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malarkgirlypop · 1 year ago

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This is for you! (Webster x F!Reader)

Well hello and welcome. This is a random fic I did based on a post about shooting hoops. Confused? So am I ahahahahah. Enjoy this one shot, and let me know what you think!

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters.

Tag list: @next-autopsy @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @bucky32557038ww2 (if you want to be added just let me know xx)

The young woman fought sleep as she bounced on the back of the truck next to her comrades. It had been a long journey from Noville to Haguenau. The chill of the wind whipped at her face as she tucked her nose into her scarf to keep her warm.

A cherry voice pulled her from her drowsy state. Looking to the back of the truck where a man stood. She recognised him, David Webster. They had met briefly in Holland when she had come as a replacement. They only spoke a couple of times before he was injured and sent back to hospital. That was only four months ago but it had felt like a lifetime.

He looked clean and healthy. A sparkle of life still in his eyes. She couldn’t say the same for herself or the other soldier’s who had been in Bastogne not long before. They had all lost the shine in their eyes, replaced with dull far away looks.

Webster made his way into the back of the truck, making conversation with the young private

Jackson who he sat beside. Joe, who she sat close to, joined the conversation with passive remarks.

“We left Holland four months ago.” Lieb commented. Unlike the other men they had known, when Webster was carted off they never saw him again. The other soldiers including the young girl made an effort to return as soon as possible to their friends to join the fight again. Knowing that they were so low on everything, including soldiers themselves.

Webster looked shocked by Joe’s harsh remarks. Before carelessly bringing up names of the men who they had lost. Webster pissed her off. While they were off fighting in the coldest, most awful woods, which took so many of her friends' lives. He was back in a comfy bed with hot meals and a shower, being tended to by nurses.

He was just as bad as the replacements. Maybe even worse.

“Hey Y/N good to see you!” Webster tried to engage in small talk with the woman who huffed and walked away, not giving him the satisfaction of a reply.

Joe chuckled, walking behind the pair as she marched away. He bumped into Webster giving him a smirk as he ran after the girl.

“He looked like he was going to cry.” Joe told the room who laughed as he explained how Webster had crashed and burned trying to talk to Y/N.

“God he’s so annoying.” She laughed, shaking her head.

“Who’s so annoying?” Webster asked as he made his way into the room. Everyone went quiet, waiting for someone to answer Webster’s question.

“Ahhh, you know Hitler.” She laughed awkwardly at her random remark, naming the first bad person that sprung to mind. The other men chuckled into their hands.

“Oh yeah, no, he’s the most annoying.” Webster clearly missed the blatant lie she had told. She bit her lip trying to suppress cringing outwardly at the man. He grinned at her for approval. To which she smiled tightly back.

Y/N was thoroughly entertained, as she watched Joe and Ramirez interrogate the man for who was going to be on patrol.

“Come on Web, we know you know!” Joe pushed him for an answer.

“If I tell you, you can’t let on that you know.” Webster replied in an anxious tone.

“Secrets safe Web.” Joe lied straight to his face.

Webster spilled his guts.

“Babe, McClung, Ramirez and you.” He said, turning his gaze to the lady, leaning against the bed. She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face, as Joe gave her a sympathetic pat on the back.

It wasn’t long till sergeant Malarkey was telling them the information they had already manipulated out of the blue eyed man.

“We know.” Earl said to Don who had started stating the names of the people wanted.

“Yeah, we just fucking heard.” Babe added as well, gesturing to the man he had heard it from. Y/N watched Web squirm as the men ratted on him so quickly. He was figuring out they had no loyalties to their fellow comrade.

Webster felt he was back at the bottom of the food chain again, somehow lying even lower on the pyramid than the replacements he had turned up with. The men seemingly didn’t appreciate his absence, but he had been injured and instructed to rest and rehabilitate. Apparently he hadn’t caught onto the memo of breaking out of the hospital as soon as he could to join the men again. This feeling of isolation he wasn’t fond of. He understood if he wanted to be respected again by the men he had fought alongside not too long ago, he would have to grovell.

He waited in line for the showers, feeling uneasy. He had just showered recently compared to the grimey faces of the soldiers who shuffled forward in line. Stepping out of the line, a guilt hung on his shoulders. Webster made his way over to the female soldier who hung around the men as they waited for a shower. He noted her hair was damp and she looked cleaner than the last time, she had showered.

Before he could reach her, Malarkey called them in. He informed them that more men from the platoon were needed, calling out Grant, Lieb, Jackson, Wynn and himself. The men were pissed as Don wandered away not looking very pleased himself.

Webster’s stomach clenched, after being away for so long he forgot the nerves that came with the patrols. The unease that settled in his bones, an unwelcome but familiar feeling.

Y/N glanced over to the new-not-so-new soldier, the look of restlessness in his bright eyes. She remembered that feeling. When she had started she always felt like she was going to throw up just before an ambush or mission. But now all she felt was tired, exhausted, ready for this all to be over. Of course the dred of missions still churned her insides but it was something that never truly left. As if she was constantly waiting, watching, listening, for something she couldn’t quite see, but knew was there. Something hiding around the corner that could jump out at any second and snatch her away.

They met for the briefing at CP. No one was pleased seeing that the only officer in the room with them appeared to be a young baby-faced man, who arrived just that day. Never been into combat or led an attack. They were doomed if he was to lead it. They needed someone with experience, not some bright-eyed bushy tail Lt. just looking to get his boots dirty. They all shared their annoyance and concern with each other.

“No way. Not on his first day.” Grant said in disbelief, trying to convince himself more than the others that this wasn’t the officer leading this thing.

Turned out he was indeed leading, Martin would be there to shadow and help the man. Which seemed to somewhat please the worried soldiers. The patrol would be at 0100 hours, it would be a snatch and grab and they were after German POW’s. It was a stealth mission, nothing rattles, nothing shines. They had been told the plan of attack before Winters dismissed them and left.

Seeing that Lieb and Grant were speaking so brazenly about Webster in ear-shot of him. They spoke loudly proclaiming that he seems to worm his way out of everything. Webster knew that this was his opportunity to win back their trust. He approached the officers who had gathered together outside of CP where they had come from.

“Sir, sir. Liebgott and I, we both speak German.” Webster addressed Winters.

“Yeah?” Speirs replied, butting into the conversation, waiting for Web to continue.

“You said 15 men. There’s 16 of us, including two translators.” He shared his idea with his officers.

Well, fine. Hey, Liebgott, you want to sit this one out?” Speirs asked the passing Lieb who was with Y/N and Grant. Lieb grinned happily, agreeing to not go on the patrol. Sending Webster his thanks and a wink. Webster smiled to himself, happy with the outcome of his plan. Now he just had to win over everybody else.

They ate quietly in the basement, no one in a very chatty mood. Y/N ate her meal in the corner, not thinking just chewing. Webster saw the lady by herself, not thinking maybe she wanted it to be that way, slid down beside her with his own dinner.

“Hey Y/N.” He smiled at her. She gave her tight lipped polite smile, focussing back on her meal. Hoping that her silence would deter the man from continuing to sit with her.

“Are you nervous for tonight?” He asked, spooning food into his mouth, waiting for her reply.

“I just want to get it over and done with.” The lie slipped easily from her lips. For some reason she hadn’t thought about the cold river they had to cross to get to and from the patrol. The thought of falling into the icy water sent shivers up her spine. She wasn’t one for bodies of water. As a girl she had slipped into a river, being carried under by the current. It was a miracle someone was able to pull her from the depths. After that she steered clear of all water.

“How about you?” She found herself asking, she presumed it was just to fill the awkward silence that lingered between them.

“I am. But I trust everyone will get it done.” He seemed more optimistic than everyone else. A smile tugged at her lips. Admiring the faith he held in the men. She admired them too but secretly. She didn’t need to tell them, their heads big enough as it was.

“What’s your role?” He asked as they ate.

“Sharpshooter.” She covered her full mouth to speak. He nodded, smiling to himself. She didn’t think she had seen someone smile so much, she had forgotten the feeling. It was rare now for Y/N to smile, she had grown accustomed to wearing a blank mask, hiding all of her emotions.

“You must be a great shot.” He grinned at her as he nudged her in the side with his elbow. A smile formed on the girl’s lips, her hand instinctively going to cover her mouth to hide it. Webster’s hand shot out stopping her motions.

“Don’t hide it.” He beamed, pulling her hand down. The gesture made her blush. She cleared her throat, shaking the odd giddy feeling that fluttered in her heart.

They chatted together while they ate. Webster had some interesting stories, it was a bonus he had such good storytelling abilities. He gestured wildly, eyes lighting up as he explained. It had enraptured Y/N, who watched intently. Becoming so immersed in his stories she could see them, reach out her hand and touch them. It had taken her mind off of the upcoming events, until they were pulled away to prepare.

Darkness fell quickly, but the moon sat high in the sky shining down, illuminating the world around them. So much for the cover of night. They snuck onto the bank, only having the essentials with them. Y/N tried not to think of the river they were going to have to cross, a sick feeling stuck in her stomach. She blew out a shaky breath trying to keep her composure.

They moved quickly, hopping into the boats. They squished into the small rubber dinghy. Y/N kept her eyes trained on the shore line, not wanting to stare into the murky water below. It was a quick trip, to her relief their boat had made it in one piece. She couldn’t say the same for the last boat that tipped before they had even properly left the shore.

They crawled quietly up the bank as they made their way to the house that was their target. Moving swiftly through the dark town, they paused just before the house. Y/N followed orders flanking up the side to guard the men while they moved into the house. Her eyes scanned the houses that were shrouded in the dark, her gun at the ready. She didn’t let the commotion of the snatch break her concentration.

She ducked down further into the bushes as machine gun rounds fired beside her. Standing from her position she shot back.

“Y/L/N fall back! We’re moving out!” Martin called her from her spot. She ran up the rear of the group keeping her head low. Everyone fell back as more gunfire pelted around them. Mortar shells hitting the ground with tremendous force boomed around them, as they all B-lined for the boats. Lt. Jones finally blowing the whistle for their men on the other side to hold suppressing fire. So that the team could return back safely.

Y/N leaped into the boat helping the other men in as well. Grabbing Webster’s hand to pull him in.

“Move, move! Let’s go.” She yelled seeing that the boat was full. The men pulled the line, moving them back across the water. Y/N eyes trained on the shore, almost there.

The rope they were pulling caught on Y/N’s jacket, being perched in the rear of the boat it dragged her back. Her hands shot out trying to grasp anything to keep her inside the boat. A scream left her lips as she toppled into the freezing river.

The water so cold she couldn’t help but gasp, drawing water into her lungs. It burned as it rushed down her throat. Clawing at the water to reach the surface. Desperate to clear her lungs from the burning liquid. Her heavy uniform dragged her down further.

Hands plunged down gripping her by her collar, hauling her to the surface. She choked and spluttered on the air. Coughing wretchedly, her lungs yearning for oxygen. She was pulled back into the boat. A familiar face looking worriedly down at her. Webster had pulled her from the water.

“I got you! You’re ok!” He yelled over all the noise, as she still gasped for air. They finally made it to the shore. Y/N still struggling to breath and shivering so hard her bones were clacking. Webster carried her into the house. Placing her on the ground. Y/N turned over on her hands and knees, she was coughing so hard she felt like she could puke.

“Get out of these clothes.” He told her, over all the chaos that was happening around them. Y/N nodded.

“Webster, I need you here.” Martin yelled at the man, as he tried to shout at the German POW’s. Webster didn’t move immediately, still hovering by Y/N.

“Go, go. I’m fine.” She waved him away, pulling off her sodden clothes. Babe seeing what had happened had brought over fresh clothes and Skinny had given her his blanket that he had been using.

After getting into the new uniform, Y/N turned to find Jackson lying on the table, screaming in pain. All she could do was watch. Gene rushed in, moving the boy onto the stretcher. They hadn’t even made it out the door, when another shell hit. Causing everyone to duck for cover. She watched as Jackson choked on his blood and then falling limp onto the stretcher. Gene shook his head, his stare heavy. Jackson had passed. That night Y/N held the men she loved close, as they mourned the loss of their friend.

They had made their way back to base. Sitting in silence. Y/N mind wandered to the bright blue eyes that had peered down at her with such concern. She hadn’t had the chance yet to thank Webster for saving her.

At that moment Webster and Jones walked back into the room, after having dropped off the POW’s. They all were forlorn as they had been told there was to be another patrol tonight. The thought shook Y/N to the core. She didn’t know if she could, she was sure if she was to ride across the river again she would be overcome with panic. She would be a state that couldn’t function, let alone perform a patrol.

She stood from her position. Approaching Webster who lent on the rails of the bunk.

“Can I talk to you?” She asked hesitantly. He nodded following her out of the room. “I just wanted to thank you for saving me last night.” She smiled, a genuine smile.

“Y/N of course I saved you, you would do the same for me.” Webster seemed shocked, he didn’t expect thanks for pulling her from the water.

“I guess I would, but still I wanted to show my appreciation.” She lent forward, placing a kiss to his cheek. Webster gawked at the girl who rushed away quickly, his cheeks flamed pink as he placed his hand to where her lips had been moments ago.

Thankfully for Y/N the patrol had been botched. Winters, not wanting anymore loss of life, told the men they would have a good sleep tonight. That in the morning they would report they made it over but without being able to successfully capture any prisoners. Everyone was ecstatic, Y/N was so relieved she turned and hugged the closest person to her, squeezing them tightly in her arms. The person wrapped their arms around her back, heart beating wildly as he held her back. After pulling away the pair looked like strawberries, with their faces flaming red.

After they had finally moved off the line, Webster and Y/N had become fast friends. As time passed they weren’t easily separated. They were often teased, mostly by Lieb, at how they were so in love. The pair brushed it off. “I just like him as a friend.” Y/N groaned as Lieb taunted her once more with the song he thought he was so clever in singing.

“Webster and Y/N, sitting in a tree, k i s s i n g, first come love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in the baby carriage.” Lieb sang with his smug looking face. Y/N swatted at him, missing terribly due to how drunk she was. They had found their way into the eagle's nest, Hitler’s personal holiday home. The Germans had finally surrendered and Hilter himself was dead. Good riddance, Y/N thought as she tipped more wine into her mouth, puckering at the taste. She had never been a drinker but the news of the war finally being over caused for celebration.

Lieb stood smiling, swaying slightly on his feet, “To you my good friend!” He raised his bottle in the air, as Y/N did the same with a cheer. They clinked the bottles together, tipping their heads back to gulp the alcohol.

“I’m so fucking drunk.” Y/N giggled, the room spun around her. Putting her bottle down on the ground, she stood. “I need to find someone?” It was a question, did she? She wasn’t sure, she had an urge to find someone, but she couldn’t remember who. She wandered away leaving Lieb sprawled on the couch. She wandered around, looking for someone, or no maybe something.

Big french doors caught her attention, the view that lay just behind it was spectacular. The big blue lake that glistened in the warm sun, the rolling mountains either side covered in lush forests. She swung the door open, stepping out on the balcony. She tilted her head back drinking in the rays of sun that danced on her skin.

“Enjoying yourself?” She heard to her right, her eyes flew open landing on the owner of the voice. Webster sat in a chair book in his lap. A wide grin pulled onto her face, “I was looking for you!” She cheered, rushing forward. But in her drunk state her brain was moving slower than her body. Her foot catching on the leg of the chair that sat opposite Webster. She flew forward, landing in the man’s lap. She roared with laughter as she held onto him.

“Always saving me huh?” She grinned, booping the man on his nose. He chuckled, looking at the very clearly drunk girl on his lap.

“Didn’t you know I was a knight in shining armor?” She threw her head back laughing at his joke. She focussed back onto the man’s face in front of her. Her eyes scanned over his features. His bright blue eyes gazed back at her, making her heart flutter. She couldn’t help herself, reaching out ever so gently tracing his face with her fingertips. He stilled, as she softly touched his face. Webster wondered if Y/N could hear his heart drumming in his chest.

“Webster.” She whispered, their faces inches apart. “I think I like you.” She confessed suddenly. The drunk haze that held her vanished. She had never felt more sober.

“I like you too, Y/N.” He said sweetly, but he didn’t quite get the meaning behind her words.

“No, Webster, I like you.” She repeated herself, putting more emphasis on the words. He nodded looking lost. She laughed, shaking her head. She pressed her lips to his. He was startled at first, eyes wide, looking down at Y/N as she kissed his lips. It had finally clicked in his brain. Oh she likes me! He moved his lips against hers. Cupping her face in his hands, he deepened the kiss. She clung to him, pulling herself nearer to the man. She opened her mouth as their tongues met, dancing together. Y/N pulled back grinning at the man.

“Does that make sense?” She asked teasingly, Webster still slightly baffled, nodded his head. They kissed again, tenderly moving together.

Y/N never had felt more content, lying in Webster's arms as he read to her. They lay on the chair in the sun, his arm draped lazily around her side, his fingers tracing shapes over her hip as he read. She closed her eyes, head against his chest, she could hear his voice from deep in his chest and the steady thrum of his heart.

—-----------------------

“Batter up!” Buck motioned for Webster to step up to the plate. Y/N and Webster had been secretly-not-so-secretly dating after their kiss on the balcony. Everyone was happy for them, apart from the threats from the men, “If you hurt her, I’ll feed you to the fishes!” Lieb had marched up to him in an intimidating manner, prodding him in the chest with his finger. They all had been very supportive of the pair. They were teased constantly about it but they laughed together.

Webster approached the plate, readying his bat above his head, getting into the correct stance. He looked over to where Y/N sat in the grass waiting for her turn next to bat. He gave her a sly wink, “This is for you.” He called as the other men shook their heads at his cringey gesture. Y/N stifled her laugh behind her hand giving him a thumbs up.

“Come on PeeWee let’s get Webster.” Buck called, the men cheering in response. The pitcher threw the ball, it arched nicely as Webster eyed it up. He swung but didn’t make contact with the baseball, Buck catching it behind him.

“STRIKE ONE!” Buck yelled. Y/N facepalmed as the other men roared with laughter. Readying himself again.

“This one's for you!” He pointed the bat in Y/N’s direction. She laughed, throwing her head back. The other men gave playful boo’s. Another great pitch and Webster swung again, ensuring he had his eye on the ball.

“Swing and a miss!” Buck yelled, catching the ball again. Webster stood dumbstruck, how had he missed that. Everyone howled with laughter, including himself, as he scratched his head nervously.

“Next one you’re out. Web!” Buck warned him. He gave a nervous chuckle. He really had to pay attention. Y/N watched hoping her wouldn’t dedicate the hit for her, it seemed to be putting the poor man off.

“Ok, this time, this one is for you!” He said less confident than when he had started. She clapped, cheering, “You got this one Web!” Trying to hide her embarrassment for him.

She hid behind her hands, peeking through her fingers as he got ready. Placing the bat behind him, crouching down slightly. The ball was thrown by the pitcher, it soared through the sky, the group collectively holding their breath. Surely he would hit it! Dejected sighs came from the group.

“STRIKE THREE, you’re out.” Webster looked upset, dropping the bat and shuffling away from the plate. Y/N ran up giving him a hug and a kiss. “Aww next time Web.” She teased the man she loved.

It was her turn to bat, Webster watched her get prepared, swinging the bat behind her head. The ball was pitched, she swung. A crack echoed as the ball was hit away by Y/N. It soared over the heads of all the men, all the way to the back of the field they played on.

“GO Y/N GO!” Webster cheered, she dropped the bat. Sprinting from base to base, stopping hesitantly on the second base. The ball was being thrown back home in quick succession.

“Take it all the way, Y/N!” Webster cheered like a proud dad would. She ran as fast as she could, Lieb close behind her, reaching out to touch her with the ball. She dived onto the home base. Lieb followed her down, as they landed in a heap of limbs. They look up at Buck waiting for the answer.

“SAFE!” He called. Y/N squealed in delight, blowing a raspberry at Lieb, who just laughed. She sprung to her feet, and jumped into the arms of Webster. “That one was for you!” She said as she pressed her lips to his.

#band of brothers #band of brothers fanfic #hbo war #david webster #this one is for you #love you web #you silly billy #Kermit the dog #man

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murdrdocs · 5 months ago

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spent an hr and a half reading this and pt 2 in the middle of the night. life is so back

give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin.

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine.

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight.

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son.

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either.

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall.

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father.

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together.

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma.

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up.

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head.

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms.

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household.

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating.

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?”

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

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