My bad.

Cricket, 18+ only, any pronouns AO3: withmyteethTUMBLR

[withmyteeth]

REQUESTS: I only take requests for 3 word drabbles and when I post flash fic events.

3 WORD DRABBLE REQUESTS: HERE

FLASH FIC EVENTS: HERE

BISHOP LOSA

ANGEL REYES

COCO CRUZ

EZ REYES

NESTOR OCETEVA

JAX TELLER

HAPPY LOWMAN

TIG TRAGER

NERO PADILLA

WRITER/STORY RECS

[withmyteeth]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Final | Bonus

Mayans MC

Summary: After the awards ceremony, you and Bishop take your relationship to the next level.

Warnings: smut, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, cheating, family problems, abandonment; 3.1k words

Author’s note: Finally, the tragic back story. Probably not as bad as you were expecting, but let me tell you from experience, it sucks.

Round 5

The guys all surrounded you, breaking out into loud cheers as you walked through the door to the clubhouse. Bishop must have texted them when you guys left the awards ceremony. You made your way to the bar with Bishop at your side. Ez set out a coke for you and a beer for Bishop.

“Congratulations, you definitely deserve it,” he says, giving your hand a squeeze across the bar.

“Thank you, EZ,” you said, giving him a kind smile. EZ was probably the Mayan you spent the most time without side of the President. Sometimes when you showed up before Templo was out and you would sit and talk.

“How did the speech go?” He asks, remembering how nervous you were the day before.

You let out a shaky laugh. “I have absolutely no idea. I completely blacked out for the whole thing,” you say, lifting the coke bottle to your lips.

Bishop chuckles from his spot next to you. He hasn’t let go of your waist since you arrived. “You were perfect, sweetheart, I wouldn’t even have known you were nervous.”

You smile shyly at him before pressing a kiss to his lips. Bishop had stood by you all night, calming your nerves up until you were on stage, and right there again to greet you when you walked off. He kept his spot at your side while everyone came up to congratulate you and talk about business. You don’t know if you could have done this all without him.

You pull away just far enough to murmur thank you against his lips before going back in to kiss him again, tilting your head just slightly to make it a little deeper.

The nerves in your belly are starting to settle a little lower. After seeing Bishop tonight, looking like he does, then his confrontation with Antonio, and maybe even a little bit of excitement from winning the award, you shouldn’t be surprised you were turned on.

It had been awhile since someone else had ignited that fire deep inside you and shouldn’t be surprised that it was Bishop who was able to come along and stoke the low burning coals of your damaged libido into a roaring fire.

Once again, the wolf whistles across the bar start, which tends to happen every time you and Bishop take it slightly past PG in the bar area. It seems the guys are enjoying razzing their President.

You pull back from Bishop’s lips, giving him a shy smile, looking at him through your lashes - your best attempt at bedroom eyes. “Can we go upstairs?” You knew he had a whole apartment upstairs, you’d been there a couple times, mostly just walking with him as he grabbed something or waited on him to change so you could go somewhere else.

He looks down at you with his signature smirk on his face, “Yea, okay.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the back of the bar and down the hallway to the stairs leading up to his apartment. He stops you at the bottom of the stairs, pushing you up against the wall and sliding his hands up your neck to cup your cheeks. You think he is going to kiss you again, so you let your eyes slide close, but you pop them open again when he says, “Look at me.” His eyes stare deeply into yours as he continues, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

You reach up, wrapping your hands around his wrists, biting your bottom lip. You take a second, look back into his eyes, at their intensity. In that moment, you’ve never been so sure of another person in your life. The flames inside you explode, heating parts of your body you previously thought expired, warming your heart until you feel it could be glowing through your skin. Externally, you give him a small nod, trying to hide the excitement inside you.

Whatever he sees in your face must be good enough for him, because he lunges forward, pressing his lips to yours, plunging his tongue in your mouth to meet yours. You thought Bishop had been kissing you before? That had been nothing. The promise in this kiss had your toes curling, thankful you still had your hands wrapped around his wrists because it may have been the only thing holding you up. Too soon he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. “Once we go through those doors, you are in control. I want you to be comfortable. We can stop at any time for any reason, okay?”

“Just take me upstairs, please.”

Faster than what felt possible, you were in his bedroom, attached at the lips, separating only to shed clothes onto the floor. His room was sparse but clean. A bed, a nightstand, a dresser on the wall to the left and a window on the right, which let in just a bit of brightness from the security lights of the scrap yard.

Backing Bishop to the edge of the bed, you push him to sit down, following him as he slides back up to lay in the center of the bed. You take your time kissing down his neck and chest, enjoying the feel on your lips of places you had only touched with your hands over clothes. His hands roam whatever part of your body he can touch, not guiding you in anyway, just touching. When you get to the member between his legs, you wrap your hand around his base, testing the size of him. He was bigger even than you were expecting, adding a new understanding to the swagger and confidence he seemed to exude in every room he entered. Giving him a couple pumps, you then bend down taking him in your mouth, making sure you are using every ounce of salvia in your mouth to get him as wet as possible because its the only way you think he is going to fit.

“Fuck, querida, that feels amazing,” Bishop mutters into the darkness of the room. You hum lightly around him, enjoying as you feel him twitch against your tongue before releasing him with a wet pop and kissing your way back up his body. When you kiss him again, you swing your leg over him, using one hand behind you to line him up against your wet heat. When his tip slides against your entrance, he hands come to your hips, fingers gripping you tightly. He doesn’t pull you forward or push you back, so you start to slide back onto him, willing your body to accept his. He breaks out of the kiss, mouth opening wide, forehead wrinkling, but his eyes are still focused on you. You use the opportunity to sit up, settling yourself flush against his hips. You had taken all of him and you were proud of yourself. Moving only slightly, willing the slight burn in you to become pleasure, you let out a couple breathy moans. Quicker than you expected, your walls adapt to his size and you lift yourself slightly before lowering yourself onto him again. His hands don’t leave your hips, supporting you in your movements.

Soon you find a rhythm that works and the sounds from Bishop and yourself only encourage you. Your wetness can be heard over your moans and you can only imagine what you look like, head thrown back, back arched, riding the man underneath as he moans your name. A shift in your hips causes him to hit a new spot inside you and your eyes pop open at the sensation. Eyes darting to the movement at the side of the bed, you see yourself in the mirror over the dresser and practically freeze. The sex goddess you had in your mind had disappeared and it was just you staring back. You turn to look at Bishop but the damage has been done. The reflection in the mirror has the same effect as a bucket of water on a rolling campfire. You try to resume your pace, not wanting Bishop to catch on, hoping you can at least work him to his release, but he notices the change immediately.

He grips your hips tighter, pulling you to a stop on top of him, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say, trying to grind your hips against him. You can feel your heart racing as your breaths start catching in your throat and you curse the tears as they start falling down your cheeks.

“Hermosa, no,” he says, letting go of your hips as you bring your hands up to cover your face. He sits up easily, wrapping his arms around you, lifting you off of him and rearranging you so you are lying against his chest next to him.

As the sobs start to shake your shoulders, he rubs soothing circles in your back, making shushing noises into your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter out between sobs.

“Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me, right now.” His finger comes under your chin and he lifts your face until he can look in your tear filled eyes. “You never have to be sorry about something like this. I know there’s some shit you’re dealing with, and you’ll tell me when you're ready, but I don’t want you to ever do something like this if it makes you uncomfortable because you think it's something I expect from you.”

The idea that Bishop thinks this was his fault in any way has words tumbling from your lips faster than you can think them through. “It’s absolutely not you, I just let myself get lost in my own head in the past, and I didn’t mean -,” you pause, looking in Bishop’s eyes. You see no judgement. No anger, No disappointment. Just understanding and affection. You take a deep breath, willing your tears to stop. It was time.

“I want to tell you about my life before Santo Padre.”

Bishop doesn’t say anything, just presses a kiss to your forehead, before releasing your chin and tucking you under his, like he knows this is a conversation you won’t be able to have while looking at him.

“I was kinda engaged once.”

At that, you feel him still. You guys had discussed marriage at one visit at the bar and you had told him you never saw yourself getting married. It was just a piece of paper, right?

“My high school crush and I were friends, but he always seemed to have a girlfriend and never really interested in me that way. We were friends, which I was fine with. Then his girlfriend went off to college with everyone else. We had some financial stuff with my family come up and I couldn’t afford to go to college. So I stayed and worked. We got closer, I thought we were going to be together forever, ya know? Young love and all that bullshit.” You scoff, shaking your head at the memory of how naive you were at the time.

“Anyway, without saying anything to me, he talked to a recruiter and signed up for the military. In a matter of days, he packed up and left for boot camp, promising we would write each other as often as possible. And we did.”

Things had been great at first. The distance and the writing seemed to help solidify his feels for you. He told you for the first time that he loved you in a letter, which at the time you were foolish enough to think was romantic. He even talked about how you two should get married as soon as possible so that you could go with him when he was stationed. One morning, you woke to someone turning on your bedroom light at 4am. You looked up and saw him standing there in his fatigues. You jumped up immediately hugging him, your mom standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes. You always said she liked him more than you, and if you’d only known how right you were.

He left your side quickly, he had yet to see his own family, he said, but he would be back. You went back to bed, barely able to sleep. You got up, got ready and went to his mom’s house, only she said he wasn’t there and she hadn’t seen him since she had dropped him off at your house that morning.

Strange, you thought, but it had been early, maybe you had misremembered what he said.

Later, you would find out that same night he had stopped at two other girls houses. The whole week he was home between boot camp and leaving for his stationing, that early morning trip was the only time you saw him. Not a call, not a text, nothing. Your heart was broken, but you could heal, you thought. Until he was all your mom could talk about. How he was doing, what he was up to, when he was coming home. Apparently while he wasn’t answering your messages, he was messaging your mom. You and your mom weren’t very close to start with, but you thought she would have picked you over the boy who promised you everything then broke your heart.

The final straw was Christmas Day that year. You had your traditional holiday festivities in the morning, but your mom didn’t seem as eager to take down the tree after unwrapping presents as she usually was. You didn’t really think anything about it until she pulled you aside and asked if you could leave for a few hours. It was Christmas Day, where were you going to go? It was snowing outside and everywhere was closed.

She said she didn’t want you to make a scene when your ex showed up with his new wife.

“Wait,” Bishop interrupts you for the first time. “Not only had your mom invited your ex and his new wife to your family Christmas, she asked you to leave your home so things, what? Wouldn't be awkward?”

You nod against his chest, “Yep. She went on to say how amazing his wife was, so cute and small and beautiful and intelligent and just everything she ever hoped he would find in someone.”

“And what did you say to her?” Bishop asks, the anger evident in his voice.

“I mean, look at me, what was I going to say?”

“What does that mean?”

You sigh, “Look, I am realist, I know I’m not pretty, I work with what I’ve got, but I’m not ever going to be someone people think twice about.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bishop is mad now, leaning up to look down at you. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you since you sat at my bar.”

“I can’t help it you have bad taste,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “Are you going to let me finish my story or not?”

“That conversation isn’t over, but you can finish your story.” He says, laying down again, pulling you back to his chest.

“So I asked my mom if she was really going to pick him over me, and she said that if he hadn't been so ashamed to be seen with me in public, that she could have had both of us so the fact she had to pick him over me was my own fault. I left her house that day and I haven’t been back,” you whisper into his chest.

“I spent the next five years sleeping with any man who even so much as looked at me, trying to convince myself that if all these men wanted me, I was worth wanting. Then one day, I realized I was out of control. I wasn’t enjoying myself. I was just letting these people use me, hoping I would feel...something about myself. I invaded marriages and relationships, ruining anything in my path, thinking that the greater the challenge, the more I was worth because of it. I realized I let them turn me into someone I didn’t want to be. I got the offer here in Santo Padre from one of my contacts at a previous job and never looked back. I started my life here, convinced I was fine on my own, I didn’t need family or friends until I met Y/BF/N. We just clicked, she had a shitty family, too, so we became each other’s family.” You take a breath, noticing sometime in your story, your tears have stopped. “Her trauma is a little fresher than mine, so while she’s going through her reckless phase, I am doing my best to watch out for her.”

“And that’s how you ended up at a bar of bikers you didn’t necessarily want to be at,” Bishop says, connecting the timeline to now. “You were looking out for your friend.”

“I was looking out for my family.”

You know that is something Bishop can relate to, and it may be why you gravitated to him so quickly. None of those men downstairs were related to him, but it doesn’t mean he loved them any less.

“So what happened a little bit ago that brought all of this up?”

You feel your cheeks start burning. You are naked with this man in bed after unloading the details of your past, and he was still here, rubbing soothing circles into your back. Why were you so nervous?

“I haven’t been with anyone in over five years,” you admit against his chest. “Between the pain of my past and pleasure of the present, I think I might have short circuited a bit when I saw us in the mirror.”

Bishop chuckles, which is what you were hoping for. You laugh as well, realizing that with your confessions, you feel lighter, almost giddy, a weight lifted off your shoulders. You slide your hand from his chest, down his taut lower belly, and wrap your fingers around him.

“Do you want to try again?”

He twitches against your palm, but he brings a hand to rest atop of yours. “We don’t have to do anything, we can just lay here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why I want to,” you say, pressing your lips to his.

You spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other, Bishop slowing stroking your fire until it licked at the edges of his own. Your body reacting to his in ways you didn’t even know it could anymore. Once you had your fill of each other, he tucked you against his front, wrapping himself around you, drifting off to sleep quickly.

You stayed awake a bit longer and instead of wondering how soon it would end, you found yourself wondering what a future with Bishop would look like. You couldn’t wait to find out.

LAST CALL

[baddywronglegs]

Do you think Michael Crichton had a deep-seated hatred of theme parks because he was too tall for all the rides?

[wanderer-chronicles]

Yes.

[tumblr] is a flat circle.

[baddywronglegs]

Damn, it sure is huh

[zetabrarian]

We should do this more on this website.

Person 1: -posts-

Person 2: -pulls out the historical documents-

[baddywronglegs]

I have been brought before the scriptures and my heresies found canonical.

I accept the judgement "unoriginal" and "should have looked it up first" but, in my inadequate defence, Tumblr's search function does fucking suck.

[zeemczed]

Defense found perfectly cromulent. Let Baddywronglegs free, and let no mark be against said blog.

[fozmeadows]

"I have been brought before the scriptures and my heresies found canonical" is an all-time banger line.

[ordinaryschmuck]

I love it here.

[alhashimis]

@pscentral​ event 36: trios alec hardison & eliot spencer & parker

look, I know it’s not the same thing but hardison and I are gonna be here for you forever.

[dragonpyre]

Ngl I totally forgot fandom discourse was a thing. I don’t care man, I have car payments

[rootbeerrex]

starting a collection

[clever-fandom-reference]

If I may submit:

[kisskisscantfallinlove]

[3000s]

i just realized the only 2 options arent "make someone angry" or "do what they want"

[3000s]

being in love is like you learn theres other reactions people have besides angry or not angry

[3000s]

love when its safe

[the-wanton-house-wife]

[gaynfl-moved]

STOP CENSORING YOURSELF ON THIS WEBSITE. FUCK SHIT SEX MURDER ALCOHOL DRUGS FAGGOT DYKE QUEER TRANS BITCH SLUT WHORE SEX SEX SEX SEX!!!!!!!!!!!

[your-sleep-paraylis-demon]

OK OK. UH UHHHH..... KILL?

[gaynfl-moved]

[harvestspriteirl]

[free-my-mindd]

My therapist said to me today “your ability to cycle through emotions so quickly is actually a trauma response” and I just say there like this.

[drabbles-mc]

Protective Detail (26/?)

Nestor Oceteva x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, light angst

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: back from the dead with a brand new chapter! and a Marcus & Reader Centric chapter, no less 🤭 we get back into the full-blown emotional turmoil with Nestor next chapter, but i figured this was a decent way to come back from my unplanned hiatus with this story lmao. the really sick and twisted part? like 85% of this chapter was done i just never brought it home with that last 15% lmfao. plz forgive me 🖤

Chapter Index

The silence after that night felt unbearable. You didn’t hear anything from Nestor about any of it. You knew better than to bring it up to your father. There was no way for you to tell him that you had it on good authority that Miguel shot one of his men without somehow ending up getting into the discussion of you and Nestor. You weren’t ready for that talk. You didn’t know when you would be, if you ever would be. So you didn’t bring it up. You just waited to see if he ever had anything to say about Miguel. Which he never did, at least not to you.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that your father most likely downplayed his real feelings about Miguel, good or bad, in front you just for the sake of avoiding an argument. But you had to think that if he knew about Paco, or had any suspicions about it all, he would say something to you. That felt like something that would be worth the argument resulting from the conversation.

The couple of meetings that you’d had with your father and Miguel after Nestor showing up at your house felt like business as usual on the surface. Miguel still seemed off, and now that you knew some more of the behind-the-scenes of it all, you were thinking that he should seem a lot more fucked up than he did. You wished he’d lose it in front of your father, cause enough of an issue so that he would actually have to do something about it. You were still holding out hope for that while you tried to think of a better, more concrete plan.

In the midst of all of that, you were very aware of the fact that it was always Miguel and Marcus showing up together. You knew that he had other men on his security team besides Nestor, even with Paco being gone. But the fact that he hadn’t been bringing any of them including Nestor was interesting to you. The circle grew ever-smaller. Your curiosity about all of that was far outweighed by your concern over Nestor’s absence. Maybe you were placing too much importance on yourself and your relationship with him, but him being back off the radar after coming to see you felt like a bit too much to just be a coincidence. It was another thing that you couldn’t ask about.

You were tossing your bag into the back seat of your car at your father’s house when the folder you were holding slipped from between your fingers and fell to the ground. The papers immediately started to scatter. Cursing under your breath, you started to gather them back up as quickly as you could.

You were reaching underneath your car for a stray paper when a very distinctive pair of boots materialized right beside you. It was hard to tell from the feeling in the pit of your stomach whether or not Marcus stepping over to help you gave you a sense of relief or one of dread.

“Here,” he said as crouched down and picked up the few that you hadn’t collected up yet.

You pulled the papers from underneath your car and stood up, stuffing them haphazardly back into the folder in your hands before reaching out to take the ones that Marcus was holding for you.

“Thank you.” You tucked those papers away too, unable to ignore the heaviness in Marcus’s stare. Looking back up at him, you tentatively asked, “How is…everything?”

His eyes narrowed slightly for a moment as he processed what you said versus what you meant. You knew he was smart enough to know what you were asking. You just were trying to figure out if he was going to be bold enough to give you the answer.

“We’re figuring it out.”

That gave you less than nothing to go off of. “Anything I can do?”

The frown on his face seemed like a pensive one, but you didn’t know him well enough to say that it was that for sure. He shook his head slightly. “No. Just,” he reached out and rested his hand on your shoulder, “stay safe.”

The knot of dread that his words and gesture put in your stomach made you want to throw up right on the spot. It wasn’t just a nicety, although in the world you all ran in it very well could be. If it had been Miguel saying it to you instead of Marcus, you would’ve said that it was a threat. But it didn’t quite feel like that. It felt like a warning, sure, but not a threat. Like he was trying to intervene because he knew a threat was coming from somewhere else. You had a good idea of where that might be.

You nodded. “Will do.”

If he was going to say anything more, he didn’t get the chance to. Miguel’s voice piped up as he stood by his car. “Ready, Marcus?”

Marcus’s face gave nothing away, as per usual. He turned around without another word to you and made his way back towards their SUV. Your nails were almost digging into your palm despite the fact that you were holding onto the folder. Your jaw was clenched so tight you were worried that you were about to crack a tooth as you watched them roll past you and out of the driveway.

It wasn’t until they were gone and out of sight that you forced your body to start moving again. You tucked your folder underneath your bag before walking around to the driver’s side of the car. You sat down in the driver’s seat, letting out a shaky exhale as you tried to get your mind to slow down. It was the first time that you ever wished that you had Marcus’s number. That way you could reach out to him to try to get some more answers out of him.

If you had to be safe, did that mean that Nestor wasn’t? Was he okay? Was he even still alive? Part of you thought that maybe that was a bit of a reach, but after what had happened with Paco you figured that survival was no longer a guarantee for anyone. The only thing that was giving you any semblance of comfort, and it wasn’t much, was that you would like to think that if something really had happened to Nestor, Marcus would’ve found a way to tell you. Or maybe even Miguel would say something, wanting to put more salt into a wound he loved to keep picking at.

You finally got your hands and fingers to steady and cooperate enough to put the key into the ignition of your car. Thoughts were racing through your head so fast that you couldn’t even make sense of them. All you knew was that they were making your heartrate skyrocket.

Despite knowing it wasn’t going to do anything to calm your nerves, you dug your phone out and dialed Nestor as you drove. You hardly even got a full ring before the automated voice came through the speakers of your car. “Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system. At the tone—”

You hung up, feeling your bottom lip starting to tremble. The likelihood of being able to get in touch with him now when you couldn’t before was slim to none, but you still had to try. It shouldn’t have caused such a visceral reaction inside you, but you suddenly felt like it was all about to fall apart, like the ground was going to crumble right beneath the tires of your car as you sped down the road.

The next couple of days went by accompanied by nothing besides radio silence. You didn’t see Nestor, didn’t hear anything from or about him. There was nothing from Miguel, Marcus, or your father either. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, per se, but your heightened anxiety made the lack of communication feel like a much larger problem than it was. Typically, no news was good news. But that wasn’t what it felt like now.

You threw yourself into your work as much as you could to try and combat it. Owning and managing kept you plenty busy, but you’d started covering a few shifts here and there if anyone ever called out just to have one extra thing to think about other than the mess that was happening behind the scenes. It also had the added benefit of surprising the other bartenders who worked for you. You’d mentioned to them a time or two that you had been a bartender up until you were in the position you had now, but it was the first time that any of them really saw you in action. It crossed your mind that Jade would’ve gotten a kick out of it. That thought alone soothed some of the nerves that you’d been feeling.

You were crawling towards the end of another shift. When one of the bartenders had to step out because of a family emergency, you gladly filled in and took his place. You left your blazer in your office, standing behind the bar in your sleeveless blouse and slacks. You were thankful that you’d learned how to stand and walk around for long periods of time in heels, because there wouldn’t be any sitting down until the place shut down for the night. You were thankful for the distraction, but you were also exhausted. You knew the other woman working with had to be just as tired, which was why you had told her to head out a little early once everyone left after last call.

“I’ll clean up,” you reassured her. “Go home, get some rest.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded. “Positive. I’ll see you next time you’re in, alright?”

The relieved smile that spread across her face made the extra time you were going to spend there that night worth it. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

Once she was gone you put your own music on as you wiped down the bar and loaded the dishwasher. With the exception of the clothes that you were wearing, you felt like you were right back at the bar with Jade. The urge to call her had rolled through you more often than you expected it to. There was a comfort and stability that she exuded that was hard to find in other people. You were certain that a good, long talk with her would help immeasurably.

But the warning from Marcus still rang loudly in your mind. If something was afoot and you were at risk in some way, the last thing you wanted to do was drag in someone who was innocent in it all. Jade had nothing to do with your business with your father. She made sure to keep it that way. You weren’t going to be the person who got her hurt simply because she was close with you. Distance for now was the best solution that you had, even if it sucked. Even though you knew it wouldn’t happen, part of you wished that she would just turn up one night looking for a drink.

And, if she wouldn’t randomly decide to turn up, you were hoping that Nestor might.

Neither of them did, though. You shouldn’t have been surprised or upset by that. There was no reason that either of them would randomly find their way into your bar. But as you collapsed at the freshly-cleaned counter, setting up your laptop and notebooks to get ahead on some of your paperwork, you wished that the universe would grant you that distraction.

You’d completely lost track of time as you got the next few deliveries and supply runs in order. Your books were meticulously kept, which was helpful, but it was incredibly time-consuming. So you had no idea how late it really was when you reached for your phone and called your father.

A middle of the night call after days of silence wasn’t exactly something that would give anyone confidence. Your father somehow managed to sound simultaneously exhausted and frantic as he answered the phone.

“Mija? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you replied easily despite the fact that it was a bit of a lie. You were alright in the way that he was asking—you weren’t bleeding out in the desert somewhere.

He hummed and you could picture the way he was probably pulling his hands down his face in an effort to try and wake up a little more. “Do you,” he fought back a yawn and was almost successful, “do you need something?”

“Do you have Marcus’s number?” The question came tumbling out of you before you could stop it.

“Marcus?”

“Yeah, Alvarez,” you clarified.

He chuckled tiredly. “I know who you mean, Y/N.” He paused. “I have his number, yes.”

“Can I have it?”

“What do you need his number for this late at night?” His answer wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. How you answered the question that he’d just asked was going to determine if he was going to give you that information or not.

“In my defense, I didn’t realize how late it was,” you said with a tired laugh. “I just had a couple things that I wanted to ask him about, that’s all. Stuff I’d really rather not bother Miguel with.”

“You mean stuff you don’t want to talk to Miguel about?” he countered, humor in his tone.

You had to laugh at that. “That too.” There was a long pause, and when he didn’t give you the number or tell you that you were going to have to actually buck up and ask Miguel for it, you said, “So…can I please have a way to not talk to Miguel?”

“You can’t just keep finding ways to avoid him, you know.”

“Watch me,” you joked. “C’mon, it’s late and I’m sure you wanna get back to sleep. Just text me his number and you can go back to dreaming about having your own whiskey distillery or whatever it is that you dream about these days.”

It was too easy for you to picture the look on his face even though you couldn’t see him. The tired but still amused look even though he wouldn’t want to look amused. “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?”

“Because you always think I’m up to something when it comes to Miguel.”

“And I’m almost always right, aren’t I?”

“We’re both still alive and in one piece, aren’t we? Things haven’t gone too wrong yet.” You paused before saying, “Papí, por favor. Para su hija favorita.”

He let out a sigh that turned into a laugh. “Por díos.”

You laughed, knowing that you had him. “Muchas gracias.”

“Basta,” he said with a laugh. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Te quiero.”

You could hear him smiling through his exasperation with you. “Te quiero mucho.”

When you hung up the phone with him, it was less than a minute before you received a text message from him. You quickly opened it, adding Marcus’s number to your contacts. You weren’t going to call him now—it was far too late for that. But at some point in the next twenty-four hours you were going to reach out. Maybe a text would be a better start, since it was a pretty safe bet that if you called him he would be around Miguel. You didn’t even want any incriminating information, really. You just wanted to know that Nestor was okay.

You spent a few seconds too long staring at his name. Clicking on it, you typed out a text message, thinking that it wouldn’t be enough to disturb him from sleep, but it would be one of the first things that he saw when he woke up in the morning. And that would mean he was away from Miguel.

“It’s Y/N. My dad gave me your number. Call me when you get this, please” You didn’t allow yourself to hesitate before hitting send.

Once the message said delivered underneath it, you felt like the last of your energy had been sucked right out of you. It was a text message but you may as well have run a marathon with the way you sank deeper onto the stool, elbows landing against the bar. You pressed your fingers against your temples, rubbing small circles there for a few moments before deciding to pack up your things and starting to head home.

Even as you were going through your nightly routine at home, you were still periodically checking your phone to see if Marcus had texted you back. There was no way that he was going to answer, but you still had to check. Even as your head hit the pillow and you threw your phone on the charger, you gave it one last glance before finally allowing your eyes to close.

You were woken up the next morning way before your alarm. You groaned, not opening your eyes as you groped around, feeling for your nightstand and by extension your phone. When your fingers wrapped around it, you unplugged it, only opening one eye a sliver of the way. You hit the accept call button, not even bothering to try and focus enough to read the name.

“Hello?” You barely sounded human but it was too late to try and mediate.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Marcus’s voice came in from the other end of the line, soft, smooth. “Figured the late text needed a fast reply.”

Your eyes popped open as it registered with you who it was. You lifted your head off the pillow, clearing your throat as you propped yourself on one elbow. “Marcus. Sorry. Yeah. Thanks—uh, thank you for calling.”

“Never thought your dad was one for playing telephone.”

“He’s not. I, uh, I might’ve pestered him a little bit.”

“What happened?”

“What?”

“Never took you for a pest.”

You chuckled as you rubbed at your eyes, trying to wipe the sleep out of them. “Glad to know Miguel hasn’t swayed your opinion of me.”

“Y/N.”

He didn’t sound angry and yet you still felt like you were on the phone with the school principal. You cleared your throat again. “Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

“If I ask you something, are you gonna tell Miguel?”

“Depends.” He paused. “I’m not planning on tellin’ him anything about you if you don’t give me a reason to.”

You sucked in a deep breath before finally asking, “Did something happen to Nestor?”

There was a long pause. You were afraid that he was just going to hang up on you. You were mentally scrambling, trying to come up with a good excuse to be asking that question. It was hard to think of one that would be good enough, especially considering you were asking a man who you had hardly ever had a full conversation with before. Quick exchanges in the driveway of your father’s house didn’t quite count.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”

Marcus cut you off. “He’s okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “You mean it?”

There was another long pause. “He’s okay, meaning he’s not in the same position his last partner was in.” Marcus let you stammer for a few seconds before saying, “You know about Paco.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. “I—”

“Wasn’t a question.”

“Nestor told you?”

“No. But if he was going to tell anyone…”

You sighed as you felt your chest get heavy. You hadn’t even been awake for ten minutes and you already felt like you were on the brink of tears. “That obvious, huh?” you tried to joke to force your emotions down.

He avoided your question, keeping his tone neutral as he asked, “What do you want from me?”

“He won’t leave him.”

You heard Marcus sigh on the other end of the line. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Can you promise me that you at least won’t let Miguel do to him what he did to Paco?”

The silence on the other end of the line didn’t instill any confidence in you. “It’s out of your control, Y/N.”

“So that’s a no?”

“You said it yourself, huh? He’s not leaving.”

You didn’t expect his words to hit you as hard as they did. You took a deep breath, hoping it would make you feel steadier, but it didn’t. You were just thankful that he couldn’t see the look on your face. “Right.”

When another silence followed, you thought that Marcus was going to try and find a way to hurry you off the phone. But, much to your surprise, he just stayed on the line. It was the longest conversation you’d ever had with him, and most of it was filled with disjointed silences.

“You’ve thought about it a lot,” he said, a brief pause before he elaborated, “What the picture would look like without him.” It was a statement, not a question.

Clearing your throat to stuff down the emotions, you found yourself nodding before remembering that he couldn’t see you. “Yeah. I mean…in a violently daydreaming kind of way, yeah.” You couldn’t help the brief, proud smile on your face when you heard the way Marcus chuckled at that.

Despite the moment of shared humor, when he spoke up again his tone was serious. “I can’t promise you what you’re asking. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

You sighed, dropping your forehead to the heel of your palm. “Right.”

“’S like I told you, huh? Just keep yourself safe.”

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but there was only so much you could ask of him. He was risking a lot just by talking to you at all. “What happens if Miguel finds out you called me?”

 “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him—and there are plenty of things he doesn’t know.”

There was an ease that he spoke with that made you believe him. While it didn’t alleviate the concerns you had before, it at least didn’t any anything new to the list. You knew that you weren’t going to get anything more out of him now, so you cut him loose and ended the call. Tossing your phone to the side, you laid on your back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what you were supposed to do next.

Protective Detail Taglist (idk who's still around these days so lemme know if you wanna be added!): @withmyteeth @garbinge @fandomfaery @crowfootwrites @justreblogginfics @frattsparty @proceduralpassion

[crplpunkklavier]

sometimes you gotta bite the bullet and put "text your friend whom you love and genuinely want to talk to" on your to-do list because otherwise it is not getting done

[crplpunkklavier]

honestly so glad this one is gaining traction. just saw it in my notifications and went "MAN ALRIGHT" to text yet another person i have been genuinely wanting to text back for days

[remanence-of-love]

[userfish]

tumblr distilled into a tweet

[userfish]

people reblogging this mad about it “creating a new binary” are all giant babies. listen to music made by black people.

[killrockstar]

what about those of us who want nasty explicit lesbian sex on tv

[drabbles-mc]

All Good Here

Sydney Adamu x Richie Jerimovich

For @widespindriftgaze for the Candy Hearts Exchange!

Prompt: "You should be addicted to shutting the fuck up." / "You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid."

Warnings: 18+, language, smoking, steamy things

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I truly, truly loved writing this so much. A pairing that hadn't ever really crossed my radar but once I thought about it I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I hope you enjoy it too! xo

The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @narcolini @withmyteeth (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was a relief and a rarity for her to get to the restaurant and have no one else be there. That was the nature of not being the only workaholic—everyone got there early and everyone stayed late. Carmy was pretty much always there when she was, normally getting there a little before her if not immediately after. And, on top of that, lately it seemed like Marcus never left the place. The dedication was admirable, but Sydney would be lying if she tried to say that she wasn’t looking for some alone time to clear her head every now and again.

But the door was locked when she showed up. All the lights were off, even the lights in the kitchen. She called out a few names, and was met with the beautiful sound of silence. Letting out a sigh of relief, she put her things in her locker and swapped out her shoes. If nothing else, she was looking to take advantage of the time to work on a few things that had been running around in her brain, new ideas that hadn’t been leaving her alone. She’d get to prepping eventually, but while she had the privacy it felt like a crime not to take advantage of it.

She had everything else completely tuned out. It was easier to do in an empty, silent restaurant. But realistically a bomb could’ve gone off outside and it barely would’ve caught her attention. She was too focused on pulling the thoughts from her head and making them a reality.

There was no bomb going off outside, but the next best thing happened—Richie showed up early. Sydney didn’t hear him when he walked in, when he was out in the seating area. She almost didn’t notice the way that the kitchen door swung open as he entered.

“What are you doing here this early?” Richie asked when he saw her leaned over the stove, staring intently at the pot that was almost to a boil.

“What does it look like I’m doing here this early?”

He held his hands up in a mocking surrender. “Alright, sweetheart, calm down. Was just trying to, you know,” he gestured vaguely with his hands, “show some interest or whatever.”

“Only thing I need you to ‘show interest’ in,” she peppered in the air-quotes for good measure before continuing, “is leaving me alone and letting me do my job.” She shot him a brief, sideways glance as she asked, “Think that that’s something you can handle?”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Can I handle it? Yea, I think I’ll be able to handle letting you burn the place down before we even open.”

Sydney fought the urge to bring up the fact that far more calamities at the restaurant could be traced back to Richie than to her, but she didn’t. She wanted to mention that if anyone was going to be burning things down it would be him, or Carmy, and their fucking cigarettes they were always leaving everywhere, but she didn’t say that either. She didn’t say anything.

Since she didn’t say anything, Richie continued talking, one of the things he was best at, for better or worse. “Think you’ll be able to handle not starting any fucking problems for one day? No toddler tantrums from you or Carmen?”

Sydney gave one long, slow blink as she tried to keep herself in check. The argument was exactly what Richie wanted, what he was looking for. She knew that, but even so, he made it so fucking difficult to just ignore him.

She killed the heat on the stove before turning so that she was facing him directly. “What?”

Richie let out a sarcastic laugh. “You heard me. You two are always trying to change shit up around here. And for what, huh?”

“And for what?” she repeated back in disbelief. “Look, I’m sorry that you hate change so much that you’re willing to let this place crumble to the ground, but some of us—”

“Don’t, don’t start with that,” he waved his hand dismissively.

“Then you don’t start either!” she snapped. “Leave me alone and let me do my job. Some of us are here to work.”

He laughed again. “Oh, really?”

“Yea, really.” The words Richie was saying weren’t really reaching her ears as she reached over to the counter opposite the stove, fingers wrapping around the handle of her knife. They were standing just far enough apart for her to point the blade in his direction without it touching him. “Imagine how bad it’ll hurt when I stab you on purpose.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you still pretending that the first time wasn’t on purpose?”

She rolled her eyes. “If it had been on purpose, you would’ve needed more than Ebra to patch you up.”

They stood there, stuck in their stalemate for another minute. Neither of them wanted to be the one to cave and let the argument dissolve. And, surprisingly, neither one of them were in the mood to escalate it as much as they could given the fact that they were alone and now there were weapons involved.

Then they both heard the sound of the front door when Carmy walked in. They both turned to look, but neither of them moved. Seconds later he was striding into the kitchen, and it took him no time at all to see the situation that was currently playing itself out in front of him.

He cleared his throat, looking back and forth between the two of them. “All good?”

Sydney managed to beat Richie to the punch, nodding as she pulled the knife away and set it back on the counter where it had been before. “All good.”

Richie scoffed, shaking his head as he watched her turn the flame back on and then walk past him towards the walk-in freezer. “Yea,” he muttered under his breath, “we’re fuckin’ great, cousin.”

When the door clicked shut behind Sydney, Carmy looked back at Richie, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “What do you always gotta go around causing fucking problems?” The restaurant wasn’t even open yet.

“What? Who said I was—”

“Don’t,” Carmy cut him off. “Just,” he nodded towards the front of the restaurant, “let us get through shit back here without blowing it all up. Please.”

Richie didn’t get the chance to say whatever comment was on the tip of his tongue as Carmy walked off towards the office. Richie stood there, shaking his head for a moment before finally turning around and heading back for the front. Just as he was going by the walk-in, Sydney was pushing the door open from inside. He promptly pushed it back shut so he could walk by, ignoring the string of angry words Sydney was shouting at him from the other side.

Dinner service had long since ended. And, despite the fact that the two of them were the first ones in, Sydney and Richie were also on track to be the last ones out. Almost everyone had left once they cleaned up their stations, even Carmy booked it out, determined to cut out as quickly as he could to go to a meeting. But Sydney wasn’t in a rush to go home, to go anywhere, really. And apparently neither was Richie.

He walked out into the back alleyway, and he couldn’t hide his surprise at seeing Sydney there. The expression on his face quickly shifted to one of annoyance, of borderline disappointment. Sydney looked up at him from where she was sitting, plastic container of water in her hands as she sat with her elbows propped against her thighs. She purposely didn’t say anything to him, not wanting to have a conversation, not wanting to have an argument.

Richie put the cigarette between his lips before sparking it. He took a drag, exhaling a stream of smoke as he looked over at Sydney. “You know—”

“Oh my god,” she said as she dropped her head back in exasperation. She didn’t know why he felt like they needed to talk. They didn’t. “Do you ever stop?”

“No,” he shot back immediately, “I don’t.” He took another drag. “Do you?”

“Is being an asshole just, compulsory for you? Or is it an active choice?”

“Compulsory?” he repeated back to her.

“Need me to spell it out for you?”

“No.”

Sydney waited for there to be something after that, but there wasn’t. He took another inhale off his cigarette and tapped the ashes onto the ground. He stood so that he was facing her, but he wasn’t actually looking at her. His eyes were seemingly glued to the toes of his shoes. Sydney went back and forth between looking at his face and looking at the small tub of water in her hands.

“Why are you even still here?” she asked.

“Why are you still here, huh? Cooking’s done. Go the fuck home.”

She leaned back so that she was resting against the wooden fence behind her. She spoke without looking at him, staring up at the sky as she tapped the back of her head against the fence. “I am about two more bad days away from using the pillow and blanket that Marcus has shoved under his work station.” She didn’t know why she was showing any shred of vulnerability, giving him any kind of ammunition like that. She was just so fucking exhausted.

Richie chuckled at that, not in the mocking sort of way that he usually did, but like he understood it, like maybe he even found it to be a little genuinely funny. “Better off bringing your own sleeping bag. Least then you won’t wake up smelling like shit since Marcus stays here for a week at a time without taking a goddamn shower.”

Sydney laughed.  “Can’t have that. Then I’d have to borrow some of your,” she chuckled as she finally looked at him, “overbearing fucking cologne.”

“Pfft,” he scoffed as he dropped the butt of his cigarette, snubbing it out under the ball of his foot. “I smell fucking delightful, first of all.”

Sydney waited for the next thing he was going to say. When he didn’t, she prodded. “And second of all?”

His face scrunched up. “What?”

She took a sip from her plastic container. “You said first of all. That, you know, implies that there’s at least a second of all.”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Alright. Second of all, you can’t just shut the fuck up and let things be, can you?”

Her eyes widened. “I can’t?”

She stood up, setting her makeshift cup down even though there was hardly a few sips left in it by that point. She held herself as close to chest-to-chest with him as she could considering their height difference.

“No, you can’t. You always gotta have some shit to say.”

She sputtered, struggling to string together a sentence. “Let me get this straight, you think that I am the one who has a problem shutting the fuck up? YOU?! The guy who can’t walk through a room without going off on a fucking monologue?”

“Yea, me. The guy that you are just, fucking, addicted to being mean to, for whatever fucking reason. Can’t help but to cause all these fucking problems.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she looked up at him. “Yea? Well, okay,” she pushed him, fingertips of both hands pressing hard against his chest sending him back half a step, “maybe you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up, yea? Then maybe I wouldn’t have so many reasons to be mean to you. Then maybe you wouldn’t look so fucking stupid all the time.”

“Yea? Well,” he scoffed, stepping back in even closer than he had been before, leaning in so that his nose was practically touching hers, “you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

“Hah!” she barked out the laugh, so close to Richie that he could feel her breath across his face as she did. “You—you really? Wow. Apparently stupid was a fucking understatement.”

“Was it?” He stepped in closer, his chest bumping against hers as he pushed her back a step. “Because I don’t see you trying to walk away now, sweetheart—I don’t hear you denying it.”

“Don’t,” she said as she pointed up at him, shaking her head as she tried to string her sentence together, “do not call me that, Richie. I swear to—”

“Or what?” he challenged.

Sydney sucked in a deep breath, one that was shaky purely from the amount of restraint it took not to let all of her anger out at once and pummel him. She kept staring up at him, not able to make herself do anything else. Richie’s eyes were locked onto hers, and she noticed the split second they drifted down to her lips before coming back up to her eyes again. She noticed, but pretended that she didn’t. The same way she pretended that it didn’t cause any ridiculous and inappropriate thoughts to fly through her head at record speed. They were gone as quickly as they’d arrived, it almost didn’t seem worth it to waste another second on them. She lied to herself and said that she wouldn’t.

She exhaled through her nose, another long, slow blink as she got ready to respond, still deciding whether she wanted to verbally tell him to fuck off, or if she was just going to push through him to leave.

She went for a combination of the two. Stepping to the side, she stayed just close enough for her shoulder to abruptly bump into his as she walked by him. “Goodnight.”

Sydney was halfway back through the door into the restaurant by the time that Richie got his brain communicating with his feet. His long strides allowed him to catch up to her rather quickly, managing to just barely catch the door before it swung shut all the way.

“Yo! Syd!” He caught up to her as she pulled her things out of her locker. Like the two of them were still in high school, he reached and pushed the locker shut on her. “That’s it?”

She held her hands out, shaking her head slightly at him. “What do you mean that’s it?”

“What, suddenly you’re out of shit to say?”

Even though his palm was still planted against the door of her locker to keep it pushed closed, Syd reached forward and yanked on the door, forcing it open and causing Richie to stumble a step. “I’m fucking tired. I want to go home.” She forcefully shrugged her coat on and yanked the zipper up. “So,” she turned so that she was facing him head-on again as he tried to block her in, “let me go home.”

He saw it now, that she was more exhausted than she was annoyed or angry. A better man would’ve let it go at that, would’ve let her go home and get what precious few hours of sleep she could get before waking up and going right back through the gauntlet again tomorrow. But he wasn’t a better man.

With the way that he was blocking her, Sydney was waiting for him to say something else to her. He always had at least five shitty, sarcastic remarks in the bank, so she braced herself to be on the receiving end of at least two of those before she managed to push through him again.

When he didn’t say anything for another few seconds, she went to go by him again. He stood his ground, though. She tried to side-step him a couple times, but each time he blocked her. Finally snapping, she pushed him with both hands.

“Fucking move!”

He had been ready for it that time, bracing himself against the impact. “Or what, huh? You never answered me.”

“Because I don’t owe you a fucking answer, Richie. You’re not my boss you’re not in charge of me. So get out of my way.”

He crowded into her again. “Make me.”

“What—” she stopped herself before the question got too far, rolling her eyes at herself just as much as she was at him. “You know, for all the times you call Carmy and I toddlers, you’re the one who is acting like you’re five years old right now.”

He leaned down, bringing his face close to hers again. She leaned back slightly, keeping the barest amount of distance between her face and his. There was annoyance and anger and weeks of digging barbs into each other’s sides all bubbling just below the surface.

For all of the horrid things that Syd could say about Richie, for all of the harsh things that she had already said about him, even she couldn’t deny that there was something captivating about his eyes. They had no right to be that bright, that hard to look away from. She would never admit any of that to him. She wouldn’t ever run the risk of giving him an ago boost.

Then she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift away from his. It was for a fraction of a second. He was so close to her, leaning in so far that she was surprised that she couldn’t feel his forehead resting against hers. It was suffocating, almost as incapacitating as it was to have him still looking her in the eyes. So she looked away. Hardly a second. But he noticed. He noticed the brief moment that her eyes drifted just a couple inches down to his lips, snapping right back up again. He noticed that she did it to him the same way that she noticed him doing it to her.

Only Richie actually did something about it.

He collapsed what little distance was left between them, not that it took much. His lips crashed into hers. It was sloppy, awkward, and nearly sent both of them tumbling to the ground from the sheer force of it, but Sydney manage to tumble back against the lockers, saving both of them from falling.

Richie was waiting for her to slap him, push him away. He was ready for that, expected it, even. But she didn’t. She hesitated for a second, froze up, but that went away quickly as she reached and balled her fists into the fabric of one of his countless restaurant t-shirts, pulling him against her, pinning her tighter between him and the locker behind her.

One of his hands reached and flattened against the flimsy metal behind her, making it easier to leverage himself against her. He didn’t know where to put his other hand—cupping her face felt too soft, too intimate, pulling on her hair felt too rough, and her puffy jacket made trying to get a good hold on her hip almost more trouble than it was worth.

“Fuck,” he murmured against her lips as he fumbled with his other hand to find the zipper on her jacket, quickly tugging it down once he found it.

When her jacket fell open, he slipped his hand in between that and her shirt, gripping onto her side as he pinned her a little harder as he wedged one leg in between hers. The sound she let out at that was something just below a moan. It was quiet, barely controlled, but it still sank its claws into Richie’s brain in a way that he hadn’t been expecting. He cursed quietly under his breath in between their lips connecting for each kiss.

Syd managed to unfurl one hand from his shirt, her palm slowly starting to drag down his chest and stomach. Neither of them said anything about it, but she could feel the way that his whole body tensed. He didn’t pull away, though, didn’t tell her to stop.

Just before she reached the waistband of his track pants, they both heard the front door bang shut after someone had walked in. They froze up for a moment, Syd barely managing to push Richie away from her as the footsteps got closer and then entered the kitchen.

Each one of them looked as confused as the others as Carmy looked at them, and they looked back at him before looking at each other. The awkward tension in the air was thick enough to slice with a knife but no one said anything. By the look on Carmy’s face, the meeting had taken a toll on him. Syd and Richie could thank their lucky stars later for his emotionally compromised state not letting him read the room clearly.

“All good?” he asked, same as the morning only now his voice was heavier.

“Yea,” Syd managed to force out first as she zipped her coat back up, “I was just, I was just getting out of here.”

Carmy nodded, running his hand back through his hair. “Right, yea. Night.”

“Night,” she said with a small nod.

Both Carmy and Richie watched as she all but ran out of the restaurant. Richie stood there for a moment, dragging the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip for a moment. Clearing his throat, he pulled his thumb away from his face and jerked it towards the door. “I’m gonna fuckin’ beat it too.” He paused. “You, uh, you good, cousin?” he asked.

Carmy nodded. “Fine. You?”

Richie shrugged, nodding back. “Fine.”

They both accepted the other’s lie as Carmy made his way back towards the office, and Richie made his way towards the front of the restaurant.

[withmyteeth]

But the door was locked when she showed up. All the lights were off, even the lights in the kitchen. She called out a few names, and was met with the beautiful sound of silence.

There truly is something so special and so calming about being the ONLY person at work, especially in somewhere as chaotic as a restaurant. She's right and she should say it.

There was no bomb going off outside, but the next best thing happened—Richie showed up early.

The way I saw the lead up to this and STILL fucking snorted like, yes. Welcome the Chicago bomb aka richie.

“What are you doing here this early?”

Uh, excuse me, sir? I believe that question should be the OTHER way around???

“What does it look like I’m doing here this early?”

The IMMEDIATE snark. Like, just on sight. Idk what it says about me that I think this is what instantly attracted me to this show. Snark is a love language, look it up. Words of affirmation or some shit. I'm sure of it.

I seriously could copy and paste the rest of the dialogue between them. Like, for fucks sake Tay - you have BOTH of them just, absolutely fucking down pat. I have seen this show through ONE TIME and you have brought them back to life for me. It's INSANE.

“Imagine how bad it’ll hurt when I stab you on purpose.”

Okay, I have read enough fanfic to know for a FACT that threats are a love language.

He cleared his throat, looking back and forth between the two of them. “All good?”

I just. I fucking love this man. Just absolute understanding of, yes. I've been there. Are we going to have to postpone opening to clean up the blood or?

Once again, i want to draw attention to the fact that you have everything SO FUCKING SPOT ON that I FEEL LIKE I AM WATCHING THE SHOW. Tay. I just. I am wondering if you are secretly a writer for The Bear? Like, you can tell me, bestie.

Just as he was going by the walk-in, Sydney was pushing the door open from inside. He promptly pushed it back shut so he could walk by, ignoring the string of angry words Sydney was shouting at him from the other side.

This unlocks the 3rd grader in my brain that wants to act on every impulsive thought I have to be mean to the people I have crushes on and it looks like this:

The start of the scene in they alley, how she doesn't even let him get one word in. Just the INSTANT STFU, my god. It's delightful.

Sydney laughed.  “Can’t have that. Then I’d have to borrow some of your,” she chuckled as she finally looked at him, “overbearing fucking cologne.”

Even when they are having a moment, even when she could have just left it, been genuine, she STILL had to get that dig in and it's her right.

This fight. In the alley. I am in the walkup next door, staring out my window. I have popcorn I am eating by the handful, I have my slippered foot on the cats head to keep him quiet, I can barely stop myself from screaming.

“What, suddenly you’re out of shit to say?”

God, the way these emotionally constipated men will just DROP BOMBS for themselves as views on another person in the middle of an argument and then just. Act like that was acceptable and normal AND GOING TO WORK OUT for them. I just.

You've TRULY out done yourself with this fic Tay. I cannot express the joy this is bringing me. It truly is amazing.

A better man would’ve let it go at that, would’ve let her go home and get what precious few hours of sleep she could get before waking up and going right back through the gauntlet again tomorrow. But he wasn’t a better man.

The fucking BRILLIANCE OF THIS.

He crowded into her again. “Make me.”

*insert bruce almighty gif of removing clothes*

Only Richie actually did something about it.

They both accepted the other’s lie as Carmy made his way back towards the office, and Richie made his way towards the front of the restaurant.

I feel like I have been run over by a fucking train.

[scribbuluswrites]

Masterlist

Wishing It

Prequel: Happy Lowman x OC

Part 1: The Introduction

Part 2: The Call

Part 3: The Desperate

Part 4: The Heartland

Part 5: The Visit

Part 6: The Leaving

Part 7: The Trouble

Part 8: The Surprise

Part 9: The Inclusion

Part 10: The Self-Defense

Part 11: The Outside

Part 12: The Incident

Part 13: The Shopping

Part 14: The Apology

Part 15: The Ending

Part 16: The Remembrance

Part 17: The Yahtzee

Part 18: The Message

Part 19: The Interest

Part 20: The Betrayal

Part 21: The Flash

Part 22: The Closet

Part 23: The Check-Up

Part 24: The Bang

Part 25: The Plan

Faking It Main Story: Coco Cruz x OC

Part 1: The Fake

Part 2: The Pass

Part 3: The Admission

Part 4: The Dinner

Part 5: The Ghost

Part 6: The Unwanted Visitor

Part 7: The Learning Experience

Part 8: The Mask

Part 9: The Chaos

Part 10: The Secret

Part 11: The Question

Part 12: The Discovery

Part 13: The Reveal

Part 14: The Break

Part 15: The Invitation

Part 16: The Choice

Part 17: The Shift

Part 18: The Boxing

Finding It

Epilogue

Part 1: The Crack

Part 2: The Change

Part 3: The Return

Part 4: The Threat

Part 5: The Decision

Part 6: The Entanglement

Part 7: The Destruction

Part 8: The Serpent

[breanime]

Reyes-Cruz Polyship Headcannons

This is all based on the polyship of Angel, reader, and Coco that @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown, my soul sister, has perfected. You can see some of her polyship stuff HERE. These are just random headcannons, enjoy!

warning: steamy and fluffy!

*gif not mine*

Between Angel and Coco, you have about 1000 plaid button-ups

The three of you sleep in one of two ways:

Cuddle sandwich with you in the middle, Coco big-spooning you and you big-spooning Angel

Or Angel in the middle with Coco and you tucked into his sides

Angel smells like smoke; not even cigarette smoke, but smoked meat, like from Felipe’s shop. He’s warm and hard beneath you, your rock

Coco smells like metal, remnants of the tools he’s so good with still on his skin. He’s softer than Angel, and when he holds you, you always feel an incredible sense of safety

Sometimes, when you wake up, Angel is still knocked out, his head leaning on yours,

and Coco is propped up on his elbow, just watching the two of you with a soft smile on his face

“Hey, querida.”

Coco calls you querida, and Angel calls you mi dulce

They both call you mi amor and “princess”

And they both (happily) respond to “baby”

You call Coco “my life”

and you call Angel “my love”

And they both adore that

Sometimes, when there’s a lot going on and they’re not thinking, they call each other that too

Coco will be working on a bike, hat on backwards, covered in oil and call out to Angel, “Hand me that wrench, mi amor”

And Angel will sometimes be getting off his bike, a million things on his mind, and yell to Coco, “Mi vida, you get that call from Bish yet?”

Gilly teases them about it all the time

But really, all of the guys are so happy for the three of you

(EZ ships it hard as hell)

Some nights, one of them won’t come home, and the other will make sure to keep their side of the bed open for them

“I dunno when Angel will come home, but I left something in the microwave for him,” Coco will say as he cuddles you to his chest

If Coco is on a run without him, Angel will sleep with Coco’s pillow, and your head on his chest, until Coco comes back

For your birthday, Letty gave you a photo album of all the pictures she’s taken of you an the boys over the last year

When you show them, they both tear up

“Fuck, got me over here all emotional and shit–the fuck you laughin’ for, Angel, you’re crying too!”

You love being intimate with them

Angel will usually take you rough; deep, slow strokes that have you begging for a release, his fingerprints indented on your skin

He likes to cum on you, likes to see his seed against your pretty skin, likes to rub it in, his big hands caressing those curves of yours that he adores

Coco is gentler; lots of low moans and kisses on your skin, your name rolling off of his tongue like a prayer

He needs to cum inside of you, needs to feel you wrapped around him as he busts inside

But the two of them together? At once?

Miraculous. Wonderful. Earth-shatteringly beautiful. 

Angel likes to take you from behind, those big, ringed hands on your hips, pulling you back on his dick

He’s full of praises, telling you how good you feel, how pretty you look, how he loves the way your ass bounces in his grip

Coco will either be underneath you, grunting as you rock against him

Every thrust from Angel makes your pussy clench around Coco, and he loves it

Sometimes Coco will be on his knees in front of you, his dick in your mouth

Angel likes when you do it like that, because then he can tease you and Coco at once

He’ll start fucking you harder out of nowhere, his hips slamming into yours, pushing you forward, making you swallow Coco’s dick down deeper

Angel loves the way you and Coco both moan in tandem when he does that

But you know how to get him back

When Coco has you on your back, his head between your legs, those sniper’s fingers and that tongue working you, and all you can do is moan…

…you’ll reach over and grab Angel’s hair, pulling his head down for a filthy kiss

“You like the way Coco eats you out, mi dulce? Fuck… I can hear how wet you are…”

“You wanna taste it, baby?” You’ll ask back, voice husky and breathless

Angel will nod eagerly, never too proud to beg, not if the result was you

So then you’d reach between your legs and grab Coco’s long hair, pulling his head up harshly, eliciting a hiss and sharp “fuck” out of him

“Coco, my life, Angel wants a taste.”

And then you’d pull Coco’s head up just as you push Angel’s head forward

and make them kiss

And God, watching your men–

both of them naked and glistening with sweat,

dicks out, hard and ready

Angel’s thick and meaty, those intricate veins tantalizing as his eager dick twitched with excitment

And Coco, who wasn’t as thick but was longer, his dick shimmering with precum

It was a sight to see

They only ever kissed when you orchestrated it

Their main focus wasn’t each other, or even themselves

It was you.

Always

Afterwards, it’d be time for cuddles

Sometimes the three of you laid there, in the mix of sweat and cum, for a few minutes, breathing heavily and grinning at the ceiling

Other times, Coco and Angel would spend the next hour kissing you softly, their lips trailing down your body, kissing any bruises or bites

“Did so good, querida,” Coco would whisper, his mouth on the back of your shoulder as he lazily fingered you, coaxing one more orgasm out of you, “took us so well… fucking love you.”

“Go ‘head and cum,” Angel would say, his lips on yours as you groaned, thighs clenching around Coco’s hand, “give us one more nut, baby girl. I know you can… mmmm… that’s our girl.”

Other times, you’d fall asleep and wake up wrapped in blankets while Angel and Coco shared a blunt a few feet away

But no matter what,

the love was always there between the three of you

And it always would be.

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