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neferaskingdom · 2 months ago

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♡ You're Family | CL16

PART OF MY IS IT CASUAL NOW? SERIES

Summary: It's hard being casual when my favorite bra lives in your dresser, And it's hard being casual when I'm on the phone talking down your brother.

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After the summer break, things between her and Charles shift in subtle but undeniable ways. He goes back to racing, and she falls into a comfortable rhythm at home, taking care of Leo and focusing on work. But her world feels fuller now, punctuated by unexpected calls, invitations, and little gestures that keep her close to the Leclercs, even when Charles is away.

It starts with Pascale, who invites her over one afternoon for coffee. It’s warm and welcoming, the kind of invitation that makes her feel like she’s known Pascale forever. “Come, sit down, ma belle,” Pascale says, guiding her to a cozy seat in the kitchen. She fusses over her with warmth that feels so genuine it makes her chest ache.

“You know, it’s ridiculous that Charles hasn’t introduced us sooner,” Pascale chides, shaking her head. “I told him, ‘If you’re serious about someone, we should meet her, no?’”

She feels her cheeks warm but laughs it off. “Oh, I don’t know if you’d call it serious. We’re just…”

Pascale waves a hand, dismissing her words. “Please, I’ve seen the way he talks about you. We know when it’s serious.” She pours coffee into a delicate cup and hands it to her, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Plus, the way he sulks when you’re at work—he’s like a lost puppy. We tease him for it!”

And just like that, Pascale has her laughing and sharing stories, making her feel like part of the family. Before she knows it, these coffee dates turn into a regular thing, and Pascale even insists on cutting her hair, brushing away her protests with a gentle but firm hand. They chat and laugh, talking about everything from family to work, and she leaves every time feeling a bit more like she belongs.

Then there’s Charlotte. One day, she calls, suggesting a girls’ day out, just the two of them. They roam the city, stopping at boutiques and trying on sunglasses, gossiping and laughing over coffee like old friends. Charlotte is sharp, witty, and fun, making her feel completely at ease.

“So, you’ve really got Charles wrapped around your finger, huh?” Charlotte teases as they browse the racks of a boutique. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this smitten since… well, ever.”

She rolls her eyes, brushing off the comment with a laugh. “Smitten? He’s just… we’re just friends.”

“Right,” Charlotte says with a knowing smile. “And I’m just the Queen of England.”

Then there’s Arthur. They start chatting more, mostly joking around after he realizes she’s following his races, and she finds herself quickly warming to him. Arthur is loud, playful, and full of life, and they click almost instantly. They trade inside jokes, and after a particularly hard race, he texts her sounding completely drained.

Arthur: "Rough night. I don’t think I’m cut out for this sometimes."

You: "Hey, that’s not true. You’re amazing — you know that, right?"

Arthur: "Maybe. But sometimes it’s hard to remember. Everything feels stacked against me."

So she called him, letting him vent as he rambled about the pressures of racing, the constant comparisons to Charles, and the weight he carried. She offered gentle reassurances, reminding him of his strengths and how far he’d come.

At one point, she said softly, “Arthur, you’re going to be incredible. I know it. And you know Charles would be the first to say that too.”

After a pause, he replied, a little more lighthearted, “You know, you’re like the family therapist at this point.”

She laughed. “Guess I’m putting in overtime then.”

By the end of the call, he sounded much better, his spirits lifted, and they both promised to catch up in person soon.

But it’s when Charles is back in town that things really start to feel different. He’s even clingier than before, draping himself over her whenever he’s home, complaining dramatically about his “stolen” family.

“Honestly, I go away for two weeks, and suddenly, you’re maman’s new favorite?” he grumbles one night, leaning his head on her shoulder as they lounge on his couch. “Arthur calls you more than he calls me, you know.”

She laughs, nudging him playfully. “Oh, come on, it’s not like they’ve replaced you. Besides, you’re the one who left me with your family!”

“Yeah, but they’re my family,” he insists with a pout, his eyes gleaming with that familiar spark of mischief. “Honestly, you’re all I think about when I’m away, and then I come back, and I have to share you with everyone else? Unacceptable.”

“You poor thing,” she says mockingly, patting his cheek. “Must be so hard for you, having people who love you.”

Charles grins, leaning closer until his face is just inches from hers. “Oh, it is. I think you should make it up to me.”

The way he says it makes her heart race, and they end up tangled together until she can’t think straight. One thing leads to another, and the next morning, she playfully grumbles about needing to go back to her apartment to grab fresh clothes.

“Honestly, Charles, I swear you’ve destroyed half my wardrobe at this point,” she teased, reaching for her phone. “I don’t think I have any underwear left.”

Charles smirked from where he leaned against the doorway, still looking far too pleased with himself. “Check the top drawer of my wardrobe.”

She raised an eyebrow, giving him a curious look. “What?”

“Go on, take a look.”

Confused but intrigued, she opened the drawer, her eyes widening as she took in the sight: a stack of her clothes, neatly folded. T-shirts, a couple of sweaters, even some underwear — and her favorite bra. She gasped, lifting it up and shooting him an accusing look.

“Charles! You kept my favorite bra?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “You leave things here all the time anyway, so I just… organized. It’s more practical this way. Now you don’t have to go all the way home every time.”

She couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You made me a drawer?”

“Of course,” he said, walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Gotta make sure my friend is comfortable.”

She rolled her eyes, feeling warmth spread through her chest. “If this is just friendship, Charles, I’d hate to see you with someone you actually care about.”

He chuckled, tilting her chin up and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’d just be even worse,” he murmured, eyes sparkling.

The words, though playful, lingered with her. The closeness, the drawer, his mother’s invitations — they all hinted at something deeper than what they’d agreed on. But every time she’d try to piece together her thoughts, he’d pull her back in, and she’d find herself giving in, trying not to read into every little sign.

As things grew deeper, she found herself wrestling with her feelings more and more, unsure of where she stood. Despite the time spent together, despite the way his family had practically adopted her, she kept reminding herself that they were just friends. That’s all they’d agreed on, after all.

But Charles’s actions often left her wondering. The drawer, the constant calls, the way he made sure to always check in on her… it felt like more. And yet, whenever she started thinking like that, he’d casually brush it off with a laugh, leaving her both hopeful and hesitant.

One morning, just as he was heading out for another meeting, he casually mentioned, “Oh, by the way, Charlotte called. She wants to meet up with you tomorrow.”

She raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Oh? For what?”

He shrugged, buttoning up his jacket with that effortless confidence he had. “Wedding stuff, I think? She said she needed your help picking some things out.”

She blinked, surprised. “Wedding stuff? Isn’t that more… you know, family stuff?”

Charles glanced at her, looking amused by her confusion. “Exactly. That’s why she wants you there.”

Her heart stuttered, the implications of his words hitting her harder than she expected. She stood there, watching him as he finished getting ready, too shocked to find the words. Did he even realize what he’d just implied? Did he know what that invitation meant?

Unbothered by her inner turmoil, he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “Don’t overthink it,” he said softly, his eyes crinkling with a familiar warmth. “I’ll be back early tonight.”

And with that, he was out the door, leaving her standing there, the weight of her growing feelings settling over her like a heavy blanket.

In the silence that followed, she let out a shaky breath, her thoughts spiraling. Somewhere along the way, she’d crossed an invisible line — a line she couldn’t pretend didn’t exist anymore. She was in too deep, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could keep up the pretense.

Taglist: @dullypully @sageskiesf1 @firefirevampire @eloriis @meadhbhcavanagh @raweceeks @amyelevenn @leclrcg @anunstablefangirl @chaoswithus @spngirl05 @bigdickdannyric1

@doofenshmirtzevil-inc @linneaguriii @gaslysainz @leclercdream

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luvdsc · 2 months ago

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TIFU by getting hit by a car over labubus that i was trying to get for the girl i like.

a broken arm is temporary. labubus (and winning your affection) are forever.

pairing :: lee donghyuck x reader genre :: comedy, fluff ⋮ friends to lovers au word count :: 4,751 words warnings :: haechan gets hit by a car but it's not graphic playlist :: the cutest pair (regina song) ⋆ buy me presents (sabrina carpenter) ⋆ buzz (niki) ⋆ soft spot (keshi) ⋆ everything i want (beabadoobee) author’s note :: happy new year, honey bees !!! here's another f2l fic, like is anyone surprised at this point? happy 4 year friendversary (plus 4 days) to moon and me, it'll be 5 years on april fool's with lana, and luvdsc officially turns 6 on the 8th !! ily all sm and thank you so so much for all the support and love these past 6 years, honey bees ᥫ᭡ ↳ part of a nonsense christmas: reddit edition collaboration series.

i. if you were a wise man, (you wouldn’t put your life on the line for bug eyed dolls)

r/TIFU

u/ifyouseekamy-yn3435 • 1d

TIFU by getting hit by a car over labubus that I was trying to get for the girl I like

I (24M) was trying to rush to be first in line at the Popmart grand opening and arrived at 11 PM the night before. The girl I like is really into Labubu and Dimoo, and the new store will be fully stocked, first come first serve. I got in line and was fifth in waiting to get into the store. But before that, I had to sit in my car until midnight when people started lining up outside the mall entrance. It got too rowdy though, so the security guard yelled for everyone to go back to the parking structure. Obviously, people slowly inched their way back to the entrance again after pretending to leave, so I made sure to nab a spot by hiding in the bushes closest to the mall doors. Finally at 8 AM, they let us inside and I sprinted into the mall past almost everyone else. I secured the goods (have a seat set, exciting macaron set, wings of fortune, happy halloween party, fall in wild, flip with me) and happily made it out. This was going to be the best Christmas present for the girl I like, and therefore increase my chances of her saying yes to a date. But there was someone driving at way more than 15mph in the mall parking lot and with no care for stop signs and pedestrian walkways. So they ran over a few orange cones before coming to a stop after hitting the biggest speed bump aka me. Now I’m left with a broken arm, a couple bruised ribs, and hopped up on pain meds in the hospital on Christmas day with nothing else to do except post on reddit

⥣ 2,548 ⥥ 280 Comments

farts-and-minecrafts205 • 16h did you secure the goods tho ??? are they ok ??

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.3k ⥥

ifyouseekamy-yn3435 • 13h Yes right when I saw the car coming, I made sure to lovingly cradle the labubus in my arms. I didn’t let them hit the ground even after I was in the fetal position in the middle of the parking lot and my ribs acted like their airbags ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.7k ⥥

smoothkriminal423 • 12h thank god the resale prices would go down if they got scratched

➥ Reply ⥣ 949 ⥥

ifyouseekamy-yn3435 • 3h gtfo of here fake ass mj stan ➥ Reply ⥣ 452 ⥥

T1NF01LH4T323 • 1h when you got hit, did you go hee hee or goofy’s chuckle ➥ Reply ⥣ 1.1k ⥥

0rgasm-d0n0r813 • 9h can I have the labubus she doesn’t want

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.4k ⥥

pissrevolver1122 • 3h reselling labubus here!!! pm for prices

➥ Reply ⥣ 331 ⥥

ii. baby you would drop, every other ho ho ho, and put me on top

Lee Donghyuck is down bad.

Actually, let’s circle back to that. He is utterly, horrifically, astronomically down bad. There is no other way to describe the situation unfolding in front of him right now because why is he letting you sit at his desk in front of his prestige, top of the art gaming set up, complete with the comfiest gaming chair, matching keyboard with rainbow lighting and teddy bear keycaps, and a personally customized Acer Predator Orion 7000 PC with a miniature arcane Jinx figurine inside it?

Meanwhile, he is seated on the edge of his bed, precariously balancing your MacBook covered in Sailor Moon and Nanami stickers on his knees and fighting for his life as he dodges attacks from Samira and Leona, quickly putting up a shield on his Lulu. Sure, it was stupid to play as Lulu when he’s in the dragon lane, but in his defense, he wanted to try a new AP setup and thought Mark would be a better support than this, what with the obscene amount of money he spent on all those Seraphine skins. If Mark had spent even half the amount of hours as the amount of dollars he blew on those skins, he would be doing better than 0:3:0 within the first five minutes of the game.

“Mark, dude, are you trying to lose on purpose or have you always been naturally gifted at sucking ass?” Donghyuck grits out between his teeth, his fingers moving across the keyboard at top speed, not even sure if his friend can hear him through his wired Apple earphones since he has so graciously let you borrow his top tier headphones, too (Maybe it’s for the better though. He has a permanent dent in his hair on the top of his head because of them).

You don’t even need the headphones. He has turned off the voice chat option for you because you didn’t need to be hearing the absolute scum that comes from the average league player anyway (Not that you would. Mark has been getting the brunt of it from the rest of the team, himself included). But he wanted to give you the full gamer experience, and you look so cute, perched at his desk and attentively scanning the map, his headphones resting on your head so nicely.

All he gets is radio silence from Mark before he sees K/DA Seraphine inching away towards the middle lane. “Are you kidding me? Y/N, can you move to my lane? Mark is too butt hurt to continue dying in the bot lane, I guess.”

“Yes, do I just follow you around?” you ask, carefully guiding your Ahri towards Haechan’s Lulu, careful to check the upper left map view to make sure no one from the enemy team is lurking around you. You stop briefly to admire her animations, her red nine tails swirling around her, making her look ethereal. “This skin is so pretty, thanks for getting it for me, Hyuck.”

“Oh, sure, anytime,” Donghyuck says as casually as possible, completely ignoring the fact that his wallet is now five hundred dollars lighter, all thanks to one Signature Immortalized Legend skin for Ahri. Even he doesn’t have that skin. But what else was he supposed to do? Not buy it for you after you mentioned liking it after he set up League of Legends on your laptop for you to try a few hours ago (nevermind the fact that he’s the one playing on your MacBook now instead)? You chose Ahri because you wanted to play a pretty champ, and of course, he was going to make sure you get the prettiest skin to go with her.

“Oh my god, did you see that?” you gasp excitedly after you hit E and the orbs from Ahri’s second skill swirl and hit Leona, effectively stealing Donghyuck’s kill. “I got her!”

“Yes, you did, congrats, that’s amazing,” Donghyuck struggles to maintain a happy tone, schooling his expression into a peaceful one with much concentration, but it’s alright. It’s perfectly fine. He’s fine. It’s not like he needed an eighth kill to get the legendary title. He can just go for Samira instead. “Can you aim at Samira and hit W please?”

You carefully follow his instructions, and Ahri’s charm move hits Samira perfectly with the heart, pulling the enemy towards your Ahri and Haechan’s Lulu. With a victorious cry, he takes out the enemy and secures the legendary title.

“You’re doing really well,” he compliments you, and your cheeks grow warm as you click at the screen, pretending to focus even more on taking down the opponent’s turret as you answer sheepishly. “Thank you, it’s really fun.”

“Maybe you can play support next time instead of Mark,” he muses, a satisfactory grin appearing on his face when the two of you finally take down the first turret of the game. “That bastard just stands around and looks pretty. He practically feeds the other team.”

He can hear faint cursing in his headphones from the bastard in question, but he ignores it, opting to focus on the sound of your giggling that makes his heart skip a beat and his cheeks take on a rosy hue.

“Mm, you really think so, Hyuck? I think it’s just all beginner’s luck right now,” you laugh softly, maneuvering Ahri around and following his champ towards the mid lane. “Plus, you’re hard carrying us.”

Your borrowed laptop almost slips off of his lap as your words register in his mind, the soft lilt in your voice making his stomach do cartwheels and somersaults that would even impress Simone Biles. Donghyuck very nearly lets out a high pitched giggle before he remembers to get a goddamn grip on himself and hastily clears his throat. “Nah, I think the jungle is doing really well, too. And you’re keeping up with us.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes light up, and he swears they’re even prettier and sparkle more than the one house that goes out all on the Christmas light decorations at the end of the street. “Maybe we can play together more then.”

He swallows hard, eyes zeroing on the screen in front of him so he wouldn’t seem as eager as he really is secretly. “Sure, that sounds great.”

“Great, it’s a date,” you say lightly, and Donghyuck immediately stops breathing and promptly drops the laptop onto the carpeted floor, his Lulu getting instantly KOed in the game while Mark swears loudly in his earphones.

ii. spend your cookie dough, dough, dough, spend it on my heart

It’s times like these that Donghyuck really has to sit and think hard about what the actual fuck he is doing with his life. It’s not like he has anything else to do anyway. He’s sitting in the nearly empty mall parking lot at 11 PM, preparing to camp out in front of the entrance just to make sure he’d be one of the first people to enter Popmart and buy all those Labubus you’ve mentioned that you’ve been wanting.

He’s tried for months now, obsessively refreshing the Popmart app on his phone and iPad in addition to refreshing the website on his computer at 10 PM sharp on Thursdays in hopes of snagging just one of them for you. He’s even made a whole account, added his credit card in for fast payments, and watched those stupid 24/7 TikTok lives from the Popmart accounts just in case they release any on there as well. All he ended up with was no Labubus and two hundred thirty dollars short because he discovered that they had a K/DA figurine collaboration and obviously, he immediately bought the whole set.

But his prayers were answered in a convoluted way because news dropped that a new Popmart was opening nearby on December 24th, which meant it would be fully stocked with all the Labubus you want, and he’d be damned if he let this opportunity pass. It was both a curse and a blessing. What kind of corporate devil chooses their grand opening to be on Christmas Eve? So that leads to his current predicament: sitting in his car, about to brave the cold for the next 10 hours outside for some dumb dolls and fighting through the last minute Christmas shoppers during the hours after that.

Donghyuck puts on a couple more extra layers, including a giant Canada Goose jacket for good measure, and stuffs his pockets with an external battery charger, some power bars, and a water bottle. Finally, he makes peace with the fact that this is what his life has come down to, that he really is this down bad for you, and he gets out of his car, shuffling over to the entrance and standing in line with all the other men who are probably there to get Labubus for their girlfriends and wives. They all give each other the nod in solidarity, and so begins the wait.

He sits with his back against the wall, huddled up in his puffer jacket and pulling out his phone to play Wild Rift to pass the time. If one game averages between 15 - 30 minutes, then he only needs to play 20 - 40 games. That’s not so bad, he reasons with himself, tapping the screen idly while he waits for the matchmaking to complete. He can do this.

By 5 AM, there’s a large crowd of people waiting, the noise level going up and some shoving going on. He quickly steels himself and stays firmly planted in his spot. He will be getting those damn dolls, no matter what. When the security guard comes out to break up the rowdy crowd, he quickly slips behind the nearby bushes lining the mall, taking advantage of the commotion. Once again, he settles down in the dirt, hunched over and playing his game, dignity lost but his place in line still in sight. Donghyuck really hopes no one he knows sees him here.

At 8 AM, one of the Popmart store managers takes pity on the growing crowd (who returned less than an hour later after the security guard got tired of monitoring them) and opens the mall doors. He quickly pops out of the bushes, no doubt scaring a couple people but he couldn’t care less at this point, and sprints into the mall, beelining it to the figurine store and securing his spot as fifth in line. He hastily brushes off the dirt clinging to the seat of his pants and any twigs in his hair before waiting impatiently.

Finally, by 9 AM, Donghyuck has secured the goods at last, clutching onto four large bags filled with two full sets of Labubu blind boxes, two of the larger dolls, and three special plush keychains (he ignores the email notification from his bank asking if he had made this purchase). Strutting with his head held high, he would do a hair flip if his hands weren’t so occupied with carrying out half the store’s supply of Labubus. He proudly walks through the mall with his long coveted purchases, feeling even more triumphant than when he reached grandmaster in League and ranked in the top 200 for Master Yi.

Unfortunately, Lady Luck always gets to have the last laugh because Donghyuck barely makes it out the door before he finds himself lying flat across the crosswalk pavement. A loud yelp escapes from his lips as he instinctively grips onto his shopping bags, curling around them protectively as pain shoots up around his ribcage and forearm. He wants to laugh or cry or maybe do both simultaneously.

This has to be a joke. All that work, all that humiliation, just to be bested by someone’s god awful, hideous Cybertruck. He’s about to become the modern day Scrooge because all the ghosts must have come together to put up an even bigger middle finger salute to him since he just had to get hit with that fugly monstrosity to top it all off.

God damn it all, where the fuck was Edward Cullen when Donghyuck needed him the most?

The universe really didn’t want him to get those ugly dolls. He should have taken the L in defeat and read all the foreshadowing signs when he couldn’t get them every time he tried before that because now the universe is out of balance, and he had to pay for it. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction after all. Man plans, god laughs.

Jokes on the big man upstairs though because his Labubus are all still nestled safely in his arms in (hopefully) pristine condition, and they’d have to be pried from his cold, dead hands (which honestly, might be soon). Is this how Emily felt in “Devil Wears Prada” when she got hit by a taxi and all those Hermes scarves went flying (correction: floating) around her? He glances down just to see the fall in wild Labubu pendant smirking back at him mockingly, still in its perfect packaging and in his shaking clutches. He desperately wants to punch its smug little face, but his arm is unfortunately twisted in an unnatural position at the moment.

Donghyuck is knocked out of his stupor when he hears the sounds of the driver quickly clambering out from their seat, hurrying towards him and kneeling down, asking if he’s okay. Someone else is asking him if he wants them to call someone, and he faintly registers the excruciating pain in his ribs and the way he landed on his arm. Clenching his teeth, he closes his eyes before managing to croak out feebly:

“Are all the Labubus okay?”

iii. if you’re not gonna race here from the north pole to beverly hills the hospital, just to keep my stocking filled

When you wake up extremely late past noon on Christmas morning, you definitely do not expect the huge flurry of texts and missed calls on your phone. And more importantly, you most definitely do not expect to find out that Donghyuck is in the hospital. With your heart dropping to your stomach, you hastily get dressed and grab your keys, entering the hospital address Renjun texted you into your Apple Maps as you rush to your car.

Making a quick detour to the bakery he likes, you get a couple slices of Mont Blanc for him before continuing on the route to the hospital. You haphazardly park your car before hurriedly speed walking through the automatic entrance doors, clutching tightly onto the box of baked goods as you get into the elevator and finally reach his room.

“Hyuck?” you say tentatively, knocking on the door and peering inside, relief filling you instantly when you see him seated upright in the hospital bed, awake and pouting. Along with all the balloons and flowers his friends must’ve dropped off earlier, there’s an unusually large pile of Popmart bags in the corner of his room, but you don’t question it at the moment. His heart rate spikes on the monitor, and you look at it in concern before his loud sigh brings your focus back to him.

“What took you so long?” Donghyuck huffs dramatically, trying to cross his arms over his chest as best he could with one arm in a cast. “I texted you this morning, didn’t I?”

“I just woke up like 45 minutes ago and rushed here,” you defend yourself lightly, dropping the cake box on the stand next to him, and his eyes instantly light up before he remembers that he’s supposed to be upset and turns his nose at you slightly.

“It’s 3 PM, what do you mean you just woke up? You forgot about me, didn’t you?” he huffs softly, peeking over at the cake for a split second and then resumes pouting at you, his lower lip jutting out slightly.

“I, uh, I stayed up late, trying to catch up on my game,” you avoid eye contact, cheeks growing warmer as you try to excuse yourself, tripping over your words in haste. “There’s this Touring in Love event going on right now and I wanted to get the limited four star card for Zayne, so I had to get more game currency in the event store, not to mention, I needed to get more gems to pull on the current five star banner because I lost my pity to the Sylus card a—”

“Is this that otome game you’re into?” Donghyuck interrupts, and your face feels like a burning furnace now.

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe it. I lost to a bunch of pixels,” he sighs a second time, flopping back against his pillows gingerly to not aggravate his bruised ribs but to also emphasize his sulkiness further. “You were too busy visiting your AI generated boyfriend in the hospital, instead of visiting me.”

“I was asleep!” you protest lightly before picking up the cake again and holding up your peace offering, “The second I woke up and saw the texts, I drove over here. I even got you your favorite cake.”

“I sat here, cold, alone, and in pain, for hours,” he fake sniffles, unabashedly eyeing the cake for a third time before refocusing back on you.

“You’re acting like a real Rafayel right now.”

Donghyuck sulks even more. “He’s not even your favorite in the game.”

“Yes, my favorite works at the hospital, not makes the hospital work,” you tease softly, and he huffs slightly, puffing out his cheeks and making himself look even cuter (though you’re not going to tell him that and make his ego even bigger than it already is).

“Wow, you’re bullying a gravely injured person on Christmas too. You’re cruel. I can’t even do anything, except lie here motionlessly on my deathbed,” he sighs once again, closing his eyes before opening one of them to peek at you and quickly shutting it again once he confirms he has your full undivided attention.

“Renjun texted me literally fifteen minutes ago that he just left your room, and you were asking him to bring you your iPad to do all the dailies for your games,” you deadpan, pulling the chair to the spot next to his bed and settling down in it.

“Renjun is a snitch,” he mutters, relaxing against his pillows and accepting the cake after you open the box and place it on the tray attached to his bed. He takes a bite of the sweet goodness, humming slightly in content.

“So, your type is quiet, serious guys who work at hospitals?” Donghyuck says casually, scooping up another bite of the cake, and you nearly choke, fumbling over your words.

“W-Well, yeah, I guess, but it’s just a game. And um, he’s quite pretty.” You clear your throat slightly giving him a mischievous smile. “Why? Are you interested?”

“In you? Yeah, I thought I made myself pretty obvious all the time,” he states matter-of-factly, almost as if he’s reading off today’s news headlines or the weather, and you choke for real this time, coughing slightly.

“Anyway,” Donghyuck continues, taking another bite of his cake after handing you a water bottle which you quickly accept and sip, calming down your throat. “Do you think you can maybe go for a Rafayel guy in the near possible future? More specifically, one minute into the future?” He gives you a small smirk, batting his eyelashes at you. “I’m also pretty enough, aren’t I? Once I’m out of this hospital gown and in my usual clothes, I’d be even prettier.”

You laugh softly, tilting your head slightly as you look at him, hiding your smile. “I guess I could be convinced. Why one minute though?”

“Because I’m about to ask you out,” he answers immediately.

Your cheeks grow exponentially warmer once again, and you swallow nervously before masking it with a confident expression, teasing him, “Then go on. Ask me out.”

Donghyuck’s cheeks turn a rosy color as the realization of what he’s about to do finally kicks in (and perhaps, the pain medication has started to wear off slightly, so the post clarity is hitting him). Once again, the monitor shows a spike in his heart rate, and he curses it internally when he sees you glancing at it with a knowing smile. It’s an even worse snitch than Renjun. He clears his throat, sitting up as straight as he possibly can in this state, “Will you, Y/N, go out with me and be the very first person to sign my cast?”

You giggle before nodding, sending him a giddy smile as your heart thumps loudly in your chest, an explicable warm feeling spreading throughout your body and kicking up butterflies in your stomach. “Yes, I’ll go out with you.”

He immediately lights up, beaming at you. “Yeah? Wanna seal it with a kiss? I would if I could.”

Another peal of laughter bubbles up in your throat, but you oblige, leaning in and pressing your lips against his gently, the faint taste of caramel lingering on his lips. The kiss is sweet and smooth, fitting for him, and the loud beeping from his heart monitor increases almost immediately, much to his chagrin. You laugh softly against his lips at the sound, making his cheeks flush even redder if possible, and give him another soft kiss before pulling away.

“We should stop before we alert the nurses,” you tease softly, and he stammers, unable to come up with a smartass response for once in his life.

Your face is still warm as you busy yourself with uncapping the sharpie pen on the table next to him and work on signing his cast, writing your name out in pretty loopy cursive and a get well soon message, dotting any i’s with cute hearts that mirror the ones in Donghyuck’s eyes as he gazes at you.

“Didn’t the guys visit you? Why didn’t they sign your cast?”

“I wanted you to be the first one. Girlfriend privileges, and all that,” he answers lightly, and your heart skips a beat at your new title. You wonder if you’ll get used to it.

“Oh, really? I’m honored.”

“You should be,” Donghyuck says with a confident nod, and you can’t help but laugh, leaning in and pressing another kiss against his cheek. His cheeks turn crimson, and you notice, prompting you to leave another soft kiss against them and causing them to become an even embarrassingly darker shade of red as he stutters slightly, rendered speechless.

Yeah, you definitely can get used to these girlfriend privileges.

“So you won the real life boyfriend pity with me, right?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

iv. well i know somebody who will

r/TIFU

u/ifyouseekamy-yn3435 • 9h

(UPDATE) TIFU by getting hit by a car over labubus that I was trying to get for the girl I like

First off, let me get this straight - I am not reselling any of the Labubus so stop pming me about that. I already gave them to her.

Ok now for the actual update. She visited me at the hospital and insisted that she’d drive me home when I got discharged. She’s really nice and brought me my favorite food. She’s also been bringing me meals everyday and we’re having dates at my place until my arm is fully healed. We have another date later today and we’re gonna watch Tangled and bake cookies. She also got me into blind boxes so now I have another crippling addiction and a shelf in my room just for Dimoos. We have matching Labubus on our bags, and she dressed them up in matching outfits too. She made me install a car seat thing on my AC in my car too so now my Labubu son can sit there when I start driving again. Oh and she has a whole pc setup now to play league and a new game, Infinity Nikki and I started playing it with her too. The graphics are very pretty. I feel like a pretty princess in my full flutter storm set ଘ(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ ⭒ Wish me luck on the upcoming banners pls I’m saving up for the lunar new year set since she said the franchise usually goes all out for it. So yeah that’s it. We’re dating now! Happy new year to everyone except zayne from love and deepspace /:

⥣ 1,606 ⥥ 273 Comments

farts-and-minecrafts205 • 9h TIFU by asking him about his date and I was stuck on the phone for three hours

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.2k ⥥

pissrevolver1122 • 8h fr OP became even more insufferable after finally scoring a date ➥ Reply ⥣ 809 ⥥

ifyouseekamy-yn3435 • 3h you're just jealous that the only affection you can get is by pretending to be a discord kitten ➥ Reply ⥣ 967 ⥥

mark-mywords-802 • 2h R U UWUKITTENBB69 ??!???! I BOUGHT U SO MANY AKALI SKINS ➥ Reply ⥣ 231 ⥥

John-Doe209 • 3h so is this a pity date or..? maybe she’s looking for a sugar daddy?

➥ Reply ⥣ 1.0k ⥥

ifyouseekamy-yn3435 • 1h SHUT UP SHE LOVES ME ➥ Reply ⥣ ⥥ -204

demure-and-mindfull-of-nanami626 • 2h what did zayne do to you???

➥ Reply ⥣ 526 ⥥

ifyouseekamy-yn3435 • 1h I got hit by a car for you and I still have to compete with that dude 😃 ➥ Reply ⥣ 153 ⥥

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reysdriver · 10 months ago

Text

Keeping It Quiet | E.M.

Eddie comes to visit you when everyone is sleeping... or so you thought — eddie x fem!hopper!reader fluff

warnings: suggestive content, making out, fear of getting caught, jokes about guns/getting shot

words: 1.7k

a/n: idgaf about timeline or continuity with the show when I do this series of oneshots, it's just kind of an alternate version of the show where Hopper is still here around the events of season 4 ig (also I LOVE this gif of joseph omg)

It was late at night, but you weren’t sleeping. You were taking advantage of the quiet house and catching up on some reading that finally wasn’t for school. You laid with the book at the foot of your bed, and your feet dangling over your pile of stuffed animals right by your pillows.

It was so comfortable, you forgot about the world around you.

And you were only brought back by the terrifying sound of someone knocking on your window. It scared you right out of your haze, at least until you looked outside and realised who it was.

Eddie was standing right outside your bedroom wall with a stupid grin on his face, and he was pointing to the windowsill, wordlessly asking you to let him in.

After rolling your eyes and marking your spot in the book, you got up and opened the window for your boyfriend.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, leaning over the separation to peck his lips quickly.

“Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting.” He grunted, using the log you had placed under your window to climb in your room. “You’re not happy to see me?”

“You scared the hell out of me ‘cause you didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

“I didn’t know I was coming over until I was already in my van. I haven’t seen you in forever, plus I had something I wanted to show you.”

The last part was intriguing, but you still wanted to correct his dramatics. You’ve learned that if you didn’t act as the voice of reason sometimes, he would start believing his own exaggerations.

“It’s been two days since you last saw me.” And it didn’t take long for you to give in to whatever he was hiding. “But what is it that I have to see?”

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he flopped down on the end of your bed. He looked up at you with fake sadness. “I should have known you would only like me for material things, Madonna.”

“So what if I was a material girl? You’d still love me anyways.”

He started speaking like he was in the school play, which he would never do. “It’s just sad—”

You jumped towards him to cover his mouth with your hand. As much as you loved his antics and would encourage it at any other time, it was all quiet in your house and you were petrified of waking your family.

“Are you crazy?” You asked him in a hushed scold.

He just nodded happily since he couldn’t speak with your hand still over his mouth.

“If my dad hears you, he’ll burst into the room with a gun in his hand. You might be able to charm the pants off of me effortlessly, but I think you’d get shot if you tried to test your charisma on the chief of police.”

You cautiously took your hand away from Eddie’s face while he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that and show me what you wanted me to see in the first place.” You told him, sternly but lovingly.

“Wow, you really are the chief’s daughter.” He joked as he stood up and took off his leather jacket.

You figured he was just making himself comfortable, but when he started taking off the t-shirt he was wearing underneath the coat, you wondered what was really going on.

Then you saw it.

On his right side, where his rib cage ends, there was a new tattoo. A flaming sword that you knew was based on his current—and favourite—Dungeons and Dragons campaign of his.

He pointed to the pommel of the weapon, which was a heart shaped gemstone.

“Did you see the end? It doesn’t have anything to do with the game, but I designed it while thinking of you.” He smiled at you, and you smiled back. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Eds.” You answered sincerely. “When did you get it done?”

“Friday. Right after your dad picked you up from the mall.”

“Did it hurt?”

He shook his head as he gently pushed you back against your pillows, then positioned himself on top of you.

“Not as much as it hurts to be away from you.”

You had to stifle your own laugh at his corniness. As stupid as it was, you did feel kind of flattered by him at that moment. And that’s exactly why you let him kiss you, despite you being just a few decibels away from your sleeping father waking up and grounding you permanently for sneaking a boy in.

But you pushed all your worries aside and let him press his luscious lips against yours. God, how you couldn’t get enough of that sensation.

You loved how he kissed you just because he likes to kiss you, how he used flavoured chapstick so he could heal his chapped lips, and how he always tasted faintly of cigarettes and the lemon candies you got him hooked on.

You loved all that almost as much as what came next.

When he moved his lips from your mouth to your jaw, and then your neck. He nipped the skin just lightly and then continued to work his magic. You had both noted another time just like this that your bodies must be made for each other, and this exact moment was perfect proof for that claim.

“Oh, god, Eddie. You’re so good at this.” You praised, trying to keep your voice down.

He mumbled an ‘mhm?’ against your throat. He was such a sucker for your affirmations.

“Yeah. Just be careful not to leave a bruise.”

Eddie lifted his head up, causing your face to morph into a frown from the expression of pleasure just a second ago.

“You don’t want little reminders of my love?” He asked, lips exaggeratedly pouted.

“Not when my family can see them, loverboy.”

He seemed satisfied with that response, returning his attention to you and practically attacking your neck with his kisses. The way his mouth was worshipping your neck damn near put you in a trance. It was so good that you didn’t even notice the soft knock at your door, nor the opening that followed it.

When your younger sister called out your name softly, that’s when you realised the importance of not letting your guard down. You tried to push Eddie off of you as he hadn’t seen Eleven there yet, but he got up quickly once he did notice.

You urged him to sit down and stay silent while you pulled El away from your bedroom and into the bathroom, all while your sister stared at you with a wide-eyed expression.

Eleven was the first one to speak between you two. “Who was that in your room?”

“That was my friend.” You said, partially honest. He was your friend, he was just also more. “His name is Eddie.”

“What were you and Eddie doing?”

You racked your brain, trying to think of something believable to say that would get your sister off your back. You really should have prepared a lie before this, because it was proving to be more difficult than you would have thought; of course, you never really thought about your sister catching you making out with your shirtless boyfriend.

“We were playing.” You answered as confidently as possible.

“Playing?”

You nodded. “Yeah, you know when you and I play-fight, like wrestling? When Dad sometimes thinks we’re hurting each other but we’re really just having fun?”

“So you and Eddie were just having fun?”

“Mhm.” You ran a hand through her hair, feeling somewhat guilty about your lie. “Why? Were you worried about me?”

She didn’t seem fazed at all by your fingers combing through her hair, but her cheeks flooded with pink when you asked if she knocked on your door out of concern for you.

“I heard you were awake and I wanted to know what you were doing.” Eleven told you.

It really was nothing embarrassing, she’s just a shy girl. And now you felt less guilty about lying since you know she was just curious rather than upset.

“Well, I was just playing with my friend. But, don’t tell Dad about Eddie, okay?”

“Why not?”

Another question you didn’t quite have an answer for. Luckily, you were quick enough on your toes that your little sister wouldn’t notice the nonsense spilling from your mouth.

“You know Dad can be a fun sponge sometimes. Like when he spends an hour questioning your friends before you can hang out, or when he won’t let us turn the couch into a pillow fort. If he hears about Eddie, he won’t let us have fun together anymore, and I would be really sad if I couldn’t see my friend.”

She seemed to be eating your excuse up, knowing exactly what you meant.

“Okay. I won’t tell him.” She agreed. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“And I don’t want you to be tired, little lady. So, now that you know what you wanted to learn, how about you go back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, goodnight.”

She opened the slightly creaky bathroom door and headed back to her bedroom, hopefully to fall back asleep soon.

“Goodnight, El. Sleep tight.” You called in a volume just above the whisper you were using just seconds before.

You stood in the bathroom alone after you heard your sister’s bedroom door close. For a minute, you just listened to everything around your house. The quiet wind blowing outside, the sounds of Eddie flipping through your books as he waited for you to come back, and best of all, not a peep from your father’s room.

It was safe to return to Eddie in your bedroom and resume the fooling around from before.

Once you silently pushed open your door, closed it again, and sat down next to your boyfriend on the corner of your bed, he pulled you onto his lap.

“So, we’re in the clear now?” Eddie asked you.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can be any less careful than usual. That just proves my family can hear us, so let’s not be stupid.”

A flirty grin spread across Eddie’s face as he trailed his fingers under your shirt and up your sides. “Baby, I can’t promise anything. Stupid is my middle name.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x hopper!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfiction

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gb-patch · 7 months ago

Text

GB Patch Games: Response About Sensitivity Reader

[Some of you might not have heard of this happening, but I wanted to address it across the board]

Hey everyone,

I want to make a post about the screenshots of comments from one of our sensitivity readers. The situation is that neither me or Rose want people to feel uncomfortable with Our Life: Now & Forever, but Rose hasn’t done anything terribly wrong and isn’t going to be punished.

The comment about OL MCs wasn’t meant to be genuine hatred towards all male players/MCs of OL. Rose wrote a reply about it-

"Hi everyone! This is Rose, I want to address the male MC comment since it was taken wildly out of context and without the lengthy discussion that was after it. I don't hate male MCs, in fact far from it, male MCs are integral to the story in OL:NF as female and trans MCs are. I think the relationship they could potentially have with Qiu could be a great asset in my opinion as they figure out their gender alongside the MC. The discussion itself was about how I noticed players were sticking to heteronormative norms by shipping Tamarack with a man purely out of societal norms than it was genuine thought into the characters and how I personally wished there was more sapphic relationships with Tamarack or just Tamarack with trans characters as a sapphic trans person myself. I didn't mean to offend anyone by it as no one but my friends who understood what I legitimately meant behind my message and it definitely wasn't meant to be seen seriously. I am sorry regardless to anyone I have offended and I love your male MCs regardless."

And most of the comments were about me. I’ve seen screenshots of the full conversations and they’re not as harsh as the cropped snippets made them out to be. It was longer discussions about not including Derek in any base game Moments for no good reason and not having any plus-sized love interests in OL1 because I was afraid players wouldn’t accept it. That’s not a lie, it’s what I decided for the game I created, and it is ridiculous of me. I’m the one who should be feeling embarrassed over how OL1 will forever be that way, not the people who remember that I did that. I’m not perfect and Rose actually cares more about the players than making me feel like I am flawless.

I also don’t want to tone police an employee venting about their boss in private, on their own time. Both the OL games deal with personal, important topics. This is sensitive work, and it can bring up frustrations. Sometimes people do use harsh words among friends, but they wouldn’t ever say it to a person seriously and directly.

I understand if you wouldn’t want to see anyone speak badly of a dev you like, but I promise it’s not a point of contention between me and Rose. I don’t feel mistreated in anyway. Rose genuinely cares about the Our Life series, and that’s why they get fed up with me over certain parts of the game.

Rose has never been unkind or unreasonable to me when working on the project, and their advice is detailed and well-explained. They do care about the game and want it to avoid having content that upsets people because of my own ignorance/shortcomings.

This being shared publicly from a private server is targeting Rose and seems to be a continuation of things that have happened before this. I don’t want this to continue happening. If you do still have concerns over the one comment about the community, you can let me know. But again, I don’t want people being mistrustful of Rose on my behalf for comments about me in conversations with missing context.

Do not send angry messages to Rose about any of this. We’ll do our best so that OL2 will be better than I was before. Thank you to everyone who reads this and participates in the community!

#gb patch #gb patch games #our life #our life: now & forever #our life: beginnings & always

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yourmidnightlover · 8 months ago

Text

the story

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x reader

w/c: 3.5k+

summary: the weeks following bucky ordering that steve be your bodyguard, followed by an insightful night at a gala with your beloved husband.

warnings: mention of the incident with john (groping), slight threats of violence, mention of fear, lip on lip action (the upstairs ones), if i've missed anything please let me know!!

a/n: hiii! the third installment of my forever? series! i didn't even intend for this to be more than one part, but you guys have inspired me to write more for it! my writing schedule is a bit off since i recently started a new job, but i'll try to be a bit consistent with it. i hope you guys enjoy this next part, more to come!

part 2 -> control

the first few weeks with steve as a bodyguard wasn’t too bad. he was actually kinda funny in a grandpa kinda way, and he was an amazing listener. you had bounced a few ideas for your book off of him and he seemed to be very intrigued by some of the plot points you had planned. he even promised to be one of the first customers, right behind bucky (which you may have rolled your eyes at), of course, as long as he was promised a signed copy.

but, at the two month mark you began to miss your independence. of course, the chef bucky had hired was amazing and had years of experience in italian cuisine, but sometimes a girl just wanted some greasy smash burger to chow down on. most nights you ate alone with steve until bucky walked through the front door.

he always seemed beaten down and tired, as though work was more straining than usual. he would shrug his jacket off, place it on the hook by the door, then his shoes on the rack, and walk upstairs to shower before coming downstairs to eat as you and steve were finishing your plates. you tried your best to start conversation, to be the best company you could but eventually the silence always grew awkward and steve would usher you to go upstairs to your room with a pressed smile.

after two months of not really needing to show you off i any way, there was an important gala for him to attend. of course, that means that you were to be his beloved arm candy for the night.

“buck sent me the address for a local boutique that he thinks would be right up your alley,” steve read from his phone as you took a stroll in the garden that was full of beautiful colors. “the appointment is at 3:45, so we have plenty of time to get ready and head there too. oh and he says you should get something in that one shade of green… i’m assuming you know what that is?” his brows raise in confusion, as your mirror his in a stunned expression.

“surprisingly, i do know what he means for once.” about six weeks before the wedding, you had spent an all nighter with him amidst all of the chaotic planning.

“accent colors are super important! right now, all we have is an off white color, and while it’s a good color, i don’t want my wedding to wash everyone out that much,” you shoved his side as you sprawled your binders out on the coffee table.

“i say… green,” he says after pondering for a minute.

“green… like tree green?” you chuckled at the notion.

“i mean the green that’s light yet earthy, not too dark but not scream-in-your-face bright. it’s beautiful. plus, i think you’d look stunning in it,” he shrugs casually as if he hadn’t described a mundane color in such an alluring way.

“so a sage green?”

“maybe more on the jade green side,” he tried to hide a smile as his thumb began to mindly trace nonsense on your thigh.

there was such elegance in the way he described the simple color, as if saying light green wouldn’t have sufficed. clearly, there was a significance to the mundane shade that he felt the need to recommend it.

but you knew not to ask anything further to pry, doubting his readiness to comply so easily so early in your relationship. while it was during the happiest days of your relationship, you still knew he held you at arms length.

at the appointment, you had found several dresses in the perfect color, but only one stood out to you after trying them on. steve was also a good guide in ensuring you were choosing the right one, although you’re sure he would just say every dress looked good regardless.

growing up, you’d read about a love that was so encapsulating that one would rather face death than be without their lover. you’d yearned for that kind of love. the kind of love that was consuming and irreversible. the kind of love where your partner wouldn’t love you in spite of your flaws, but because of them.

and now you were married to a man who didn’t seem to feel an ounce of that towards you. sure, the months leading up to your wedding made it seem otherwise. it made you hopeful that he could maybe grow to love you, as you could grow to love him.

because truthfully, it was hard to see many flaws in the man, other than those that were rumored in the tabloids. you’d read or heard of his anger issues and his lack of patience but abundance of irritability. yet all you’d observed is his laughter, his diligence and compassion.

it was definitely confusing to want to believe these two contradicting tales of composure, but ultimately seeing is believing. you’d decided to believe whatever he showed you, what was right in front of his face rather than believe whatever was whispered in your ear. besides, if something was worth believing it should be said with their full chest rather than in such a low tone.

“almost ready?” bucky’s low voice rang through the door as you were doing finishing touches on your hair, making sure you looked as presentable as possible.

“i just have to put the dress on, and i’ll be ready to go!” you replied, unzipping the bag that the dress came in, even though you suggested that doing so was overkill.

“let me know if you need any help.” you heard a thud from the other side that suggested that he was leaning against the door, waiting to hear if you did happen to need any assistance.

you replied in silence, just stepping into the dress and lifting the straps over your shoulders. it was such a beautifully made gown, truly. it hugged you in the most flattering places, accentuating just the right amount without flaunting too much. the material felt like a warm hug from a lifelong friend, you almost never wanted to take it off.

the only downside was the damn zipper. it was a bit rough to pull over your hips alone, but once you reached your mid back it seemed to reach a snagging stop. you twisted your arms every way possible, trying to avoid the totally cliche scene of calling him in to zip you up.

alas, the universe had other plans for you. although, how much could you complain when that would mean his rough, yet gentle hands would be against your skin…

“...bucky?” your voice meekly called out, trying to interrupt your own thoughts from spiralling down the path you wanted them to so bad.

“yea?” his voice piped up, seeming to jump an octave or two in the process. maybe you jst startled him.

“could you maybe help me zip this thing up?” you became quiet before the twisting of your doorknob broke the silence. “my arms can’t quite contort the way they need to in order to zip this all the way…” you refused to meet his eyes as he trailed inside the room.

the first sign of his presence was his hands grasping your shoulders, lightly tracing down your arms. then he leaned down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, more affectionate than he’d been the entire duration of your marriage without it being prompted.

“you look beautiful,” he pressed another kiss to your other shoulder before letting his hands fall to a respectable place on your waist, stepping back to seemingly find where the zipper got stuck. “but what’s new, right?”

you chuckled at the compliment.

“what’ve you been doing recently?” you asked meekly. “i haven’t seen you much at all since steve started his new gig as my babysitter.”

he sighed, stopping his antics to clarify what he felt he needed to. “he’s not a babysitter. he’s my best friend, and the only person i trust to look after the woman that i-the woman that i married, okay?” you felt his deep breathing on your neck before he continued, “i don’t know where john is yet. john is notorious for taking whatever he thinks is his and that night he made it very clear what he believed.” he turned you around to face him, the dress’ zipper be damned. “if anything happens to you… just the thought keeps me up at night. i need you to understand,” his voice was desperate, pleading almost.

you understood what he was saying. at least, you were pretty sure you did. men in positions of power like bucky typically saw the people around them as pawns. part of you thinks that he’s saying all of this as the controlling, possessive boss man bucky. and that’s the large part of you. but the small part of you, the part of you that still believes in that fairytale love you used to read about, believes that maybe he’s saying all of this because he does feel something for you… something real.

but that part of you is like… 15 percent. maybe 20…

“i understand,” you nodded, meeting his eyes and seeing desperation, fear. seeing fear radiating from a man that projects a version of himself that’s fearless is a scary thing.

“good,” he nodded, his eye contact faltering to the dress that clung to your body. “you look indescribable, i’m a lucky man to call you mine.” once again, he grasped your shoulders to turn you around.

this time, he promptly found the zipper, his metal hand tracing nonsensical patterns on your shoulder as he zipped the dress with his flesh one.

“all done,” he pressed a lingering kiss to your right shoulder. “my beautiful bride.” you wanted to believe him.

“thank you,” you took a deep breath as you turned to face him. “so, tonight… what should i be expecting?” “well, there are a few people i’ll introduce you to, and a few i have to talk to. but i’ll be with you the whole time,” he pressed his hands into his pockets. “i scheduled a car to take us, and we have about 10 minutes before it should get here.”

“so we’ll be playing the roles of loving wife and doting husband?” you nudged his shoulder before you went to grab your shoes.

“playing? this is all real, sweetheart,” he took the shoes from your hands, promptly dropping to his knees.

“what are you-”

“i’m putting your shoes on, my love.” you chuckled before he guided your hand to his shoulder. “gonna want to hold on.” he picked up one of your legs by your calf, grabbing the correct shoe before slowly placing your foot inside and doing the same for your other shoe.

meanwhile, you were stuck staring down at him like a lovesick idiot. this behemoth of a man was beneath you treating you like a princess by putting your heels on for you. what the hell kind of alternate universe have you entered and how can you never leave?

“well, aren’t you a romantic?” you cleared your throat as he remained on his knees, a sight you could get used to.

“don’t let the news spread around town,” he chuckled as he let your remaining foot hit the ground but not without pressing a kiss to your ankle. “i can’t have others knowing how enamored i am by you, can we?” “enamored?” you chuckled out. “what a word,” you shook your head as you helped him to his feet.

“the perfect word.” he trailed his hand to a loose strand of hair, twirling it around his flesh fingers before he sighed, “the car should be here soon. we should head downstairs for it.”

it was a 45 minute ride there. you sat in a respectable silence, this time it wasn’t as awkward as it has been in the past. upon arrival, the door was swiftly opened for you, bucky getting out first and then offering his hand to help you step out. the first thirty minutes of the gala went very similarly. he would introduce you to a new face or say ‘hello’ to a familiar one, wrap his arm snugly around your waist before pressing a kiss to your cheek and move on to the next person.

for a bunch of folks in banking and finance, everything seemed very high stakes. there seemed to be walls up all around you, from each man and woman you said a brief hello to or were meeting for the first time. everyone had decided to adorn a mask for the night, or maybe the mask was a semi-permanent fixture. maybe they’d worn the mask for so long they forgot how to function without one. you hoped you wouldn’t face the same fate.

to be doomed to fake face for so long that you no longer remember what was once real. you wanted something real, even if what you and bucky had was technically fake when you were in public. something about what happened behind closed doors when nobody was around gave you the illusion that part of it was real.

“have i told you how ravishing you look tonight?” bucky held you close as you swayed to the soft melody. his metal hand was clutching your waist, his flesh hand holding your own.

“i think in different words, yes,” you both began to laugh at his flattery. “you don’t have to keep doing that, y’know? the compliments and everything… i think people get the idea that this is real by now.”

“you don’t get it, do you?” he shook his head before he moved his vibranium hand to your chin, nudging it up for you to meet his eyes.

“get what?”

“buck,” steve’s voice interrupted your dance, but that didn’t stop bucky from pulling you taut to his side.

steve leaned in to whisper in his ear, but you were able to tell by his stone cold expression that whatever message that was being relayed to him wasn’t as delightful as the desserts from tonight.

“when?” you barely registered bucky’s low voice over the music.

steve went back to whispering in his ear and it wasn’t until he pulled back that you wanted to speak up, “what’s going on?”

bucky looked down to you, and when you looked into his eyes, what you saw was very similar to your earlier conversation with him. this time, however, there seemed to be anger buried beneath the stoic traces of fear. that’s when it clicked.

“did they find him?” his jaw clenched and unclenched.

“you told her about-”

“i told her what she deserves to know,” bucky interrupted steve’s accusatory tone. “you don’t get to question me or the decisions i make, especially not when those decisions are in regards to my wife.”

you weren’t sure if bucky was defending you or himself with the way he jumped on steve’s gears.

“okay, got it,” steve rse his hands in defense before he nodded.

“what steve was telling me was in regards to him, yes,” bucky clarified. “but it’s nothing important for you to need to know. you don’t have to worry about it, my love,” he let his flesh hand play with that same strand of hair as earlier as he looked down at you like his prized possession.

oh yea, you almost forgot. that’s what you are to him. his trophy wife, as much as you hate that phrase.

“when can we go home?” a shiver ran down your spine. what would john even do if he did get his hands on you? was he actually as bad as bucky made him seem, or was he worse? you gripped bucky’s arm tighter as thoughts raced through your brain.

“hey,” he turned to face you again, his eyes no longer reflecting anger or fear but tenderness. “if you want to leave, we’ll leave. steve can get the car,” he turned briefly to steve who nodded before walking off, “we can talk on the way home. i can tell how many questions are running through that pretty head of yours right now. but i can assure you,” he cupped your face in his hands, and the contrast between the cold metal and the warm flesh was oddly grounding, “as long as your with me, or steve for that matter, you won’t have anything to worry about. i would do anything it takes to keep you safe.”

you nodded, pressing your lips together in a fine line, maybe a bit of doubt running in your head at the lengths he would go to in order to protect you. would he really go to the lengths necessary? would his hand be forced to do that?

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i was scared right now?” you couldn’t meet his eyes as you admitted it.

“it’s not bad at all. in fact, i understand. i just hope that you know that this is why steve is watching out for you now,” he dropped his hands to your shoulders, down your arms to hold your hands.

“will you-would you be up for staying with me tonight?” you popped the question, almost scared of his answer. “like… like you did that night? i don’t really want to be alone tonight.”

“you don’t have to explain,” he smiled. “of course i’ll stay with you.”

the ride home was similar to the ride there, but this time with your head rested on his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you. you’re sure he thought you were asleep when he pressed a kiss to your forehead. it also wasn’t beneath you to say you liked when he did it…

so much so that you apparently did fall sleep. when you woke up, it was wrapped in strong arms. you strained your neck to look at the clock beside your bed, the one that read 2:35 am. turning in bed to look at bucky, you realized you’d never seen him so peaceful. his hair had grown out a bit long, evident by the way it laid across his forehead.

when you moved the few locks of hair from his forehead, he began to stir awake.

“shhh,” you hummed softly. “it’s just me. sorry i woke you.”

“don’t be sorry,” his raspy voice was alluring this early in the morning, or was it late? “i don’t think i’ve slept this good since… well, since that night.”

“are you a secret cuddler, mr. barnes?” you smiled as he pulled you in a smidge tighter as he replied.

“and what if i am?” “there are no complaints coming from me,” he pressed yet another kiss to yourforehead, then your cheek, your other cheek, and then you pulled back to look in his eyes again.

the only light that was peaking through was from the hallway underneath the door, but that didn’t stop you from being able to see the bright smile decorating his face, a rare sight to see.

“how bad would it be if i admitted that i really wanted to kiss you right now?” his thumb trailed across your bottom lip, gently pulling it down and watching it bounce back into place.

“it’s not bad at all,” you let your eyes find his lips before looking into his eyes once more.

he made the first move, taking his flesh hand and cupping your face before he softly met your lips with his. every other kiss you’d had with him had been for show, cameras or people around to witness and aww at the romantic antics of the newlyweds. this one wasn’t for show. this was purely authentic. gentle, soft, delicate. for a man like bucky, you figured he wasn’t like this very often. this was a side of him not many other people got the privilege of witnessing.

he was precise in his movements, every swipe of his tongue and every placement his hand made was deliberate, yet he was so tender. the soft grasp of your hair, the easy glide of his hand that began to hold your waist. it was all so consuming, in the best way possible. in the way that you wanted to drown in his presence.

when you sweeped one of your legs over his, now perched on his lap, you felt him smile against your lips.

“you’re astounding,” he breathed into you. “breathtaking,” he rearranged his hips, accidentally brushing his hardon against your center. “shit.”

“sorry,” you smiled against him as you pulled back, resting your forehead against his.

“nothin’ to apologize for,” he shook his head with a laugh. “i mean, you are my wife an’ all.”

“i know, but,” taking a deep breath, you tried to figure out how to word what you wanted to say to him. you came up with nothing. “i don’ know. it’s different. we haven’t necessarily been the most affectionate since our wedding.”

“i didn’t think you wanted anything more,” his face shone with disbelief. “i didn’t want you to think you were forced to be ‘affectionate’ with me. you didn’t really want to marry me in the first place. i realize that.”

were you not this puppet in his master show? some play thing for him to own and display whenever he pleased? had every story you’d heard about him been nothing but that… just stories? could this story of you and him have a happy ending?

tags:

@blackbirdwitch22

@onceithough

@learisa

@mrsnikstan

@cjand10

@mrs-bucky-barnes-73

@armystay89

@adesum

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@loki-laufeyson68

if you'd like to be added to the tag list, please just leave a comment or message me!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes smut #sargeant barnes #sargeant bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob bucky barnes #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky au #mafia!bucky #mafia!bucky barnes x reader

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suiana · 2 years ago

Text

✎ yandere! slasher who's a mass murderer and doesn't discriminate when he kills people! he doesn't care about your gender, height... nothing! as long as he deems you a 'bad' person you're dead :3

✎ yandere! slasher who killed one of your friends because he was actually a big pervert who took nude photos of you?1!1! wait whys he kinda... 🤤

✎ yandere! slasher who didn't expect to be chased around by you after your friend's death. wait he's a killer! a killer! why are you fawning after him-?!

✎ yandere! slasher who's the traumatized while you're the traumatizer 😈😈 #couplegoals fr because you should get yourself a big scary looking man who's actually a huge softie on the inside. plus he also gets flustered by all of your acts of affection and that's extra cute!!

"..."

"why are you just staring at me like that?"

"..."

"say something!!!"

you frown at the killer as he shrugs and wipes the blood off his knife. you stare in horror as the blood drips to the ground, staining your newly cleaned floor. he then comes close to you, pointing the knife at your chest before making a series of rapid stabbing motions near your chest area.

however, you merely rolled your eyes at the killer, stepped close to him and stared at the holes in his bloody mask. seriously! the nerve that he had to just come into your home and do such a thing! you had to teach him a lesson.

"baby we've talked about this!"

you sigh as you push the knife away with your finger.

"don't come in the house with blood all over yourself! it's so hard to get rid of it!"

you let out an irritated click of the tongue as your frown deepens. the slasher only let's out a whine in response as he looks at you. to be honest it was hard to stay mad at him, especially when he's this adorable.

thinking about it, he's like a giant puppy. cute and adorable on the inside but big and scary on the outside. you looked at the masked male as he desperately tries to make up some reason as to why he forgot. but it doesn't matter, you weren't listening anyways. how could you? you were too focused on the fact that he came into your house and stained the floor with blood! right after you finished mopping too!

you couldn't let this slide.

"mop the floor and I'll forgive you."

you huff as you turn away from him. you then made your way to your bedroom as the male sighs in relief, thankful that it was all you asked him to do. but he forgot the fact that blood was hard to get rid of. especially when he had stepped all over your living room and made a mess everywhere.

"...this is gonna take forever."

#tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere slasher #yandere slasher x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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alastors-antlers · 1 year ago

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a brief take on the whole "Alastor's smile is permanent" discussion

hello all!

I've seen a lot of people theorizing lately that Alastor actually smiles all the time because his smile is magically, physically fixed onto his face. All of this seems to come from the fact that he's practically grimacing rather than smiling during the scene where he breaks down in ep8:

As well as this frame of his deal with Charlie: (lower res sorry)

I will say, I do like some of the implications of this theory. The sheer spite of his creditor forcing him to smile as an addition to their deal, almost like a sort of forced silence, is a neat concept. It's fun and dramatic. Plus, of all things, of course Alastor would claim the "smile at all times" policy and make it his own to pretend that it was his decision all along lol.

To be fair, though, I don't think we even need any magical compulsion to explain why he's smiling while he's having a mental breakdown. Actually, if we assume magical compulsion, I think we lose a bit of dimension from Alastor's character. (No judgement to anyone's take though, of course -- I just think this works in the direction of his established characterization, but obviously all personal takes <3)

Hear me out:

Alastor's persona is not just for others to see.

"A smile is a valuable tool, my dear. It inspires your friends; keeps your enemies guessing; and ensures that whatever comes your way, you're the one in control."

That makes sense given what we know about him. If he's always smiling, he seems like he has it together. You can't read him very well, especially not when he's actively trying to keep up appearances.

Now consider that when you think about ep8's fight with Heaven, we see that he's already been through so much in this one day.

He fights an army of angels, presumably not even at his own whim (if we go by his blurb about freedom in the Finale song); he loses to Adam, who he considers sloppy and mediocre; his staff, which we can assume holds some part of his power, is snapped; he comes close to being Angelic-power-killed; and to top it all off, he knows that others watched him get injured and then apparently die or flee, all of which would ruin the public image that he's trying to maintain. It wouldn't even be unreasonable for us to assume that he knows Vox was watching, given that Vox kind of has eyes everywhere.

In a moment like this, in the finale, you could say that Alastor has lost (at least on some level) everything that we know matters to him. He doesn't have access to all of his magic, and it's limiting him. He's reminded that he doesn't have freedom or control over his own destiny. He certainly has taken massive hits to his powerful, composed persona. But he's desperate, and furious, and terrified, and clinging on.

That's why he's smiling.

It's not that he can't stop because he physically can't. It's that he can't stop because to him, the smile is the last thing that is still within his power. When there are so many moving parts that he can't predict what happens to him next, he can control how he responds to it. In these last fragments of autonomy, there is solace.

He needs to keep telling himself that he has it together and that he'll eventually scheme his way free, that there's a solution, that he won't be in chains forever; because letting his pretense slip would be admitting that it's all starting to actually get to him. That maybe this time, he doesn't have an escape plan.

In addition, if you read his interactions throughout the series, we also see something else: Alastor's reputation is of paramount importance to him. At multiple points throughout the series, when others disrespect him by discounting his power or presence, he gets visibly annoyed. And in the battle, we see a glimpse of the part of his personality he seems to be trying to leave behind - a normal Alastor, who's just some guy from Louisiana. No transatlantic accent; no unflappable malice; no sharp wit waiting at the ready. Maybe even unremarkable.

Dropping his smile - arguably the most prominent part of his brand - would be admitting that in reality, he's not the Radio Demon of legend that he aspires to project. And if he doesn't have that... where would he be?

#alastor meta #alastor analysis #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor meta #hazbin meta #hazbin alastor analysis #bro I love this guy so much

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carmenized-onions · 10 months ago

Text

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

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

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hotheadedhero · 10 months ago

Text

Think You're Cute

'Like 'em Big Series'

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

Part 2

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it.

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'.

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

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byhuenii · 1 month ago

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FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU a generational talent who’s ego was through the roof. He knew he was good and he knew his worth, he knew he wasn’t meant for the midfield battles. He was meant to be in the front, the best of the best.

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU who in his rookie year was signed a 3 year contract with SCUDERIA FERRARI. Taking up the number 95. Not because it was his favorite but rather because of lightning McQueen. Yes. Mister KACHOW himself.

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU was quickly given the nickname ‘honored one’ by the media and fans. Earned from his speed his charisma and his on track strategies, he had everything that qualified him to be generational and the so called honored one

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU who’s ego was high but never belittled those under him, he only encouraged he wanted competition. His battles with Geto Suguru was one for the books, a friendly rivalry

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU despite multiple rumors of him being a playboy and never settling he just never found the one until he met you at the local farmers market in his hometown, very much on ‘accident’ (as if he hasn’t been stalking you ever since shoko brought you to the paddock at the Australia Grand Prix)

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU was mutual with the idea of keeping you two’s relationship on a low, he knew how insane people were online and didn’t want you dealing with the hate—and plus he got to keep you to himself for longer. You still came to many of the races under the disguise of being both Suguru Shoko and Satoru’s friends.

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU got beyond frustrated with the team when they kept switching up the strategies ruining his race pace—in fear he has lost his championship to Suguru twice. He’s won the team constructors championship but at the cost of his own.

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU who is forever grateful for you being there to comfort him when he was at the lowest point ever since he lost twice. You being there encouraging him was all he needed

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU who resigned with Ferrari for another 3 years so he could secure that championship. Even if the car was shit he was going to win that cup and beat Suguru.

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU (with your permission) finally went public with you after 1 year of dating. He had won the ITALY (imola) Grand Prix ; the first thing he does after he gets out the car is celebrate with his team but he made sure to give you the wettest kiss on the lips with a cheeky grin

FORMULA1 DRIVER! GOJO SATORU who calls you his goodluck charm and before every race he has at least 15 minutes of privacy with just you and him wrapped in each others warmth as you whispered sweet inspirational words and the words ‘I love you’ to him.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ Gossip girl here.

I was thinking of making this into a series. . .I put my two loves together and KABLAM!!!! It’s like 4 am but I’ll sleep on it and think about it later (for sure I will). You know you love me. . .

XOXO gossip girl 💋ིྀ

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #jjk gojo x y/n #i need that man so bad idcccc #w.riting ‹𝟹 ‎scripts #gojo x reader #gojo satoru blurb #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru one shot #gojo satoru fluff #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru imagine #i needed this f1 and jjk crossover.#f1 driver gojo satoru #:3 #I made this at 4 am leave me alone

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jjenthusee · 4 months ago

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Racing Hearts Pt. 5

Pairing: F1!Driver!JasonTodd x Reporter!Reader

A/N: sorry for the late late late update 😭 i was having so much problems with trying to enjoy this series again that I felt that if i rushed it it would ruin the series for not just me but a lot of people. Thank you for all the patience and i hope u enjoy this much needed chapter. ENJOY and flowers for all of u 😫💐 like if you’re comfortable and please tell me your thoughts as the story continues <3

Check out the Racing Hearts Masterlist!

Word Count: 1.9k (sorry but i’ll work my way up again 💪)

Jason finally had time to check his phone. He removed any miscellaneous notifications he forgot to silent before getting to the track this morning, but he was checking for a familiar name and icon.

It was like a little surge was invading his bones. He couldn’t help smiling at your conversations, it was like he was back to a teenager nervously trying to talk to a crush, but he didn’t have a lot of experience with those.

The times he rarely did have a fling, he kept it private, left it before it could be a scandal that he would be chewed out for.

But this.

This was new. He knew it was different when he was trying to get any attempt to still make sure you were fine with being with him.

What really made his stomach churn was when he couldn’t bring you to the airport to see him off. It felt wrong to leave your place without you behind him, leaving you to kiss only him goodbye, but not asking to follow him to the airport.

He tried to brush off the feeling the entire flight, but he couldn’t squish the thought that he wanted you here. That other than a quick romance, he could talk to you about his personal life, and he was fighting to throw you on the next plane so you could watch him race.

Maybe a dramatic kiss after he won would be nice. But, that was too cliché.

While deep in his thoughts, Roy tried to peak over Jason’s shoulder, trying to see what he was looking at, but it was not smart to try that on such a tall man. All he could manage to see was an open browser with plane flights.

“You tryna leave me here by myself?” Roy calmly asked, keeping his eyes down at the phone.

Jason frowned, not surprised at the nosey man.

“You get a little friend and now you want to leave me?” Roy feigned tears, placing his hands gently onto Jason’s shoulders. “If you must, then go! I can get us a championship. I can handle that for us.”

Jason sighed, closing his phone.

“Shouldn’t you be watching Lian? Why are you bothering me and what are you talking about?” He asked.

“Lian’s always with the crew, she’s more interested in the buttons than behind the wheel—don’t try to distract me, I’m not stupid, Jaybird. I knew you were a two timer.” Roy pointed an accusing finger into Jason’s face. “I saw that interview and I know that look in your eyes. I even commented on that video.”

“Uh, huh.” Jason ignored him and walked away, this time looking back at his phone to try to type, not reacting to Roy’s antics.

“I’m surprised your brothers haven’t bothered you about it. Dick’s gonna be jealous when I tell him you’re trying to get a flight back for love.” Roy aimlessly followed Jason, adjusting the cap on his head as he playfully wiggled his brows.

“That dickwad is probably too busy hiding behind a badge for that. He needs to find better things to do than bother me.” Jason stopped pacing, looking back at the red hair tail that can’t seem to get off him. “And you need to watch your daughter and also stop bothering me.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Roy sung. “Just me and you on this track forever, plus Lian, never leaving each other while we embrace—with Lian, of course.” He opened his arms for a hug.

Jason gave Roy an impassive look, not bothered to even give him an expression.

Still with open arms and a smile on his face, Roy waited before a small voice shouted out.

“JayJay! JayJay!” Lian’s small shout catches Roy’s attention.

“My Lian!” Roy reached out to grab his daughter walking with one of the crew members, finally relieving them from their babysitting duty. “No Jaybird today, Lian, he’s trying to run away.” He cooed happily to his daughter as she laughed, large noise cancelling headphones were bouncing around her neck and a bright smile spread on her face as he booped her nose.

“I’m not—the flight isn’t for me.” Jason sighed, not willing to look at Roy fully in the eyes.

Roy’s eyes widened as he heard the admission. A small silence lingered.

Lian broke the pause by reaching out for Jason. She made small grabby hands before he immediately gave in to grab her underneath her arms, settling on his chest.

She whispered a small “JayJay” before laying her head down, exhausted from an hour of playing while Roy and Jason were busy racing in the practice sessions.

While Jason patted Lian’s back soothingly, Roy watched as the two most important people in his life were embracing. It brought a smile to his face.

“I’m happy for you, Jaybird.”

It was all that was said between the two as Lian closed her eyes, but Jason felt content. He was given support.

—

“I’m never afraid of the track, it’s the fastest you can ever be on the ground and I wanna be the best.” Jason spoke to the interviewer on your TV screen, the Australian sun surrounding his face.

“How important is this race for you?” The off-screen voice asked Jason.

“Every race is important. I’ve gotten RedBull multiple wins these past couple years and I want to add another one. I feel better than I’ve ever have.”

You sat on your couch, dinner in your lap, watching your partner on screen wave goodbye, giving one final dazzling smile while taking off to his car.

He looked like he was in his element, a kind of happiness that only sprouted in him from Formula 1. A kind of motivation used for racing.

“Welcome to another race of the Formula One World Championship. What a great weekend to continue a new season.” The introduction boomed from your TV, setting up the Sunday excitement, ready to end another race weekend.

Ding. Ding. Your phone notifications rung next to you as you took a bite of your dinner.

You: I told you to hold a peace sign to the camera, now you owe me dinner

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: *thumbs down your message*

You laugh at your phone screen.

You: Loser

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: *thumbs down your message*

You: Send me a picture of you in your gear

As you wait for the reply, your TV catches your attention. A driver you’ve never seen before now standing in front of the microphone.

“Todd? How is that guy a threat? He just hides behind the RedBull emblem, but he’s nothing but another racer.” The raspy voice sent a chill through you.

“Jason Todd is a back-to-back four-time World Champion, do you plan on breaking that streak?” The interviewer pressed on.

“Ha! Like that’s hard, did you see how he crashed his vehicle last year? Bet he wouldn’t want that happening again, huh?” The man’s voice twisted something in you.

Formula 1 did have it’s competitive moments, but how was someone like this rude man competing?

Ding.

(Handsome) Mr. Todd: please I am more than my body

Despite Jason’s words, a flattering picture of him came in. A good look at his hands and body in the RedBull uniform. Gosh, you missed him.

You saved the photo with a smile on your face. A new lock screen.

You: don’t injure that pretty face of yours <3

“Thank you for the interview, good luck on your race.” The interviewer finished up, stepping in front of the camera to replace the rude driver.

You glanced up to get one final look at the screen, watching the rude racer walk away, expecting him to get bombarded with another interviewer and a brand new set of cameras, but he walked in a different direction, away from the crowd.

You were confused at the racer breaking the long chain of interviews happening on race day.

At the very edge of the camera, you could see the racer joining another man, adorned in a suit, turning his head sideways, but you couldn’t recognize who that was.

You whipped out your laptop. Maybe you missed an upcoming rookie the last year or there must’ve been a change you missed in the racing industry.

Your mind buzzed remembering the blurry man putting his arm around the rookie racer before your ringtone shouted at you.

Life is a Highway started to play as Jason’s contact picture brightened on the screen, a nice side view picture of his smiling face when you took him out for dinner.

You quickly picked up.

“Hey Jay! How’s Australia?” You gleefully asked, contrasting glancing back and forth to the TV screen and your laptop before the camera changed to the racetrack, no longer seeing the mysterious men.

“It’s fun when Roy isn’t talking his ass off.” Jason’s voice faded as he yelled at Roy to back off from him. “I gotta race soon, but I just wanted to hear ya before I had to leave. God, I miss you.”

Your breath hitched hearing Jason be so direct. You tried to reason with yourself that it was from the adrenaline before the race, but it made you feel like you were floating off the couch.

“I miss you too. Maybe when you have a chance to get back here, we can go out to eat like we normally do.” You suggested, a little more brightness in your voice.

You watched the compilation of Jason’s previous races playing on the screen. You saw him zooming down the narrow lanes at horrifying speeds as you heard him softly speak to you through your phone.

“I wanna fly you out here before then. I mean, I’ll be down for Vegas, but that’s too long. I gotta get you down here next to me.” Jason’s voice smoothly went in and out of your ears.

Your felt yourself reddening at his delightful words to you.

“I’ll see what I can do about work leave, but maybe i’ll take a couple sick days?” You spoke to Jason, happiness surging through you. “I would really love to fly out there.”

A loud engine roared through your phone, cutting off Jason’s voice briefly.

“Shit, sorry about that, I gotta go. I lo—” Jason hesitated before he was about to end the call, following up by several louder engines revving, overshadowing his voice despite how close he was to the phone. “I, uh, I’ll call you later.”

“Stay safe, Jay.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Beep.

The call clicked to end. No longer hearing the bustle around Jason as he was inching closer to his race.

Your heart beat rapidly in your ears as you continued to hold your phone in your hand despite the call ending moments ago.

You can’t assume.

There are numerous words that start with that sound. Maybe it was a mistake?

—

“What the fuck, Roy?” Jason yelled over Roy revving his engine multiple times. “I was almost done—will you stop—Roy!”

Roy lifted his foot, no longer making the obnoxious noise.

“Get your helmet on, we gotta go. If you win, then you can talk on the phone all ya want.” Roy was ready to pull onto the track. “Unless you want to stay on the phone and I can win this for us?”

Roy laughed as he sped off.

Jason sighed in disbelief as he walked back to get make sure the final checks on his car were done.

Roy was the only one who could compete with him on the track, so maybe his words weren’t just to instigate him.

He needed to focus because he wanted to see you and win while you were with him.

Jason put on his helmet, getting any last-minute safety precautions checked before he got the signal to drive out.

Tag List: @jaybirdstreet @kalzzen @meowkn @velvetberries @i0lovepink00 @rayaskoalaland @spidernuggets @janybabyy @deimks @yasmin-oviedo @bigraga-sk @indulgentdaydream @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @idontknowanythingsblog @xakilicious @livvyliv15 @whatsupstark @maxi-ride @kolmikaelsonslover

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #racing hearts #au #writing

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