so ashamed at first but you secretly loved that he paraded you around like that <33333333

you can catch glimpses of it during online interviews

LAST BIT

You are in a talk show, talking about the VSFS 2025, when the interviewer gets all serious and jumps:

"Last question, Y/n... is it true you and Hayden Christensen are engaged?"

You open your mouth in bewilderment, scoffing loudly.

"Where did you hear that?"

"Rumors are all over the place... but is it true?"

"No! Of course not." You squealed, acting offended before cracking a sly smirk. "We are married." And you show off the rock on your left hand.

PEOPLE GO WILD.

AHHHHHHHH- I could do this forever but I need to shut up :) also let me know if you want more nsfw content about this couple :)

Also some of these are stolen from my hockeyplayer!Anakin Skywalker / hockeyplayer!Hayden Christensen private headcanons. :)

Last pic because this is how I imagine this reader and Hayden backstage:

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paigesluver · 1 month ago

Text

for me?

paige bueckers x fem reader

synopsis; you and paige share unspoken feelings for each other, resulting in an escalating tension that complicates your friendship and challenges your emotions

warnings; sexual tension, vulnerability

hi! this is going to be my first fic with multiple parts, not sure how many but we'll see how far it goes. i hope you enjoy this prologue!

The bar was dimly lit, the hum of conversation blending with the low beat of music that throbbed through the speakers. It was a Wednesday night, one of those rare evenings when everyone seemed to be letting loose a little more than usual, caught between the early-week grind and the anticipation of the weekend.

You were at a corner booth with Kaia, a girl who had been a steady presence in your life for months now. You liked her—really liked her—but lately, there had been an undercurrent, a sense that something, or maybe someone, was distracting you more than you cared to admit.

Paige slid into the booth across from you, her usual smirk in place, her eyes glinting with mischief. She hadn’t been invited, but that never stopped her. It never really stopped anyone. You couldn’t exactly tell her to leave. She was part of the group, even if she was… different.

“You know,” she said, leaning in a little closer than necessary, “you’re looking pretty cozy with her.”

You glanced at Kaia, who was scrolling through her phone, oblivious to the new tension that had just entered the room. “Yeah, I am. We’re good together.”

“Good, huh?” Paige arched an eyebrow, taking a sip of her drink. “Are you sure it’s just ‘good’?”

You narrowed your eyes on her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Paige smirked again, letting the silence stretch between you two. It was a look she’d perfected over the years—half playful, half dangerous. She wasn’t afraid of getting under your skin, and for some reason, she loved doing it.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, her voice low but teasing, “Admit it. You like me. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it. Not deep down.”

You felt a sharp knot twist in your stomach, and a quiet, familiar heat flared up in your chest. “I’m with Kaia,” you replied, almost too quickly. “I like Kaia.”

Paige tilted her head, her lips curling into that infuriatingly confident smile. “Yeah, but when you’re with her, you’re thinking about me, aren’t you?”

You froze. The question hung in the air for a long beat, your fingers tightening around the cold edge of your glass. For a moment, you almost forgot to breathe. It wasn’t the question itself that made you hesitate; it was the way she asked it, like she already knew the answer.

“No,” you said, shaking your head, though the words felt more like a reflex than a truth. “I’m not thinking about you.”

Paige leaned in closer, her eyes never leaving yours. “Really? So, when you’re holding her hand, looking at her like she’s the only thing in the room… you’re not thinking about me at all?” She let the words hang between you like a challenge.

Your pulse quickened. Why was she doing this? Why now? You had never once entertained the idea of crossing that line with her, not even when the attraction had been undeniable, when the chemistry between you two was palpable. But now… Now it felt like Paige was pushing, testing, seeing how far she could go.

“I’m loyal to her,” you said, a little too defensively. “That’s not something I take lightly.”

Paige’s eyes sparkled with that knowing glint, like she could see right through you. “Loyal?” she repeated, drawing out the word, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Sure, that’s what they all say. But loyalty doesn’t mean you can’t think, does it? Doesn’t mean you can’t want something… else.”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of her gaze as it pressed down on you. “I’m not—” You tried to laugh it off, but the sound of your own voice felt hollow. “I’m not going to fall for this, Paige.”

“Oh, I’m not asking you to fall,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, only for you to hear. “But you can’t lie and say you’ve never wondered. What it’d be like. How it’d feel if we weren’t just… friends.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke, curling around your thoughts, blurring the edges of your focus. “I’m not going to let you mess with my head,” you muttered, trying to regain some semblance of control. But inside, the question gnawed at you. Was she right? Was there a part of you, deep down, that had always wondered? You couldn’t ignore the heat that spread through your chest when she was near, the way her laugh seemed to echo in your mind even after she’d left the room. But you had never let yourself acknowledge it—*never* let yourself consider the possibility of crossing that line.

“Is that what you tell yourself when I’m standing right in front of you?” Paige’s voice was softer now, almost like a challenge. “When I’m so close you can feel my breath, when you know I can see exactly what you’re thinking? You don’t think I notice?”

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in your throat. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the raw truth of her accusation ringing in your ears.

“Paige…” you whispered, barely able to speak.

“Thought so.” She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest, her smile shifting into something more self-assured, like she’d just won some kind of silent victory.

For a long moment, you stared at her, your heart pounding against your ribs. You didn’t know whether to be angry, embarrassed, or something else entirely. But one thing was certain: she had gotten to you. Not in the way you’d expected, not in the way you could have prepared for, but in a way that made you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

The sound of Kaia’s laugh broke through the tension, pulling you back to reality. She looked over at you, oblivious to the storm that had just rolled in between you and Paige.

You swallowed hard, forcing your expression into something neutral. “I’m not doing this,” you said, more to yourself than anyone else.

Paige only smiled. “Of course you aren’t. But I know you’re thinking about it.”

let me know what y'all think of this <3

#paigesluver #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x fem reader #paige bueckers x female reader #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #wlw #wlw fiction

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angstysebfan · 7 months ago

Text

Not Good Enough

Pairing: Bucky x Plus Size Female Reader Summary: Reader is dating Bucky. Bucky thinks he won the jackpot with the reader, but the reader thinks he can get anyone he wants. A bet then goes a little too far, leaving the reader questioning everything about their relationship.

A/N: Fixed this piece up and changed the story line. Both reader and Bucky are wrong in this one, but I hope you like it anyways. I tend to write toxic relationships because of what I've been through. If you don't like that you can pass by without leaving rude comments. This is my version of therapy. Thanks!

You weren’t like the other agents on the team. Where most women in S.H.I.E.L.D or the Avengers are tall, skinny and beautiful. You were short, overweight, and in your opinion “ehh” in the looks department. Though you looked overweight, you were strong as all hell. You always felt like you didn’t belong, but the team always told you did. Especially Bucky.

When Bucky Barnes admitted his feelings for you, you had a hard time believing him. He's proven that his feelings are real, but one thing you think he's lying about is how lucky he says he is that you finally said yes to being his. It's a conversation that comes up several times and you keep saying the same thing.

"Buck, one sexy smirk toward a woman and they would be putty in your hands. I'm the one who should thank whoever brought you to me cause I still don't get what you see."

"Baby, you're the one who could have any man she wants, and you chose me. Trust me, no other woman would ever want me."

You would just roll your eyes and change the subject as it was actually painful to talk about. But one week you had enough and made a bet. A new agent was coming, and you wanted to prove Bucky wrong. You gave him permission, against your better judgement, to flirt. If she turned him down you would admit defeat, but if you won, he owed you a weekend away together.

Then the new female agent, Stacy, joined, and she was gorgeous! Beautiful light brown hair that looked so soft to the touch, blue eyes that drew you in, and a body you would die for. When you and Bucky walked in hand-in-hand to meet her, you couldn’t help but notice Bucky’s reaction to her. You shook it off because you couldn’t deny her beauty either.

"Remember the deal babe," you said quietly, suddenly regretting your choice. He nodded silently and kissed your forehead.

You didn't know this, but he was also regretting this bet. When Stacy was introduced to the team, you automatically noticed her eyes lingered on Bucky a lot longer than anyone else.

Steve brought her down the line to meet everyone one by one, and when she walked up to you, you extended your hand, “Nice to meet you Stacy. Looking forward to working with you.”

She looked at your hand for a moment and then said to Steve, “I thought I was meeting agents.”

Steve’s eyebrows shot up and nodded, “Yes, Y/N here is one of our best. She is one mission away from becoming a full fledge Avenger.”

You smiled at him as she looked back at you, an unreadable expression on her face. “Huh, well, we'll see about that.”

She walked past you to Bucky without shaking your hand. You were honestly shocked by her rudeness. You watch her interact with Bucky and see the flirty fluttering of her eyelashes.

Bucky turned on the charm, which you had to admit, hurt you more than you realized it would.

“Sergeant Barnes, I am looking forward to learning a lot from you,” she said in a sultry voice.

Bucky flushed, understanding her meaning. “Uh, yea anytime dollface,” he said.

Your eyes shot to his face. “Doll” was your nickname. You looked from him to Steve, who just gave you a sympathetic smile.

When intros were done, it was time for dinner. Stacy made sure she sat right next to Bucky, which drove you nuts. Bucky didn’t even spare you a glance when you were forced to sit on the other end of the table. It was like he didn’t even notice you. Not that you blamed him, Stacy did take all the attention in the room. Why did you make this damn bet?

You started feeling very low and self conscious, excusing yourself from the table. You entered your room and quickly went into the shower. You couldn’t help but let some tears fall, thinking you were not good enough for Bucky. Stacy was the type of woman he should be with, not you.

While lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice Bucky entering the shower with you, until you feel his arms around you. You immediately tense when you feel him, feeling the tears fall harder.

“Doll? You okay?” he asked concerned. You cried harder, holding your face in your hands. Bucky turned you around and held you close, kissing the top of your head.

When you finally calmed down and looked up at Bucky, who had a concerned and sad expression on his face. You step away from him and leave the shower.

“Y/N?” he called after you. When he made it out to the room in a towel, you were changing into sweats and one of his hoodies. “Baby, please tell me whats wrong?” he pleads.

You look at him with a mix of sadness and anger. “I’m shocked you even noticed I left the table,” you spat.

Bucky is shocked by your words, “What do you mean?” he whispers.

You scoff, “I give you permission to flirt with one woman, and you suddenly forget that you have a girlfriend. Not that I blame you! She's gorgeous, and I’m…” you stop yourself before you sob.

“Doll, -” “Don’t! Obviously I am not your “Doll” if you are so okay with calling her that!” you screamed.

Bucky shakes his head, putting his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand what's wrong! You told me to do this! I'm sorry I called her “Doll”. Honestly, it meant nothing!” he yelled getting frustrated.

You ignore him and walk to your bed, pulling the covers up to your neck.

“Fine, talk to me when you’re not acting like this.”

You hear Bucky mumble, before you hear the door to your room close. You lie there for a moment, before you decide that you needed to fix this. He was right. This was your idea, just because you couldn't handle it doesn't make it his fault. Though he's a dumbass for calling her "doll". You get up and open your door, walking next door to Bucky’s room. When you open the door you gasp.

Stacy's in Bucky’s room, sliding her hands up his bare chest and reaching up to kiss him, and whats worse is he is standing there holding her hips in only his towel. Tears completely flood your eyes and you leave the room without you noticing.

–

When Bucky returned to him room after your outburst he opened his door and saw Stacy standing there.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, annoyed.

Stacy looks at him with innocent eyes, “I just wanted to thank you for being so nice tonight. I know I was asking a lot of questions during dinner.”

He gives her a small smile, “No problem, but if you don’t mind, I want to be alone.” he said.

“Where are you coming from in only a towel anyway,” she asked, ignoring his last comment, and stepping closer to him. “uh… my girlfriend’s room.” he stuttered, feeling uncomfortable.

“You have a girlfriend? Who? Does she know you were flirting with me?” she asked in surprise. “Y-Y/N, my girlfriend is Y/N,” he says feeling nervous.

Stacy laughed for a moment, confusing Bucky, “You’re kidding right?” she asked.

“No, I am dating Y/N. Have been for over three months. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong impression tonight, but I'm taken,” he said, taking a step back.

“Oh? Well, if you are flirting with me then you must be unhappy. I can make you feel better,” she said stepping closer, sliding her hands up his bare chest.

Bucky froze for a moment, holding onto Stacy’s waist to stop her coming closer. He felt very uncomfortable since he was only in a towel. She started to lean in toward his face. Finally he came to his senses and pushed her away.

“Agent, this is unacceptable behavior. I know I gave you an impression tonight and that's my fault but I just told you I'm taken. Get out of my room, now” Bucky barked at Stacy.

Stacy was shocked, but didn’t want to push him any further and ran out of the room. Bucky closed the door behind her wiping his face with his flesh hand. He quickly got dressed and went back to your room, wanting to apologize for everything. When he knocked there was no answer. He opened your door and came in.

“Baby?” he called walking further into the room. He checked the walk in closet and then the bathroom, nothing. When he came back into the room, he saw a piece of paper on the bed. He opened it and his heart immediately dropped.

Bucky,

I guess based on what I saw, I am not as crazy as I thought. Though I must be crazy to think someone who looks like me, would be loved by someone who looks like you. I hope you both are very happy together.

Your Y/N

Bucky quickly ran out of the room and went to Steve’s. He explained everything that happened, which caused some scolding from Steve.

“I mean I can’t believe you were nice to her after the comment she made about Y/N when she met her,” Steve said. Bucky shook his head, “I know. I’m a fucking moron, okay? But Y/N wanted to do this bet and it went too far. Please you have to help me find my girl. I need her to know that I…” he stopped.

“You love her,” Steve said smirking.

Bucky nodded and blew out a breath. “Please, Steve. I can’t let her think that I don’t love her. I knew she was self conscious, I should have made sure she was alright,” Bucky said kicking himself.

“Okay, pal. Relax, we will find her. Let’s ask the girls first.” Steve said leading Bucky out of his room.

–

“Ok so you saw Y/N was upset and yelled at her instead of comforting her? You're an asshole, Barnes," Nat yelled at him.

“Yea, I know that already. Please Nat, I need to find her,” Bucky pleaded.

“Plus that was mean to do to Stacy, but she still shouldn't have been an bitch to Y/N," She says angrily. "I don’t know where she is, but, if you got your head out of your asses and think you'll find her faster,” she snapped.

Both men looked confused, causing her to roll her eyes. “Men are morons! FRIDAY please track Y/N and send her coordinates to Barnes and Rogers STAT!” she yelled to the AI.

The men nodded their thanks and headed out.

Nat watched them leave and then called to the AI. “FRIDAY where is Stacy?”

–

You sat on a bench in Battery Park, staring out into the water. You honestly weren’t sure where you were going to go from here. A part of you wanted to go back to the Tower, but didn’t want to see Bucky or Stacy. You figured by now they were lying naked in his bed together. The image making you want to puke.

“Y/N” a whispered voice said, making you jump.

You turn and see Bucky standing there, relief evident in his face. “Baby, I have been looking everywhere for you.”

He sits down on the bench next to you, and you immediately tensed, something he noticed.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, “Y/N, I swear, whatever you saw, was not what you think. Stacy… she… she tried to kiss me and I froze. I-I didn’t know what to do, until I finally snapped out of it and threw her out of my room. You have to believe me.” he said grabbing your hand. You don’t look at him, knowing that if you did, you would crack.

“Why would you want to throw her out? She's perfect for you Bucky. You’re perfect for each other. She knows it, I know it, you must know it.” you say quietly, your voice threatening to crack. "This bet was stupid because it proved how right I really was."

Bucky kneels in front of you, holding your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him.

“Belles, she is not perfect for me? Is she beautiful? Sure, but you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen in my life. I know you're self conscious about your weight and your body, but baby I love your body and I couldn’t care less about your weight because it doesn't matter. You're a strong woman who could kick anyone's ass. I…”

Bucky takes a breath and calm his nerves. “Y/N, I love you,” he says with confidence.

You look at him for a moment and then shake your head. “How can you love someone like me?” you whisper as tears flow down your face.

Bucky stands up and pulls you into his arms. “You're so amazing to me. You don’t care about my past. You only care about who I am now. And as far as how you look, you’re so fucking sexy to me baby! I grew up in a time where our woman had meat on their bones, and that's what I prefer.” he said causing you to laugh.

“Buck, I love you. I love you so much! You mean the world to me, and that's why I was so upset you ignored me tonight. I thought that you finally found someone else that you wouldn’t be embarrassed with. It's my fault for making this stupid bet,” you said.

“I’m an idiot for tonight. I didn’t realize that I was ignoring you, and I’m so sorry. I should have defended you when she was rude to you, and ignored her. Screw the bet. We were both idiots about that, it wasn't fair to Stacy, even if she is a bitch. However, I do still owe you a weekend getaway, and I promise I will be cold to her from now on,” he said kissing the top of your head. “And you, my love, will never embarrass me.”

You looked up at him, your heart racing in your chest. He leaned down and captured your lips with his. You stepped as close as you could, wrapping your arms tightly around him. When the kiss ended you whispered against his lips, “I love you.”

He smiled and pecked your lips again, “I love you too.”

Hope you liked it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky angst #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #Bucky x plus sized reader #plus sized #bucky x oc female

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

Can I request an Eddie and Roan, where she goes to Wayne's house and Eddie and Reader are there talking with Wayne but also planning what to get Roan for Christmas?

eddie and roan ♡ fem!reader

“Got it?”

Roan nods and hops up the last step to Uncle Wayne's while you and Eddie follow behind her. You're carrying a big Christmas cake held tight to your chest while Roan's father insists on carrying the drinks, an eighteen pack of glass cokes, enough to keep Wayne going for the next two weeks at least, less with help.

“Uncle Wayne!” Roan calls as she opens the door. It swings wide and hits the wall. She doesn't care. She's about to see Wayne for the first time in almost two weeks, and she missed him like crazy. Eddie almost got sick of hearing her ask when he'd be feeling better. “Uncle Wayne!”

The second shout is much more desperate.

Wayne appears in the curve behind the kitchen doorway to smile at her. “Hello, my chicken.”

Eddie snorts and slams the cokes down on the sideboard with a jumble of clinks. Wayne is a great dad, but he never called Eddie anything so saccharine. Bud and babe was about as good as it got. Roan gets all the sweet stuff, chicken and gorgeous and baby girl. It doesn't quite make Eddie jealous —nothing feels as secure in parenthood as knowing someone else loves your kid just as much as you do. Wayne would die for Roan without question. He can call her chicken if he likes.

Roan barrels across the carpet in her Mary Jane's and slams into his legs. He pulls her up into his chest, giving her hair a smattering of quick kisses, her dress bunched by his hugging arm. “It's so nice to see you, honey, I missed you!”

She grins and makes a pleased, almost feral sort of sound as she kisses his cheek. “I missed you too! We missed our sleepover!”

“Yes, we did. So I get you for two days, yes?”

“Yes!” she shouts, looking over her shoulder at you and Eddie to confirm.

Eddie holds up his now empty hands, though they don't stay that way for long as he takes the cake from you. “No arguments here.”

Roan laughs and squeezes herself under Wayne's chin. He wraps her up and keeps her, assessing you and Eddie with suspicious eyes. “How are you both doing?”

Eddie brushes past Wayne to put the cake on the table. Wayne isn't really asking Eddie; they know too much about one another having spent the last decade together, first by sharing a wall and now working side by side at the shop. Eddie's sure Wayne's sick to death of his complaining by now, but you're deserving of some sympathy for sure.

“She's getting better. Aren't you, sweet thing?” Eddie asks you.

“I'm fine,” you say, shooting Wayne a smile. “It was probably the same thing you had.”

“Yeah? He take care of you?”

“Always does. He's never let me down.” You cross your arms over your front. “But how are you doing?”

“I know you missed her,” Eddie interjects, “but if you're not feeling up to it, she doesn't have to stay all weekend.”

Wayne raises his eyebrows to protest. Roan beats him to it, yanking herself away from his cuddling to glare at the suggestion. “Dad, you said!”

“Said I'd see if he was up to it, yeah,” Eddie placates.

“I'm up to it.” Wayne gives Roan a soft smile. “We'll be good, right? Watch TV, eat hot dogs for breakfast, lunch, ‘n’ dinner. Dad's just being silly.”

Roan leans back into the hug, relieved, and Wayne pulls her head to his chest, covering her ear subtly. “Thought you needed to get some things? You know, from Santa?” he whispers, ‘Santa’ mouthed without sound.

“Yeah, if we knew what to get her,” Eddie says, brushing his hair behind his ears. “Kid's impossible. Asked Santa for a baby sister and a pet turtle.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Wayne–”

“The turtle, I mean.” He nods at you apologetically.

You aren't offended at the idea of a baby sister being an easy gift, and you laugh at his correction. “We don't have room for the tank, I already checked.”

“She got the measuring tape out and everything.”

“What?” Wayne asks. “Put it outside.”

“It's not that easy,” Eddie sighs morosely. “They're very particular creatures.”

“It’ll suit you nicely, then.”

You laugh again. Roan wriggles to be put down, curious at the sound, though she wasn't as deafened as it seemed. “Santa will bring the tank, guys, that's how Santa works, and the turtle. We just need to move the couch,” she says simply.

“Where will we watch TV?” you ask.

“Here?” Roan suggests.

Eddie nudges Wayne in the side. “Looks like I'm moving back in after all.”

Coats are taken off, shoes stacked in a corner. Wayne makes everyone a cup of coffee and a sandwich, even Roan, though her coffee is milk with just a splash of coffee that she begs for but doesn't touch after the initial sip. Theories for where they might house and care for a pet turtle are shared through crumbs and foam moustaches, Wayne with a lap full of grandchild, and you with an armful of Eddie. He keeps turning to you to scan your face for signs of fatigue or sickness, eyes lingering, his hand resting and rubbing at the top of your thigh.

“We'll have to give up our room,” he suggests to you with an air of defeat. Despite his sombre tone, love lines his gaze. “When the turtle gets huge and wants to go back to the ocean, we'll have to fill our bedroom up with a swimming pool.”

Roan sits back guiltily. “Well, maybe not like that. Can the turtle sleep with me?”

“That could be fun. We'll get you a water bed,” you say, to Eddie's delight. He chokes on a handful of chips and needs to be whacked on the back lest he asphyxiate, and while you're still laughing at your own joke and his reaction, you pat him more gently on the back before passing him your full coke. “Here, handsome.”

Wayne's pretty sure his nephew's found his soulmate. “What about a tortoise instead?” he asks Roan, attempting to spare you both.

Roan pouts at her Uncle, confusion furrowing her thin brows. “What's the difference?”

“Couple hundred dollars?” Eddie asks.

Wayne kicks him under the table, but never hard enough to hurt. “Nothing much, chick. I'm sure Santa will figure it out.”

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the-offside-rule · 9 months ago

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Kimi Raikkonen (Lotus Era) - Melting the Iceman

Requested: yes

Prompt: 31) "I think I may be falling in love with you."

Warnings: none

Kimi stood looking out of his pit box at the dozens of people standing outside in the hot Bahrain sun. While it looked as though the iceman was lost in thought, while his engineer stood chatting with him, that was far from what was going through his mind. Although yes, his engineer was speaking to him, his focus was instead on the lovely Y/n, a reporter based in England that had caught his eye last season and was by far his favourite person to be interviewed by. Sometimes she could just tell he didn't want to do press and didn't push him for answers and instead faced the consequences by her employers.

Her lovely smile seemed to light up the whole paddock, moreso than any lights that lit up the track. He had it. He needed to tell her, but how? Without making it so awkward? He began walking over towards her. The camera shutters grew louder with each step he walked towards her. Dozens of people were about to capture the exact moment the Kimi Raikkonen was going to confess his love. He coughed gently, catching her attention. "Oh, sorry guys, can we cut the cameras for a quick second?" She asked the crew politely before turning her full attention back to Kimi.

"Ah, Kimi. Is there anything I can do for you?" Y/n smiled as Kimi walked up to her in his usual Lotus gear. "I think I may be falling in love with you." He blurts out. Her smile fades slightly upon his words, that worried Kimi gravely. He awaited her response but was instead faced with silence. Whilst he generally took silence we'll, this was not goinghow he expected it to....but to be fair, he didn't didn't know what to expect. "Way to be blunt." She muttered. Kimi didn't move. Maybe he couldn't. A small smile played on Y/n's lips. "I never imagined the 'Iceman' being so candid. But I appreciate the honesty." Kimi continued on. "I'm not good with words, but I want to get to know you better. So, if possible can we exchange numbers?"

Y/n chuckled, taking out her phone and handing it to the driver. "Sure, Kimi. Let's see where this goes." He smiles and begins typing in his digits, before handing the phone back and smiling. "I'll call you later, Kimi. Sound good?" Kimi nodded. "Perfect." He replied plainly. "Good luck with your show." He smiled softly. "And good luck with the weekend." Y/n smiled right back. Kimi pocketed his phone and returned to the garage. The Lotus crew looked at him confused. "Love struck?" Kimi turned to see his teammate Heikki looking at him, an amused. "Shut up." He mumbled. "So that is a yes?" Kimi shrugged. "Maybe." As Kimi walked away, he couldn't help but smile to himself. He was going to finally get to know Y/n better. Who knows? Maybe this could go further and better than he expected.

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 oneshots #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x reader #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen x you #kimi raikkonen x y/n #kimi raikkonen x oc #kimi raikkonen blurb #kimi raikkonen fluff #kimi raikkonen fanfic #kimi raikkonen #kimi raikkonen imagine #kkmi Raikkonen oneshot

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mattyriddlegf · 6 months ago

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The stupid closet (1)

Hello everyone! I have been working on this Mattheo Riddle story since August and am so excited to finally share this with you all. This story is my baby and is so special to me and will be multiple chapters so buckle up and get ready for some steamy romance and drama ;)

I will be releasing (hopefully) every week on Sunday but we'll see how it works out and how you guys like this!

*this story will feature NSFW content*

-----------

“Fuck you Riddle” You flip off Mattheo as you sit down quickly next to Draco at dinner. You had been at school for almost a week already and he was as insufferable as ever.

You both knew how to push each other’s buttons and it was so fun…sometimes. So much teasing and bickering had happened throughout the years between you two and it was finally your last year at Hogwarts.

Mattheo sits down across the table from you, his jaw clenching.

“What’re you wearing to the party tonight?” Pansy asks, taking a seat on the other side of Draco.

“Oh it’s a dress I bought over the summer” You smile gently, popping a grape in your mouth. Theo looked across the table and smirked just a little. You guys had been friends with benefits for the past year but had never put any other labels on it.

Only one person knew about this secret relationship…Mattheo. He had accidentally walked in on you and Theo one time and ever since then he loved teasing you about it.

“I’m sure Theo will love it” Mattheo retorts before Theo knocks him over the head.

“Shut the fuck up” Theo adds. Mattheo looks up smirking. He looks right at you with those big doe brown eyes. The fact that they were attached to him made them not so appealing though.

After a few moments, you break eye contact, looking down at the food in front of you. For some reason, eye contact with Mattheo always lingered longer than it should.

“Well I don’t know about anyone else but I plan on getting fucked up tonight” Pansy mentions. Since it was the first weekend after classes, Slytherin was throwing a house party. Last weekend was the entire school, this week it was just your house. These parties were honestly way more fun.

“Me too,” you reply. You and Theo hadn’t hooked up since when he visited over the summer holiday. Not that it should bother you but you wondered why he hadn’t wanted to since. You guys had gone at it like bunny rabbits last semester and now? It felt like he was avoiding you.

Dinner went on as normal, Draco bickering with everyone around him (even you, his closest friend) and Pansy was handsy with him the whole time while talking about beginning of the year gossip…typical.

You walk back to the Slytherin house with the group, separating ways to go back to your shared dorm with Pansy.

You both start getting ready, doing makeup first. While you opted for a light, subtle look, Pansy opted for a more full-face look. She was fully convinced that Draco was going to make his move on her after all of these years. While you knew it wasn’t going to happen, you didn’t want to break her spirit.

You slip on a short silk slip black dress, pulling your hair up in a messy, high ponytail and strapping on simple black heels. A simple look but it made you feel so good about yourself. You were going to hook up with Theo tonight.

You hear a knock at the door so you open it, only to see Blaise, “Hey uh the group is gonna mingle for a bit and then break off in Theo and Mattheo’s dorm for some games”

“Oh…ok. Thanks Blaise.” You smile, shutting the door behind you. There goes your plan to hook up with Theo, there was no way it was going to happen if the whole group was together.

Slightly annoyed, you leave your dorm first, Pansy following suit a few minutes later. You instantly head for the liquor table taking a shot. You were determined to figure out a way to sleep with Theo regardless.

“This one is actually kinda boring” You hear Draco behind you.

“It is…” You say pouring another shot, “Has Pansy found you yet?”

“Instantly but I told her she had lipstick on her teeth so she went back to fix it” Draco smiles.

“And did she?”

“Of course not.” You both laugh. As much as you loved Pansy, Draco was your best friend. You had spent every summer together since you were both 6 years old. Your parents were very close with each other, the next generation also bonding. Of course when Theo visited over the summer, he had to lie and say it was to see both of you. You had the feeling Draco knew but neither of you had ever brought it up.

Mattheo walks up behind you, grabbing a liquor bottle around you, “This party is lame as fuck, wanna split now?”

“Yes.” Theo chimes in, walking up as you turn around to reply to Mattheo.

“Oh looks like lover boy can’t wait to get his hands on you” Mattheo whispers just loud enough for you to hear. You stare up at him, before nudging him in the arm as you walk away. It was always those little comments that made you want to kill Mattheo.

Theo and Draco find Pansy, Blaise, and Daphne before heading up to the boys’ dorm. While this group always bickered, they were your family and you loved them as such. You did however still have the hope that you and Theo would be able to break off alone at some point.

You all sit in a circle, setting an empty bottle in the middle. Spin the bottle, how cute.

“Ok we’re playing spin the bottle but whoever it lands on, is spending seven minutes in heaven with the spinner. Got it?” Blaise asks. The entire time he explained the rules, you stared daggers at Mattheo, him looking at you again with those big doe eyes, acting completely innocent and unaware.

“This is so juvenile” You speak up as you roll your eyes.

“Well then, it’s your turn first” Draco smirks.

You smirk back sarcastically, annoyed before spinning the bottle. The bottle spins for a good few seconds. You were desperately hoping it would stop at Theo as it slowed down but the bottle ended facing directly at Mattheo.

“Absolutely not.” You say. You were not about to go into a closet with Mattheo Riddle for seven minutes.

“Rules are rules, time to pucker up” Blaise says. Everyone in the circle whoops and hollers as you both stand up and start walking into the closet.

“I hate all of you” You say, flipping them the middle finger as Mattheo closes the closet door behind him.

The closet was small, causing you two to be touching. It was dark, only the light coming from the bottom of the door seeping in.

“I don’t know what they expect” Mattheo scuffs.

“I do but it’s never going to happen.” You look up to him, your faces only inches apart.

“No, never.” He shook his head ever so slightly. You were so close to him you could smell the combination of liquor and cigarettes on his breath. You actually didn’t mind it as much as you thought you would.

You stared into each other's eyes for a moment before you blurted out, “I mean…it won’t mean anything right?” Your noses are practically touching by now. The sexual tension lingering in this small space was suffocating.

“Right.” Mattheo breathes out. You two finally connect lips. The kiss was slow and passionate. Mattheo set one of his hands on your waist, the other on the back of your head.

You break away just for a moment, “It’s just for the game” You mutter out between kisses. The make out session was heating up, both of you grabbing for different parts of each other. It was like you both wanted more. You both needed more.

Just as you're about to jump up and wrap your legs around his waist, the door is opened. The two of you back away from each other, you instantly looking out to see Theo watching. Mattheo walks out of the closet and straight out of the door, leaving the dorm without saying a word. You look over to Pansy who had opened the door and was currently standing there, eyes bugged out of her head.

“Holy shit” Draco blurts out. Everyone in the room was shocked, nobody in the group butted heads more than you and Mattheo.

“I have to go…” You mutter. You walk to the door, Theo following you out to the hallway.

Theo grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks, “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine. I just need some fresh air.” You say. You could not believe that Theo caught you kissing someone else, let alone Mattheo Riddle. Theo furrows his eyebrows, “Seriously, I’m fine Theo. I’ll be back in a bit, ok?” You say more genuinely than the first time.

“Ok just…we’ll talk about it later yeah?”

“Sure.”

You walk back to your dorm, changing into Draco’s sweatshirt and your own flannel shorts before opening the window and sitting in the window sill.

God you’re so stupid! Mattheo? Really?

Your mind was racing. You only did it for the game, right? You had to.

But then why did you still feel his kiss on your lips and why did you not mind it? There had to be an explanation. Mattheo was not who you wanted. You wanted Theo…right?

#mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #hogwarts fanfiction #slytherin #frenemies to lovers #mattheo #harry potter

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khaylin27 · 6 months ago

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The Tortured Poets Department

pairing: george russell x wolff! reader

series: the tortured poets department

synopsis: y/n wolff falls in love with george russell, her father's other mercedes driver.

warnings: none

author's note: sorry for not posting for a week 😭 school has been stressing me out and my family. im glad im back to put my creative mind to use.

You left your typewriter at my apartment Straight from the tortured poets department I think some things I never say Like, "Who uses typewriters anyway?"

You were cleaning your Monaco apartment one day when you notice the typewriter that George owned. He left his typewriter at your apartment.

Every time George would come to your apartment to spend time with her in secret, he would always bring his typewriter. George would always joke about him looking like a poet coming from the tortured department from Mercedes.

Since Lewis was leaving Mercedes at the end of the season, your father has been pressuring George to perform better than Lewis. You knew how much stress George was going through so to relive the stress he would hang out with you and use his typewriter.

You stop cleaning to take a photo of the typewriter to send to George.

y/n wolff you left your typewriter you tortured poet

george I left it so I have an excuse to see you again 😉

You blush at George's response. There's things that you think of that you would never say to George. Like, "who uses typewriters anyway?" But you knew it was an escape for him.

But you're in self-sabotage mode Throwing spikes down on the road But I've seen this episode and still loved the show Who else decodes you?

It was the Australian Grand Prix, George was in self-sabotage mode because he got into a crash before the race ended. "Georgie, you're okay that's all that matters." You say to George before he starts throwing more spikes down the road.

"It's not okay Y/N. Your dad is probably so pissed that Lewis and I both didn't finish the race." George says as he walks back in forth in the room.

You stop him mid way and give him a hug. "We'll worry about that later." Your hand gently goes up and down his spine. You've seen the way he always stresses out about your dad. So you always relax him by moving your hands up and down his spine. Who else decodes him like you do?

And who's gonna hold you like me? And who's gonna know you, if not me?

"I love the way you hold me like this." George says as he calms down from his anxiety attack. "You know me so well."

"Who's gonna hold you like me? My little brother?" You both laugh about the comment about your brother. "And who's going know you, if not me?" You smile at him before he leaves to finish his race interviews.

I laughed in your face and said "You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti Smith This ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're modern idiots" And who's gonna hold you like me? Nobody

f1news THE NEW TOTO AND SUSIE WOLFF: Y/N Wolff was seen with her father's Mercedes driver, George Russell, out at the Monte-Carlo Masters this weekend. Are they the new Toto and Susie Wolff of Gen Z?

user1 THEY DEFINITELY GIVE OLD MONEY

user2 mama y papa 😍 mom and dad

user3 they are toto and susie (gen z version)

****

"George," You look around your apartment to see where George was. You find him in your office writing on his typewriter.

"What is it Darling?" George asks as he takes off his old man glasses.

"Look at what the media is calling us." You pass him your phone and show him the post f1news posted about you two on instagram. You laugh once George finishes reading the caption. "The caption is too funny! They're comparing us to my parents."

"I'm not Toto though," George says. "And you're not Susie either."

You give him a kiss on the cheek, "This isn't Mercedes, we're just modern idiots." George smiles back at you while you hold him.

"Who's going to hold me like you do?" he asks.

"Nobody."

You smoked, then ate seven bars of chocolate We declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist I scratch your head, you fall asleep Like a tattooed golden retriever

George lights up a candle and grabs chocolate from the fridge after you two clean the apartment. Charlie Puth was playing in the background while you two were cuddling on the couch eating seven bars of chocolate.

"Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist." George says after eating his chocolate bar.

"I agree. He has so many hits yet he's not even big!" You say putting the leftover chocolate back in the fridge. After you wash the chocolate off your hands, you cuddle with George again.

Charlie Puth was still playing while you scratched George's head. A couple minutes later, George was asleep like a tattooed golden retriever.

But you awaken with dread Pounding nails in your head But I've read this one where you come undone I chose this cyclone with you

A couple hours after you both fall asleep on the couch, George wakes up from a nightmare. You wake up from the movement that George made, you realized he had a nightmare. "George, you're okay." You rub his back to try and calm him down.

After a while, George is ready to open up about his nightmare. “I spend so much of my life being scared, wanting to please everyone around me. I had a nightmare about everything I've built go away in an instance.” George never really got this deep into his feelings, but that night he became undone.

"I understand what you're saying. I've always felt that way too with spending so much time in the media. I'm scared that whatever I say to them will make a bad impression on my parents. I've always people pleased everyone." You place your hands gently around his neck and say, "I chose this cyclone with you. We'll get through this together."

Sometimes, I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me But you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave And I had said that to Jack about you, so I felt seen

The Mercedes team had some press to do in New York before the Miami Grand Prix. Lewis, George, and your dad were unveiling the new Mercedes car emoji on WhatsApp on the Empire State Building and you decided to tag along.

After the emoji was unveiled, George and your dad were talking to investors while you were talking with Lewis. "How are you and George?" Lewis asked you as you were taking a sip of your drink.

"We're doing okay. We have problems like every couple days. Sometimes, I wonder if he's gonna screw this up with me. He's been through a lot of stress this season." You tell Lewis. "Maybe I'm self sabotaging but I told this to my mom, so I felt seen."

"George talked to me earlier about what he's been going through this season." You both look at George as he's having fun dancing with some investors. "He's glad to have you by his side. he told me he'd kill himself if you ever left."

You were shocked by Lewis' words. Sure George was you boyfriend but you never thought his feelings for you were this strong.

Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be 'Cause we're crazy So tell me, who else is gonna know me?

"You and George are meant to be." Lewis says smiling. "You guys both drive me crazy." Lewis says sarcastically while you laugh. George leaves the dance floor and heads to you.

"You're ready for our date?" George asks while wrapping his arms around your waist. You nod yes and he takes your hand. You both say your goodbyes to everyone and head to the Empire State Building lobby.

"You ready for our pizza date?" George asks.

"You know me so well." You smile before George asks.

"So tell me, who else is gonna know you like me?"

"Nobody." You both smile before he drives to your favorite pizza place.

At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger And put it on the one people put wedding rings on And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding

George had emptied your favorite pizza spot in New York (with the help of your dad of course). Your favorite slices of pizza were ready to eat as soon as you arrived at the location. As you guys eat your slices of pizza, George cleans his face before starting to talk .

"Y/N, Darling. You're the love of my life. I love everything about you and that you're always by my side through thick and thin. You helped me overcome certain obstacles in my life. I wouldn't be who I am today without you." George kneels down and takes the ring out to propose to you. "Y/N will you marry me?"

"It feels like my heart is exploding!" Y/N says before cleaning herself up. "Yes! I'll marry you!" George smiles before kissing you. He then puts the engagement ring on your finger.

yourusername and you're not toto wolff, i'm not susie wolff this ain't the mercedes, we're two idiots and who's gonna hold you like me? 💍🍕

tagged georgerussell63

georgerussell63 nobody darling ✨

lewishamilton you guys drive me crazy but congrats 🥂

yourusername we have to keep your last season in mercedes wild before you leave 🤪

mercedesamgf1 is this f-ing play about us?

user1 MERC ADMIN WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? yourusername i bet my dad was the one who told admin to write this. susie_wolff yes, he did mercedesamgf1 YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO TELL HER user1 i love the merc-wolff family 🖤

user2 dang their cars aren't the only thing fast in their life. first oscar getting married now george!!

taylorswift you guys are too cute! congrats!! 🩶

yourusername thank you tay 🥹✨ user3 mother just loves the f1 wags!!

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @splaterparty0-0 @2pagenumb @c-losur3

#f1 #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #lewis hamilton x reader #mercedes #mercedes amg petronas #george russell x reader #george russell #lewis hamilton #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #susie wolff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic

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abbysimsfun · 21 days ago

Text

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 86 (Family Drama)

The next evening, before Heather and Conrad left for their date, her youngest sister, Hazel, arrived in Brindleton Bay to watch her niece and nephew.

Ash excitedly called to her from the computer as soon as she walked in the door. "Aunt Hazel, Aunt Hazel, come check out my new game!"

"Thanks for driving out here so Conrad and I can have a night out," Heather said. "The security cameras are working and Conrad's getting the kids fed before we go, so just get them to bed at a decent hour and no horror movies."

"It's just food colouring," she protested, but with Heather's stern glance she nodded obediently. "Sorry, Ashy. No Moonlight Massacre tonight, after all."

Heather changed the subject before Ash could complain. "I'm sad you won't be in town when we're in Henford this weekend to meet River and Cass' new baby boy. Dad says you don't call home enough."

Hazel laughed. "Dad tells me you don't call enough! None of us could ever call home enough. River still lives there and Dad probably thinks he doesn't get to see enough of him, either."

"Missing out on Dad guilt tripping us to visit for a political conference in San Myshuno's pretty cool, though. Ash, that's enough game time. Conrad's almost finished making your dinner."

Ash moaned, but he turned off the computer and headed for the kitchen as Hazel picked up her niece for a cuddle in her unicorn onesie. "I'm kind of glad to be out of Henford for the night to get in time with Ashy and Lava. Has that weird old dude been a problem lately?"

Heather made sure Ash was out of earshot. "Not since the restraining order," she said, the relief on her face more than evident. "And you're stuck on those nicknames, huh? I thought nicknames were too corny for you."

"It's not my fault your kids are just as cool as volcanoes, big sis."

Heather grinned. Hazel, the baby of their family, could get away with anything and dripped charm to spare, but Heather could tell something was weighing on her mind. "Are you doing okay?"

Hazel took a deep breath, setting Lavender down before she moved to the sofa. "What made you realize you wanted to be single when we were in high school?"

Heather laughed. "It was just easier than having feelings. It's still easier than having feelings, but finding the right person is better. What's wrong?"

She frowned. "What if Nicola and I got married too young? We're different people than we were as teens. When her dad died of a heart attack a few months ago, it felt like I wasn't married to the same person anymore. I know she's grieving, but what if we didn't wait long enough into young adulthood to figure it all out?"

Heather could empathize with her sister's confusion over love and relationships. Not too long ago, Heather would have found it unthinkable to offer her siblings, of all people, relationship advice, but Conrad had shown her what great love could be.

"You know I've never been very flirty or romantic, and I held on to my relationship with Malcolm too long because I didn't think I deserved any better. I'd never recommend it, but I also know Nicola's not Malcolm Landgraab. If you trust her, you can tell her the truth."

Hazel nodded. "No, she's definitely not like Malcolm."

"If you're truly unhappy, don't force it because you think you're supposed to. But if you're asking me, I think it means there's still some fight in you to keep it together."

(Lovestruck's new relationship and chemistry features went after Hazel and her new wife, and I'm rolling with it to see what happens. I cheated their relationship back up a bit - as if what Heather said encouraged her to fight a little more - and we'll see how it goes with them.

The way I said that probably gave away what might happen but pfft you don't know!)

Grateful for her eldest sister's advice, Hazel turned her attention back to Lavender, while Heather joined Ash and Conrad in the kitchen.

"Tomorrow night we'll pack some things into your backpack for your weekend at your dad's," Heather said to her son. "He'll pick you up after school on Friday and take you to his place for the weekend."

"He'll probably send their driver like usual," he shrugged. "But Ray's cool."

"What do you mean, 'like usual?'"

Ash looked at her with confusion etched on his face. "Daddy's reporting til seven on the news every weeknight, Mommy!"

Heather stared at Conrad, wide-eyed. "He told me he does those hits pre-recorded."

"He always sends Ray, and Ray always takes me to get ice cream before we get to Daddy's penthouse. Why do you look pretend happy, Mommy? I love ice cream!"

"Your mom just hasn't met Ray, buddy."

"But Mommy, he's not a stranger. He's Ray!"

Heather plastered a smile, and Conrad reached under the table to caress her clenched fist. "I'll be at school on Friday afternoon when Ray's there to pick you up at three," she said. "If he's as nice as you say, I don't want him to be a stranger to me."

Ash smiled. "Okay, Mommy, that's a good a idea."

Heather felt constantly undermined by the Landgraabs. But there was little she could say without disappointing her son, and she didn't want bitterness to affect her night with Conrad. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

NOTE: Their date continues Monday but tomorrow there will be a bonus post inspired by @purplesimmer455! 👀

NOTE 2: Also noting, since this is an episode where nothing much seems to be happening, there are a few subtle hints in here, too, about how Conrad is on a pedestal, especially when Heather compares him to Malcolm, even though we all know he's keeping this massive secret from her, too.

#sims 4 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 screenshots #sims 4 legacy #sims in bloom #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #ts4 screenshots #sims 4 story #ts4 story #legacy challenge #sims legacy #ts4 legacy challenge #gen 2 #brindleton bay

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vidavalor · 1 year ago

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You really think they've kissed before? I want to believe.

Dammit, Scully, the truth is out there! *rustles through file folders in the basement until uncovers the correct one and then flourishes it with an Aziraphale-ish "AH-HA!"* What about the other arrangement in The Arrangement scene in S1, perchance?

In The Globe Theatre scene, it is established that Crowley and Aziraphale each knew before the scene begins that they themselves are assigned to Edinburgh by their respective head offices later in the week but neither of them knew the other was until they learn from one another that they are during the course of the scene. As a result, triggering The Arrangement-- in the 'only one of them doing both of their work assignments' sense-- cannot have been why they were meeting up. We also learn early in the scene, though, that Crowley asked to meet without being specific as to why (which is an answer in and of itself, imo lol), other than to convey that it wasn't an emergency/they hadn't been caught because Aziraphale is relaxed and popping the food kinky Serpent of Eden's favorite fruit in front of him for the duration of the scene. So, Crowley asked to meet and Aziraphale picked the place-- this meeting is an *arrangement*-- but that is then subtly semi-hidden in the scene with some sleight of hand distraction that calls your attention to the revelation of the fact that they both can-- and sometimes do-- do each other's work. The scene about them doing each other's miracles is really also about them doing each other lol. Using past tense by using 'thought' in this bit of the scene though, Scully, kind of says a lot about the reason Crowley wanted to meet though, yeah?

Everyone so on about that 2.06 disaster that they've forgotten about the trailing-off-verbal-ellipsis-into-kissy-pout that is Crowley for Hell is sending me away for a few days so my first thought was that I want to see you and that I was willing to endure a few minutes of one of these depressing plays you like-- thank you for sparing me the first few acts with this meeting time, btw-- and show up with some love poetry and my glasses halfway down my nose and some big Bildaddy energy and see if I could flirt my way into your bed while you do that thing where you pretend to be scandalized by the thought while eating grapes in front of me because old movie chemistry, us, even though old movies haven't been invented yet so anyway, angel, what if I just pivot this straight into The Arrangement since you were hinting you'd be down for that by commenting on how my assignment didn't seem that difficult a moment ago and we'll see if the audience notices what the scene is inferring that it's implying by the fact that when you look at me, I pout at you *again* while suggesting only one of us goes to Scotland, furthering suspicions that The Arrangement isn't just about inventing occult/ethereal weekends for each other but that it's a sex game where whoever goes and does both of our work assignments gets to be the one to choose whatever they want in bed from the one of us who had the day off which is also why, instead of taking turns as we would if this were just about the miracles, we flip a coin because I live to cheat on the coin toss because anything you want, angel...

#ineffable husbands #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #aziracrow

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 8 months ago

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Alex Cabot x Casey Novak x Reader SFW Fluff Alphabet

Big thanks to to @scealaiscoite for their SFW Poly Fluff Alphabet for the inspiration here!

a = affection Is anyone more overtly affectionate than the others? You are definitely the most outwardly affectionate. Not in a PDA sense, you just tend to be the most sentimental. You don't initiate physical touch a whole lot, but Alex and Casey both know you are down to cuddle at any time, and they take advantage of it often. Alex is the snugglier of the two, but Casey gets FOMO when you snuggle without her, so she'll jump in, too. b = bed What's the sleeping situation like? California King (no twin bed! no roommates!). Casey on the right, Alex on the left. You are forever the middle spoon because (a) you love it, (b) you're by far the smallest, and (c) both Casey and Alex can feel a bit smothered after a whole night of middle spoon-ing. c = comfort When someone's feeling down, how do the others look after them? When you're down, your self-esteem takes a hard hit, so Alex and Casey do their best to be extra reassuring. When Alex is down, you and Casey do your best to make her feel important and to distract her. Nice clothes, expensive dinner, all your attention all night. When Casey's down, she needs to take a fucking break. The problem is that she never wants to. You and Alex usually have to take her phone and laptop away and force her to relax. Bubble bath, takeout, snuggles, the works.

d = dates What do dates look like? Who usually plans them, and are they individual or a group affair? You take turns planning, but also enjoy the occasional spontaneous date. Everyone is always invited, but not everyone always goes. You have lots of things you like to do all together, like dinner and a movie or a weekend at the beach or a trip to the farmer's market. But there are things you do in pairs, too. For example, you and Alex love classical music, so you've got season tickets to the NY Phil, but Casey's ears would explode if you made her go. Alex will attend a sports event with you and Casey once in a blue moon, but mostly it's just you two. Alex and Casey love dancing, from ballroom to clubbing and everything in between. You are a truly awful dancer and have a really hard time in loud, crowded environments, so you usually send them on their way and enjoy an evening to yourself.

e = events Who drags everyone else to their family's and friends' events? When it comes to family, you do all the dragging. Casey's parents live in the city, so you see them at least a few times a month, and Alex doesn't talk to her dad (her mom died when she was 17). You're very close to your family, and you're the only one who has siblings and nieces and nephews. Christmas at your family's is a given, and Alex and Casey are 100% there for it. But friend events? Those are all Casey. Alex will drag you to one, too, mostly out of obligation, but Casey genuinely enjoys going out and grabbing drinks with friends and will convince you both to go with her sometimes.

f = fights Are fights something that happen often? How are they resolved? Of course you fight. Everyone fights. But the fights are usually civil and logical and respectful. You've got twice as many relationships to maintain in a triad, so direct communication is a priority for you all. Casey and Alex have had to learn how to tone down their "lawyer-ness" during arguments, though. At first, they'd sometimes fight you so hard–like they were in court–that they'd end up making you cry. They always felt awful and backpedaled real quick. They're a lot gentler with conflicts now.

g - getting together How did you all get together? Alex and Casey met at work, a slow-burn career romance. By the time you came along, they'd already been together for several years. They'd discussed polyamory before and, while neither was necessarily opposed, neither one of them had anyone else they wanted to date either. So it was very much a we'll cross that bridge when we come to it situation. They came to the bridge when you moved to the city and joined Casey's rec softball league. It was Casey who fell for you first, Casey who started inviting you out to lunch with her and Alex after softball games, Casey who cautiously, gently asked Alex how she'd feel about her dating you. To which Alex said, Yeah, of course, if it'll make you happy. But I think I kind of want to date her, too. Can we all date? Do you think she'd be into that? It turns out that, yes, you were into that.

h = hobbies Do any of you share hobbies or passions? How do you include your other partner(s) in them? There's a foundational understanding between you that you don't all have to enjoy the same things. You and Alex share a deep love of reading and often spend evenings on the couch reading together, snuggled up against Casey as she plays video games or watches sports. You and Casey play softball together, and you love watching sports–baseball, basketball, football, you name it. Alex will watch with you, but she's mostly in it for the game day snacks you make. And obviously Casey and Alex have a whole career/calling in common, so they talk about that a lot, but they always try to make sure you're included in the conversation, and make sure to explain patiently when you have questions.

i = in sickness and in health When someone is sick, who's the caretaker and who's the germaphobe? Who's resistant to being taken care of? It depends on what kind of sick. If puking is involved, Alex and Casey are on their own. You are out of there, probably staying in a hotel, leaving soup deliveries outside the door with a mask on. Any other kind of sickness, and you absolutely dote on them. Casey eats this up. She is a pitiful sick person. Alex, on the other hand, will keep going until she literally can't anymore. And even then she'll tell you she's fine, and you have to force her to rest and take it easy. You can't exactly talk, you're pretty resistant to being taken care of, too. But that's mostly because Casey and Alex have important jobs to do, and you don't want to distract them.

j = joker Who's got the best sense of humor? Do you all like to tease and banter? You are by far the funniest of the three of you. You love making Alex and Casey laugh. It's one of the highlights of your life. Their jobs are so serious; they can tend to be on the serious side, too. So you make it your mission to brighten their days. That being said, there's a lot of good-natured teasing and insulting that happens on a regular basis. Casey calls you asshole more than she calls you anything else, probably. Alex has a razor sharp wit which is mostly funny, but every once in a while she'll toe the line between funny and mean. She can immediately tell when she's taken it too far, though, and is quick to make it up to you.

k = knowing Who can read their partners like a book? Is there anyone who has their walls up, even around their partners? By nature of being incredibly intuitive, you are the best at reading emotions. The problem is that you can usually tell what they're feeling but not why or who it's related to, so you almost always think it's somehow your fault. You're working on that one in therapy. Oddly, you're probably also the hardest to read. You have walls up, though they're slowly coming down. And Casey and Alex can have tunnel vision when it comes to work, so sometimes they miss things. Of the two of them, Casey is the more open with her emotions. Alex is open with anger and anger only. She's working very hard on being open with her other feelings, too.

l = lavish Is there anyone who really likes to lavish and show off their partners? How do the others react to it? Alex. Alex all the way. She's proud of herself, proud of the work she does, and proud of having not one but two stunning girlfriends. She dresses you and Casey up to the nines in clothes it would have taken you years to afford. When she walks into a room with you in a tailored Valentino suit on one arm and Casey in a designer gown on the other, she just knows everyone's jealous that she's living the best of both worlds. Since neither you nor Casey came from money, you both had a hard time with Alex's generosity at first, but you came to accept that showing you off is just Alex's way of telling you how proud she is of you and how happy she is that you're hers.

m = memories Is anyone more on the sentimental side? You, 100%. Although Casey and Alex have their moments, too. But you're the one who packs lunches with little loves notes. You're the one who surprises them with flowers at work, who cooks their favorite dinner because you know they had a bad day. You'll pick up that book that Alex wants so bad, but doesn't have time to go get. You'll record the Giants game instead of watching it while Casey's at work because you know she'd rather watch it together later. Of course, they do sweet things for you, too. Like Alex asking you to read your favorite book to her because she wants to read it with you. Or Casey organizing a game night with the SVU folks at your house, because she knows you want to hang out with them, too, you're just much more comfortable at home. You all have your moments, but they'd both agree that sentimentality just comes so, so naturally to you. It's a gift.

n = nights What's the nighttime routine like when you're all together? You are a big, big fan of parallel play so, even though you usually like to quietly read a book before bed, you want to do it wherever Alex and Casey are. Alex spends an eternity in the bathroom on her skin care routine before putting on the softest, most luxurious pajamas. She fixes herself a cup of peppermint tea and curls up next to you with her own book. Casey always has "more work to do," but she'll go through case files while you and Alex read. Or she'll finish the newspaper if she didn't get to that morning. She always has a gigantic, messy collection of file folders, old newspapers, and half-full glasses of water on her nightstand. You almost always fall asleep first, and they don't stay up too much longer because "you're just so adorable" and "I can't pay attention when you look that snug-able!"

o = open How open are you with one another? Very. You don't keep secrets. You don't tell lies. When you first got together, Alex suggested you all lay down "relationship rules." Those were two of the biggest. It sometimes takes longer for you to open up about what you're feeling, but they've learned that it doesn't really have anything to do with how much you trust them, it's just how you process things.

p = PDA What's PDA like with them? Is there anyone who loves it? Anyone who hates it? Alex would full-on make out with you in public, but she knows that's not a good look for someone in her position. Also, you and Casey do not like PDA. Casey will kiss you on the cheek or put a hand on the small of your back at a party, but that's it. You might hold their hands, but you won't do anything else in front of others. Alex won't either unless she feels like someone's infringing on her territory (her territory being you and Casey). Then she gets really possessive and is not afraid to show people that you're hers.

q = quiet Who prefers to spend their time out and about, and who likes to spend it at home? Casey is the most social of you. She loves going out with you or going out with friends. Alex is kind of in the middle. She's very, very good with people and socializes quite a bit, but often out of political obligation (to grease the wheels, so to speak, and make connections) rather than for fun. You are a hardcore homebody. You'll go out with them because you love them, but you're always very excited when you all decide on a night in.

r = romantic Is anyone a bit of a sap for their partners? You. So, so you. You just truly can't believe you lucked out with these two gorgeous, strong, confident, crazy smart women. Oddly enough, both Alex and Casey tend to be more affectionate with you than they are with one another. It's not that they love each other less, but you've got a couple of theories as to why they're just a little more romantic with you. (1) You're much, much smaller than them. Like a full 10 inches shorter. So they sometimes baby you a bit. They think you're very cute. You both love and hate it. (2) They were together first, and then kind of simultaneously fell for you, so you sometimes think they see you as collectively theirs, tag-teaming to take care of you and love you. You don't mind. They're collectively yours, too. (3) You're more sentimental than either of them, so it's easier for them to be sentimental with you than with one another. But, all in all, there's plenty of romance to go around.

s = sharing Is there anyone who's particularly territorial of their partners? ALEX. Very possessive of both of you. Casey's pretty damn possessive of you, too. Less so of Alex, but that's probably because she knows nobody fucks with Alex. You are the least territorial, mostly because you're just glad to be there. It doesn't leave a whole lot of room for jealousy. Just as Alex and Casey did before you came along, you all have an open understanding that if someone else were to come along–for any of you–you'd be okay with one of you pursuing a relationship with someone else, too. But it seems unlikely. You're all deeply content with things as they are now and don't really see yourselves bringing anyone else in.

t = terms of endearment Nicknames! What are the nicknames!? Alex uses honey or my love. Casey uses sweetheart and honey and sometimes baby. You mostly use lovely, which drives both of them wild, and also honey on occasion.

u = urge Who's the most impulsive? And who reins them back in? None of you are very impulsive. You think things through before acting. But of the three of you, Alex is probably the one who lets her emotions get the best of her, which can sometimes get her into hot water. Both Casey's and Alex's emotions (and impulses to do something brave and stupid) run high during hard cases. Thankfully, you're usually there to talk them out of it.

v = vacations How do vacations go? And where do you travel? You do vacations big. Alex has a lot of money, and you all love traveling. Alex considers it her absolute joy to make you and Casey's travel dreams come true, because she knows you didn't grow up with the kind of money to make them happen. She whisks you away on far-flung vacations as often as she can. An even bigger test of her love: she'll go camping with you because Casey loves it so much. But only with the highest end camping gear. And she will not touch a fish or a fishing pole, but she'll sit in a chair and read with you while you and Casey go fishing. Your favorite vacation so far? A surprise holiday trip to Soneva Jani in the Maldives. You'd always wanted to go to the Maldives, but it was very much a pipe dream. Alex packed for you, and you had no idea where you were going until you boarded the connecting flight to Malé. You were so excited you cried a little. When you stepped into your overwater bungalow, you just couldn't contain your excitement, running around the building, staring out at the crystal blue water, and kissing Casey and Alex over and over again, saying "Thank you thank you thank you thank you!"

w = worthy How are insecurities handled? Are any of you more self-conscious than the others? You're the most self-conscious. Casey and Alex are just so conventionally beautiful and successful and confident. They're smart, powerful, career-driven women and you're... a dorky, tiny, androgynous little work-from-home ad copywriter. Sometimes it's hard to know what they see in you. Alex is almost never insecure because she's cocky as fuck. Unless she screws up at work, and then she needs a lot of reassurance. Casey is insecure in that she's never able to live up to her own standards, so you have to remind her often that she doesn't need to be perfect and she's doing great. Insecurities in your home are always met with love and reassurance, never annoyance or frustration.

x = xoxo Who checks up on their partners a lot when they're apart? Do they call or text? Casey. She'll call to check up on you at least once a day. If you're out of town, she calls you at night, too, right before bed, on speakerphone with her and Alex (or vice versa, if Alex is out of town). Alex misses you, too, but she's more likely to text sporadically throughout the day. You text or call when you see something funny or something that reminds you of them.

y = yearn Who misses their partners the most, even just throughout the day? You really like your alone time, so you miss them but you really like having your space (working from home is great for this). But Casey and Alex miss you. Because you're home so often, when you're not home–out with friends, spending the weekend at your parents', etc.–they almost don't know what to do with themselves. Bonus POV: The Group Chat Casey: babe when are you coming home 😢 💔 😭 💌 😫 Alex: my love I need you here in my arms You: omg chill you guys i've been gone for like 2 hours! Casey: yeah 2 hours 2 long

z = zealous Who was especially eager in pursuit of the relationship? Was anyone more reserved? When it was just Alex and Casey, Alex made the first move. With you, it was Casey who came after you the hardest. Alex was a bit more reserved because she didn't want to make you feel like you had to date her, too. She wanted to be sure that you knew if you just wanted to date Casey and not her, that was okay. but she really did want you. She was trying so hard to be respectful that you eventually had to ask her out. Alex, can we go out sometime? Yeah, I'll see when Casey's free. No, I meant... just me and you. I mean, obviously Casey can come, too, if she wants, but... I'd like to take you out if you'll let me.

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