My name is Lalla and I'm a 25 year old who writes (or tries to). My pronouns are she/her. I'm bisexual, an intp, adhd haver, i don't understand astrology but I'm a libra sun, libra moon, sagittarius rising - feel free to tell me what that means, please. i want to learn -
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» A few things about my blog «
No minors please. I will reblog NSFW fics and, as much as I understand how it feels to be 16-17, please don't interact if you are under 18.
I will try to make this blog a safe space for everyone. I will post trigger warnings, I won't tolerate any sort of hate and you can always come to me if you need to talk.
Things i won't write: non-con, abuse (physical and mental) or anything sexual involving minors.
I won't include descriptions in my writings unless I think it's important or I'm writing an OC. Everybody should feel represented when it's x reader fanfiction. If you want me to write specifically about plus-sized!reader I will, otherwise no descriptions.
Please, do not repost my stuff.
» My writing «
I do love suggestions, meaning, I would love it if you share ideas with me and if I think I'm inspired to write it I will.
You can also always come to my askbox if you ever want to talk about characters or life in general. I promise I am nice.
» Characters I write for : Top Gun: Maverick, Vikings, The Last Kingdom, Marvel, Bridgerton, Carmen Berzatto (The Bear).
LATEST FICS:
‘Housewarming’ - Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x f!reader
‘Your carriage awaits, sweets’ Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x reader
Are you a good girl? Mickey 'Fanboy' García x f!reader
Summary: You’re an ER attending, and Ogilvie is dead-set on asking you out. What he doesn’t know is that you’re married and your husband was right there in the room when he started bragging about his plans to make a move.
“Okay... great work, everyone. Whitaker, finish up the sutures. Show Ogilvie and Joy how it’s done and let them take a crack at it. Jesse, page me if their vitals shift” you said, peeling off your gloves before glancing at the nurse.
“You got it, Doc” Jesse replied with a grin, giving you a quick thumbs-up and a wink that went unnoticed by the others.
You offered him a small smile and stepped out of the trauma room, unaware of Ogilvie’s eyes following you.
“Do you guys think she’s single?” Ogilvie asked. Every head in the room snapped toward him, but the med student didn't look away from you as you stood at the nurses' station talking to Dana.
“I... think that’s a pretty inappropriate question, considering she’s an attending... which means she’s *way* above your pay grade” Whitaker said cautiously. He shot a look at Jesse, silently asking if he should spill what he knew or keep his mouth shut.
Jesse subtly signaled him to stay quiet. Honestly, he wanted to see exactly where this conversation was going.
“Let me translate that in case your tiny brain didn't catch it: she’s your boss” Joy added, giving him a look of pure judgment.
“I’m going to ask her out” Ogilvie declared.
“You’re going to ask her out?” Joy repeated, incredulous. “Are you actually an idiot? Do you really think SHE is going to look twice at a med student like you?”
“She doesn't seem to be seeing anyone” he replied with a shrug, looking down as he continued suturing the wound.
“Just because she isn't flaunting it doesn't mean she’s single” Whitaker said, stealing a glance at Jesse, who was currently biting back a laugh while charting the patient's vitals. “Besides, Joy’s right… she’s basically your boss.”
“The only thing you’re going to achieve is humiliating yourself” Joy muttered, rolling her eyes.
“Jesse, you must know if Dr. Y/N is seeing someone, right?” Ogilvie asked, looking at the nurse as if expecting him to just hand over your personal business.
“Call me if you need anything” Jesse said, ignoring the question entirely before walking out of the room, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.
The rest of the shift went on as usual, except for the fact that Ogilvie seemed to be shadowing you everywhere, jumping on every case you handled.
Whitaker and Joy eventually gave up on trying to talk him out of his delusional plan. Joy was just waiting for the slow, glorious train wreck of his rejection, while Whitaker didn't even bother telling him that you were, in fact, taken by someone who worked right there in the hospital.
By the time the shift ended, you handed off your patient updates to Shen and Ellis. You headed out and leaned against the wall by the ER entrance, checking your phone while you waited.
“Dr. Y/N!” Ogilvie called out, jogging out of the hospital to catch up with you. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Do you need something, Ogilvie?” you asked, looking up from your screen.
“Yeah, I... well... the thing is... you’re such an incredible doctor, I really admire you, and I was wondering if…” He was cut off by a third voice.
“Ready to go?” Jesse asked, walking up with his bag over his shoulder and his jacket in hand.
“Yes, please... I’m starving and my feet are killing me” you complained, tucking your phone away. He took your bag from you, slinging it over his other shoulder, before draping his jacket over your shoulders.
“We can grab a pizza on the way, and I’ll give you a massage when we get home if you want” he said with a smile, zipping the jacket up for you before stealing a quick kiss.
“Y-you two...?” Ogilvie stammered, his jaw dropping as he took in the scene. “You’re together?”
“Happily married for four years now” Jesse said with a proud little smirk, looping an arm around your shoulders. “Why? Is there a problem?”
“What was it you needed, Ogilvie?” you asked, tucking your hands into the pockets of your husband’s jacket, completely oblivious to the drama.
“Oh... n-no, it was nothing. Excuse me” the student scrambled to say, face turning a deep shade of red as he practically ran away.
“What’s up with him?” you asked, confused, watching him bolt.
“He wanted to ask you on a date” Jesse said, grinning.
“A what?!” you exclaimed, horrified, spinning around to look at your husband. “And how do you know that?!”
“Come on, I’ll tell you all about it on the way” he said, kissing your forehead and interlacing his fingers with yours as you started the walk home.
red fucking alert if you’re currently experiencing a beautiful spring day after a long and brutal winter DO NOT TRUST IT this is NOT spring it is FALSE SPRING we still have SEVERAL WEEKS OF COLD do NOT let your guard down
in Spain we say "Hasta el 40 de mayo, no te quites el sayo".
Do not change your wardrobes until spring is in full swing. Honestly? Do not trust the weather until we are closer to summer. You will get the worst cold of your life.
Thank-you to all of my new Internet stranger friends for being so gracious about having my post shoved onto your dashboards. I loved reading all of your kind tags and comments! Both Martin and Bosco have been gone for several years now but for 24 hours, they felt very present in my life. I greatly appreciate this gift. ❤️
Summary: You and Javy "Coyote" Machado did not get married for the right reasons. Now, three years later, you are going to make sure that you two at least get divorced for the right reasons to make up for it. However, per usual, things don't always seem to go to plan when Coyote is involved.
(Thank you @bradshawsbitch for this stunning gif 🫶)
Pairings: Javy "Coyote" Machado x AFAB! Reader
Word count: 11k
AO3 link
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Marriage of convenice, PinV, Realistic intimacy conversations, implied plus size reader, insecurity, self image issues, Valentine's Day.
Please let me know if I missed any.
Authors Note: Oh gosh, I have been working on this for a while now. It was supposed to be posted for Valentie's Day, but then life happened. I love Coyote soo much, and I actually NEED him to be my husband or I will perish. Coyote Hangman BFF supremacy implied. As always, apologies for any mistakes.
Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.
There was no question in your mind that your husband, Javy "Coyote" Machado, was your dream man, and most people would think that it is very lucky to be married to your dream man. Most people also wouldn't think falling in love with your husband was a terrible mistake. However, most people's husbands were in love with them back. You hadn't married Coyote because you loved him, and he certainly didn't marry you out of affection, either. The truth was, it was just a very convenient arrangement for the two of you. Javy hadn't wanted to live on base anymore, plus the benefits and pay for married men were better. Also, he was so tired of being bottom of the totem pole for vacations and holidays off to the aviators and sailors who were married or had families. For you, being married would change your financial aid status to receive almost three times more money each term. Having a clean, financially stable roommate was the cherry on top of the deal. You and Javy had really only known each other a few weeks when you had jokingly mentioned your need to get married. After several conversations where Coyote was deadly serious, you found yourself at the courthouse with him signing licenses and throwing a small party with your friends. Even now, nearly three years later, you would still catch yourself thinking about the sweet kiss he had bestowed on you.
To say you were unhappy with your marriage or your husband wouldn't be true. You were happy, and Javy was good, almost too good and kind to you. That itself could be an issue because it was so easy to slip into being his wife, being Mrs. Machado. Nowadays, it was second nature to snuggle up on the couch with him, celebrate your wins together, and seek him out for comfort with your losses. You would try anything new he would whip up in the kitchen and offer a detailed critique. It was natural to want to make Javy happy. You worry and care about him. Though you try not to make comparisons, you were pretty sure you missed him just as much as any other military spouses missed their partners anytime Coyote was gone. You never allowed yourself to consider the possibility of your marriage being more with Javy. It didn't take much for you to deter those thoughts; typically, just some extended longing looks at Javy paired with a glance in the mirror to remind you that Coyote was out of your league. No matter how often he would compliment or say that you were beautiful. Three years into this marriage, you two still had separate rooms and hadn't fallen in love or bed even once, despite your secret hopes, which was telling enough.
You and Javy were friends first, no matter what the other circumstances were. So, picking Coyote up from the bar certainly wasn't something unusual. This evening his texts, where most things were misspelled and littered with random emojis, made you thankful that he shared his location with you because they were borderline incomprehensible. He wasn't actually answering any of the questions you were asking either. It was there at the bar picking him up that you started to realize maybe the benefits of this marriage weren't enough anymore.
"Howdy, Mrs. Machado," Jake says affectionately when you enter the bar and found the group of familiar aviators that made up your husband's friends. You kiss his cheek in greeting, taking stock of his well-being, pleased to find Jake mostly sober.
"Hey, Hangman," You verbally answer, looking around for Coyote, wanting to get home and into bed as quickly as possible. His tall form isn't around the table with the other aviators, so you look back to Jake expectantly. "And where is Coyote?"
"Aw, little M&M, you don't even care about me anymore," Hangman says in a fake whine while pouting.
"That just isn't true," you say, rolling your eyes at the blond while continuing to look around the honestly concerningly dark bar.
"He's at the bartop," Jake finally supplies. You try hard to contain your frown, but you aren't fully successful. Javy had already been very drunk when he texted you earlier. Sighing, you turn to the bar, finally spotting the tall and broad shoulders you were looking for. He is on the back side, furthest away from you. It takes conscious effort not to let your eyes linger too long, lest you get caught up in just how tall, broad, and what a great ass your husband has. You wave a hand towards Hangman and the rest of the group in a half thanks and beeline to the bar.
Coyote is laughing with the bartender when you get there. You slide in close next to him, leaning in against the bar top. Javy's eyes flash a glance at you, away, and then back towards you as he turns to face you completely.
"Oh my god Mark, my wife is here!" Coyote says enthusiastically and at least two times louder than he needs to, considering how close you are standing.
"It's nice to meet you," Mark says, smiling at you. Javy wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him in a half hug so that he doesn't let you go after. His lips press to the side of your head that is lingering. You ignore how he nuzzles you and how warm and strong his arms feel, reminding yourself that Coyote is just a very affectionate drunk.
"Hi Coyote," You greet him, trying not to let the wide smile he gives you go straight to your heart. However, when his eyes crinkle, it was a fool's errand. You see that smile nearly every day, and it still manages to make heat blossom in your chest. Finally managing to tear your eyes off him again, you focus back on the conversation.
"It's nice to meet you, Mark. Has Lieutenant Machado paid his tab yet, or should I?" You ask, nudging Javy's side playfully. It has the opposite effect than you intended as Javy pulls you even closer and tighter into his side.
"He hasn't. In fact, he was just ordering another Shirley temple," Mark informs you. Shooting a halfhearted glare at Javy for ordering another drink this late, his grin hasn't dimmed once. Sloppily he raises the drink to his mouth, taking three attempts to finally find the straw and slurp up a large gulp. When he sees your frown, Javy sets the drink back down on the bar.
"It's a virgin," Coyote reassures you with a small laugh, no better than a schoolboy with what he finds funny sometimes. Once he manages to contain the giggle, he continues on, "I know better than to drink after 12:30."
That answer placates you as you start rummaging in your purse for a card to pay. However, when you go to hand over the card, it is smacked out of your hand. There wasn't any real force or aggression to the action, but it certainly was surprising, causing the metal rectangle to clank against the bar top.
"Javy!" You gasp in surprise, turning to see him glaring at you.
"You're not paying for anything when I'm around," he all but growls. His arm that is snug around your shoulder hasn't moved one bit, but his free hand is digging around his pocket, clearly looking for a wallet.
"Javy, sweetheart. It's okay. I know how you feel about this." You pick up the card from where it fell on the bar and show it to him. As you explain, the Navy Federal Credit Union logo is clearly visible for him now, "This is the card for our joint account."
Halting the digging in his pocket, he narrows his eyes to fully observe the card. Once he is convinced it's the card attached to his account, he weakly apologizes, "Oh. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, " you say as you pass over his soda and then nudge his side again. "Why don't you say goodbye to the boys. I will close your tab."
"You're not going to leave, right?" He asks you worriedly. His thumb brushes a broad stroke against your arm while he asks the question.
"Not without you, handsome." You reassure him, ignoring the small butterflies he still inspires in you.
"Promise?" Javy asks you in a small voice.
"I promise," you say. You squeeze his hand gently and then peel his arm off you.
"Pinky promise?"
"Pinky promise," you guarantee, hooking your pinky with his. A wide grin splits Javy's face again, and he kisses your forehead. Walking away, mostly steady on his feet, to say goodbye to his friends. Once you're sure he made it alright, you turn back to Mark.
"I'll grab his tab, and we might as well grab Seresin's Tab also. The blonde one over there," you request, gesturing back their direction.
"Sure thing," Mark says, offering you an easy smile and taking your card to run through the POS system. It's in that quiet moment in-between while paying when your whole night shifts. You hear a group of men a bit farther down the bar, but there weren't even any people between you and their gabbing. You were sure they were all drunk enough to think that the conversation wasn't one that could be overheard.
"That's Coyote's wife?" One asks in disbelief catching your attention.
"Yeah, I'm shocked every time," someone else confirms. You resist the urge to look over at the group and see which one of them had met you before or if they just knew because of Javy's previous yelling. It's not like you exactly played the part of trophy officer's wife very often like someone married to Javy should be.
"I don't understand," the first man says like he is trying to solve a very complex math problem. It's not an uncommon reconciliation someone might have to make seeing you and Javy together.
"There is no way Coyote settled for that," One of them says in disbelief. Their conversation is a dagger to your heart and self-esteem. While you knew that Coyote was out of your league, confirmation from someone outside yourself doesn't make it hurt less.
"Maybe she looked different when they first got together. You know a lot of women let themselves go after marriage."
"Well, she is kinda pretty… If that's what you're into." Gritting your teeth to keep from crying, you wish you could just disappear or that Mark would hurry up with your card so you can collect Javy and leave.
"Fair enough, but Coyote is a ten dude." Maybe it was more offensive that they thought you weren't aware of your husband's attractiveness than their opinions on your own looks. As if you weren't aware, like you didn't see Coyote shirtless daily or when he got home from his run and the gym. The 5-inch inseam shorts he wore on your last beach vacation and just how great his thighs looked haunted your dreams for months. As if you hadn't seen him in his dress whites, dress blues, and the Tuxedo he wore to his cousin's wedding last summer. You were very conscious, hyper-aware even, of how attractive Coyote is.
"You know who else has an ugly wife?" Someone interjects, and their conversation moves on. You wish it was as easy for you to move on. Of course, it's not the first time you have heard similar comments, but they still nearly bring you to tears every time. It's not fair so much importance is put on physical looks, on something you can't even fully control, despite what most people think.
You make eye contact with Mark, who is looking at you with something much too close to pity, while your card is processing. How he looks at you makes the pit in your stomach fall a bit lower like he agrees with them but would never say it. As if he is embarrassed that you were forced to endure hearing the truth on this matter. You manage to give him a smile, but it clearly is forced. Anyone thinking you weren't painfully aware of the discrepancies of attractiveness between you and your husband must also believe you are blind. When Mark gives you the receipt to sign, you quickly scribble a tip and your signature, wanting to escape as quickly as possible. As you shove your card into your purse, you finally look over to the group who made the comments trying to remember their faces in the din of the bar so that if you meet them again, you can avoid them at all costs.
You go back to Coyote, who is laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking, and his eyes are crinkled. You know that he isn't laughing at what you just heard. Javy's sense of duty regarding you and your sham of a marriage is boundless, and he hasn't hesitated to play the part of a protective husband before. However, you feel so sensitive now that part of you thinks he must be laughing at you. Despite how irrational it is, you can't fully push the thought away. Coyote must find it funny that he has gotten you to come pick him up. It's funny that people always view the discrepancies in your marriage in his favor.
As your feelings and thoughts start to spiral darker, your nails bite into your palms. The looming cloud over you is shoved to the side because Javy is making grabby hands at you. As a human embodiment of sunshine, something magnified by how carefree and open he is while drunk, it only takes that and a smile for the dread hanging over you to significantly lessen. Even though you don't feel quite as low as you did when leaving the bartop, you still aren't in high enough spirits to settle into Javy's welcoming embrace. His strong arms fall back to his side at your denial, which also dims his smile as he comes close to you.
"Are you ready to go, Coyote?" You ask, trying and failing to achieve the upbeat tone you were shooting for.
"No," he answers petulantly.
"No?"
"I want to dance before we go." He pouts, opening his arms wide again. You try to ignore all his friends' eyes on you and Hangman's amused sniggering. Javy is very affectionate when drunk, and it wouldn't shock you that Jake had been on the receiving end of that affection in the time it took you to get here to pick your husband up.
"We aren't dancing. We are going home," you respond, maybe a bit too curtly because all the joy in Javy's face is sucked away. Watching his grin become a frown and the mirth in his eyes drop just serves to add to the heavyweight you feel coiled up in your chest. The one that is always there but was aggravated by the conversation you overheard and will be as sensitive as an open wound for several days to come.
"Bye guys," Javy says halfheartedly, waving to his friends and now quickly striding to the door, not even waiting for you or checking if you are following. You look over to Hangman and shrug quickly, telling him that you got his tab too.
"Little M&M, you do care!" Jake gasps, pressing a hand to his heart.
"And don't you forget it," You say, while accepting his side hug.
"Thank you, honest. And you get my wingman home safe, please." Jake says, letting you go and shooting you a stellar smile. The rest of the group calls their well wishes, and You give one last wave before hustling after your husband. Coyote is standing, waiting near the door outside. You immediately start to walk to the car but turn around when you realize Javy hasn't moved.
"Can still hear the music out here," Javy mumbles.
"True, they must have an outside speaker." You say while backtracking to him again. Javy lifts a hand, settling it on your shoulder, then running it down your arm until his fingers tangle together with yours.
"Dance with me? Please." He requests again, and you can't say no with the way he is looking at you.
Setting down your purse on top of one of the outside tables, you hesitantly step closer into Javy's waiting arms. He hums contently the moment you are there. Singing along with the music into your ear, he holds you close. The dancing is little more than swaying together almost in time with the music. That doesn't really matter to you, though, because Javy is warm, and being this close to him makes you feel safe. Two songs pass that way. However, when a more upbeat tune comes on Coyote tries to spin you, nearly falling in the process, and you think it's probably time to get home.
He doesn't make any complaint getting into the car, except for insisting on carrying your purse and then holding it in his lap once his seatbelt is secured. While driving home, Javy is staring at you instead out of the window. He was so quiet at first you thought he had fallen asleep. However, when you cut your eyes over to him at a stop light, you are trapped in the deep brown of his gaze. You're lucky the roads are mostly abandoned because you nearly miss the green light you are so caught up in him.
"Do you ever wonder?" Javy eventually asks you.
"Wonder what?"
"About us. About this," He says, spinning and twisting his wedding ring. Javy had surprised you when he had come home one day with the matching bands only a few short weeks after you got married. There had hardly been an occasion since that he could be found not wearing it.
"I don't know. What is there to wonder about Javy?"
He blows out a long sigh through his nose, and your stomach clenches with anxiety. Javy had always been so resolute, so committed to this deal you two had. His steadfastness is what you would desperately cling to on the days that you felt like you conned him. Javy questioning your union suddenly shakes everything in you. Maybe he had heard what those men in the bar were saying after all. Perhaps after all this time, it was going to click for him that he shouldn't waste away in a loveless marriage, that he could do so much better than you.
"I suppose so. 'S Not like we could go back and change anything."
"Do you regret what we did?" You ask him, barely above a whisper. The quietness following your question is heavy, and the dark of the car makes it nearly suffocating. Javy's left hand peels your right hand away from the steering wheel, and he threads your fingers together tightly.
"No. I never regret," he says firmly. Neither of you utters another word on the way home, but Javy doesn't let go of your hand either.
The men's comments from the bar hang over you all night as you fitfully toss and turn, trying to sleep. You consider them beyond just the comments about your looks, but more about Javy and what he deserves. How he deserves something more than you. You want to keep him, but the more you think about it, the more wrong that seems. While meditating on your husband, you come to the decision there is nothing, not even your own comfort, that you care about more than seeing Javy "Coyote" Machado happy and in love. Something he will never be with you. You rationalize it's like a bone that had been allowed to heal the wrong way; the only way to remedy it and set it on the right path is to break it first. Bones, hearts, and marriages all practically the same thing.
You are buzzing with this revelation, and when you wake up the next morning, you know you can't wait. The sooner you get it over with, the better it would be for both of you. Still wearing pajamas, you go straight to the kitchen after waking up. You can hear Javy there making noise.
"Javy, I want a divorce," you declare more confidently than you feel. The words leave your mouth before you have even fully gone through the kitchen doorway. There is a clattering and your eyes are instantly drawn up from the floor near your feet where you had been focusing. Javy is standing by the counter wearing his Kiss the Cook apron and drops a knife he was holding.
He opens and closes his mouth twice before he finally says something. It sounds directed more toward himself than you. "I can't believe you just asked me for a divorce on Valentine's day."
"Is it Valentine's Day?" You ask him, shocked. Quickly pulling out your phone to check the date, the device confirms that it is absolutely February 14th. You can't believe you woke up and let the holiday sneak up on you.
"It is," he reaffirms, a deep frown marring his handsome features.
Guilt immediately floods through you because Javy loves Valentine's Day. He had openly admitted on your first anniversary that it was one of his favorite unexpected benefits of being married. He loved having someone to do all the typical Valentine's Day things with. Someone he was guaranteed to spend the day with. He wouldn't admit it, though you suspected he also liked that it was a day you were guaranteed to think of him. An added day to the calendar that he knew he wouldn't be forgotten.
There are not one or two, but three large bouquets of flowers scattered in the room. The table is all set up with a cloth covered in pink and white hearts. With a glance at the pan, you see the potato pancakes Javy is cooking as well as the sweet crepes arranged with strawberries he had cut to be heart-shaped. All of this on top of the various decorations littered around the room. The room is littered with evidence of Javy's joy for the holiday, almost decorated to the point of tackiness. Every part is thoughtful as well as endearing, and you hadn't even realized the day. Tears prick at your eyes while taking the whole thing in. He leads you to rest at your small round dining table his palm warm on your arm as he guides you.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't realize. I can ask again tomorrow, I guess." You say with a wobbly voice.
"No sweetheart, I don't want you to ask again." He says tightly. Javy isn't even sitting in the other chair. Instead, he kneels in front of you while holding your hands, looking so earnest. "Why do you want a divorce?"
"Well, the reasons we got married don't really apply to us anymore. You will still live off base now no matter what, at your rank, and I'm finally graduating." Javy's thumb is still swiping across the back of yours. You recognize it's wrong to take comfort from him right now, but you also can't help how you relax slightly which each stroke.
"Okay," he says slowly. Staring at you intently, you can see how hard Javy's brain is working to process the information you just threw at him. He traces over your face, then falls down to look at your joined hands. Javy squeezes your hands and drops them, sitting back on his heels, and you feel the dread seep in again, not having his steadying warmth so close anymore. "Can we dissect this together, please? You want a divorce?"
"Yes," you answer. He blows out a long heavy sigh, scrubbing his hands across his face as he sits in the chair on the other side of the table. Silence starts to stretch before Javy breaks it again.
"Have I been making you unhappy?"
"No. Not directly at least," You answer quickly, and it's not a lie. Javy himself is rarely the cause of your unhappiness.
"Indirectly then. And you have been unhappy?"
You think over his question and then start to think of a lie. You don't want to detail your feelings about this. Honesty would certainly lead to both your feelings being hurt more than necessary. You have been unhappy but in ways only of your own making. Wanting that which you could not have, fancying yourself a sort of Icarus.
"As much truth as you can spare me, please. Don't want to hear whatever lie you were just cooking up."
"It's more about the happiness we are cutting ourselves off from. The opportunities that we are missing."
The hold on the very neutral look Javy has been wearing slips, and he clenches his jaw hard. You are momentarily distracted by the flexing muscle, nearly forgetting the conversation at hand. The deep frown that pulls Javy's lips reorients your priorities, and you really wish this was a conversation that didn't have to happen face to handsome-distracting-gorgeous face.
"Is there someone else? Has Mrs. Machado's eye finally been caught after all these years?" Javy asks the questions more casually, curious than you are expecting. It does make you feel foolish to look for jealousy in his words. However, the idea of there being someone else is so funny you can't contain your dry chuckle.
"Our divorce is not a laughing matter!" Javy cries so indignantly it just makes you laugh harder. Then a few breaths later, his deep laugh intertwines with yours. It is not long until you are both breathless after the chuckles turned giggles turned howling. Javy is actively pushing away stray tears, and you are clutching your side, feeling a small stitch. Leaning back in his chair, he blows out a breath, sniffing in hard and breathing the air out in a measured way.
"Okay, well. This isn't something that can really happen today, is it?" Javy asks you.
"No. I guess not," you agree.
The corner of his right mouth quirks up then, and some of the severity eases on his face. "It's still valentines day then, and you're still my wife, so —" He trails off and reaches across the table, picking up an envelope that was sitting in the center, handing it to you. With shaky fingers, you open it. The card inside is almost more beautiful than any card Javy has ever given you. The front is covered in tasteful pastel hearts, gold foil, and your name. It's just as high quality as you knew it would be. You aren't sure where he has been buying these over the years but every card you have ever gotten from him is stunning. Seeing the inside filled with Javy's cramped writing with an extra sheet included almost moves you to tears, and you shove the card back in its envelope.
"I'll read that later," you mutter with a watery smile. Javy doesn't push you, which you are thankful for. Instead, he just holds out a hand, and you immediately grab it threading your fingers together.
"Will you be my valentine?" Javy asks you hopefully.
"Yes, of course, I will."
He grins, but it's not as wide as you would hope. There is still a clear air of somberness to him. "If you don't want to spend the day with me now I understand."
"Oh Javy, I'm so sorry. I should have thought through bringing this up to you much more than I did, including factoring in relevant holidays. Of course, I want to spend the day with you."
"No sweat, my Valentine. How about I finish cooking us breakfast then? I have the whole day planned, you know."
"Yes, I know," you say affectionately.
"Today's menu and itinerary can be found to your left," Javy informs you. His free hand gesturing to a small decorated chalkboard propped on the table. Then he lifts your joined hands up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of your palms. When he tries to detangle your fingers and stand from the table, but you stop him.
"Hold on. I have to go grab something."
"You already had papers drawn up?" He asks in a strained voice.
"No, I haven't. Let's set the divorce aside for the day okay?"
"That's a good idea," he agrees.
"I didn't completely forget about Valentine's Day. I just didn't remember this morning. Do you really think I would miss all the heart decorations all over the place? Or the 14 hearts you drew on the calendar." You ask him teasingly.
"Well, I don't want you to think you have to do anything."
"Javy," you sigh affectionately. Then telling him to stay put, you rush to your room and grab the wrapped gift youpicked out only days after new years. Coming back down, you excitedly plop the box in front of him on the table.
"This is so kind you didn't have to."
"I never mind doing anything for you Javy. Now stop delaying and opening it."
Obeying your command, he excitedly rips at the paper and into the box, searching for the gift. When he pulls it out, he smiles so wide his eyes crinkle, and everything is right again. "A candle of the month subscription?"
"I thought you might like it," you admit.
"With a wood wick," he sighs, opening the candle to smell it.
"And they let me put a list of all our no-no scents," you say.
"I love this, really. Thank you so much, sweetheart." Javy says while he reads over the little brochure that had been sent with the first candle.
"I'm so pleased you like it."
After that you finally allow Javy to finish cooking breakfast, making surprisingly easy conversation. It almost seems as if he truly has taken the temporary tabling of your divorce to heart. The day preceding light hearted and upbeat the rest of the morning, following the same patterns as years past.
You and Javy do have Valentine's traditions at this point, gifts, and the day spent together. The first Valentine’s you spent together he had made reservations at the fanciest restaurant in town weeks in advance. Only for the meal and service to be subpar, both of you agreeing Javy could have made something just as good if not better at home. In the years following, you two have still dressed up, but Javy makes the meal. Valentine's day is also one of the two days a year you are guaranteed kisses from Javy. He will drink too much wine, becoming affectionate and playful. Then he will pout about all the work he put into cooking, never in a way that makes you feel guilty. Huffing until you ask what he wants in repayment. Then Javy will always request the same thing. Each of the last four Valentine's days and all three of your wedding anniversaries, a kiss. It never stays at one kiss, but it has never been more than a heated make out session. It's something that neither of you ever brings up the next day.
You think it seems odd that you should make an exception to that tradition just because it's the last one. You hope that your foolishness of suggesting a divorcee on today of all days won't make an impact, but the more rational part of you knows it already has. Regardless, you still dress as nicely as you always do that evening for dinner.
The hallway into the kitchen and the kitchen itself are decorated with way too many mini candles to be considered wholly safe. The soft lighting is accented by the heavy aromas of Javy's cooking, making your mouth water slightly. Javy has a dress shirt on with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and has a towel thrown over his shoulder as he puts the final touches on some of the dishes. Glancing up as you enter the kitchen he freezes into place before straightening to his full height.
"You look beautiful," he utters, throwing the towel on a rack and striding across the kitchen to you.
"Oh come on Javy, don't make fun."
"I ain't making fun," Javy says, catching your hands and holding them tightly in his large warm palms. When he sees your disbelief, he repeats the words again, squeezing your hands urging you to believe him. With a breath, you accept his words the best you can. You had spent a lot of time deciding what to wear and were pleased with how the overall styling went.
"Thank you. You look very handsome. Are you an aviator or a model? We may never know."
"Why can't I be both?"
"Don't worry Coyote. I'm sure the day the Navy decides to do a shirtless Naval Aviator calendar you will be number one on their speed dial." Which makes him laugh as he pushes in your chair for you at the table. Then pressing a kiss to your forehead, he goes back to the kitchen.
"Callsigns at home, on Valentine's Day. Sweetheart, you are trying to break my heart." Javy teases, bringing over your plates. Paying him all his compliments due, You had only had the first few bites when Javy asks you a question that catches you off guard.
"What about health insurance?"
"What?" You splutter.
"What are you going to do for health insurance when we are divorced? You need that insurance, sweetheart."
"Javy, I thought we were leaving it."
"I can't leave it. I don't want a divorce. So, I'm sorry, but I can't leave it. Who's going to take you to your doctor's appointments? Where are you going to live? Am I moving, or you, or both of us? Are we selling the house?"
"I don't have it all figured out yet. It's something that we are going to have to do as we go along."
"I just don't understand what we would gain from this," Javy says, frustrated.
"Freedom!" You cry out, wishing you could find it in you to explain the twisting feeling, the dark and sad thoughts you had to endure in this marriage. Knowing you not only would never be enough but that you were less than. Your words make Javy stiffen like a board.
"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had entrapped you into this relationship," The words are biting, and you wish a conversation could ever go the way you were hoping.
"It's not like that," You tell him quickly. "Don't you want the freedom to choose to be with who you want? Don't you want to date and not have to awkwardly explain that you're married to your roommate?"
"So there is someone else?"
"No, just you Javy."
"Can you tell me what it is about me that you don't love?" He asks you in a quiet way. Javy's eyes drop down to his plate and you feel his knee bouncing quickly. Your mouth goes completely dry, and you scramble to sip some water from the glass set out. After a big gulp you still aren't sure how to answer. But then Javy's shoulders slump slightly, you see part of him crumble, and you crumble with it. He deserves honesty, maybe more than anyone else you know, because Javy is straightforward, ambitious, loyal, funny, kind, and you love him.
"That's the problem. There isn't anything about you that I don't love Javy. And god, you would think after nearly four years married to you, I would have found something not to love. I honestly think you are more wonderful now than when we first met."
Javy's eyebrows draw together, and he clearly is struggling to process your confession. Then he lets out a sigh of relief, "Thank god, this is wonderful news. I love you too."
"Javy you could do so much better than me. You should be with someone who is on your level."
He laughs. Javy laughs, and you wish you could manifest yourself out of existence. But then he is out of his chair and crowding in close to you, hooking a finger under your chin lifting it so that you can no longer avoid his gaze. "Sweetheart, there is no one better than you."
Then slowly, so slowly, he leans in and catches your lips in a gentle kiss. A kiss before wine, and before a drawn out preamble. It was a kiss because Javy loved you with no other pretenses involved. He pulls away, and you suck in a heaving breath. His eyes study yours intently, and he leans in for another kiss. Meeting him halfway you wrap your arms around his neck, awkwardly pulling him closer while deepening the kiss.
Javy looms over you, and the angle makes your chair squeak shifting backward, trying to take the shifted weight. You are saved from falling completely thanks to your arms and his that instinctually wrapped around your waist. Once you are both steady on your feet and the danger of falling has passed, you meet Javy's eyes while biting your lip to keep the giggles in. He looks in a similar state of mirth, not able to stop smiling even as he presses kisses to your face.
"Do you know how hard it's been? Blissful torture every day of our marriage. Able to have you here, to see you, but not allowed to touch. And I have wanted to touch you for so long."
"Where do you want to touch Javy?"
"Oh everywhere sweetheart," he says roughly. His hands drifting from your waist over your ass and then starting to trace the shape of your thighs in slow appreciation. Just when you are finally getting to appreciate Javy's tongue against yours, his phone rings. He pulls away from you with a pained groan, glaring across the room. His phone is set on the furthest away counter that it can be practically tucked away. You know Javy would have had the phone turned off and tucked away if he was allowed. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he strides quickly across the room and picks up the phone.
"This is Lieutenant Machado," The tone is stark and official. His eyes haven't moved from you, though. Then a tick forms in his jaw, and he grits out, "Hangman, are you serious? It's Valentine's Day. I care about you, but unless this is life or death, I'm spending the night in bed with my wife." Hearing who it was that called, you follow Javy into the kitchen. Sliding up to him, you slot yourself into his side, draping an arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer.
"In bed with M&M?!" You hear Jake start to yell, but you are taking the phone from Javy.
"Seresin, don't call back through do not disturb unless it's a real emergency," you mutter into the receiver before hanging up. Javy's lips are tracing your neck less than a breath later.
"What was this you mentioned about bed?" You ask Javy.
"Do you want to get in one with me, like right now?"
"Yes, please," you agree breathily. You hand Javy his phone, and he tucks it in his pocket, clearly displeased by the device's proximity.
"I hate being on call."
You are pulling him in the direction of his room just because it is closer before you can let any further idea of work enter his head. Entering the room, you both practically scramble to undress each other. Javy whines while reminding you that his shirt is Armani, and he wants to keep all the buttons when you fumble opening them. You roll your eyes but slow down and take care not to ruin one of your husband's favorite shirts.
"I think about these pretty lips every single day," Javy tells you. He kisses you again, but it's more tender than you expect. When he pulls away, he smiles.
"I think about how pretty they are when you smile and all the ways that they could touch me. What they feel like against my lips. How they would feel wrapped around my cock." Javy's thumb starts to trace your lower lip, and you suck it into your mouth, gliding the tip of your tongue against the pad. Inhaling sharply, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, to your disappointment.
"I think about touching your tits all the time." Javy pivots while grabbing a handful of your breast and squeezing, taking the opportunity to unhook your bra. You help him slide the straps off your shoulders, and he takes a moment to admire your breasts. Then dipping down to kiss them as well. Urging you to lay back on the bed, once you are lying down with Javy's eyes raking over your form, you start to feel self-conscious. Even as he pulls your panties off and starts kissing your legs. You cross your legs and do your best to cover yourself. His intense gaze nearly making want to reach for the throw blanket that is on the end of the bed. The sight of Javy's chiseled chest and cut edges reminds you of your soft edges and curves, the thought that you are ill matched flooding your brain.
"Now Mrs. Machdo. That is not how things go in this bedroom. But don't you worry, I'm here to teach you." Javy tsks at you. Javy grabs an ankle in each large hand, pulling you toward the end of the bed. Then completely unabashed, he stares at your pussy. You try to close your legs again, but Javy's hands on your ankles prevent you from doing so. Kneeling down, he presses soft kisses to your legs and the inside of your thighs.
"I'm going to take my time with you," he tells you, kissing up your legs. He bypasses your sex, instead kissing your stomach. As he is teasing one of your nipples, you dare to touch him back, letting your fingers dance over the shape of his arms and then across his strong shoulders. It's an exploration you have dreamed of many times, but the soft smoothness of his skin is better. When Javy has paid attention to both nipples and leaves a mark you know will blossom into a hickey near your collar bone he is kissing you again. With one of his strong thighs in between your legs, you push against it trying to seek some friction and relief from your burning arousal. Pulling your lips away from his.
"Javy, I want you now," you gasp, pouting. Squirming against his thigh, you trace your hands down his back with the full intention of pushing down his briefs. Instead though, he is easing himself back down your body and kneeling on the side of the bed.
"No Ma'am. I'm going to do everything I wanted to on our wedding night when we should have consummated this marriage." Javy starts tracing your skin again, peppering kisses where he sees fit. You jump slightly at the feeling but quickly relax. Even though you two have not ever been intimate, that doesn't mean that you aren't comfortable with him in almost every other way. It feels surprisingly easy to take this new step, to be pressed together. You had always thought it might not be there, a physical spark, that maybe you were compatible with Javy in every other way. However, the moment Javy's tongue meets your clit, and he is the one who moans first, the doubt largely vanishes from your mind; it's so evident he desires you too.
While licking your clit Javy traces a finger along your lips, occasionally dipping into you, but the whole action is teasing. Just when he edges the length of his finger inside you, he kisses your thighs. When he licks your clit in firm strokes, he starts to edge his finger out of you. It's building you up but also making you feel like there is no end in sight.
"Javy, I need you now," you beg again.
"It's too soon." He tells you, lifting his head and pulling his mouth off you, and you nearly cry at the loss. "I have to warm you up baby, or it will hurt."
It will hurt, Javy claims, and the thought of his dick being big enough that is something he worries about sends another wave of arousal rushing through you. Married three years, you had seen the delicious outline of it in boxers, briefs, grey sweatpants, and towels, and even now, you still haven't seen all of him.
"Now, please," you whine.
"Prove you can take my fingers, and then we will see," Javy tells you, attempting to compromise with a teasing lit. He only has one finger in you, and you buck against it, seeking more. When he teases another at your entrance, you shift taking that finger as far as your position will allow. Sighing contently when with the stretch, feeling more full. As you clench around his thick fingers, Javy grunts out a low moan, speeding his digits and occasionally scissoring you wider open.
"What about a third?" He asks eventually. The idea sends another wave of arousal through you. As you clench around his fingers, Javy hums against your clit. Gasping desperately, you fist your hands in his forest green quilt. Javy doesn't actually indulge you in a third finger but continues to tease your entrance like he might. His tongue drags against your clit, and the wet sounds of the whole act making you clench harder around his fingers.
"Please, just fuck me. Please, Javy."
"You think I'm going to fuck you before you cum on my tongue? You're so silly, sweetheart. I'm taking my sweet time with you. I have so much to make up for," Javy nips playfully at your inner thigh. You hum at the contact spreading your knees and legs a little wider to accommodate Javy's broad shoulders. Flattening his tongue to give you a broader stroke and occasionally licking around his fingers. You feel dripping at the combination of your own juices and his spit. It's teasing and playful, a pattern you're starting to notice with him.
Nearing an orgasm, you try to grind harder on Javy's tongue, but when you do he teases a third finger again. The push for new fullness drags you back from the edge. Teetering there, you try to figure out if another one of his fingers will enter you. When he curls it away, you groan lowly. Javy stops sucking at your clit and turns his face back to pillow on your thigh. You can feel his smirk against your skin. You weren't prepared for this kind of edging, and the desperation feels nearly raw and beyond just needy.
"Please, Javy. Do I need to beg more? Do you want me to cry? Or—" you trail off, hoping that he will fill the blank for you. You are willing to give him whatever he wants; you just don't know what that is yet. Navigating sex is always something a little awkward with a new partner. It feels an extra layer of odd because you know Javy, and have known him for years. You know that the smallest glance with a squeeze of your hand means he wants to leave a party. You know when he spends too long at the gym by the slightly slower pace he walks. You know the soup to make him when he has a cold and tries to hide it from you. You know Javy. Suddenly having a situation where you are unsure feels foreign and uncomfortable.
Javy sits back more on his calves so he can better gauge your reactions. "I want to rock your world. I want to ruin every other man for you. I want my name to be the only one you know. I want you to be mine and only mine. Sweetheart, you are all I want."
"You already have all those things," you reassure him. Propping yourself on your elbows so you can meet his gaze. Even heavy with lust, his eyes still make you feel warm and safe. A small genuine smile lifts on his lips, then grows into a splitting grin that makes his eyes crinkle.
"You've been so good and giving for me Mrs. Machado. About time I give back to you ain't it?" He asks, peppering more kisses all over your legs. His fingers resume pumping into you steadily, and he is purposeful in how he drags them along your inner walls. "I want one more thing, though."
"Anything Javy. Anything."
"I want you to cum for me whenever you're ready. I'll give it to you. I'll give you anything you want, baby." Javy isn't teasing this time. He starts to work you over again with his lips sealed around your clit. He sucks while also tracing hard twisting strokes of his tongue. His digits maintain a steady speed, but they are fucking into you harder, and he continues to curl them, occasionally dragging over your walls. Arching further to the edge of the bed, Javy's arm lays across your hips, holding you down so he can grind his tongue against you harder.
"Don't stop," you beg, and this time he listens. It takes a few more pumps of his fingers, and you are tumbling over the edge. Your pussy spasming around his fingers. Javy moans, and the vibrations travel right through you, extending your orgasm and making your hips stutter before falling all the way down to the bed. Closing your eyes tightly with short breaths, it takes you several moments to come back to your body. When you finally feel yourself, you find Javy on the bed with you resting with his head on your tummy. As your brain starts working, you try to push Javy's head away, but he resists snuggling further into you.
"Javy," you start to say, not sure how to explain to him your insecurities.
"Thank you, baby. That was so good. You are so beautiful," he says, mouthing little kisses near your belly button and up your chest.
"I love that you're so soft," he mutters, almost in awe. One of his hands squeezes your side, and the other graces over your lower belly. Javy presses his lips to your breasts and sucks a nipple. You keen under him. Using your knees to urge him that much further up your body so you can kiss Javy, tasting the hint of yourself on his tongue still. Once he knows that you don't mind your own taste he deepens the kiss and rolls you both to be less perilously positioned on the end of the bed.
"Will you fuck me now?" Javy is nodding, but not as enthusiastically as you expect him to. So you ask him hesitantly, "Or we can do other stuff?"
"I really want to make love to you, but."
"But?" You ask. Groaning, Javy slides to lay next to you, hiding his face in your chest. You run your fingers across the shaved prickly skin at the base of his skull, patiently waiting.
"I'm worried I'll cum too fast. I don't want you to get the wrong idea."
You make no attempt to stop the burst of tenderness and love you feel at his small confession sharing vulnerability. Then in the kindest voice, you say, "that's okay. It doesn't really matter to me. As long as you enjoy yourself, that's what matters."
Lifting his face from your chest, the look Javy gives you is horrified and a little offended. Immediately he starts jumping into explanation, "To start, fuck no. That is not what matters. Like I said, I don't want you to think that I'm always quick to cum. I've just wanted this for so long, and I spent so much time putting everything together today that I didn't even jack off in the shower. My second round of the day is always so much longer, I promise."
"Javy, thank you. I promise this isn't going to change my thoughts or feelings about you. Okay? And a second round sounds great to me. We have to get through the first, though."
"Okay," he says with a sigh. Javy stands off the bed again, and you take the opportunity to scooch  further back against the headboard. You watch, entranced, as he finally peels his briefs off; Coyote’s cock is mouthwatering. You aren't at all ashamed of the small gasping moan that falls from your throat.
"How do you want me?" You ask him as he crawls back up the bed. You stare at his body, suddenly overcome with the urge to trace over every single inch of him with your tongue.
"How do you want me, beautiful?" He fires back in an easy tone.
"Missionary?" You suggest. Nodding his head enthusiastically to your suggestion. Settling in between your thighs and you have to widen your knees to accommodate his broad frame.
"Fuck yes, I want to be in this pretty pussy and able to see your pretty face too."
He wasn't lying when he told you that he was big, and as he starts to push in, you are appreciative that he took his time with foreplay. Being stuffed so full of him leaves you gasping, and your mind keeps repeating better. This is better than you ever thought it would be. He is better than you always knew he would be.
"How are you doing, sweetheart?"
"So good. I'm so full of you Javy. I want more."
Taking your permission, he starts rocking into you at a steady pace. With one arm, he anchors himself against the headboard gripping it tightly, then his free hand traces your face. You can tell Javy is trying to hold himself back and take things slow for the sake of his ego. You start to meet his thrusts lifting your hips a bit more to get a better angle. Javy's hand falls from your face to your ass, helping support you. The steady pace starts to increase to a hot frantic tempo. He moans your name brokenly, and you grab his ass, trying to urge him even closer to chase his pleasure. His hips start to stutter, and panting he slips out of you. His hand lets you go to give his cock a few harsh jerks, and Javy cums on your chest. He is frozen like that for a moment before rolling to your side with a wide grin on his face.
"You could have cum inside. We are married, you know." You tease Javy. He stops breathing momentarily, and you turn your head to see him better. Despite having just cum, his eyes are still heavy with lust, and when he does take a breath again, it's a little ragged.
"We've never really discussed that and should have used protection anyways. I'm sorry." Javy hasn't even finished the apology when you drag your finger across some of the cum on your chest. Delicately you swipe your tongue across your finger, tasting him. Javy groans low in his chest, turning to lie flat on his back and his face in the crook of his elbow. You hum happily, the power you have over him intoxicating to a degree.
"You're right. That's definitely something we need to talk about, but next time…" You wait for Javy' to remove his elbow and look at you again. He does peek at you a few seconds later. "I want you to come inside me. I want to feel you dripping down my thighs. I want you to fill me up."
Javy's mouth falls open, and his eyes are so dark you feel like you could get lost in them. He is surging forward then and kissing you. It's a dirty and quick tangle of tongues. Then he pulls away and starts mouthing at your throat. "Do you want to be stuffed with my cum, baby?"
"Yes, Lieutenant Machado," you say cheekily.
"Fuck. You drive me a little crazy," he warns you lowly as you move to straddle him. You can tell he is still sensitive, but his dick is already starting to thicken again. You settle on his thigh instead, deciding that you could be patient waiting for him. You rock against his thighs for the smallest bit of stimulation just to start you going again. Javy watches you, completely captivated.
"You being a good girl and waiting for me? Just give me a few minutes."
"I've been waiting three years. I can wait a little while longer to be full of your cum," you tell him, but it comes out as a whine like you're trying to convince yourself that's true. Javy settles a hand on your hip, giving you a small bit of encouragement to grind against him harder.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart. No more though. I've got you now. I promise. I've got you." He repeats gently. His sweet and caring tone only makes the desperation in you burn higher. Shaking your head at him, unable to form the words explaining how you are feeling. Instead, you drop your eyes down to look at your chest again. You thought you would feel a little more peeved at the feeling of his cum drying against your skin. Rather, you just find more you can scoop into your mouth. The fact that his dick isn't in your mouth feels criminal.
Taking a moment to not just admire him but also strategize. Javy has a long cock, and you know you wouldn't be able to take all of him down without practice and working your way up to it. Something that definitely wouldn't be happening tonight. However, then the taste of his cum isn't enough, and neither is just looking. You slide further down his thigh; your own pleasure is lost in the haze of this need.
It's a more burning type of relief to have your mouth on him. You give the head a few soft licks, vaguely wondering how different he will taste when he hasn't already been in you. Javy lets out another shuddering moan. You want to lift your head in order to take in his features, but you are too absorbed in the feeling of his cock in your mouth. Javy clearly doesn't mind as you set about tracing his length. After a thorough exploration, one of your hands joins the mix, appreciating his shape and how heavy his dick is in your hand.
Sucking Javy until he is fully hard again, you become braver, daring to take more of him in your mouth. Bobbing slightly and sucking, letting your hand make up for the rest. However, just as you start to feel pleased with your rhythm, Javy gently pulls you off him, cooing when you whine.
"Baby. Baby stop. It's okay. Take a breath. That was so amazing. You are so fucking amazing."
"I hope it was okay. I might be a little out of practice," you admit to him shyly. Your lusty haze ebbing, you trace the lines of his chest but don't want to meet his eyes. Surely he hadn't been expecting you to be this much during your first time together.
"You're doing so good, sweetheart. I love you, and I love this," he reassures you. You shimmy up to straddle him again, lightly dragging your dripping cunt over him. Javy's cock is pressed hotly between your thighs, spreading your lips while nudging against your clit. You rock along him, wanting that friction while bracing against his chest, leaning down to kiss him.
"I love you too," you mutter against his lips. When Javy shifts his hips in tandem with yours, catching your entrance and then sliding past it, you're spurred into action. "I need you in me, Javy."
"I ain't stopping nothing, but are you sure you are okay?"
You don't answer him directly; instead, you reach between you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. Leaning back for a better angle, you slide down his whole length. You are taken aback, letting out a sharp almost pained gasp. Having already accommodated him inside once tonight, you didn't expect to still feel the slight burning stretch of his girth now. Once you adjust riding Javy is a dream. Praise spills out of his mouth along with the most delicious sounds. It's a great angle that makes you feel incredibly full. Your thighs start to burn when you stop the slow grinding and transition to you bouncing quickly on his dick. You hope the increased pace, paired with the snapping of Javy's hips, would get you there. However, it's still not enough. Not even when Javy brings his thumb up to circle your clit in strong consistent strokes. Although you are nearly in tears, Javy looks perfectly content like this is exactly what he wants.
"Javy," you cry high pitched, completely ceasing your movements. Even though you froze, he doesn't. Javy's hips continue lifting up fucking into you, and his thumb doesn't falter either. You take a moment to just feel it, and savor the moment. Then tiredly you slump down against his chest. A few thrusts later, you bite Javy's peck hard. He doesn't complain as he runs one of his hands down your back and squeezes your ass, chucking.
"What do you need, sweet girl?" He asks you. You bite him again, licking one at his nipple before nibbling it too. That rewards you with an extra hard thrust from Javy.
"I don't know," you admit, frustrated. The constant stimulation makes you burn hotter and is tantalizing, but it doesn't give you any push to the final release. Javy completely stops moving but stays hilted in you. His hands urge you to sit up, and he holds your gaze steadily.
"It's okay. We always figure things out together, don't we? This isn't any different."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, of course. Now tell me how you are feeling. Tell me what you like."
"I really like you. I love you Javy. And I've been thinking about this for so long."
"I've been dreaming about it too. I can't believe neither of us said anything sooner."
"I couldn't ever tell you."
"I wish you had. Why didn't you?"
"We both know you're out of my league, Javy. I never thought that you would want me back." He makes a pained sound hearing your admission.
"I'm not out of your league, and I've always wanted you back from the beginning. Okay?" You feel a little frustrated that he doesn't see or understand what you're saying, and if he wasn't literally still inside you, it might have been possible to press the issue. Right now, though, you know your insecurities could be tabled to another day.
"Okay."
"Good," Javy mutters, slipping out of you with a wet sound. "Let's try a different position. Does that sound okay, sweetheart?"
"Okay, we can try that," you say with a shrug.
Then with little effort, he gently manhandles you off him into a new position. Your front is pressed to the bed ass up for him, and Javy helps slide a pillow under you for better support. Kissing down the length of your spine. He asks twice if you're comfortable, taking his time pushing into you. It's a good position, allowing Javy to fuck into you harder than before. Your biggest complaint is the loss of being able to appreciate his handsome features.
In between telling you how good you are and just how wet and perfect your pussy is, Javy asks if he can spank you. It's a suggestion that has you biting your lip and agreeing hesitantly. It's not even a hard spank against your ass, just enough for a slight sting. The sharpness in contrast with how deliciously you're being filled, has your back arching. With a few more spanks, all of which you can tell Javy is holding back for, you feel close to an orgasm again.
"I'm getting close," you warn him.
"Going to give you every last drop, sweetheart. I'm going to make sure you're so full of me. I really want to feel you cum, though. Can you do that? Will you cum for me, Mrs. Machado?" Javy finally gives attention to your neglected clit again, and you know it's only a matter of time. Every time he bottoms out and gives your pulsating bundle of nerves a tweak, you feel yourself teetering.
"Call me that again," you request, relishing the way it falls off his lips more than nearly any of the other times he's said it in the past.
"Mrs. Machado," he repeats. "My wife, my girl, my love. Mrs. Machado, I want you to cum now."
With an extra hard press of his thumb, you're cumming. The heat that had been building in your abdomen bursts flooding bliss through your limbs. Crying out his name and fluttering around his cock, your legs start to spasm too. Coyote keeps fucking you, though, a little harder, a bit more selfishly chasing his own release.
"Javy, fill me up now," you demand, turning your head as much as you can to watch him. His pace falters at your request but immediately picks up again.
"Yes ma'am," Javy gasps. Speeding up so fast and hard, you feel a twinge against your cervix at the abuse. Just as you think you are going to have to tell him to be more gentle with you, Javys hips stutter. Holding himself entirely in you, his hands gripping your hips so hard you won't be shocked to find bruises later, he finally fills you up. You clench purposely around his length, wanting to help him milk his orgasm as long as possible. The warm spreading feel of his seed in you makes you sigh happily, and the boneless tired feeling after a good orgasm hits you like a truck.
Javy lays down on the bed, his breath still coming out in short pants. Immediately you cuddle closer to him, turning to lay your head on his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulls you even closer to him. As his breaths even out, he starts kissing you slowly, hands cluching you tighter to his chest.
"Come closer, sweetheart," he requests quietly. Part of you wouldn't be surprised if Javy will ever think you are close enough to him again now that he's been inside you, but most of you relishes that concept. You scoot even closer, more than half laying on his chest, pressing as much of your skin together as feasible.
Later after one of the most tender intimate showers of your life, you are snuggled into Javy's bed with fresh sheets, trying to pick out a sappy Valentine's Day movie to watch. Javy had brought the extra pillows in your room, so you could make an extra area for movie cuddles. You are still scrolling when he comes back into the room with a plate of reheated dinner. Ravenous from skipping dinner and the following activities, you grin widely seeing the food.
"You are the most amazing man to ever walk this earth, Javy Machado." You tell him, patting the spot you left for him next to you.
"Sweetheart, you'll give me an ego if you keep talking to me like that." Javy expertly balances the plate and nestles in close. "Please tell me more," He says cheekily, pressing a kiss casually to your lips. You have to take a full minute to process that's a thing that can just happen now. So you lean a little more of your weight into him, and seek out Javy's lips again, simply because you want to and can.
'Well, no one cooks like you do."
"Yeah?"
"And no one gives as good cuddles as you do."
"I think that one's actually about you because you are the most comfortable and soothing person I have ever met. Of course it turns me into a snuggle monster." You laugh at him, and he casually throws an arm over your shoulder. He feeds you a small bite in off the plate before taking one himself. However, he doesn't seem overly invested in it like you expect.
"You ate a plate in the kitchen, didn't you?" You guess and feel Javy stop breathing.
"That maybe could have happened. I'm sorry sweetheart, I was so hungry." Javy adopts an exaggeratedly apologetic face sticking out his lower lip pleadingly.
"I guess, I could be convinced to forgive you."
"Oh, I'll do anything to earn your forgiveness."
"How about breakfast in bed tomorrow," you suggest casually.
"Absolutely, whatever you want. Quiche? Waffles? Omelettes? Croissants?"
"That all sounds good, but I was thinking of something else."
"Really? And what do you want to have, sweetheart?" He asks curiously.
"The only thing I had on the menu was you," You tell him cheekily. His eyes widen a little, and his teeth dig into his lower lip. He kisses your neck sweetly, nosing under your jaw. He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath.
"Marry me?"
Finding his joke funny, you laugh lightly, playfully tapping your elbow into his side. Javy remains quiet and serious, though. When he doesn't respond, you set the plate aside, so it has no danger of spilling and turn to face him more fully. You are sure that he is waiting for that to reveal his mirth, but his eyes are just as serious as his tone.
"Javy, we are already married." You say, chuckling again.
"Marry me, again." He requests earnestly. Taking your hand in his, he gently pulls off your wedding band, holding it out like an offering. You pluck the ring back from him, sliding it into place on your finger. A smile breaks out on his face following your movement. Then you place that same hand on his face, holding him so he wouldn't be able to avoid your eyes.
"No. We are not going to get remarried." Javy pouts, and before he can reach true sadness, you lean forward to kiss him again. "But we can throw a really nice party if you want."
And when you two do finally get around to throwing a big old party, most of the room is confused about why exactly you and Javy are exchanging vows. However, absolutely no one is surprised when Javy produces seven cramped front-to-back sheets of paper of written vows when it's his turn.
The TikTok-fication of Tumblr and why it needs to stop before your fave writers are gone for good:
1. “Part 2??”
Unlike TikTok, writing 5,000 words for a fic does not happen in 6 seconds or more. Weekly updates are from a writer who spoils you and is passionate about their story. Don’t kill the passion by demanding for more and not appreciate what’s already given.
2. The DC Conundrum
Many writers on this platform hail back from the ff.net days where dark content is a norm, not like TikTok where even death has to be censored or you could get flagged.
Despite that, writers are doing you a service by sharing fic warnings despite how it may take away from a plot twist or a big reveal. However, there’s a fine line between sharing warnings and downright spoiling our own work. Heed the warnings, don’t be a dick. If you don’t like it, don’t read it. Learn how to filter your own content, too, while you're at it.
3. The Wild Algorithm
Unlike TikTok, Tumblr’s FYP is not in your face and you have a choice to not view it. Content often gets buried a few days after it’s posted without reblogs or comments to keep it alive.
4. Passive Content Consumption
Ties back with point #1. If you’re only sitting back and reading works without supporting the writers, they can’t spend 6 seconds to conjure up a fic. Writing takes time, editing, proofreading. Tumblr is a book club, not a delivery service.
5. De(constructive) Criticism
If an opinion isn’t asked for, don’t give it. Many writers choose this craft for their own enjoyment and to share a thought or story about a beloved character to those who love them, too. If an opinion is asked? Be kind when you share it across to them. No one likes their hard work to be shat on by someone who doesn’t understand the time and effort it took to create this piece.
6. Are You My Content Machine?
Again, back to point #1. Writers have busy lives. There are days when we want to scream into the void about our favourite characters. We want to share our thoughts about them or sometimes, we just want to talk about what happened during lunch break. Demanding and expecting that a writer post content without giving a shit about the soul behind the screen? Dehumanizing.
Don’t ruin the experience for those of us who are still here. Do your part to make fandom better for everyone.
Summary: A housewarming party that turns a bit warmer that one might expect.
Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Floyd x fem!reader (no Y/N mention)
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: 18+ only. Oral sex (f receiving), a slight embarrassing situation. can't promise it's good smut because it's my first time writing it, but enjoy.
masterlist ; requests are open
Too busy arranging some sliders on a plate you ignored the company you now had in the kitchen. It wasn’t until you felt a pair of arms wind themselves around your waist that you realized sweet Robert had found his way to you.
“How come it’s our party and I haven’t been able to talk with you since everyone arrived?” He murmured, lips pressed against the crown of your head.
“How come it’s our party and I haven’t been able to talk with you since everyone arrived?” He murmured, lips pressed against the crown of your head.
“How come it’s our party and I haven’t been able to talk with you since everyone arrived?” He murmured, lips pressed against the crown of your head.
“Because I’ve been busy being a good host.” You shrugged, trying the perfect position for the appetizer. “And you were too busy talking about the best film. And best book. Oh, don’t forget the best record.”
You both laughed thinking about the amount of debates that had taken place during the party. Most of them with Jake and Phoenix as main debaters and Maverick or Penny as the moderator. It was chaotic, and borderline stupid that those topics seemed to rile your friends so much. But you knew Bob wouldn’t change his found family for all the money in the world, and you couldn’t be happier to consider them family too.
“I didn’t even have to talk, Phoenix has enough strong arguments to destroy Jake.” He joked while moving his hand from your waist to the sliders, trying to snatch one before you before you slapped his hand away.
“Those are for the guests! I’m trying to make them look pretty.”
“I can’t believe I’m not allowed to eat in my own house, that’s a sacrilege.” He huffed, trying again to reach for the plate. “You wouldn’t let me go hungry, right sunshine?”
His sweet voice against your ear was almost enough to let your guard down. Almost.
“I wouldn’t let you go hungry, Robby, of course not. But the guests get first dibs, it’s part of being good hosts.”
“Sunshine, they are friends. Do you really think they would notice if a plate was missing something? We spend months living on carriers, whatever you give us is gourmet.” He argued, squeezing his arms around you softly before pressing a soft kiss against your neck. “But I do like this new side of you. You look beautiful, fleeting around our house and playing the perfect host.”
You felt heat rise from your belly at his words. Or maybe it was because his lips kept pressing closer and closer to that spot under your ear that made your knees buckle. He was playing a dangerous game, knowing the living room was full of people who were probably close to realizing that you weren’t with them. But the move had been stressful and it didn’t allow for much time together, which made you almost wish you didn’t have to move.
“Our house does sound incredible.” You mumbled trying to move your neck away from his lips like the rational part of your brain screamed. “Robby, stop. Our friends are here.” You bit your lip when you felt one of his hands move towards your hip and grab it. “Your boss is here.”
“You can’t call me that and expect me to stop, sunshine. You know what it does to me.” You did, of course you did. But the irrational part of your brain didn’t want the moment to end. “And our friends are fine, Phoenix has enough in her for another debate.” He spoke against the shell of your ear before pulling your back against him. “I just want some time with you.”
“Later.” You tried to reason but it sounded weak even to you. He pressed you closed against him, making it very clear that waiting until later wasn’t in his plans. “Not here, everyone can see…”
And for a moment you thought you had managed to convince him to stop fooling around until you were alone again. But that thought quickly disappeared when you saw his hand move towards the counter to knock the sleeve of crackers you had set aside for the charcuterie board.
“Robert Floyd! Don’t play with the food.” You tried to scold him but the entire situation was too funny to even sound serious.
“Oops, how clumsy of me.” And the same way you couldn’t hide your amusement, he couldn’t hide the audaciousness behind his movement. He moved away from you but before you could start missing his body heat he returned to his position with the fallen crackers in hand. “These are too broken, my love. You know what?” He left the snacks on the counter before he held your hand and started pulling you towards the door left of “We should go to the walk-in pantry that you wanted so bad when we were looking for a house.”
You could only giggle at the implication of his words and suddenly the charcuterie board became the most unimportant thing. As soon as you stopped fighting his pulls and looked to the entry of the kitchen, making sure nobody was looking for you two, Bob knew he had won this battle and a bright smile took over his face.
“And we need to go together?” You asked sarcastically, knowing there was no fighting it anymore.
“Of course, what if you go lost in this big new house?”
Bob gave a final strong pull to get you inside the pantry, wrapping his arms around you before closing the door with his foot. You turned around ready to deliver the next sarcastic answer but were quickly shut up by Bob’s lips pressing against yours. A clumsy kiss that only fueled your need for it, your need for Bob. “God, I love you so much.” He mumbled when you broke the kiss for air, but remained close enough to feel his breath against your lips. “I need to thank you for organizing the party.”
You hummed against Bob’s lips, kissing him again and wrapping your arms around his neck, wanting to keep him as close as possible in the limited space of the pantry. “And how exactly are you going to thank me?”
You fully expected him to tell you everything he was going to do to you that night when you were alone again. To take this small moment to rile you up and tease you, leave you wanting more during the rest of the party. What you hadn’t taken into account is that your time with Bob had been very limited the last week, with grueling air training and never ending work. And he wasn’t willing to just stop after a kiss. His hands moved from their place on your waist, wrapping around you before lifting you from the ground and sitting you on the step stool that stood to the side.
“You are going to sit there looking pretty.” He held your face with his big hands before kissing your lips softly, murmuring a sweet ‘as always’. “And I am going to enjoy myself between your thighs. It’s a win-win if you think about it.”
He kneeled before you, wrapping his arms around your thighs and squeezing them softly. At that moment you were thankful you found a boyfriend as incredible as him, thankful that you chose a comfortable dress… hell, you were even thankful that you saw the idea for the step stool on pinterest.
“Robbie.” You spoke breathily, anticipation getting the best of you. “Our friends-”
But your boyfriend stopped you before you could finish your sentence with a simple movement of his hands that were now parting your thighs. Taking the glasses off his face he folded them and threading them through the cleavage of your dress with an amount of precision that should be scary.
“You hold onto them and try not to get us caught.”
You could feel the blood pumping through your veins when his rough fingers inched towards your dampening panties. Gasping when you felt the fabric shift and the air hit your heated skin. Or maybe it was the feeling of Bob’s face so close to your wet pussy that was making you gasp. “Robb-” “We have to make this quick, but I promise this is just a taste for tonight.”
You felt a soft kiss against your mouth, a gesture that Bob always had before he made you see stars. The first stroke of his tongue was always the sweetest, always accompanied by a groan from him and a need to brace yourself. You tried to hold onto the step stool when his tongue ran through your folds again but it wasn’t enough.
With every lick you tried your best to control your volume but it was difficult when the pleasure was only growing. You felt your body getting hotter and time seemed to stop. Looking down between your legs, seeing Bob looking back at you with glazed eyes while he sucked your clit only made you throw your head back in pleasure. Your mouth opened slightly, ready to let free the moan that was growing in your chest when the sucking stopped. “Don’t.”
Inside your muddled brain you realized the precarious position you were in and clamped your mouth, deciding to instead bite your lip. “That’s it baby, we wouldn’t want to get caught when I’ve just started.” His voice was sickly sweet and you could see the lust in his darkened eyes.
Bob’s fingers made their way between your thighs parting your folds and making you whine when you felt his tongue circle your entrance. “So good…” You breathed and you swore you could feel his smile against your pussy. The hand that was still holding you leg open lifted it until it rested on Bob’s shoulder, allowing him to be closer to you and forcing you to thread your fingers in his blonde hair.
Every lick felt electric in your body, every time he dipped the tip into your entrance and his nose bumped against your clit making the pressure in your lower stomach grow. You hadn’t realized how wound up you had been after all the work until you were spread in your pantry fighting to keep quiet. Your toes were scrunching inside your socks, breath now coming in pants and you tried your best to buckle your hips without falling.
“That’s it, baby. I know you are close.” He whispered looking at you with glazed eyes and circling your clit with his thumb. “Cum for me, let go.” He moved his mouth back against your clit and with a harsh suck you felt the overwhelming pressure explode. Muscles seizing, hands holding harder against Bob’s hair and your hand falling between your shoulders trying to control the waves of pleasure rolling through you. “Attagirl.”
And even with your blissed out brain you could hear the grin in his voice. He placed a wet kiss against the inside of your thigh before lowering it from his shoulder. Looking back at him you pushed yourself to move forward, lowering your hand from his hair to the neck of his t-shirt and pulling him into you for a deep kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, making you whine.
“That was a hell of a thank you, flyboy.” You whispered, goosebumps covering your skin from the adrenaline and endorphins.
“It was my pleasure.” You wanted to keep kissing him but a noise on the other side of the door made both of you freeze. In a great effort you both raised from your places and straightened your clothes the best you could without a mirror.
“Bob? Are you here?” The voice spoke from the other side of the room and you recognized it was Phoenix who had ventured into the kitchen.
You looked at Bob in a panic, wanting to push him out the door but knowing out of the two, trying to explain the messy hair and the bulge in his trousers would be complicated. You took a deep breath and tried to fix your hair again before stepping out the pantry and quickly closing the door behind you.
“Hi Nat, anything you need?” You tried to sound inconspicuous but by the look on her face you knew she was suspicious.
“I realized both hosts had disappeared, so I was looking for Bob expecting him to be with you.” She leaned against the kitchen island and you leaned against the door of the pantry to mirror her demeanor. “Need me to help you with anything?” She spoke while pointing to the forgotten charcuterie board.
“Oh, thank you for offering Nat but I just need the crackers and it’s done.” You shook your head. “That’s what I needed from the pantry.”
She raised an eyebrow and your heartbeat quickened. Natasha had become your best friend in the time she had been Bob’s pilot. And that position as your best friend meant she could read you like an open book. If she was looking at you like that, she knew something.
“And you needed Bob’s glasses to look for the crackers?” Shit, his glasses were still hanging from the front of your dress. “And where are the crackers?”
You wanted the word to swallow you whole, but instead you felt the door of the pantry give slightly and a hand snaked from behind shyly. You quickly took the glasses and placed them on Bob’s hand, feeling yourself drown in embarrassment. The hand moved inside again and came out for a second time with the new sleeve of crackers. Idiot. You quickly took them and looked back at Nat who, after the entire interaction, looked to be holding back a huge laugh.
“Looking for crackers, huh?” She spoke before she burst out, losing her battle against the laugh.
You cleared your throat, trying to swallow your embarrassment before moving back to the counter with the crackers to finish what had been so rudely interrupted.
“Honestly, good for you.” You tried to hold a smile while arranging the plate but her words were making the best out of the awkward situation. “I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him to do something like that.”
Both of you burst into laughter, a laughter that was only interrupted when you heard a door close with a bang. Turning you could see Bob standing outside of the pantry, glasses now on and hair still a bit messy. “You know I can hear you, right?” His cheeks were rosy, not sure if it was because of the embarrassment or the comments of his friend.
You started laughing again, this time not even your boyfriend could hold it in. Thank goodness it had been Natasha walking in on you two and turned the awkwardness into good fun. Another person joined you in the kitchen when they heard the laugh coming from the kitchen.
“Is this another party I have not been invited to? What is so funny?” Hangman spoke and it only made the three of you laugh harder.
make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter three: thursday
pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader
warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide
word count: 3.4k
summary: you and carmy finally find some time to catch up and carmy begins to realize that you're more similar than he thinks.
a/n: thank you to all who are reading, reblogging, and commenting omg. i'm so grateful that someone wanted to read this story. i wrote it in a week because i couldn't get these two out of my head. they were begging to be put on the page. i also have a companion playlist that i'll release when the story is done because i don't want to spoil anything! comment below if you'd like to be added to this story's taglist. i did presumptuously add a few of you i've interacted with, so please let me know if you'd also like to be taken off of it.
masterlist
read part two here
Thursday
You’re grateful that by day three, you’d been able to smooth over some of the tension between you and Carmy. You even looked forward to catching up with him, if the two of you could swing it. Instead of going home early, you had jumped on the line this evening. Ebra was out for the night and Marcus had asked to fly solo on prep so that you could give him some feedback before lunch service tomorrow morning.
It was an easy decision, to fill in and jump on the line. After all, you had checked your bag on the plane so that you could bring your knife roll with you, just in case. There was something about this kitchen – the energy and the people – that you wanted to stick around for. And it didn’t hurt that you got to spend a little extra time with Carmy. When he was in his element, expediting and leading this kitchen… he was… breathtaking.
“Damn, nice knife, Jeff” Tina comments, checking out the santoku you’re running through some parsley. She can hear the crisp, clean cuts you're making, which is what caught her attention in the first place.
“Jeff?” you question, shooting her a look.
“Long story, but trust me. It’s a term of endearment,” Sydney interjects, from her side of the prep station.
You chuckle, “She’s a beauty alright. My first fully Japanese knife. Though the steel is a bitch to take care of. That’s for sure.”
“What do you mean?” Tina questions further.
“Well, it’s just a kind of metal alloy that’s super prone to-,” you start, completing your sentence at the same time as Sydney chimes in.
“Rusting,” you both say in unison, sharing a look.
“Huh,” Tina sounds, suddenly losing interest. “I don’t get it. It’s more work to take care of? Our shit’s part-plastic and does the job just fine.”
“Oh but she’s so smooth,” you playfully swoon, referring to how beautifully the knife performs for you.
“It’s all about the performance, T,” Sydney adds.
Tina hums in response, still unconvinced by you and Sydney’s admiration for the fancy tools.
“So you and Carmy. How’d you meet Jeff?” Tina inquires further geturing her knife towards Carmy’s expediting station, and eliciting another laugh from you and Sydney.
“Uhhhh… we both worked at the same restaurant in New York. I came in to stage and the competitive jerk tried to smoke. Thought he could show me it was his territory.”
“Like a little bitch,” Tina teases, the shade evident in her voice.
“And you kicked his ass obviously,” Sydney suggests, hopefully.
“Mhm,” Tina adds in agreement.
“Oh absolutely,” you answer, deviously. “I walked out with a job that night. Carmy and I are the classic kitchen staff case of… enemies turned good friends.”
You look up from your station, noticing an exchanged look between Sydney and Tina.
It’s the kind of look that says, Just friends, huh?
“Alright, alright. Enough with the girl talk, gossip girls. News flash: no one gives a shit about fuckin’ Tom Colicchio and Padma Whatserface over here,” Richie interrupts, referring to the you and Carmy, as he passes by with a few empty storage containers on the way to the dishwashing station.
“Asshole / Fuck off, Richie,” Sydney and Tina shout back at the same time.
“Hey! Listen up, everyone! Fire two spaghettis, two short ribs, one chicken,” Carmy calls out to the kitchen. You listen attentively, hearing the chorus of the entire kitchen repeat the order back to him, punctuating the order with a ‘heard.’
You smile to yourself, as you enjoy the feeling of falling into such a familiar rhythm.
You’ve missed working in the kitchen, and you’ve missed working in the kitchen with Carmy. This was so different than any of the bullshit you’ve been through together – even when he is arguing or yelling at someone. It’s not some sterile environment that looks more like a science lab or an operation room than it does a kitchen.
No, this place has soul.
Between the crass kitchen banter, the less than flattering nicknames, and its wild cast of characters, it’s only day three and you feel right at home. Dinner service flies by and you’re eager to check in with Marcus by the end of the shift. Before taking your apron off, you head over to his corner of the kitchen.
“Hey, how’s everything going, chef?” you ask, curiously.
“Good, chef,” he answers proudly. “I got the brioche covered and ready to rise overnight and I prepped the cake donuts so we’re ready to roll tomorrow morning. I went with a blueberry cake donut this time around.”
“Sounds great. I can’t wait to try it, chef,” you reply. “Need anything from me before I head out for the night?”
“Oh no, uh, I’m almost done here,” Marcus answers, inspiring confidence in his ability. “Just workin’ on a curd for the filling, chef. Just like you taught me.”
“Alright,” you chuckle, tickled by how excited he is. “Have a good night, chef.” You pause, wondering if your words will be totally lost on him. “And make sure you get some rest tonight, okay?”
He responds with a nod, as you leave his station.
You make your way to the locker area, hanging your apron up, and slipping off your kitchen sneakers, before taking a seat on the bench. It looks like most of the kitchen staff got a head start on you and have already left, or are out of their kitchen clothes and ready to head home. There’s a strange feeling in your heart. You haven’t felt this kind of… community… in a professional kitchen in a long time and you try your best to name what it is you’ve felt was missing.
“Hey,” you hear a voice say, pulling you from your thoughts.
“Hey,” you say to Carmy.
He removes his apron, folding it over his forearm. It sits further down his arm, right near his tattooed hand, you notice, as he leans his side against the lockers.
“Thanks for jumpin’ in… you know… on the line tonight,” he starts his gaze practically piercing through your soul.
“Yeah, it’s uh, no problem,” you reply, placing your knife roll and kitchen shoes back into your locker. “I had fun.”
“You uh, you still want to go for that drink?” he asks, shyly.
You smile.
“Yeah.”
*
“It’s fucked up,” Carmy shakes his head in disbelief.
“Oh please. What?” you groan, shooting him a look.
“You’ve been in my city for… what three days now and you already have a hookup at one of the hardest to get into bars here,” Carmy replies, eliciting a laugh from you.
“Oh my god,” you sigh with a playful eye roll. “I’m a New Yorker, asshole. You know that’s how we do it.”
He shakes his head again, before locking eyes with you, “You were always better at it than me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you, Carmen Berzatto, finally admitting that I’m better at something than you? Can you say it again, and I’m just going to-.” you tease, playfully, pulling out your phone as if you’re going to film him saying it.
“Oh shut up…” he shoots back, gently pushing your phone away from his face.
“I mean, you could always make friends with anyone. The bodega guy downstairs. The fuckin’ bodega cat. Our favorite butcher? ‘S why we always got the good cuts of meat when we cooked together on our days off.”
“Which is exactly why I do it,” you point out.
You had always been so magnetic to him. It’s something that he’s always admired about you – something that always reminded him of Mikey.
“No, I-, I used to be a regular at this bar when I was working at Gramercy’s Tavern – actually, I think it closed right before you came to New York. Anyways, found out my favorite bartender moved to Chicago and I sent him a message letting him know I’d be in town. Said he’d get us in even if they were booked up, and,” you gesture towards where the two of you are sitting together, “Et voila!”
Carmy takes a look around. He hasn’t been in a fine dining establishment since he left New York. It’s as if all the fancy awards and all the dues he’s paid cooking in the best restaurants in the entire world don’t matter anymore. He feels so out of place: the people, the over-the-top cocktails, the overpriced bowls of food called something fancy to justify the high price point.
“From the kitchen” your bartender had said curtly, a mere few minutes ago. He had placed a few plates in front of the two of you to share that you most certainly didn’t order.
You’d both thank the bartender, before digging into the large bowl of soup, stracciatella, and focaccia bread on the plate. You rip off pieces of bread, dipping them into the salty broth, popping them into your mouth. Carmy’s much more of a gentleman about it, using his spoon to try the soup first. You had only planned on drinking here, but your friend at The Aviary had really come through. You’re sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re here with Carmy, and that these guys definitely know who Carmy is.
“So…” you start, taking a sip of whatever fizzy strawberry gin thing you’d ordered earlier. “I feel like there are a lot of long stories I’d like to hear.”
Carmy makes a sound in agreement before taking a sip of his drink. It’s just bourbon on the rocks, and you wonder when he started drinking bourbon like this.
“I mean… we could start here. How the hell are ya?” you ask.
“I…” he starts, before trailing off. He buries his face in his hands, dragging his fingertips across his forehead. “It’s uh, it’s been a long couple of months. Christ. The restaurant was a goddamn mess, everyone hated my fuckin’ guts. And then Syd showed up and, well, she’s been a big help.”
You wait a beat before saying, “As much as I want to hear about the restaurant, Carm, I mean how are you doing?”
Your words stop him, and he looks up at you with those baby blue eyes. He takes his time thinking about it, shrugging before muttering something along the lines of, “I’m okay, I guess.”
He’s searching for the right words to explain how the hell he’s even supposed to answer that question.
“I don’t know. Guess I thought if I fixed the restaurant, if I could fix it-. Maybe I could fix him,” he drags out.
He waits a few beats before finally admitting:
“I miss him. Mikey. And I found out all kinds of shit about him that I-, well, shit I didn’t know. I think-, I think it’s why he kept me away. Why he shut me out.”
You listen as he begins to fill you in: about Mikey, the drugs, the debt he inherited that he now owes to Cicero, how hard it was to win over the kitchen staff that, come hell or high water, weren’t interested in changing their ways. And then he tells you about the meetings: the al-anon meetings. And you begin to understand. While he’s the same old Carmy, this isn’t the exact same Carmy that you knew in New York. The Carmy you knew in New York never would’ve gone to those meetings. He would’ve brushed it off and pretended there wasn’t a problem and taken as much punishment as he could in the kitchen instead of dealing with what he was feeling.
Mikey’s death, and coming home, and this restaurant, it’s all changed him.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s part of the reason why, after months of no contact, he reached out to you now, but he’s not sure if he should tell you that yet.
You’ve got to give it to him. If anything, he’s exceptionally talented at cutting people out of his life. It’s his M.O – the only thing that’s been consistent in his life – even when those people didn’t deserve it. It’s what he knows to do. It’s something he’s learned… from Mikey, from his dad…
But this… what he’s telling you, these are stories of connection and community.
“And Syd’s really helped me pull this shit together. She's kinda like... the glue, y'know? I- I don’t know where we’d be without her,” Carmy concludes.
You agree. Syd is brilliant. You can see just from having been in that kitchen that she’s been the biggest catalyst for the changes — even his.
“I know you only asked me to come for pastry but I’m glad you let me jump in on the line tonight,” you say. “It’s cool to see what you’re doing now and… I don’t know. I know it was a rocky start, but you’ve got something here. Something that could be really, really good, Carm. You’re making real fucking food. Like your mom’s chicken. I haven’t forgotten about that.”
“How can you remember that?” Carmy asks, a little surprised, his eyes lighting up. He’d almost forgotten that he’d once made it for you while you were both still in New York.
You nod, “Best chicken piccata I’ve had in my life.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Hands down.”
“You know,” you start, a mischievous tone in your voice. “If I recall correctly, you made me some pretty bomb meals back in New York. And didn’t I say something along the lines of you really shining when-?”
“Oh no,” he groans. “Not this again.”
“I’m just saying!” you justify, innocently. “When you cook the food you grew up with, Carm, you’re at your very best. And don’t get me wrong. You’re an exceptional chef, regardless of what you do but-.”
“So what? You’re gonna say ‘I told you so?’” he questions, shooting you a look.
You shrug, playfully, “I can’t help it if I’m right all the time,” earning an eye roll from him.
“Especially when it comes to you.”
He’s quiet for a moment, because you do know him. You’ve seen sides of him he’s barely let anyone else see. It feels good and terrifying all at once to be seen this clearly.
“Yeah, well, you always were a little more Mozza than French Laundry, huh?” he shoots back, referencing your difference in preference. While Mozza was more family style, The French Laundry, a restaurant Carmy had worked at once upon a time, was anything but.
“Yeah. Who knew one day we’d switch places?” you reply, a sadness in your voice. Were you… envious of what Carmy had? Was this what you were looking for?
“So uh, you gonna tell me what the hell happened with the restaurant?” Carmy asked, changing the subject – changing the subject to you.
You sigh, you raise your drink to your lips, finishing the rest of what’s in the glass in one go.
“That bad, huh?”
“No!” you’re quick to reply. “Well, yes. But no. But yeah….”
Carmy flags the bartender down, ordering another round for the two of you.
You’re not even sure where to begin in regards to the existential crisis of sorts that you’ve been having, so you just tell him what happened.
“I was juicing blood oranges one day. And-, you know we were going to take the juice and do all that fancy gastronomy shit with it… turn it into like, the same consistency of ‘dew in the early morning’…” you began to explain, quoting what your head pastry chef had said that day.
“And I’m sitting there thinking… what the hell am I doing? I mean, who eats food like this?! Who wants to eat a drop of blood orange juice that’s been turned into the consistency of dew in the early mornings? Like, why the fuck can’t I just make the best blood orange olive oil cake anyone’s ever had, and that be enough, you know?”
“And. I don’t know. It got me thinking a lot about the kind of food I want to make, and what that would mean, and what does any of this shit even mean? Fast forward to a week later, and I don’t feel like I have a fuckin’ clue about what I want to do with my life and I’m quitting the restaurant.”
You pause, noticing that he’s just been listening attentively this whole time.
“I’m tired, Carm,” you admit. “I mean. I’m burnt the hell out. I just. I don’t want to work this hard for something that- something that I’m not even sure I believe in anymore.”
Another beat.
“I know it sounds totally insane but-.”
“No! No, it doesn’t,” Carmy interrupts, quick to reassure you, as he reaches for your hand. Your eyes flicker from his hand on yours, the small tattoo above his wrist, then back to him, feeling the loss of body heat as he pulls his hand back only a moment later.
“I feel like I’ve been thinkin’ about a lot of the same shit,” he admits, empathizing with you.
“I just feel… kind of lost,” you say, and it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. “I do. I-, I’ve been feeling really lost lately.”
In all the time he’s known you, never could he have expected you to feel lost. He wondered if he’d just put you on a pedestal. You had always been this stunningly charismatic, charming person that could walk into any room and in minutes, have everyone wrapped around your finger. For so long he denied any feelings for you because he knew you were unattainable – that someone like you could ever want someone like him felt impossible. Wouldn’t you be better off with one of those Wall Street assholes that came into the restaurant all the time – wining and dining their clients with their expensive wristwatches and fancy town cars?
But hearing you say it – that you feel lost – it reminds him that you’re only human too.
He waits another beat, guilt filling up his throat, before he speaks again.
“I should’ve been there for you. I’m sorry.”
There’s an earnestness in his voice that makes you want to trust him. Sure, it seems like he’s been apologizing to you for three days straight, but you want to listen.
You take another sip of your drink.
“I started volunteering at a Brooklyn community garden so I could like, pull my head out of my ass,” you share with him.
“Did it help?”
You shrug, “Yeah, a little bit.”
It helped, but it hadn’t fixed anything. You feel like you can confide in him, especially since he told you that he was going to meetings.
“My therapist actually encouraged me to come here,” you confess, gauging his reaction as the words flow from your mouth. “Get out of dodge. Get a change of scenery… give myself some time to think.”
“We both know you do a little too much of that,” he teases gently, and you chuckle.
Between Carmy’s avoidance, and your neuroses, you’re quite the pairing.
“Yeah.”
Carmy pauses, not sure if he has the words to give you the explanation you deserve, but he’s going to try.
“I had… a lot goin’ on. When I got back. And I didn’t know….” He pauses before continuing. “I didn’t know how to do it all at once. How to handle, you know… everything at the same time.”
And it’s just easier to avoid everything – to avoid you, to avoid the way he feels, he thinks to himself. And it’s exactly what he did, he pushed you away, and pushed any and all feelings or thoughts about you into a dark hole, never to be acknowledged ever again.
Until you quit your job. Until that phone call.
“I know, Carm. I know you’re sorry and I appreciate the apology,” you start, taking a breath. “It’s just that-. I need you to know...”
You pause, suddenly feeling like you’re in the middle of an anxiety dream where you realize you’re not wearing any pants.
“I need you to know that it hurt. It… it really hurt. Not hearing from you. Being cut out like that.”
“I know,” he admits, remorsefully. “I’m gonna be better. At least I’m trying to be.”
“I really want to believe that,” you say, softly.
But I don’t want to get hurt again, you think to yourself.
He looks at you, a soft, shy smile on his face, and it makes you want to take a chance on him.
Who are you kidding? You’d jump off of a bridge with him if he asked, even if it meant getting hurt all over again.
“Okay?” he asks, hopeful.
You’re not sure if he’s asking if it’s okay, if you’re okay, if everything is okay between the two of you, and you wonder if he means all three.
The fact that knowing Carmy he has a hard ass time with feelings, and he still says “At least I’m trying to be” 🥲 And that she managed to open up and tell him she was hurt?
I feel like I am rooting for two of my fav people to just realise what’s in front of them and I love it 🤎🤎
Can you please reblog if your blog is a safe place for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, aromantic, pansexual, non binary, demisexual or any other kind of queer or questioning people? Because mine is.
make my heart surrender (carmy berzatto x fem!reader) | chapter two: wednesday
pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader
warnings: lots of swearing, lots of angst in this one, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, smoking (plz remember smoking is injurious to your health, ppl), avoidance tactics, mentions of al-anon, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide
word count: 3.3k
summary: while you get to know the kitchen staff of the bear a little better, you and carmy finally acknowledge the elephant in the room.
a/n: the song 'about you' by the 1975 makes me think of these two and is where the title comes from. also, i totally made up the pete has an airbnb thing but i just feel like he'd be in real estate or something with his little patagonia vests lol. anyways, happy valentine's day babes & enjoy!
masterlist
read part one here
Wednesday
“Okay, this is some next level shit,” Marcus concludes, in between chews as he tries the brioche donuts you let rise overnight. “It’s got everything I like about the yeast donut but the flavor is so much more pronounced.”
“Carmy said you knew how to throw down but.”
Sydney nods, taking another bite of hers, and you watch as Fak holds the donut up to his ear, letting out a wild, “Wow.”
“Oh fuck,” Sydney practically groans, the salty-sweet flavors of the caramel hitting her taste buds.
Last night, pre-dinner shift, you were introduced to the colorful cast of characters that filled up this kitchen. There was Richie, Carmy’s not-biological-cousin cousin, and Tina, who’d been working in this kitchen since before any of you were born. And Neil the handyman, who somehow actively chose to go back his last name, Fak, which puzzled you. Then there was Ebrahim, who seemed to serve as the meat prep cook and the onsite first-aid guy. And Sydney, the brilliant sous who’d worked in fine dining kitchens till she came here, eager to learn from Carmy.
It was a far cry from the kitchens you and Carmy used to work in but this kitchen there were similarities… things every kitchen has. Everyone has their own little quirks, preferences, styles….
They’re just a little more, well, allowed to be themselves and while overwhelming, you find it refreshing as well.
Fak smells the donut next, followed by another ‘wow,’ and your eyes widen as Fak begins licking just the icing.
“Wow,” Fak repeats, carrying on his more-than-peculiar behavior.
“Is he-?” you start, sharing a look with Sydney next.
…alright? Is this normal? Is he okay?
“Yeah, sometimes we just let him–,” Sydney tries to explain, but she’s not quite sure how to explain Neil Fak to anyone outside of their ecosystem.
“Okay.”
“Anyways, so this is just a personal preference and perhaps a symptom of too much time spent in fine dining, but I like to fuck around with weird flavors,” you continue to explain, in reference to the salty miso caramel creme pat you’ve filled the donut with.
“I’m not much for too sweet-of-sweets,” you announce, earning a laugh from Marcus and Sydney. “... which yes, is a very odd thing to say for a pastry chef. So I like to find combinations that cut the sweetness of anything and give the taste buds another experience at the same time.”
“Which isn’t the direction you have to take your pastries, chef.”
Marcus shakes his head, “No, this is… super cool. And I like it a lot.”
“I apologize in advance if I sound like a total loser,” Sydney starts, placing her donut down on the paper towel. “But when I was at the CIA, I actually had your lemongrass creme brulee.
“With the black sesame ice cream?”
“And the sesame crumble.”
“Oh my god!” you exclaim. What a blast from the past. “Yeah, I had to fight hard to get some of those ingredients on the menu. You know. Before everyone thought it was cool to do shit like that.”
Sydney smiles in agreement, going back for more of her donut.
“So what’re we workin’ on next, chef?” Marcus asks. He has his notebook out and has a few renderings drawn up with ideas he had last night.
“Well now that we’ve built a great brioche together, I’d love to keep practicing your piping technique and-,” you begin, stopping mid sentence as Carmy joins the three of you.
“Mornin’, chef! Hey, try this,” Marcus greets, ecstatic about the results of just a day of working with you, as he hands Carmy a donut.
He takes it, immediately taking a bite. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes and dissects every single flavor note he experiences. You’re all quiet as you wait for his response.
And honestly, you’re still pretty pissed off about him leaving you hanging the day before. After you and Marcus finished up your prep, you had made your way back to your airbnb – the one he set you up in when he asked you to come here.
You had tried your best not to feel like a total loser as you hoped he'd reach out with an explanation. No call, no text, no nothing, wondering why he asked you to come in the first place.
Carmy takes his time savoring his first bite.
“I almost forgot how good you are at this,” he compliments, his tone neutral as if it’s just a fact.
“Thank you, chef,” is all you say back to him. You clear your throat, avoiding his gaze, and continuing to go over today’s bake with Marcus.
You don’t mean to ignore Carmy, but you’re not sure how to act around him either. One minute he’s ignoring you, and the next he’s making you breakfast. And then he’s standing you up, leaving in the hands of his brash cousin? Maybe, you think to yourself, it’s best to keep things professional between the two of you.
*
You work with Marcus till an hour or so into the lunch shift. You both agreed to start your days early, since you’re only here for a week, so that you could cram as much knowledge in as possible.
Marcus asks if he can take point on flavor pairings for tomorrow’s donuts, and you agree, before parting ways till later this evening. You’ve got to come back later today from one more late night prep.
You haven’t spoken much to Carmy at all since he came in. As much as you’ve tried to focus all of your attention on working with Marcus, Carmy has a commanding presence as he expedites. He’s got something most chefs don’t – true leadership – and it seems like his skills have only improved since he left New York. You gather up your things, preparing to take the subway home for a midday nap, heading out the back door.
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were… out here,” you gasp. You're surprised to find Carmy sitting behind the shop, sitting on the curb and smoking a cigarette.
Well, that part isn’t surprising – the smoking part. You contemplate taking a seat next to him and asking him for one, but you’re really trying to cut back these days.
“It’s-, you’re good,” he says, taking another drag. He exhales smoke and the eery feeling of deja vu overtakes you.
Instead of leaving, and continuing this game of avoidance, you stand your ground.
“Are you avoiding me?” you finally muster up the courage to ask. You try your best not to sound as angry with him as you are, to no avail, as more words begin tumbling out of your mouth. “Because, if I recall correctly, Carmy, you asked me to come out here.”
Carmy waits a beat, avoiding your gaze, and it only infuriates you further. You watch as he takes another hit off of the cigarette as you continue, your rage boiling up within you.
“I don’t get it!” you exclaim, shaking your head in pure disbelief. You’re trying your best not to shout. “You ask me to come out here, and make it as easy as possible for me to be here by putting me up in this airbnb, you make me breakfast, and then… what? It’s like-, it’s like I don’t exist?”
He doesn’t answer.
“It’s always been like this with you. One step forward and five steps back.”
You wait before saying the next thing.
You’re not trying to be mean, but you’re hurt, and this whole experience has all been so confusing.
“I guess I was fucking idiot to believe that you-, that you wanted me out here or something.”
“That’s not true,” Carmy denies, finally breaking his silence. Finally looking at you, even if just for a moment. His eyes return to the concrete pavement below him as he says, “I just-.”
You don’t want to scare him away now that he’s finally talking to you, but you also want answers. And there’s an elephant in the room that maybe, if you both just acknowledged it, could go away. He puts his cigarette out on the curb, tossing it away onto the concrete.
You lower your voice before speaking again.
“Are you… do you still feel weird about what happened between us?” you ask cautiously, eager to fix whatever the hell it is between the two of you. “Because I didn’t think we’d have to talk about it since, well-, I just thought we said we’d just forget it. I mean, I’m not-, I don’t-, I just don’t want things to be this weird between us, Carm."
In some ways, you don’t blame him. You had seen him at his absolute lowest: the day Mikey died. You wonder if he felt too ashamed of how vulnerable he had been. You wondered if he still felt weird about what had happened next….
You had argued with him that day – practically demanded that he not go in for dinner service that night. You knew he had wanted a distraction, but after the phone call, after learning what Mikey had done, you knew he was wrecked – even if he wouldn’t admit it. That level of denial couldn’t be healthy, but he'd snapped at you and you didn't think there was much you could do about it. It didn’t take long for him to blow up at a line cook mid-shift, and you had quickly ushered him into the walk-in.
“Hey! You can’t do this shit. Not here. These people look up to you!” you had chastised him. “Listen, I’m going to give you five minutes to fuckin’ lose it in here, and then you’ve gotta pull it together and finish dinner service, okay?”
Carmy had grabbed at his chest, and you knew he was having one of his breathing episodes.
“Carmy, are you o-?"
He’d held out his hand, as if to stop you from coming any closer, so reluctantly, you’d left him to it, closing the door behind you. The sound of empty storage containers being thrown across the walk-in filled your ears, reinforcing your exact reasons why you hadn't thought it was a good idea for him to come in that night.
That night, you had made sure he got home okay, and he’d practically begged you to stay with him. It hadn’t been the first time you’d slept in the same bed, and you knew he was at his lowest point, in need of company. It hadn’t been until he started crying – sobbing really – that he finally broke.
“Carm,” you had whispered, unsure if he wanted you to acknowledge it or not.
“Carmy.”
He had turned to you so tenderly, practically folding himself into your body. You had never seen him like that as he’d buried his face into your chest, his body shaking against yours.
“I’m so sorry, Carm. I’m so sorry,” you had whispered, over and over again. You stroked his hair, wanting nothing more than to ease the pain of your best friend, but you knew there wasn’t much you could do. You’d let him cry, continuing to run your fingers along his scalp and through his delicate curls, desperate to give him any kind of comfort your could.
When he finally looked up, all he could think to do was to kiss you. You had been taken aback -- caught off guard as you'd pulled away from him.
“Carmy, stop it. You’re not-, you’re not okay right now,” you had said, pushing him away.
At that moment, his eyes were swollen, his face red, and he looked like you had just kicked his puppy. He had leaned his head against your chest again with a sigh, letting out another sob, and you’d felt that he’d put you in an impossible position.
You’d have been lying if you said you hadn’t wanted it – hadn’t thought about it before – but Carmy had never given you any inkling that he was even interested in dating anyone. You had been perfectly fine being ‘just friends’ with him despite the whispers between the kitchen staff when no one thought you were listening. And now? You knew he wouldn’t be in the right headspace. It wouldn't be fair to either of you.
“I’m sorry, Carm,” you’d apologized softly. “I just feel like-, well I’d feel like I'd be taking advantage. I don’t think we should.”
His silence had only made you more nervous, beginning to over explain yourself.
“It’s not that I don’t want to. I-, I do. I just… I don’t want you to regret it because… because you’re upset right now and cause you more-.”
“Please,” was all he'd said, breaking his silence and looking up at you with those sad, swollen blue eyes. He leans in to kiss you once more.
“Please.”
In between kisses you’d managed to ask, “Are you- are you sure? Is this really what you-?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve wanted this for so long. Just-, please,” he whispered, murmuring your name into the soft kisses he had left on your skin. “Just wanna feel good.”
“Just wanna feel good.”
It was then that you’d realized what absolute fucking idiots the two of you had been for the past few years by ignoring this thing between the two of you.
The truth was that you were fully, wholly, and stupidly in love with each other.
“Yes,” you’d repeated, finally giving into him.
Even though it should’ve been a beginning, it felt like an end, but for one night, you’d indulged the both of you.
“I know,” he says, his voice pulling you back into the present. His eyes are fixated on the pieces of gravel that sat between his feet. Even though you both agreed to it, he hadn’t forgotten about what happened between the two of you and he’s not sure if he should tell you that too.
But that’s not what’s wrong. It’s not why he’s avoiding you. Or maybe it’s part of it. He hadn’t expected seeing you to be this hard. That it would bring it all back – wanting you – so much so that those incredibly big feelings had sent him running to a meeting.
He just needed a place to be unapologetically fucked up.
He’s not sure what he thought would happen – like you’d just fall into the same old rhythm of your friendship without a care in the world.
He’d called Sydney yesterday and he could barely breathe. Sydney had told him to take the night off – that it wouldn’t help to come back to the kitchen that night – and that he had a whole week of you to prepare for. To figure this shit out.
“I um,” he starts. He’s not sure why it’s so hard to get these words out; why it feels so difficult to tell you. “I’ve kinda been going to these al-anon meetings…ever since, well you know… since I got home.”
“Oh.”
Well that wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. You’re not sure what you were expecting him to say. That he hates you? That he couldn’t stand being in the same kitchen with you and yesterday brought it all back? That it was a mistake reaching out to you?
You sit down on the curb, next to Carmy, leaving plenty of space between the two of you.
“My sister nagged me to go. Thought it was bullshit but… I don’t know why I kept going back. I still go three times a week.”
You stare at the ground, not sure what to say next. All that comes out is:
“Well I feel like an asshole.”
He scoffs, moreso to himself, “No, you’re not. I-, I’m sorry. I should’ve-.”
You can tell he’s frustrated as he huffs, “I don’t know why this is so hard for me to tell you.”
You sigh, scooting a hair closer to your old friend.
“I don’t know either, Carm. I-, we used to tell each other everything.”
“I know.”
You catch his gaze, your eyes meeting with his, and it feels like you can’t breathe for a moment.
“I should’ve called. Should’ve kept in touch. Guess I just feel like-, I don’t know,” Carmy admits, regretfully. “I know I’ve been….”
“Uh huh. You’ve been….” you trail off.
“But I do. Want you here.”
And that’s the problem, he thinks to himself.
“I know I’ve been a dick. I shouldn't have-.”
You take a breath, processing all of it.
“Can we… not have this conversation again?” you ask, taking a lighter tone this time. “I mean, we sorta had a very similar conversation to this yesterday… and now today… like… are you gonna stop being such a fuckin’ weirdo or what?”
He lets out a small laugh, “Yeah. Yeah I-, I’m gonna stop, well, you know.”
You chuckle in response, continuing to tease him, “Good because… you know usually when your friend comes to town you hang out a little, catch up, say hey hello how are you? I mean, maybe I’m totally out of pocket for this, but sometimes, you know… they even hug. Yeah, Carm, like, normal people.”
“Oh fuck you,” he mutters, jokingly.
It’s quiet between the two of you, but for the first time in the last 48 hours, it's not weird. It’s a familiar quiet intimacy – something that reminds you of the before times.
Before Mikey died.
Before you hooked up.
“Hey, Carm?”
“Yeah?”
“I want to be here too,” you reassure in response to what he said earlier, bumping your shoulder up against his, playfully, earning the slightest smile from him.
“How’s the place?”
“Surprisingly, very nice,” you answer, a mischievous tone in your voice like you know it’s going to start something.
“What? You think I’d put you up in a shit place?” Carmy asks, feigning offense.
“I’ve been in your New York apartment, Berzatto. Which is mostly why we spent most of our days off at mine,” you continue.
He laughs dryly in response.
“My brother-in-law manages a few airbnbs so… it’s the least I could do for… you know… you comin’ out here,” he explains.
“Well thanks. It’s-, it’s great.”
*
“I gotta get out of here early, and pick up the kid. Have a goodnight, sweetheart,” Richie says to you, about to head out of the restaurant.
“Richie, what the fuck did I fuckin’ tell you about saying shit like that!” Carmen shouts back at his cousin, with an eye roll.
“So sorry,” Richie says sarcastically, emphasizing your name after. “Gotta woke-ify everything in front of Carmen the little bitch.”
“Shut the fuck up!” Carmy yells across the kitchen, moving quickly through the closing shift chores.
“Yeah, yeah,” Richie brushes off Carmy’s comment with an eye roll.
“See you fucks tomorrow.”
“This look good, chef?” Marcus asks you, motioning for you to come over and take a look at the mixer.
You reach down into the mixer, checking the dough for texture.
“Yeah, looks good. Go ahead and grab a few sheet pans so we can shape these and we’ll cover ‘em so they can proof overnight,” you order, Marcus nodding in response.
“Thank you, chef.”
As Marcus disappears, in search of a few sheet pans, Carmy’s wiping down one of the prep stations.
“Hey, you,” you say, a smile on your face as soon as you see him.
After your talk this afternoon, things feel lighter. He feels lighter.
“Hey,” he says, finishing up with his cleaning duty before making his way over to you. Carmy checks to see that Marcus hasn’t come back yet, and you notice.
“Great dinner service, huh?” you congratulate.
“We’re gettin’ there,” he replies. “Smoothest it’s been so far. Since the reopen.”
Ah yes. The reopen. You’re still waiting to hear that story.
“I was thinkin’, maybe we could do that catch up thing? Over a drink?” Carmy proposes, changing the subject, and you think to yourself that it’s the most confident you’ve ever seen him.
“I-,” you start, as Marcus makes his way back towards the pastry area. “We’ve got one more late night prep tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he smiles, spotting Marcus as well. “Tomorrow’s good.”
i have a request - i’m obsessed with your writings (truly a god’s gift to this fandom) 🥹 i’m thinking grey’s anatomy inspired jake x (aviator)reader them having a conversation along the lines of ”stop looking at me like that” ”like what?” ”like you’ve seen me naked” after they hooked up and see each other at work or something ughh 🥵
hope all is well and that u have an amazing day <3
𝟖 𝐎'𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤
𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭
"If you don't stop staring at me, I'm going to read you the entirety of Title IX on our lunch break."
"That sounds like more work for you," Jake says with a chuckle. He lets all his weight rest on his cocked hip, tutting. He's chewing on a tooth pick, watching your nose scrunch as you squint at the sun to watch them work on your jet. "Besides--what's the harm in me getting a good look at you?"
The sun beats down on your face as you stand on the tarmac before Jake. You're watching your jet get inspected, your helmet tucked under your arm, and Jake won't leave you alone. You can't say that you mind it all that much--but there are appearances to keep up around here, especially around the other flyboys that are horsing around further down the tarmac. You're not supposed to get along with Jake--no one is, really--and the way he's making googely-eyes at you is surely going to give everyone the opposite idea.
But you can't help the certain elation that captures your chest when you feel his aspen-colored eyes outline your form from the point of your jaw to the lift in your boots. Usually, it would be easier for you to effectively tell him to fuck off. After last night, though--things feel a bit muddled.
"The harm is that everyone's gonna know we fucked if you keep looking at me like that," you say curtly, taking a shuddering breath.
Jake barks out a laugh.
"Look at you like what?" He challenges.
You finally turn towards him, trying to maintain that sour look on your face.
Fuck, if he isn't a beautiful creature. He looks even more beautiful than he usually does, entirely sun kissed and proud as he stretches to his full height beside you. The tooth pick he's chewing is making his jaw flex so deliciously, the way you know it had when he was sucking mercilessly on your clit last night in the darkness of your bedroom.
And he is looking at your eyes, the way they dazzle in the unforgiving sunlight, the way you're frowning up at him even though he knows you don't want to. He's thinking about last night, too--of course he is. God, he doesn't know if he'll ever stop thinking about last night. The way your hips felt when they were flush against his, the way your warm walls squeezed him. He filled you up just right--both of you knew it.
The two of you even woke up together this morning--on accident, of course. You pretended not to be embarrassed as you hastily got dressed, but he couldn't help the ease and contentment he felt just from being in your presence so early in the morning. He loved how flustered you were as you tried to roll your eyes and groan through the whole morning-after thing. And he loved that you had little bits of mascara under your eyes and what your hair looked like in the morning--soft, very soft.
Your eyes widen and you poke him in the chest with an indignant pointer finger.
"Like that!" You hiss, locking your jaw. "Like you've seen me naked!"
Jake just grins--something in your chest softens. You fall back on your heels and think fuck. Last night definitely wasn't the last time despite what you told him when you woke up this morning.
"But, honey!" Jake says, stroking your cheek before you can dodge his touch. "I have seen you naked."
You all but growl--he keeps grinning, even pinching your cheek.
"I'm gonna shoot you down myself," you tell him. You turn, determined to have the last word. But then something--you're not sure if it's lust or affection or pity or insecurity or all of the above--stops you. You turn and look at him over your shoulder and he's still watching you, grinning. "Eight o'clock."
He salutes.
"Idiot," you call.
But as soon as your cheek is turned, you're smiling.
make my heart surrender | carmy berzatto x fem!reader | chapter one: tuesday
pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader
warnings: lots of swearing, angst, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide
word count: 3.3k
summary: after quitting your job at the restaurant you both used to work at, carmy asks you to come in and work with his pastry chef at his new spot, the bear. only, the longer you stick around, it becomes clear that you have unfinished business. will one week in chicago change your life, and his, forever?
a/n: i wasn't going to write a fic about hulu/fx's the bear, and this story has taken over my brain. i also made reader a pastry chef and um... well, clearly so has everyone else, so while i'm painfully unoriginal, please enjoy.
“Well, man, I’m glad to hear you’re doing alright. Sorry I haven’t called. Things at the restaurant have been… well you know how it goes,” Carmy’s old sous chef explains, a sigh of exhaustion escaping his lips.
“Yeah, yeah. No, I-, you called now. Yeah… I uh, never thought I’d be here but… things are…” Carmy trails off.
“Yeah.”
And then there’s quiet. It’s almost as if his old sous is waiting for him to ask the question – the question they both know he’s been asking in every silence, every pregnant pause left between them.
Carmy weighs his options. He doesn’t know why it feels like he’s showing his whole hand if he asks if he asks about you. Not like anyone in the kitchen didn’t notice.
You were best friends after all. Spent all your time together.
Inseparable.
And then there was that night.
The night you both agreed to forget but one he can’t seem to.
He wonders if you think about it too.
And now? Now that the fog is starting to clear… now that the restaurant has a little money… and he can think for a fuckin’ second….
“How’s uh… how is she?” Carmy finally manages to get out.
“You haven’t heard?” his sous asks, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.
Carmy is silent for a moment, his head swimming with anxiety. What was he going to say? Carmy braced himself to be metaphorically punched in the gut, waiting for what came next. Why was he so sure that whatever his sous said would upset him?
“Uh-, um, no I-. We haven’t talked much since I came home.”
“Ahhh.”
Another silence, before the man on the other line clears his throat before continuing with, “Yeah, she uh, well you’ll never believe it but she quit.”
“She what?!”
“Yeah, I think everyone was just as surprised, man. Something about being burnt out and needing some time to find-, well, I don’t know but…” he trails off. He knows that any advice that he gives Carmy will not only be unsolicited, but that there’s a slim chance he’ll actually take it. “Restaurant keeps saying she’s taking a sabbatical. Think they’re still hoping she’ll come back.”
“You should give her a call.”
And it’s as if Carmy can’t get off the phone fast enough.
“Yeah, I uh-, thanks man. It was really good talking to you.”
And that’s how you ended up here, at six fuckin’ o clock in the morning.
Chicago isn’t as hot as NYC in the summer. But the heat — or lack there of — isn’t why you’re here either.
Honestly, you’re not sure why the hell you’re here.
Get out of dodge. Something about needing to find meaning. Because you could never really say ‘no’ to Carmy.
Because… Carmy.
Tuesday
“Wow this is… this is fantastic,” you say, after tasting Marcus’ chocolate cake. You take your time, dissecting each component against your tastebuds. “It’s moist… and the texture is perfect. There’s a really nice balance between the darker chocolate notes and the sweetness.” You take one more bite, really taking your time to enjoy it.
“You’ve really got something here.”
“Thank you, chef,” Marcus nods, a pleased and proud smile on his face. “I uh, I’m really excited to learn from you. Carmy uh, he told me you did a lot of these.”
Marcus gestures towards his photo wall, then steps aside, revealing the wall of pastries from the old menu you worked on together. You spot your favorite donut – the one that got you a James Beard nomination.
“Wow,” you marvel, letting out a small laugh. You’re flattered and more than anything, there’s a nostalgic joy to seeing some of your work plastered on a wall. “What a blast from the past!”
“Is it too weird? I can uh, I can take them down if-,” Marcus begins to ask.
“Oh no! No, it’s-, I’m glad they serve as inspiration,” you say, quick to ease any discomfort. You take another bite of the cake – the cake that he got up early this morning to make, because he wanted you to try his signature cake at its freshest.
“Kinda lost my mind a few months ago trying to make the perfect one,” Marcus admits with a soft chuckle.
You laugh with a nod in agreement, “I don’t know if you’ve worked in a kitchen long enough if you don’t lose your goddamn mind at some point.”
Marcus nods in agreement.
“You’re self taught, right?’
“Yes, chef.”
“Wow. You’ve got real natural talent. And a good palette. Which is pretty hard to teach.”
“Thank you, chef.”
You finally put the plate down on top of the stainless steel surface, crossing your arms across your chest.
“So here’s what I’m thinking. I want to help you create that perfect donut,” you propose, methodically. “If we can come up with the building blocks – build a foundation for you – then you can take it… really where you want to go with it.”
“ Then we’ll develop a whole new dinner menu – something more elevated than what you guys offer at lunch,” you continue, noticing that Marcus is hanging on your every word. “Do you have help around here or is it just you?”
There’s a spark in his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a long time in a professional kitchen: a hunger to learn. He’s not some scared kid, trembling as they zest lemons for ten hours straight.
It’s a breath of fresh air.
“Nah, just me,” Marcus answers. “But uh, we’re gonna have to hire some help around here soon.”
“Ahhh,” you sound. “Then we’ll make sure whatever we go with for dinner is an appropriate lift, considering it’s just you. How about this? Why don’t we use the week to test out the donuts… then do a little tasting menu for dinner over the weekend. Ask for feedback from all the regulars… friends and family….”
“Yeah, I love it. That sounds great! Thank you, chef,” Marcus exclaims, an eagerness and invigoration in his voice that excites you. “I’m really looking forward to learning from you this week. Carmy says you’re the best.”
His statement catches you off guard. You were surprised when Carmy had reached out to you. After two months of not hearing from him, post-his New York exodus, you had made peace with the fact that you may never hear from him again.
“Listen, I got this guy. He’s- he’s self taught but he’s got a lot of potential,” Carmy had explained. “He just needs a good teacher – someone to inspire him – give him some of the foundations he would’ve gotten in culinary school.”
You had left a silence between the two of you as you listened. It wasn’t easy – picking up the phone when you saw his call – and he… needs something from you?
“Just for a week, maybe. I can’t pay you much but uh, well we’ve got a little money and I can talk to my brother-in-law. He can put you up somewhere… you know… if you want to. If that helps.”
Your phone call with Carmy – the first one in almost six months – had given you a lot to think about. You wanted to see him. And you also never wanted to see him ever again.
But there was something telling you, something in the way his voice sounded on the phone, that what he had going on in Chicago was different than any of the kitchens you both came up in. He sounded different – alive, even – and your curiosity was enough to say yes.
Besides, wasn’t now the time to take a chance?
You had told him you’d think about it, and after two days of going back and forth, you’d finally agreed to come out to Chicago to work with his pastry chef.
You weren’t sure what it’d be like to see him after all this time – after what happened between you two, after what happened to Mikey. Instead, you push the thoughts of your phone call away, and pull out your notebook and a fine-point sketching pen.
“We’ll do a few different variations on the donuts so that we can figure out what works at this spot and which one you like the most,” you begin, watching him scribble down a few notes in his graphing paper-filled composition book. “Write these down: yeast, cake, brioche, and filled. What’re you working with right now?”
“Yeast, actually. I tried the whole cake donut thing but don’t know if it was what I was looking for,” Marcus says, hesitant to try that again.
“Well, let’s give it a shot together and if you still don’t think it’s what you’re looking for, we’ll scratch the whole thing?” you propose.
“Cool, cool. We’re gonna go through a lot of flour this week, huh?” Marcus asks, lightheartedly, and you laugh with a nod in response.
You’re just getting started as the sounds of a door opening, and footsteps interrupt your focus.
“Morning, chef!” Marcus’ chipper voice interrupts, as the sound pulls both of your attention.
And there he is, in all of his glory. You had almost forgotten how much you loved his messy, unruly curls. You spot those familiar dark circles that dwell deep under his eyes, his patchwork sleeve of little tattoos, and those piercing blue eyes.
You’ll never admit to anyone that seeing him, just for a moment, takes your breath away.
Fuck.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Carmy says, a small nod towards both you and Marcus.
You’re frozen for a moment. He doesn’t even say hello and it stuns you. Sure you’ve texted – more in the last few days than the last few months – but this is the first time you’re seeing each other since he left New York.
That’s it? That’s all you get?
You stammer through your words, trying your best to refocus yourself back to the menu. Marcus begins talking you through what they’ve been working with since the reopen of the restaurant, but you’re barely listening.
So this asshole isn’t even going to say hello.
It’s not long before Carmy begins unpacking his bag that he brought with him, and places a stainless fry pan on the gas stovetop, allowing it to preheat. He moves smoothly and swiftly, and you’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be with him in the kitchen.
It’s like watching poetry in motion.
You shake your head, trying to snap your focus back to Marcus, feverishly scribbling down a few notes and trying your best to listen to what he’s saying. Marcus walks you through his inspiration, what he’s taught himself, and you begin to understand why Carmy wanted you to work with him.
He’s right. Marcus has a lot of great ideas and he’s got so much potential. He just needs a good teacher.
The two of you exchange ideas and you make a few notes in your own notebook about flavor pairings that Marcus wants to try out. And it’s almost as if you can forget what a dickhead Carmen Berzatto is for one goddamn second.
Before you know it, you’ve got a game plan for the next few days. You’ll work on donuts today to Thursday, and test out which ones sell best in the mornings. Thursday, you’ll reevaluate with Marcus and begin to work on developing the dinner menu. There’s a lot that you can get done in a short period of time, and it helps that there are two of you now. You can tell that Marcus is grateful for the extra hands and you can’t believe he’s been holding down the entirety of their pastry by himself.
There’s a strong smell of melted butter, and the sound of Carmy’s perfectly sharp chef’s knife running through a bunch of chives that begins to permeate throughout the whole kitchen. You and Marcus exchange glances, as you both notice Carmy beginning to plate.
“This normal?” you ask curiously.
Marcus shakes his head with a shrug, “Nah. Must be for you.”
Carmy begins to approach the both of you, his hands full with two of the three plates. You’re surprised to see your favorite: soft scrambled eggs over toasted sourdough, topped with precisely cut chives.
Marcus takes notice, making a mental note in his head considering these aren’t ingredients they usually keep around at The Bear. He looks from you to Carmy, then back to you as a thick tension fills the room.
Yeah, he definitely knows something’s up.
It begins to dawn on you.
Carmy was never good with words anyways.
“Hungry?” he asks you, in his normal kitchen-voice. He’s cold, stoic, matter-of-fact, and you wonder where that something different you heard in his voice just weeks ago on the phone has gone.
You finally smile at him, “Always.”
You take the plate from Carmy and Marcus takes his plate as well, looking from you to his boss once more.
“I’m uh… I’m gonna eat this… out there. You know… just uh… I’m gonna go,” Marcus murmurs and it’s clear to you that he’s trying to make an excuse to get out of the kitchen and give you guys some space.
“Yeah, sure. Take fifteen, chef,” Carmy encourages.
You watch as Carmy returns to one of the prep stations, picking up his piece of toast from a plastic cutting board, and taking a bite. Cautiously, you follow, putting your plate down as the two of you stand side by side. You begin eating your toast and you’ve almost forgotten how good he is at this. The eggs are perfectly soft and buttery and you’re dying for more of this sourdough. And you know, you know this is his way of saying hello. You both eat, side by side, not saying a damn thing.
All that fills the kitchen is the sound of crunching and chewing, as if no one wants to be the first to say anything.
Carmy finishes his piece of toast first, wiping his mouth with a napkin from one of the napkin holders that’s been brought back into the kitchen to be refilled. You watch silently as he goes to throw away his napkin, washing his hands after.
When he returns to you, he leans his back against the prep station, still by your side.
“Hey.”
You turn to him, practically dropping your plate on the stainless steel surface, before smacking him across the chest and saying, “Hey yourself, you fucking asshole.”
“What the fuck? I make you breakfast and you… you hit me?”
You only glare at him in response.
He knows what he did.
And you know he’s never been good with words, but it’s not an excuse.
There’s that quiet again, as you lean against the prep station surface, your body turned to him, finally meeting his gaze with your own.
“It really means a lot to me that you came,” he says quietly, his eyes quickly averting yours as he speaks.
You take your time thinking of what you want to say next, fidgeting with one of the napkin holders.
“This… this whole thing, the restaurant… it’s really different, Carm,” you finally say. He laughs dryly in response.
You’re not sure what you expected when Carmy told you that he was running the family restaurant but you never would’ve pictured this. Seeing him here now, he’d almost feel out of place in the kitchen you both used to work in.
“I mean, it’s different than anything we ever-.”
“Yeah,” he sighs, and you swear you see him smile. “Shoulda seen this place when I first got here. A lot’s changed.”
You smirk, turning the napkin holder around. The words ‘Carmy Is An Asshole’ are scribbled over it in bold letters you can only assume were inked there in sharpie.
“Well, I guess some things never change.”
He shakes his head, his cheeks turn a few shades redder, as he looks down at the floor for a second.
“Yeah.”
There’s a silence between you two once more before Carmy continues with, “I-, I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner.”
“I should’ve said hello sooner.” A beat.
You take his apology in, and it does help.
Sort of.
Maybe one day you’ll get an explanation for all of it but you don’t think today will be that day.
The longer you sit with it, the more his apology helps ease some of the thick tension between the two of you: words left unsaid, that thing you said you’d both forget, months of no contact….
No wonder Marcus practically fled the scene.
“You think?”
He nods in response.
He waits a beat before changing the subject.
“So you quit your job.”
“I did.”
“You okay?”
You think about it for a moment before answering.
“Yeah, I’m alright.”
You pause before deciding to change the subject once again. You don’t really want to talk about it right now – probably just as much as Carmy wants to avoid talking about his shit too.
“Marcus is great,” you begin.
“Yeah, he is,” Carmy agrees, a proud smile plastered on his face. You haven’t him smile like that since… well it’s been a long time. “He’s got all these ideas and he’s learning how to execute and he’s gotta work on pacing but….”
“I’m really glad you came. It’s-, it’s good to see you.”
“Thanks,” you say, debating whether or not to say the next part before admitting, “It’s good to see you too.”
“So uh, what’s the game plan?” Carmy asks, curiously.
You smile before explaining your strategy: that you’ll focus on the day menu this week and revamp dinner by the weekend. That you want to invite regulars, friends, and family for feedback on desserts using a tasting menu. He tells you that they’re closed on Mondays and that he’ll want to make decisions on the new menus by then, and you agree. It’s almost easy – falling right back into stride with him. You always were so good at working together.
“You comin’ back for dinner service?” Carmy asks, as you begin to wrap up your conversation.
“Yeah, Marcus and I are gonna be working on an overnight brioche, so yeah,” you answer honestly.
“Great,” Carmy smiles back at you, his cerulean blue eyes practically baring into your soul as does. You think this is the most you’ve ever seen him smile in one sitting. “Family’s at three.”
You raise an eyebrow, “You’re eating family now?”
Carmy never used to eat family meal.
Carmy shrugs, “Sometimes. But uh-, it’ll be a good time to introduce you to everyone.”
You shoot him a look, “Guess some things can change, Berzatto.”
*
“Family’s up!” the older latina woman called Tina calls out, rallying the rest of the kitchen staff.
You’ve just arrived, coming in through the back door. As you take a seat on one of the locker area benches, someone sits down next to you – someone you haven’t met yet.
“Hey, sweetheart. I’m Richie Jeramovich. You must be Carmy’s friend,” he says, his Chicago accent thick as he introduces himself.
“Oh um-,” you stammer, taken off guard. “Yeah, it’s nice to meet you, Richie.
“Carmy called me earlier. Had some stuff come up so he’s not comin’ in. Said I’d introduce to you to everyone,” Richie explains.
“Everything okay?” you ask.
“Yeah. Sorry, the asshat stood you up, babe,” Richie answers, cutting right to the core of your disappointment.
He pats you on the back a few times, doing a poor job at reassuring you before saying, “Cousin’s always pullin’ this kind of shit.”
“Hey, chef! I wanna introduce you to Sydney. Come on,” Marcus says, interrupting the two of you.
“I’ll be right there,” you reply, trying your best to hide your disappointment.
But you are – disappointed – and you’re questioning why you said yes to this; why you’d ever considered letting him back into your life after he ghosted you in the first place.
*
a/n: ok so hear me out: i wrote carmy cooking soft scrambled eggs in a stainless pan because 1. if you've ever tried cooking scrambled eggs in a stainless pan it takes technique, lots of butter, and a deep knowledge of heat control so it felt like it'd be a layered way for him to (show off a little) and show reader how much he cares AND 2. carmy is a non-stick anti -- i don't make the rules. like, i have this image of him coming into the beef on the first day and just throwing out any non-stick piece of cookware in sight lol.
