Cooking Up Speculations

Cooking Up Speculations

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x fem!reader

Summary: With y/n rushing around to doll herself up for an event, it's only a matter of time before things get out of hand.

Word Count: 6.7k

Notes: I have never written something like this before, and I thought I would give it a shot. I haven't checked the grammar, but if Google Docs missed anything, that's none of my business.

warning: alcohol and mentions of throwing up out of nervousness but no one actually does, or even comes close.

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The prep work was close to done and for once in The Bear’s short existence it was not a screaming disastrous mess. Everyone was on track and prepared, the sauces were sitting in the fridge, the cakes were waiting to be sliced, the rolls were warm and ready to be cut open and it was all thanks to (y/n) coming in extra early this morning. She had started the prep work for most of the chefs that had yet to arrive in the effort of softening the blow. She would be abandoning them for the dinner rush on what was predicted to be a very busy day.

What sport was being played? Who is playing? And who won were all unknown to y/n but all she knew was that the restaurant was going to be filled with rowdy and obnoxiously drunk men who were going to make everyone’s life miserable and she was going to get a “get out of jail free card”. She felt a small pang of guilt for basically leaving them for dead but sacrifices had to be made and if she could cover anyone’s shift with little to no notice she was allowed one day to herself.

The restaurant was expecting the dinner rush to crawl in at about 6:30 pm which left y/n about an hour and a half to get ready. Y/n was finishing up cutting up some garnishes so that everything would be perfect. The sounds of a spoon slapping skin was approaching and y/n knew that she needed to state her case convincingly so she could leave early. Fighting the urge to not bring anything up, work through her shift and miss her event was deviously tempting but with a deep inhale she put the knife down and turned on the balls of her feet.

Her (e/c) eyes meet his and before she could choke out a lame excuse as to why she was blocking him she spit out, “I was wondering if I could have a word with you.”

Carmen looked expectantly, he thought she was going to ask him to taste test the braised beef she had just finished prepping, or ask an obscure question about the food science between ingredients. Y/n had once asked if he found it annoying during one of their late night clean up sessions and he said it was a nice change of pace and he really didn’t mind. How could he when you were so eager to learn?

Y/n didn’t want to do this out here, people are working and if she was going to beg, which is how she expected the next 5 minutes to go, she didn’t want any witnesses. The damage that would do to her pride would force her to change her name, move to Vegas and make money by selling timeshares to idiot tourists.

She cleared her throat, “Privately, chef”

Although his face didn’t betray anything, y/n knew that she had caught him off guard. After a while of spending most of their time together cleaning the kitchen after hours and talking about every minute detail in their lives, y/n knew that she had raised a few alarm bells in Carmen’s head. If she paid attention she could hear the sounds of a car alarm blaring in the back of his head signifying that he thought something was wrong. He always assumed the worst possible would happen, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He wordlessly guided y/n to his office. The door was closed and it felt like they were transported to a different dimension where there was nothing outside but the vacuum of space, it was just the two of them in this room and if one of them were to leave the outside pressure would make their body implode and smash into the size of a ping pong ball. She really didn’t want any of them to leave.

With a silent inhale, “I have to leave early today.”

Carmen softened the crease in between his eyebrows, “ Yeah sure, take the day off.” The imaginary crisis was averted and the car alarm stopped blaring in Carmen’s head.

Y/n was surprised that he was being so easy today. Y/n had yet to ask for a day off but she had spent last night imagining the worst possible scenarios possible, she would get yelled at, rejected, or worst he would guilt her for leaving them to deal with the upcoming shit storm.

“Honestly, I was expecting a bit more of a fight.” Y/n joked, “I even made this whole pitch to convince you.”

“ I can hear the pitch so that it doesn’t go to waste,” Carmen said with a glint of humour in his eyes.

Carmen was giving her an inch and so she might as well take the whole mile. Knowing she was about to push her luck and Carmen’s patience a bit more she continued.

“I came in at 4am and started everyone’s prep and helped Tina with the sandwiches during lunch, and did all of Syd’s prep because she had that doctor’s appointment. And I think it's cruel and unusual that you wouldn’t give me a day off when all I did today was prove how much of an angel I am. The least I can get is a measly day off…What you're not gonna give me a day off you selfish prick? You see this is what always happens, little guys always get pushed aside by the Big man. Carmen you're supposed to be better than those billionaire pricks who probably hunt their interns for sport. And I think it's so unfair that I grace you and this business with my presence and I don't even get a single day off- ” Carmen let out an exhale from his nose and covered his mouth with his hand to hide his smirk. The move had almost made y/n fall to her knees, the way his hair was tousled, the way he looked up at her with his sharp blue eyes, the tattoo flexing on his hands that were a calloused and dry from years of washing them nearly a hundred times a day, the veins trailing up from his hands to under his white shirt.

“Okay, I get gist.”

Y/n knew he didn’t ask for an explanation but she wanted to keep him here for just a bit longer.

“I have this thing I have to go to and I live too far away to go home and change so I need your office to get ready. I would get changed and stuff in the bathroom but the lighting is really bad, the outlets don't work, it’s smelly-”

After a quick glance at his watch he realised that he had a few vendors coming by and he needed to get back to the kitchen. “I know, that bathroom is a real shit show. I told Fak to fix it but nothing he fixes lasts for very long. The office is yours.” Carmen rushed out.

“I'm going to be here till 12 so if there is anything you need me to do before I leave just give me a holler.”

Carmen gave a nod of appreciation before his eyes lingered on her face for a second before grabbing a few papers and a clipboard and then opening the door to leave. It was stupid and childish but y/n held her breath wondering if he would be crushed to the size of a ping pong ball as soon as he left but when she heard him yelling at Richie she knew that the “alone in space” fantasy had died.

Y/n slipped out and went to her locker where she pulled out a dress, makeup and a straightening iron. She had an hour and a chance to make herself look like she just came out of a Mattel box and it was a daunting task for someone who didn’t have much experience dressing up.

Makeup was a bit of a disaster at first because she didn’t want to ruin any of Carmy’s papers but after she accidentally dabbed a bit of concealer on a light bill she just stopped giving a fuck and finished up. The hair was tricky, the outlet was near the ground and she had to crouch to straighten her hair.

The last and most daunting task was the dress because y/n was about to strip in her bosses office and although she had dreams about something this amazing, the reality was much less sexy. In a small burst of paranoia she rolled the chair over to the door so no one would walk in by accident and quickly changed. In the back of her mind all she was thinking about was the small glimmer of hope that Carmy would be the one to walk in. In reality, it would be Rich or Fak because boundaries were a foreign concept to the both of them.

And with 10 minutes to spare, y/n was done. She sprayed some perfume and hyped herself up to leave. She knew she would get teased so she wanted a smooth exit, an Irish goodbye would be perfect, fingers crossed hoping that Richie was out back so she would get out before he made these stupid jokes.

After a few deep breaths, y/n picked up her things and opened the door. The coast was clear and she made a beeline to the lockers to grab her purse, change her shoes and go. She would leave most of her stuff, because if you want to survive you have to be light, like those firefighters that ditch their equipment so that they don't get burned alive. Everyone looked busy and with a quick once over, y/n tried to walk through the kitchen. And although women and heels have had centuries of history, the heels still managed to betray her at the very end. The long sound of heel on tile brought Syd’s head up. Y/n eyes widened as she shook her head as to signal to Syd to drop it but Syd let out a playful gasp and Y/n knew that the jig was up.

“You look amazing.”

And a sea of eyes were looking at y/n.

“You get all dressed up for me?” Syd joked and for a split second y/n wondered if she could make a run for it before she realised that she would fall and crack her head open.

“Who else?” Y/n joked back hoping to get out before she was held captive by their questions.

“You look so nice, where are you headed?” Tina said as she came closer and dragged you closer to everyone.

“Umm- I was actually going to-”

“You know who you look like?” One of those women who seduces James Bond at a casino.” Sweeps commented unhelpfully. A hum of agreement was shared among the crew. Y/n’s face grew warm.

“So where are you going?”

“A date, women don't dress like that if it's not for a date” Ebra chimed in.

Another gasp, “ IS it a date, is he handsome?” Sydney probed.

“Actually, I'm not- '' Y/n tried to finish before she was interrupted.

“What type of car does he drive?”

“We'll see when he picks her up. When is he picking you up?”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU CLOWN JABBERING ABOUT '' Richie burst through the door to see what all the commotion was about and he looked like he was in utter disbelief.

“I didn’t know that it was possible for you could look like that”

Y/n was slightly offended.

“You normally look like death.” Richie laughed. Scratch that y/n was very offended.

“I could look like this everyday if I wasn’t in front of a stove, you clown.”

Ignoring her, Richie asked the room,“ Where is she headed?”

“A date”, Sweeps added.

“I'm going to my friends-” y/n tried to interject.

“A date huh, our little y/n is all grown up now. Soon we’ll be sending her off to college.” Wiping a fake tear and leaning on Tina for mock support, “They leave the nest so soon, it was like it was just yesterday when I saw her struggling to walk.”

“It WAS yesterday and I was only struggling because I hit my knee on the shelfs in the walk-in.”

“Who’s the guy?” Richie asked

“ Your dad.” Y/n knew it was childish and unoriginal but she was too flustered to be a bit more creative.

Richie ignores her and continues, “You know what you look like? You look like one of those girls who kills Johns”

“Are you saying I look like a prostitute?”

“A classy one for like the president and shit.”

“or an ambassador,” Ebra added.

“or a CEO,” Richie continued.

Y/n knew it was going to be tough but she wanted to get out before she was stuck forever.

“I have to go now, I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow. Richie you suck major ass. And just so you know, i'm not going on a-”

Carmen walked in with a clipboard and a pen not even sparing a glance up.

“Ok, I just got the beef delivered so we should have enough for Ebra till the end of the week.”

“Heard, chef”

“And Marcus”, who watched the whole thing and didn’t offer any help to y/n except the occasional chuckle.

“I have your eggs”

“Heard, chef”

Although no one said it, everyone was waiting for the moment that Carmen looked up and saw y/n. The dishwashers who never really left their stations shut off the water and were subtly watching this mess unfold.

It was the longest that y/n had seen Richie quiet. He just stared at Carmen, while hiding his mocking smile under the guise of rubbing his stubble.

“I know we are low on onions but the guy is coming in a bit so sit tight”

“Heard”

Maybe, y/n thought, she would be able to walk past Carmen unnoticed if she walked on the balls of her feet so that the heels made less noise. Y/n took a step forward to hightail it out of here so she could make it in time and even though the heel was a lot quieter then last time, the unusual silence in the kitchen made it impossible to disguise the sound.

The sound of heels on tiles brought Carmen back to reality.

He looked up and y/n didn’t know if she imagined it but she thought she saw him raise his eyebrows. And if she was really going to feed into her delusions, she would say that his eyes widened and his pupils dilated too.

All that came crashing down thought, because after a beat of silence barring the sounds of sizzling and bubbling. Carmen questioned, “I thought you would have left by now chef.”

“I got held back but I really do need to leave now. I'm going to miss you guys and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” And with a quick wave y/n brushed shoulders with Carmen as she left. The smell of her perfume lingered and Carmen felt a bit dizzy.

Carmen wanted to ask where y/n was going but he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, not when the two of you have already gotten so close. Richie had different plans, “Hey cousin guess where y/n going?”

“I don’t know cousin, that isn’t really any of our buis-”

“She is going on a date”

“A hot one” Syd chirped

“With a nice car” Ebra added

Richie’s comment felt like a ton falling on his head. Now he felt a different type of dizziness. He quickly composed himself

“Chefs, we have a dinner rush coming, now is not the time.” Carmen said with a bit of an edge.

Richie led Carmen to the front under the guise of asking a question about the tablet. The crew looked around and shared a knowing snicker.

“I can't believe that you let her go like that?” Richie added. “Right now she is in some guy's car about to get wined and dined to high heaven while you wait here with your cock in your hand like some cuck.”

“ Cuck?” Carmen said with venom, it's like he was giving Richie a chance to take it back before he killed him.

“I would be fucken pissed. I wouldn’t let someone take my girl out like that, all dressed up for someone who isn't me”

For a second Carmen imagined you sitting across from your rich new date with the nice car and the handsome face and felt like throwing up. He was angry, he was angry with this “date”, he was angry at Richie for saying all that stupid shit to get a reaction, and embarrassingly enough he was angry at y/n. He had no right to be but he just couldn’t help it.

“Richie if you don’t knock it off, I’m going to send you flying out the fucking window”

“Yes, chef.” Richie mockingly replied.

And with a swift turn Carmen returned to the kitchen with a different temperament then he had 10 minutes ago.

The dinner rush was a nightmare, but the kitchen was hell. There wasn’t a single thing that didn’t set Carmen off. He wasn’t screaming like he was with the to-go orders but he was on edge. They could feel it when they had to remake dishes because he didn’t like them, or when they had to listen to him criticise innocuous things after housekeeping. When that dinner rush ended, the crew looked like they wanted to be anywhere else but there. The second the restaurant closed, chefs cleaned as fast as they could to get the hell out of there. It was the fastest they had cleaned since the morning rush with the pre-orders.

With a quick goodbye, everyone but Carmen left the restaurant hoping that he would be in a better mood tomorrow.

Carmen did what he did every night, got on his knees and scrubbed the floor with a towel. Carmen knew it was unfair and he knew he had no right to dictate what you did. You weren’t his and he waited too long. A part of him understood where y/n was coming from, during one of their late night conversations he had mentioned that he had never had a girlfriend and he didn’t really have the time. This conversation took place some time after the two had gotten close but before he realised that he might have liked her for quite some time. Things were different now and Carmen wanted more.

He tried his best to be understanding but the thought of y/n clinging onto someone else’s arm and laughing at their stupid unfunny joke, made him livid. What if they kiss? Or what if they sleep together?” That thought made him stop scrubbing and sit on the balls of his feet and throw the wet towel with an unnecessary amount of force to another corner of the kitchen. He couldn’t do this today, he couldn’t be here. He got up and cleaned up the towel and bucket of dirty soap water and walked home.

He ended his night with a nightcap hoping that he would fall asleep easily but it didn’t work. He spent a good amount of time staring at y/n contact hovering over the call button before flaking out because it was 2 in the morning and he had to get to work at 6:30. Maybe Richie was right and he was a coward but before he could think too long, sleep had overcome him.

The restaurant was a bit of a walk away from Carmen’s house but he never minded it before, it felt like a good buffer between “Home Carmen” and “Work Carmen”. Today was different, he couldn't not think about y/n and that annoying date of her’s so for the first time in his time in Chicago he listened to music on his way to work. The music was so loud that it was just obnoxious noise and allowed him to stop worrying for a few moments. Carmen couldn’t think about y/n without feeling a bit… he didn’t know how he felt he just knew it was not a great feeling.

Being the first one in the restaurant was not new to him but it felt strange that after 30 minutes he was still the only one there, normally y/n would be there by now asking Carmen about a baking show they both happened to catch the night before, or ask what he ate for dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Carmen would always fight the urge to lie and say that he cooked something magnificent when in reality he probably ate a bag of chips and drank some flat soda. One of the things that these AA meetings emphasised was honesty, to both himself and others, and even if it was embarrassing he told you the truth. You never really judged him because you did the same thing.

After sorting through fuck ton of bills, a few of which had brown power on them and one of them had a (s/c) smudge on the corner he heard a buzz in his pocket. He looked at it hoping it was you saying that you'll be there any second.

(Y/N): I'm so sorry to do this to you but I'm going to be a bit late today, not super late but like an hour. I have to grab my extra apron from my place and I'm a bit far from there. I'll be there by 8 the latest. Again, super sorry :(

Carmen read the text a few times to check if he read that right, you were going to be late because you weren't home and slept somewhere else and needed a change of clothes. Which translated to, you were with someone else, which means you might have done something with someone else. He just stared at the text for a few more seconds before he heard the sound of the front door opening, Carmen didn’t have to look to know it was Sydney. He snapped out of it and sent back an “ok”, lowercase just to be a bit petty. Was it immature? Yes. Did he regret it? Not really.

Y/n spent the rest of her food budget for the week yesterday in a drunken haze with an uber from one side of Chicago to the other. The bachelorette party was a success and y/n was glad that her friend had a good time at the fancy restaurant that she picked out. Y/n was trying to be responsible and limit herself to a few drinks but it's hard to say no to the bride to be and before she knew it she had to leave her car at the restaurant because they took her keys and y/n and her friends crammed into an uber headed towards one of the bridesmaids houses.

Y/n woke up in a hurry, she grabbed a random shirt and joggers from her friends closet because all she had was that dress, which now had wine spilled on it. She quickly gathered her things and texted the group chat that she had to leave early so she could get to work. They would read it when they woke up. Not repeating yesterday’s mistakes she took the train to the restaurant, got her keys back and drove at illegal speeds to get to her place where she took a shower, changed back into her friends clothes because she was way behind on laundry. She took one last look in the mirror before grabbing the apron and sprinting out the door to drive to work. She got there at 7:30am and she felt like death. The hangover was finally catching up to her, and she poured herself some water from the dispenser out front. She knew everyone was in the kitchen by now. She gave herself a few more seconds of quiet before she opened the door to the kitchen and gave a quick hello and rushed towards the lockers to put her stuff in and change into her non-slip shoes and apron.

Richie raised his eyebrows. This was too good, it was too easy, all he needed was for Carmy to get out of that depressing office of his to bear witness to this.

Richie was the first to ask, “New shirt? Never seen it before? ”

“Good Morning to you Richie, if you need to know I borrowed it from my friend.”

Carmen wanted to rush out as soon as he heard your voice but he refrained. He promised himself that he would give you a bit of space to respect you and your date/boyfriend. That didn’t stop him from listening through the door.

“Some friend you got there, real close.” Richie jokes

y/n didn’t know what he was talking about, “Friends tend to be close, Richie. You would know that if you had any.” Y/n barked back.

“How was it?” Syd asked as she sliced what looked like gallons of onions.

Y/n knew that last night was probably a good night but she was so drunk then and so hungover now that it all made her a bit nauseous to think about.

“Honestly, I don't remember much but I do know it was fun.”

“Hungover?” Tina asked.

“Very, my whole body feels like i was run over by a semi”

Marcus handed y/n a gatorade before going back to work with the cakes.

“You come back to us in new clothes, showered, late, hungover, and sore. You must have one hell of a night!” Richie said louder than necessary just so that Carmen would hear, he had a feeling that Carmy was eavesdropping.

“Im telling you guys i didn’t actually go on a-”

Carmen didn’t want to hear anything after Richie spoke because he felt like he was going to hear something he didn’t want to know. He picked up a clip board, slammed the door open and began walking around.

“Chef.” Carmen said mechanically

“Chef.” Y/n replied back fully expecting this, she left early, came late and was now distracting everyone.

Y/n quickly busied herself with peeling garlic and the rest day fell back to its usual rhythm. The prep finished right before the restaurant opened and they worked on filling to-go orders along with the regular lunch and dinner orders. One thing was noticeably different to y/n, Carmen hadn’t looked or approached her once. Normally he would walk by all the chefs and ask how they were doing, checking the quality, etc but the second he got to y/n who was at the far end of the kitchen he circled back. He made comments to everyone’s dish and he had yet to even get within a 3 feet radius on y/n.

Y/n could feel that something was off and to test it, after the dinner rush she finished making one of the test items that Sydney and Carmen had wanted to try out and after a small taste she knew she killed it.

Y/n walked up to Carmen with the dish and set it down. “Can you taste it and tell me what you think?” Carmen didn’t look up, he just grabbed a fork, took a bite and said a quick “It's fine, chef”.

Y/n then looked the dish over to sydney and asked her to try it.

“It added a bit of chocolate because I read somewhere that Japanese people put chocolate in their curry”

“Chocolate huh?” Sydney grabbed a small notebook and made a note.

“It’s okay?” y/n asked.

“It's fire, chef. Great work”

In y/n mind that confirmed that something was wrong with Carmen. Y/n waited till the restaurant closed and everyone left to bring it up. It was just Carmen and y/n alone in the restaurant and y/n could feel there was something in the air.

“You don't have to stay late, you should leave early” Carmon proposed while not looking at her.

That was strange because Carmen never asked her to leave early. She walked up to Carmen who was sweeping the floor and ripped off the bandaid.

“Thanks for the offer but I want to stay with you for a bit longer.” Carmen’s grip on the broom toughened till his knuckles turned white. It was a risky thing to say and after a beat of silence y/n took the coward’s way out by diverting and changing subjects.

“I'm sorry I was so late today Carmen, are we good?”

“We're good.”

Another awkward silence.

“ I don’t think we're good, you seem, I don't know, pissed?”

“I'm good, you're good, we’re good” Carmen said by turning his attention to a very interesting onion skin on the floor.

“You didn’t say anything about the dish I made, or that I was late. Someone told me that you seemed off yesterday.”

“Was this someone named Sydney?”

“Cannot confirm or deny, Carmy”

Carmy finished sweeping and took a few steps back.

“There it is again! You keep walking away from me and not looking me in the eye.”

Carmen didn’t know that he was being obvious, he thought he was subtle because Richie would have brought it up if he wasn’t. Carmen forced himself to look up at y/n and felt like the wind was knocked right off his lungs, he really hadn’t seen her at all today and he missed her.

“You can tell me what's happening so that I can help or at the very least listen to what's wrong.” y/n offered

Carmen bent down, and started to scrub in silence. He looked like he was piecing something together and y/n didn’t want to intrude so she continued to scrub assuming the conversation was over and that they were going to spend the rest of their lives in this uncomfortable silence. A few minutes pass and then a long sigh is heard from the other end of the kitchen. Carmen looked up.

“I’ve been a bit..” Carmen started. Y/n wanted him to finish his thought before she called him a dick.

“It's been a weird day.. I know it shouldn’t but I can't help but ask..”

A pregnant pause passed.

“How was..” y/n leaned in so she could hear.

“How was your “thing” yesterday?” He spit out.

Y/n looked a bit confused, “Umm it was fine, I mean we were at a restaurant so it wasn’t anything to crazy”

“Why were you so late today?”

The other shoe dropped, “ I knew you were pissed that I was late.” With an exhale she continued “We went to dinner and then got shit faced drunk and ubered over to a friends house. I had to go by that restaurant in the morning to pick up my keys and drive to my place so I could take a shower and not smell like a walking liquor store.”

“How was he?” Carmen choked out after a few more beats of silence.

“How was who?”

“Your umm…”

“Mmm” Carmen continued.

Y/n waited but it felt like he was testing her patience,

“Your date?” Carmen finally conceded while swinging his head down.

“What date? I went to a bachelorette party with a few of my girlfriends.”

Carmen’s head shot up, “ I thought-”

“The people in here are so nosy, I kept telling them that it wasn't a date and they wouldn’t bother to listen.”

Carmen’s shoulders relaxed and he felt like he could finally look at you without feeling guilty that he was looking at another guy’s girl.

“What’s been on your mind, Carm?” Y/n probed and Carmen's shoulders tensed up again.

Y/n could feel the atmosphere change and she wanted to capitalise on it while she still could, she could trick herself into thinking that Carmy was jealous of some imaginary guy that he thought she went on a date on, when he probably was just diverting attention to avoid talking about his own problems.

More silence.

More scrubbing.

Carmen looked up with a look of determination, y/n assumed that he had finally hyped himself to tell her what has been bugging him. Although the tension was killing her she did want this moment to last for a bit longer. In this moment she could convince herself that Carmen was troubled because of her and not because work was drowning him or that he is a mess because his brother left him this shithole and left.

She wanted him to have a problem with an easy solution. If he liked her, the easy solution was that she would kiss him and tell him how much she longed for him. He would then confess how much he yearned for her and she would give all of herself to him and he would finally have a win in his life, something that wasn’t tainted by his love/hate relationship with cooking, his family, his brother. Something that he would have all to himself, her love.

Just for a few moments she repeated, that's how long she had till the dream died. This wasn’t the first time something similar had happened. They would stay late and in the comfortable beats of silence Carmen would look up with such a look of determination and y/n heart would flutter hoping for those three special words but she would get something completely different but still equally important, information about a very private part of his life whether it be the AA meetings, or the guilt he felt for resenting his brother. And everytime y/n’s heart would break a bit and then mend itself knowing that even if she couldn't have him like she wanted to, she would still be important to him.

That type of relationship, friendship, used to be enough, but not anymore. With his plans to change The Bear he was getting further and further away from her. It used to feel like it was the two of them but y/n was starting to wonder if she was going to be left behind. If she would stay friends for a while until the longing grew too strong and y/n would leave The Bear. Even if Carmen misses her for a while, y/n knew he would bounce back like he always did and she would slowly be replaced by Sydney or whoever. The thought that in a few years he will have learned to cope with his grief and trauma and move on from the past, move on from y/n, and maybe settle down with someone else made y/n feel like throwing up.

This time y/n didn’t fall for Carmen's “look”, she had a neutral face and was ready to hear what Carmen's issues were. She wouldn’t assume that she was going to get a confession. This time she will help him with his problems and move on from this one-sided crush. Maybe she WILL go on a few dates to forget about him.

“Carmen, do you want to talk about it?We don’t have to do anything you don't want to.”

Determination morphed into apprehension.

“I am feeling something, it is n-n-not…” He exhaled through his nose.

”It's selfish y/n. I'm being selfish. You have every right to do whatever you want but I..”

Y/n tried to look as comforting as possible trying her best to hide any confusion, if Carmen was any other person she would ask if he was sober right now because he was a total mess.

“I’ve never done this before, and I-” and he ran his palm through his hair.

Y/n refrained from thinking about how amazing he looked under the fluorescent lights with his tousled hair and apprehensive gaze. He could bring up his nightmares or sleepwalking, and she would feel so guilty for perving over his eyes.

“You looked very nice in that dress yesterday.” Y/n felt like a lump was forming in her throat. He was going to say something like this and think it's an off handed comment but she would go to the bathroom and cry because she knew nothing would come from it. Y/n thought it was a bit cruel.

“You looked so beautiful yesterday it was hard for me to look at you without making a fucking idiot out of myself. I wanted to run over to you and tell you that as soon as you left but Richie told me you're going on a date and it was…”

Carmen continued, “You are special and you deserve someone who isn’t…me. And you're free to do whatever and if this is completely …wrong…bad…i don't know, just stop me and we will never talk about this ever again…”

He searched y/n’s eyes looking for a sliver of doubt or disgust but he was met with glassy eyes and a look that longed for him to continue.

“When I thought you were going on that date I knew that I couldn’t not have you and that made me feel….” A sigh reverberated through the kitchen.

“ I like you…romantically.” Carmen uttered.

Y/n didn’t say or do anything for a moment, she spent a few moments wondering if she was hallucinating or dreaming. And in a moment of pure adrenaline, she scooted over to Carmen who was still on the floor before cupping his face in her hands and whispered, “Can I kiss you?”

The kiss wasn't electrifying; it felt like a wave of warmth seeped into every corner of their beings. It felt like dipping your hand in warm water after shovelling the show, the type of warmth that sends shivers down your spine. Y/n fingers get lost in his wavy hair and his hands hesitate, not knowing where they should go before landing one on her hip and the other on the back of her neck to pull her closer. Y/n heart was beating so hard she wondered stupidly if he could hear it, Carmen was wondering something similar. They slowly pulled away for air before getting a good look at each other, both their lips were swollen and red and their eyes were dazed.

Y/n knew he was a flighty person, one wrong move and he would go running for the hills so she refrained from asking if they were dating now, this could have just been a one time thing and she didn’t want to ruin it. Thankfully Carmen held her hand and stroked it with her thumb before swinging his head down and looking up at her.

“I want to be with you y/n”

“I like you too, Carmen, for a very long time.” And their lips meet once again.

Y/n resisted the urge to say that she only bought the dress in the hopes that he would take it off of her, that was a story for another time.

“Let's get you home” Carmen mumbled into her lips, the vibrations and the friction making her lips burn in sensitivity.

Carmen helped y/n get up before they both packed up their stuff and headed out the door. Both hiding the smile of triumph from each other, not really knowing how much the other loves them yet, and only time would remedy that.

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

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

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

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

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

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

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

Fine enough.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

Still. 

You can’t help that you miss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

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

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

So much for quality time with his son. 

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

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

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

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

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I just—”

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

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

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

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

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

***

05:04 PM

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

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

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

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

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Your meeting went okay?”

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Er, kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

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

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

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s a burr, sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

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

“Listen, I—”

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

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🍑 Matt + a friend confessing her love for him?

ohhhhhhohohohohoh okay

I’m going college!matt for this one cuz that is the ✨VIBE✨

you oughta know - matt murdock x fem!reader

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he’s frustrating, is what he is.

frustratingly handsome, frustratingly kind, frustratingly easy to get along with. frustratingly frustrating.

you’ve never been so frustrated in your life.

and he knows exactly what he’s doing, you just know it. you’ve been studying for hours, bent over your ancient laptop, glasses sliding down your nose every chance they get, and there’s matt, apparently fine to lean back in his chair and relax instead of freaking out and poring over his notes like you are.

it’s nearly midnight, and the two of you have been in the library since well before the sun was still up, foggy having abandoned you earlier to go chase marci around the campus bar. he’d all but begged matt to go with him, but matt was adamant, intent to stay in his chair at your table until you were ready to go. “it’s the chivalrous thing to do, fog,” he’d said. “not about to let her walk home in the dark, c’mon.”

foggy had offered you a quirked eyebrow, grabbed his coat, and shouted his goodbyes, earning glares from every other table in the library. you’d both giggled like crazy, a short reprieve from the brain-numbing reviews you were running through.

you’d met matt on the first day of second year, having transferred to columbia for a scholarship. foggy had been a half-step behind, crowing at matt that, “how is it, man, that you’re blind, and yet you always find the prettiest girls to hit on?”

you’d blushed, matt had chuckled, and the rest was history.

it’s not…flirting, per se, but it’s…banter. you have a good rapport going, one that translates well into the few classes you share, even earning you bonus points on your mock trial for ‘partner chemistry’. matt’s just easy to talk to, fun to look at, and he’s genuinely a good person. it’s a triple threat, and honestly, you didn’t stand a chance.

and he knows it.

grades-wise, it’s like a battle royale between the three of you. your law marks are almost neck and neck, matt at the top of the pyramid, you floating somewhere in the middle, and foggy with a solid (and still wildly impressive) bottom tier. but you and matt took spanish together, and son of a bitch if you aren’t this close to failing.

slamming your textbook closed and shoving it away, you heave a breath, ignoring the few dirty looks that are thrown your way. it’s too late for this. “I’m gonna fail,” you declare, pushing a hand through your hair and starting to gather your things. “might as well just accept it. I’m gonna fail spanish.”

“you’re not gonna fail spanish,” matt retorts, still leaning back in his chair, feet kicked up on the one beside him, arms crossed over his chest. his glasses are pushed up his forehead and his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering slightly. how can someone look so good just…sitting there? “c’mon, you’ve been staring at this stupid book too long. you need a break.”

you slump onto the desk, pushing your face into your crossed arms. “the exam is tomorrow. I’m gonna fail, murdock. it’s inevitable.”

“the only thing inevitable,” he starts, head turned in your direction, glasses slipping back down into place on his nose. it’s hopelessly endearing and your chest is aching, “is you coming back to the dorm with me and drinking something other than chai tea.”

you go to reach for your book, to flip it open again, but he grabs your wrist, fingers curling around your pulse. “don’t hate on my tea.”

“no hate,” he laughs, squeezing your wrist, “but you’re coming. let’s go. rapido!”

“fine,” you concede. “but I really don’t want to listen to fog and marci have sex in the bathroom again.”

“which is why we then go to your place if they come home,” he says brightly.

you roll your eyes, knowing full well he can’t see it, and start to shove your books into your bag, shutting down your laptop and stowing it too. matt has less to pack, and waits expectantly, unfolding his cane and taking your elbow when you nudge him gently and offer it.

it’s a quick walk across the campus to the dorm matt and foggy share. maybe it’s strange, but you’ve always liked walking with matt, his big hand tucked into the crook of your arm, his bicep firm against your shoulder, leading him through campus between classes. he claims to like your pace better than foggy’s, and you’ve sat on the almost-compliment since he said it, tugging at your heartstrings every time he asks you to go somewhere on (or off) campus with him.

their dorm is a mess. well, more specifically, foggy’s side of the room is basically a trash can, takeout containers and beer bottles littered across every available surface, while matt’s side is much tidier, his bed forever unmade but his desk orderly and his closet even more so.

you’re always quick to perch on matt’s bed, unmade or not (his silk sheets are so much nicer than the dorm standard), and you find your place at the foot while he crosses to the makeshift bar cart him and fog have set up, an old desk they stole from the empty dorm across the hall and a stack of red solo cups from your last rager. 

“I’ve only got that orange-flavoured scotch foggy bought,” he calls to you, fingers running over the different-shaped bottles, “or blackberry gin.”

“what is with foggy and fruit-flavoured alcohol?” you reply, making a face. “gin please.”

he hands you a cup a moment later, and you waste no time, tossing the whole thing back in one go. you let out a squeak as it settles through you, reaching over to put the empty cup on matt’s nightstand. once you’re upright again, he takes a spot beside you, sipping his own drink, the mattress dipping with his weight and pushing the two of you closer together.

“hey,” he says after a moment, “you really shouldn’t worry about spanish.” when you start to protest, he holds up a hand. “I mean it. you’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, all right? you’re gonna do great.” he gives you a bright smile, reaching over and taking your hand, squeezing it lightly.

in return, you groan loudly, flopping back on his bed. “god, why do you do that?” you almost shout, blaming your volume on the alcohol now quickly making a home in your bloodstream. “you know exactly what you do to me, don’t you, murdock?”

he plants a hand behind himself and turns to face you. “do what?”

“tell me I’m smart or stay at the library so I don’t walk home by myself or, or…”

you both speak at the same time.

he says: “or be your friend?”

and you say: “or make me fall in love with you!”

oh.

oh.

you stand up so abruptly it’s a miracle you don’t shove matt off the bed. your fight or flight instinct just kicked in and everything is screaming flight! get the fuck out of here asap! so you’re running around the room, trying to find where you left your shoes and your bag and your jacket and where the hell is your phone and oh my god, did you actually just say that?

and then he calls your name, and you freeze.

“I could say the same thing to you, you know,” he says, his voice low as he finishes his drink and stands from the bed. he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the nightstand, and takes a slow step towards you, then another. you put a hand out when he’s close enough, and his palm flattens against yours, fingers curling around your wrist like they had in the library, a foot of space between you still

“why do you always call me out on my bullshit or call me murdock or do that stupidly adorable thing in class where you nudge me every time they change the slide? or how you always walk with me and make me feel like I’m a regular person, and that day, when you told me it was snowing, and you described it to me like you were writing a damn poem. you made me fall in love with you too, okay?”

he pulls on your arm, and you stumble across the carpet, straight into his arms. he catches you easily, and your hands grasp his shoulders, feeling the muscle jump in your touch. he’s fit as hell, and you’ve noticed.

his eyes are on you, and you can feel it. it’s the strangest thing, knowing he can’t actually see you, but his gaze is flitting over your face like he can, his dark eyes only made darker by the dim light, but you can still see the honey-streaked brown you’ve come to know and love.

matt’s mouth cracks into a grin and he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m gonna kiss you now, okay?”

you just nod.

it’s chaste, at first. it’s his fingers tangled in your hair and yours curling into the hem of his t-shirt. it’s soft lips and stolen breaths and a whispered I’m so in love with you that’s so quiet you think you might imagine it, but then he says it again and your whole being starts to tingle. his skin is so soft under your fingers, letting the pads of your thumbs slide under his shirt, feeling the dip of his hip and the curve of his waist. desperate kisses, wanting kisses, gently tugged lips and the soft swipe of tongues.

it’s chaste, and then it’s not.

he pulls you closer, the space between you disappearing, and then starts moving backwards towards the bed. matt goes first, sinking onto the mattress, and he’s pulling you into his lap before you can protest, hands hooking behind your knees and then moving up to grab your ass, squeezing once. it makes you gasp, the sound pouring into his mouth from yours, and he grins, hauling you closer, rolling his hips up into yours in a way that lets you feel just how excited he is.

there’s a bit of adjusting, some sliding on the silk sheets, and at one point, you’re straddling his thick thigh, the muscle hard between your legs, and matt tries to pull you up, but only manages to drag you across his jeans. between the seam of your leggings and the feeling of his thigh, there’s no way you can bite back that moan, eyes squeezing shut as it falls out of you.

“what?” matt asks, and you can hear the grin in his voice, mouth close to your ear as he drags his lips along your cheek. “did you like that?”

“it felt good,” you admit, grabbing his face blindly, pulling his mouth to yours for another searing kiss, this one much less chaste than the first. matt plants his foot, lifting his thigh against you, and you sigh heavily into his mouth. “fuck. really good.”

matt pulls your hips down hard, dragging you in just the right way, and you moan again, feeling that white-hot zip of electricity worm its way up your spine with every move. “you have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispers.

he keeps kissing you, releasing your hips only long enough to drag your shirt up your body, tossing it somewhere on the floor. you move more than willingly where he wants you, shuffling back at one point to peel your leggings off, giving him space to yank his t-shirt off and kick off his jeans.

it’s a trip, sliding into his sheets with no barrier between him and you. sure, there’s been a few drunken nights when you crashed in his bed and woken up the next morning with his arm wrapped around your middle, but you’d always been fully clothed.

this is entirely different.

he puts his hand between your legs, fingers seeking out your warmth, and you guide him, gripping his wrist in both hands, murmuring yes, matt and oh, right there until he starts kissing the words out of your mouth.

there’s a bit of fumbling, an awkward reach into the nightstand for a condom, the shuffle of underwear around ankles getting caught in the sheets. but then he’s hovering above you, one elbow planted beside your head, other hand angling himself correctly. “ready?” he asks, and you breathe out a yes.

he knows exactly what he’s doing.

he manages to find the perfect pace, curving a hand around your thigh to push your leg wide, his hips bearing down on yours with every thrust, but you love it. he finds places inside you you weren’t aware even existed, filling your body with pleasure you’ve only dreamed about. you keep your hands on his face, his stubbly jaw in your chin, watching the feelings cascade through his features.

“matt,” you moan when he finds that spot, giving it the attention it requires, leaving you a squirming mess beneath him.

“tell me, baby,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck. “I wanna hear it.”

“I’m gonna—” your words choke off in a moan, tossing your head back on the pillow, matt’s mouth closing around your throat.

“good girl,” he whispers, hips still snapping into yours. “that’s a good fucking gir—”

then the door bursts open, light from the hallway flooding in, and you both freeze. foggy stands in the doorway, a very surprised marci at his shoulder, and before you can even react to fog’s sputtered “oh fuck, oh my god, oh shit, wait, you’re—”, matt’s grabbing the pillow beside your head and launching it at the door. foggy yanks it shut in time to miss the projectile, and you burst into giggles.

matt joins in for a moment, that handsome smile on his face, but you watch as it goes almost serious. his pace resumes, unrelenting and moan-inducing. you’re a mess, and you don’t care who knows it. he starts to curse under his breath, curving a hand around the side of your face, thumb riding the line of your jaw. “you have no idea how good you feel.”

you whine his name again, taking the messy kiss he offers. you’re halfway there again already, and it only doubles when he lifts your thigh, hooking your knee over his shoulder, and goes deep. he must feel you clench, because he gasps loudly, a groan cracking through his throat, the sound desperate and delicious. a few more stutters of his hips, and then he’s pushing his face into your neck again, teeth clamping hard on your pulse, a muffled moan reaching your ears.

he slumps against you, the two of you a sweaty pile of limbs between his silk sheets, and you sigh, more happily than you have in a while. you put a hand in his hair, pushing the damp strands away from his face, and he hums.

“hey, matt?”

“mm?”

“how do you say, that was really hot in spanish?”

a beat, and then, “you really are gonna fail, aren’t you?”

—————

murdock tags: @saintmurd0ck @lazyxsquirrel @mindidjarin @freshabogados @steadyasthe-flowers @whosfrankie @ancientbeing10 @plutoneu @grounderprincesslookspissed @hellskitchenswhore @hoewkeyesblue @simple-lovebot

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summary: "drop everything now, meet me in the pouring rain."/"kiss me on the sidewalk, take away the pain." The first time you meet Spencer Reid, you swore that you could feel the sparks fly. You figured that it would be unreasonable to ever consider him to be anything more than a friend, and in a moment of selflessness you tell yourself that you are perfectly fine in that position. As time goes on, the line between romantic and platonic love begins to blur indefinitely. But it would be ridiculous to think that the resident genius would feel anything for you... right?

pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader

genre: best friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, mutual pining, happy ending

warnings: rated 16+ for canonical criminal minds trauma, drugs/relapsing, torture, therapy, panic attacks/night terrors, guns, death, ‼️always read each fic's individual warnings for triggers‼️

taglist: send an ask :D

schedule: (hopefully) every thursday

01 — better than revenge

“she’s not a saint, no, she’s not what you think. she’s an actress.” 

you thought you were past the immature arguments now that you're an adult. you thought you left those in high school, or even college. maybe you thought you did. apparently, spencer thought otherwise.

02 — haunted

“something’s gone terribly wrong, you’re all i wanted.”/“you’re not gone, you can’t be gone.”

it wasn't supposed to be like this. it was supposed to be a normal open-shut case. but people are unpredictable and you're left picking up the pieces as you work yourself to the grave.

03 — labyrinth

“uh oh, i’m falling in love”/“thought the plane was going down, how’d you turn it right around?”

everything hurts. it's understandable, after everything he's went through. spencer wishes that he could erase every one of his scars. he wishes he could stop chasing the highs and embrace the lows. but at least he has you.

04 — you are in love

“you can hear it in the silence.”/”you can hear it on the way home.”/”you can see it with the lights out.”

spencer didn't think that something like this could happen. no, rather, he wanted to deny the fact that something like this could happen. but all he can think about is you.

05 — tbc...

reblogs are always appreciated!

more than this (azriel x reader)

summary: after Azriel and reader had a summer together, the last thing Az was expecting was to face her again. (angst).

previous chapter

chapter six

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

You close the door behind you, and the sound of it reverberates across the loud silence.

You eye Azriel; he’s standing very still, looking at you expectantly, as if expecting the first blow from you. 

But after a while, he seems to understand you are expecting him to talk first.

“Elain - she told you something,” he says but it sounds like a question.

At that, you feel your jaw clench, your whole face tensing into trying so hard to not let tears fall. He sees that, or at least his shadows do; running near his ear, whispering things you cannot hear, nor wish to hear.

He takes a cautious step towards you. You instantly take a step back. “Y/n,” he breathes as if in pain. “Please, let me explain.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “You won’t dare deny it, will you?” you say, mustering raw sarcasm in your tone to disguise your hurt. “You won’t have come all this way to deny it.” Too soon you feel tears running down your cheek. “Right?”

You hate it, and you hate yourself for being so weak. But above it, you hate him.

Selfish, manipulative, hurtful, lying Azriel.

Someone you wish you hadn’t met.

Someone you wish had only stayed as a summer memory.

Nonetheless, you find yourself waiting for his answer like a fool. Hoping you’re wrong, very wrong. 

But you are not; you’re sure of that when he avoids your eyes, when he clenches his fists.

“Well, it’s pretty secret, -you know Azriel-, but we… sort of have something.”

“For how long?”

 “Somewhere in May.”

You try to stop a sob, putting your hand over your mouth swiftly. Closing your eyes tightly, not bearing the sight of him.

“Y/n,” you hear him whisper even though your ears are ringing, blurring the exterior sounds. 

Then you feel his hands on your shoulders, and it brings you back to here, to now, to him. 

You open your teary eyes, meeting with his, noticing the lack of life in them. Nothing similar to their hazel color during the summer.

“Y/n.”

Another sob passes your lips. “You lied. To me, to her - Azriel, you lied.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says sounding desperate.

“Why did you have to lie? I tru - I trusted you. She trusted you!” You try to talk, to let him know how much you hate him, but the pressure in your throat is making it quite impossible. And you know the tears all over your face make you look pathetic. “She was telling me how you taught her training stuff. Gods. She told me about you as I was looking her - looking her dead in the eye knowing damn well what I had done. What you had done!”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

“Stop saying that! You are not sorry at all; you don’t care at all. Not for me. I always was just a side ting. A toy. Never - never anything more to you. You have never cared.”

He moves his hand to your wet checks. “That’s not true. Y/n. That’s not true, I swear.”

I swear.

“You want me to believe you now? Really, Azriel?”

“I’m telling you the truth,” he replies, his eyes pleading. But you don’t buy it, not anymore. Especially not when his scarred fingers caress your face, coaxing you to calmness. “Stop lying! You were with her, you are still with her! You li-”

“I’m not with her anymore, Y/n,” he cuts you off. “And I’ve always cared for you. Always. So much that when I first met you - this past summer - I couldn’t stop myself.” You watch him struggle with words, trying to not duck his head at your glaring. “I had to know you. I had to. And after that night, I couldn’t keep myself away from you. I wanted to be with you all the time. And I knew if I only had that summer away, only that summer to be with you, I had to take the opportunity. And I selfishly did.”

You watch him incredulously, taking the words in.

“I’m so sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, Y/n, I swear. But when you came to the House of Wind - when I saw you again. Gods, I didn’t know what to do. I was so mad at myself - at the imminent consequences of my acts. And I - I hold that anger against you. And I’m so sorry; for that and for - for lying to you. I will be eternally sorry.”

It disgusts you; every single word he’s saying, the way he’s eyes scan your face, and especially, the way his hands cup your face. These same hands that weren’t meant to have touched you in the first place. It utterly disgusts you.

“Don’t touch me,” you whisper angrily. His touch falters but doesn’t back up. “Don’t touch me with those han-” The shout dies in your throat at the instant realization of your words.

But it’s too late.

He removes his scarred hands and hides them behind his back. And though it’s not what you had meant; never had you been anything but adoring of every part of him, especially his hands. So his. Hands that held a story of him he had told you with trust and comfort. You cannot help but feel glad you are hurting him back.

Maybe you’re just as depraved as him. 

“Don’t hate me, Y/n. Please.”

He deserves it, you make yourself think.

You dry your tears with your sleeves quickly and make yourself say, ignoring his previous words, “You’ve already explained yourself; now, go.”

He moves again closer to you. “Please don’t-”

“Go, Azriel! Just go,” you cut him.

“Ple-”

“Azriel, get out. Or I will make Helion drag you out of the court.”

“I have more to say,” he mutters, his voice suddenly dangerous. You know the mention of Helion is the reason. 

“I do not care.”

His eyes close but he doesn’t accept defeat. Not at all. “Gods - what do you want me to say?!” Your mouth parts in surprise at the angry tone he uses. He has no right - absolutely no right - to be mad. “What the hell do I have to say exactly for you to forgive me?!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice, Azriel. I said go!”

“No.” He replies. “Don’t push me away.” He takes your wrist softly, but you try to pull away, failing as he catches it again, this time more restraining. “Y/n, you don’t understand, I-”

Then silence.

“You what?”

“I still cannot bear not being near you. Y/n, I’ve tried, but since that day, at the House of Wind, where I got to be close to you again, alone in that room, something - I felt… alive, lighter. And I had missed you so much, I realized. I don’t want to miss you anymore.”

As more tears threaten to fall, you consider backing off yourself. Leaving the room before you humiliate yourself. 

This, this was all you had ever wanted to hear. 

But not now, not anymore.

“Get out,” you breathe, staring at his eyes.

He is too close.

“You don’t want to listen. You don’t want to hear the truth,” he says slowly as if he didn’t want the words to actually get out.

“You know nothing about truth.” You reply, still feeling his scarred hand on your wrist. 

Azriel sighs as if in exhaustion. “What I did was so wrong; I know, and I will never forgive myself for hurting you that way. But, please, Y/n, you know me, I’ve told you everything, you know my heart; let’s not - please don’t waste this that we have.”

He had sure as hell not told you everything.

You glare at him. “We have nothing, Azriel. You said it yourself; ‘only one summer, then, nothing’.”

“I was so wron-.”

“It was your rule,” you interrupt him.

“It was!” He shouts, which makes you take a step backward, having him follow you immediately, towering over you as his hands still hold yours. You feel trapped. “It was a stupid rule I made for myself, 'cause no matter how much I wanted you, it was Elain who was supposed my mate! The third sister - It was supposed to be her.” His eyes then open in shock. “It was supposed to…”

Your breathing stops as you feel your heart break.

Wholly break.

He never deemed it possible for you to be his mate next to the Archeron sister.

But sadness doesn’t have a chance next to the bizarre feeling within your soul. It snaps you back to reality.

Azriel… 

Your mate.

“Y/n,” he breathes

“Get out,” you whisper for the hundredth time.

“No, Y/n, please; don’t do this.”

“Get out, please,” you plead, trying to get rid of his hold on your wrist, but it only makes him hold you tighter, walk even closer to you, till you have to tilt your head at a hurtful angle. 

“Don’t you feel it as well?” he asks.

Your mate.

“Get out.”

“Gods - Y/n, do not do this,” he cries, his face holding more emotion than it ever had. “Don’t ignore this. Don’t turn from us.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “There is no us. No matter what we are - no matter whatever, you made your choices. Choices that’ll condition everything. Choices that make us nothing.”

You watch tears cascading down his cheeks as he moves his other hand to hold you as well.

“Let go, Azriel, you’re hurting me,” you mumble.

But he doesn't seem to hear your words, as if in a trance. “I- please.” More tears start to fall from his pained eyes.

“I will call Helion in, Azriel; get out.”

“Don’t do this. Gods - Y/n, we are mates! How can-”

“Let me go, you’re hurti-”

“- you shove me away?” he continues over your protests. “I understand you are mad at me. But please just take your time to think. Don’t - don’t decide now. Please, Y/n. Just don’t turn from us.”

“No, Azriel!” He finally pays you attention, now that you are truly shouting. “I don’t want anything to do with you; a hurtful liar who hurts me just because he can. Who makes his choices abusing his power over others. I don’t want anything with you. I never will with a male like you.” 

He holds your gaze, his touch faltering yet still too tight. More tears fall every time he blinks. 

So you decide you have to do it; you have to make the last blow.

You have to ensure he hates you as much as you want to hate him.

So you spare a last glance at his hands on your wrists and then look up to him. “Maybe you’re just like your father, after all.”

And the aftermath it’s just blurry and vague; a memory you’d be better off forgetting. How more tears rolled down his shocked face. How his eyes lost all life in them. How he immediately moved his hands away from you as if your skin burned him. How he lingered in front of you for some seconds before he had it in himself to turn to the door.

How he left.

-Characters by Sarah J. Maas

HEY! IF YOU LIKED THIS, YOU CAN CHECK OUT MY AZRIEL MASTERLIST HERE <3

well, the best defense is a good offense, ig. i literally have been listening to "if i were a boy" on repeat as I wrote this lol. oh, and i did told you i was inspired by august by taylor swift - so.

tag list:

@kalulakunundrum @bubybubsters @goradgirl @kennedy-brooke @going-through-shit @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @linoisqt @minakay @nastynesta @lockedinmytower @stargirl1714 @justagingerliving @marvelpotter @mommyyyyyyyyyyyyyy @mis-lil-red@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @e-dollly @emptyporsche

Right around the corner - Azriel (5)

AHHHHH this is the final part and let me tell you I'm SAD. It was so hard to write the ending you all deserve after all this love, so I tried my best. Let me know what you think! Also, you deserve A LOT, so I made it long hehehe. Don't worry, a request about the RATH universe is coming soon! If you want one too, drop it in my inbox!

(1), (2), (3), (4)

Plot: The story of how Azriel fixed what was broken, and how you forgave him.

Warnings: this is sad, but has a happy ending! Also, mental health issues.

No one expected the sidra to froze that year, and against everyone expectation, one day Velaris had woken up to see the riven covered by a silver layer. Children had missed school to skate in the solid surface, parents watching carefully from the edge. Some couples were skating too, holding hands and giggling endlessly.

You had been watching the new scene unfold all morning. And while you usually loved snow and ice as much as any child in town, you were starting to get a little sick of all the noise.

It wasn’t your new employee situation, who had been staring at the river all morning. She had already finished her duties, but always the polite and nice girl, Elain Archeron was keeping you company.

When you spotted for the third time the familiar red-head through the glass and she didn’t say anything, just sighed, you decided you had enough.

“You should tell him to get in before he freezes to death” you commented, still busy with measuring the ingredients.

“Oh, no” Elain blushed and looked away from the window. “No. He’s just… He can wait”

“He can, but doesn’t have to. You and Lucien should head out, rent ice skates and have a fun day. You already finished here” you smiled kindly at her, and before she could reply, you added. “I’m fine, I don’t even like cold weather. And I still need to finish this, which you can’t help me with. So, go”

Elain stared at you with uncertainty, and you tried to look as convinced as possible. Would you have liked her to stay? After all, she was one of the few people you socialized with these days. She had turned in when you opened the bakery again, right after you posted the sign about looking for a new partner.

And even if you had had your doubts when you discovered she was Feyre’s sister and Azriel’s friend, you considered her your own friend.

So, yeah, you would have liked her to stay. Because you were still awfully sad all the time, and her company was one of the few things that made your day better. But you being sad didn’t excuse her missing a wonderful day with her mate.

“It’s not closing time yet” her eyes danced between the glass and you. “He was supposed to wait for me at the house”

“Guess he’s too eager to see you. He’s been dancing around the bakery for a good hour” you chuckled. “Elain, I mean it. Go. Have fun. I’ll see you on Monday”

“Y/N, I promise I don’t mind waiting. It’s not like it will unfreeze”

“And I promise I don’t mind at all. So, go, have fun and tell me about it on Monday” you gripped her hand softly over the counter, nodding to the waiting mal outside. “Come on, go”

Lucien was once more outside the bakery, the only visible part of him his red hair. He was covered in thick layers, but still managed to smile when Elain kissed your cheek and took her coat on the way out.

You didn’t have it in you to watch them be affectionate with each other, so you looked down at your task and decided it would be the last of the day.

It was hard watching all those couples walking hand in hand and remembering the feel of his warm, scarred hand in yours. To hear a man laughing and remember the unexpected laughs you dragged out of him sometimes. Even looking at the river was painful, because you could almost see the ghost of Azriel and you learning how to skate in a frozen lake in the Illyrian mountains a few years ago.

You had seen Azriel around a few times now, walking through your bakery and waving at you through the glass. Two times he had been waiting at the door when it was late at night, silently walking you home from afar without talking. Almost two months had passed by and your feelings were still as messed up as before.

Though you didn’t cry as much as before, and you were starting to get better, you still wondered.

If Azriel getting help would mean your relationship would be fixed, or if it was broken permanently. Deep in your thoughts, and used as you were to Azriel’s shadows, you didn’t notice how they tugged on your apron until the door sounded again.

Elain’s name didn’t leave your lips, because as soon as the door opened, you lost your breath.  As if you had summoned him, Azriel walked through the door, beautiful as ever. He wasn’t in his usual training leather, but winter clothes that fit him as a glove. Instantly, you noticed he had lost weight. His shoulders were slumped and his body didn’t carry the usual grace of an Illyrian warrior.

“Hi”

His scarred hands, that had held you so many times and slaughtered so many enemies, were tucked in his coat’s pockets. You could feel the nervousness through the bond, the hesitance. Too stunned to answer, you only stared at him.

You had known that, eventually, he would talk to you. That you would have to do more than just wave at each other through the glass and stay silent when he sent you details through Elain. But still, you hadn’t expected it.

Unable to move, you only blinked.

“I saw Elain and Lucien heading out” he added, not looking away from you. “It’s a nice day outside”

Azriel hadn’t finished before one of his new shadows scaped his control, sneaking around the counter. The familiar ones, that had been by your side since he left, danced around the new intrusion. It lifted your apron, and crawled up your neck.

The cool feeling was the last of your worries, because no matter how much you willed yourself to say something, you couldn’t even tear your eyes from him.

The bond flickered between the two of you, once more. Knowing that it was one-sided, that he didn’t wear it like you did, made break your trance.

“She’s finished for the day” you explained, sounding way more confident that what you felt.

“It’s a nice day, yeah” he repeated, not giving you time to feel awkward before he continued “I thought that maybe you wanted to take a walk with me. It’s cold, but we could… get coffee. Or chocolate, if you want”

Azriel gave you a half, broken smile. Hearing his voice again made you take ten steps backward.

“I have things to do”

You looked down to your current task, which could be easily discarded. You had left much important things half-done because of him, and you would have done it normally without a second thoughts. But no matter how heartful the conversation at your door had been, you just knew you weren’t ready to have a conversation without getting angry.

You knew you weren’t ready to forgive him.

His new shadow gripped your wrist tightly before disappearing, and you heard Azriel’s doubt. He wanted to say something else, and you wanted too. Still, you fell back to your measuring and ignored the way your vision blurred, how your knees became weak again.

Maybe going back to your duties was the only way not to break down again.

The silence continued for a long minute. You couldn’t not feel his presence, the way his scent filled the bakery and made your stomach turn. Your heart recognized what you needed, what you wanted, and threatened to jump out of your chest.

Before you could regret your words, Azriel opened the door again.

“You’re forgetting the yeast” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

When you looked up again, he only smiled. You opened your mouth to tell him to wait, maybe to fuck off and never come again. You didn’t have time, because Azriel closed the door behind him and he was gone.

The first tear fell against the unformed dough, followed by many more. You wouldn’t be finishing the blueberry cake that afternoon, you realized, as you crunched behind the counter and cried.

-

There was a storm coming, and everyone in Velaris had had the same idea – run to the market, buy everything they needed for a few days, and crowd themselves at home with their loved ones. You were trying to follow the first part of the plan, not having anyone to go home anymore. And if that wasn’t enough reason to drag you down, the crowd was getting intense.

Velaris’ market was a beautiful place, full of shops and nice vendors. But that day, the space felt too small.

You already had a few bags with you, yet there were a few more to go. Wanting to finish as soon as possible, you had ignored the rational part of your brain and had gotten in the middle of the crowd. You had only managed to buy milk and pasta, and still had a long way to go.

After Azriel’s brief appearance, your life had been messier than before. He had come by the bakery at least five times more, always offering you some kind of plan you rejected. Going to the park, for a flight or to a coffee shop. Taking walks, watching the sunset or training together.

You lived now half-prepared to see him walking through your door again, and not having the heart to tell him no. You weren’t sure if that thought frightened or comforted you.

In your haste, you had almost forgotten to buy provisions for the storm, and had found yourself on the worst day to do them. Crowded, loud and suffocating, that was how you would describe the market at that moment.

The fact that most people ran with their children and family wasn’t helpful at all.

Most of the times, it was Azriel who did the last-minute shopping for you. He knew you didn’t like crowds, loud places, that you did best in your bakery where only five people were allowed at a time.

Another shove broke you down from your daydreaming, and you looked back to see a pregnant woman staring with her eyebrows furrowed.

“The line is moving” she spatted, pointing to the small space ahead of you. “If you don’t move with it, you should step out”

“Oh, no” you chuckled softly. You picked up the bags on the ground and took the two small steps that you were supposed to. “Sorry, I just thought I could take a little bit more space. It’s crowded here”

“I don’t mind crowds, so if you want to step back, let me get first. I’m in a hurry”

“Me too” you gave her a polite smile, mindful of her state.

The short distance that separated you from the customer on the front was certainly not enough, and she knew it. Still, she looked at you with disapproval. There were only five more people to go until it was your turn, you could buy your snacks and run to the next stall.

You thought you could ignore the glare at the back of your neck, and you did for a few minutes. Without meaning to, you thought how everything with Azriel was easier. Not only people wouldn’t dare to talk to him like that, but also, he assured you a good meter of distance between you two and the rest of the world with his wings.

The snacks on your hands almost fell when, not even two seconds after the man took three steps forward, you were shoved again.

That time, when you looked back, the woman was accompanied by her mate. His wings covered her from the people behind them.

“You should really step out of the line” she repeated. “You might have all the time in the word, but we are in a hurry”

“Me too. You can’t expect me to be glued to that man” you tried to explain, anxiety coiling in your stomach. “He just moved”

“And you didn’t, which proves my point. Besides, it’s obvious you only have a few things. We have more”

“Which should be enough reason to let me go first, not only because I was here before you” you shrugged, feeling even more uncomfortable when the male huffed a laugh. “Maybe it’s you who shouldn’t have come here today if you can’t wait in a line”

You weren’t a threat for the woman, and you were trying really hard to be polite and prove your point. Besides, being pregnant wasn’t an easy task, and you could tell she was far along. Maybe you should have let her pass, or maybe told her to fuck off.

But before you could argue further, something clicked in the male’s eyes, wide with recognition.

And you would have preferred for him to go full berserk mode on you. Because you recognized that look, you had been receiving them for a while now.

The male elbowed the woman’s side softly, pointing with his chin towards you. You didn’t have time to turn back and avoid the conversation, because he spoke.

“You’re the shadowsinger’s mate” he announced, loud enough to make a few heads turn.

“Oh” the woman finally connected the dots and lunged forward to grab your arm so tight you couldn’t shake her off. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry” you pushed your arm back, trying to let go.

While the woman apologized, you couldn’t help but listen to the whispers. The same ones you had heard in your bakery and through the streets. Some of them thrown in your face by rude or nosy customers that didn’t understand the concept of privacy, others by bystanders.

At the end, it was the woman who said it out loud, confirming what everyone in the small circle that had formed at the cue was wondering about. She finally let go of your arm and crossed hers in front of her body.

The look of pity wasn’t as bad as the confirmation.

“He rejected you, right?” it wasn’t a question, not when you didn’t answer and she continued. “We heard you’ve been mated for almost a century and he doesn’t want the bond. Is that true?”

It wasn’t true, but you didn’t have the heart to correct her. Instead, you turned around and used your wing-less privileges to sneak through the crowd. You kept your head down, as if that could stop you from hearing the comments or feeling the stares.

People had come up with an alternative version where Azriel and you had been mated for decades, for centuries. Where you had cheated on him or he had changed you for someone else. You had even heard that he had bonded with another person and had kicked you out of the house, and that you had been the one rejecting the bond.

Each version was farthest from the truth than the last one, but they all hurt the same. The crowd didn’t seem to get thinner no matter how deep you got in the market. Once the people who had heard the conversation were left behind, new people crowded you, worried about the girl panicking and running through the middle of the market.

There were a few occasions where you thought you would fall, where you tripped and almost embarrassed yourself farther. You had almost made it to the back entrance of the market when you finally realized you were tripping no more. There was no longer a crowd around you, nor whispers or hands reaching your way.

It took you another few steps to fully stop and assess the situation. When you looked back to see where the crowd was, you were met with a broad chest inches away from you. Through tearful eyes, you recognized Azriel’s wings tucking you away from people, his mere presence pushing them away.

You met his hazel eyes, full of worry and regret. His hair was longer, covering his brow, but you found comfort in his crooked nose, in his freckles, that you knew so well.

You noticed in his hands your bags that had been left in the stall, a new one with the snacks you were about to buy.

“What – what are you doing here?” you choked out, too grateful for the sudden moment of peace to wonder about anything else.

“I felt you through the bond, a few hours ago. Anxious and…” he stopped himself, his eyes scanning every tear that marked your cheeks. “I was just getting here when it got worse. I heard most of it. I’m –”

“Don’t say you’re sorry” you interrupted him. “It’s not your fault”

Out of the many things that were indeed his fault, people not minding their own business wasn’t his. You were used to him blaming himself for everything, from wars in other courts to people fighting in the street. The response came naturally.

Your nose was cold and runny, your hands frozen in your pockets, and your feet hurt. Besides all of that, you felt all wrong. Because you enjoyed his presence, because what they said, and because you couldn’t help but calm down when he was close.

Azriel didn’t say anything when you took the bags from his hands, thanking him quietly. He didn’t say anything as more people walked away from him, either because of his wings or because they recognized him.

“You don’t like last minute shopping”

It was a pointless observation, but it was better than to comment on how afraid he had been when, just outside the market, he felt the bond snap with urgence. His shadows knew where you were, and that you needed him, but even he had trouble running through crowds. Azriel also couldn’t talk about how mad he had been at everyone in that stall, how his new shadows had turned off every light and almost chocked them to death.

Azriel wanted to say that you were probably cold because you didn’t like your own coats, and most of the times wore one of his. He wanted to hug you, too, to feel you between his arms after what felt like an eternity and promise you that it would end well.

But he couldn’t say anything more than the obvious.

“I had to” you answered.

With a furious fist, frustrated at life, at him and at you, you brushed the tears off your cheeks. You could tell that he wanted to keep talking, and you did too. Since your last encounter, you had come up with more conversations you should have.

You stared at each other for what seemed forever. There were details that you had almost forgotten in your sorrow – like his long lashes, that you teased him about. Or the freckle that snuck up to the corner of his left eye. The way his mouth rose higher from the right, and the small scar on his ear from where Cassian dared him to wear an earring.

Only his face was enchanting enough to help you forget about the day, about the weight of your chest. It was the first closing call from the market, that sounded through the public speakers, that broke you away.

“I should go”

“I should go”

You talked at the same time, and you smiled softly when you pointed to different directions. You didn’t miss how his eyes fell to your mouth, how his own lifted up too.

“I could walk you back” he offered, not tearing his eyes away from your mouth. “If you let me”

You didn’t answer immediately. Those last words, that he had repeated so often lately, almost had you saying yes. You could almost imagine how it would go – him walking by your side, one of his wings behind your back. His elbow brushing yours, and his gaze fixed on you.

Your smile dropped when you remembered the times you had walked just like that, tucked together. The times you had waked by yourself through Velaris with his imprint on you, and the times he had left without a trace of your presence.

Azriel knew the answer before you said it, and his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Sorry”

That time, you decided to turn away before he could. Taking the back exit was a poor choice, knowing it was farther from your house than the main one, but you couldn’t picture yourself walking through the market without Azriel keeping the crowds a step away.

So you turned around, gripped your bags tight and didn’t tear your eyes from the ground during the whole way back.

-

It wasn’t Azriel who found you the time everything changed, but you.

The cold and winter were over, the streets were clean and the sun was out. It was a perfect day to spend outside, and Elain seemed fixed in throwing you out of your own shop. She claimed that the bags under your eyes were as dark as the night, and that your skin was so pale that she couldn’t tell the flour stains apart from it.

“Just for the record, you’re kicking the owner of the bakery out of the bakery” you stated, looking at her once more from the door. “You do realize that shouldn’t happen, right?”

“I’m helping a friend come out of her ghost-like season” she replied, still decorating muffins. “And you do realize that most shops close on Sunday’s, right?”

“Certainly not a bakery” you looked to the empty fountain at her right. “If we do it together, we will – “

“If you touch one single item of this bakery, I’m banning you from the kitchen for a month”

You doubted she meant it, she could. But still, you sighed and turned around to open the door. You weren’t an extrovert, certainly not an outsider. Since you were a child, you liked your kitchen, your house, and your space. And none of those things were outside the door.

But you actually feared what the fae you left behind would do if you turned back. Elain had already hidden your apron so you couldn’t put it on, and had threatened to mismatch the soy milk with normal one.

Giving her a last, tight smile through the glass, you walked towards the center of Velaris.

Not many people were outside that soon on a Sunday morning, but you were glad for her insistence the moment the sun kissed your face. The cold weather was disappearing and you could feel warmth across your cheeks. It was still cold, and it would be for at least another week, but the change in the weather promised a happy spring.

You walked aimlessly around Velaris, stopping to watch the Sidra move every now and then. Your feet carried you through unfamiliar streets, all of them filled with colors and smells. The longer you walked, the healthier you felt. Each step felt like a weight lifted from your chest, and you even smiled to a few usuals you found in the streets.

The main square peeked through the streets. It wasn’t your usual destination, too crowded and not as pretty as other parts of the town. But you still walked through it, feeling at ease and happy.

It had happened before, usually the days before you started your cycle, and you should have known the feeling of ease had nothing to do with the weather or the walk. It had happened and it happened again, just as you rounded a corner to walk in the square.

If, by any chance, Azriel hadn’t noticed you coming, the shadows that tugged him away from where he was standing would have made it obvious.

His eyes widened when he saw you, and you felt that peaceful feeling making its home for the day. There was no sorrow, no sadness, and none of the usual feelings that lately you felt when it came to him.

You cursed yourself stupid when you realized that you cycle was coming, and that every year you were in a mood until Azriel showed up, your hormones demanding your mate.

“Y/N”

Your name fell from your mouth and just by hearing it you noticed something different. It was new, and at the same time, you thought you recognized it somehow. You looked to his empty hands, to the syphons on his shoulders and chest and truth-teller on his side.

It looked like you had interrupted something important to him. But instead of running away from him like the last two times, you took a step closer.

“Are you going on a mission?” you pointed with your chin to his leather, eyes stopping at his chest. There was that thing, that you couldn’t name.

“Just came back. I was…”

Azriel looked to the building he just exited and for a moment, in silence. You had met a bunch of times since the incident in the market, and you had started having longer conversations. About the weather, about your bakery, and even about his family, who you finally knew officially.

Certainly, your relationship had improved, although it wasn’t just fixed yet. When he didn’t answer, you were reminded of all the times he had kept things to himself, either out of fear or doubt.

He seemed to doubt between telling you and keeping it to himself. Any other time, you knew, he would have kept it to himself. He had done it, in the past – when you asked him about his job, or tried to understand his past. Many times where he had evaded the truth or his emotions.

Your mood, that had been in a rush since you left the bakery, fell a little at his silence. He looked torn and you were ready to leave, before he answered.

“This is Madja’s house. I meet her here so we can talk, usually during the week” he looked back at you, watching the surprise of his statement. “But something happened and I needed to talk to her”

“What happened?”

Azriel’s lips were pressed tight, debating on whether he should tell you or not. He wouldn’t have doubted about it a year ago – he wouldn’t tell you, because in his eyes, it would only hurt you more than he already had. But he had learnt new things, and had realized that a relationship was built on trust. And that his fears, his perception of the reality, had broken yours.

He had cut the mission short when he had noticed, though he wasn’t sure he had ever done something like that. Azriel didn’t know what had triggered it, why it happened in the Winter court and not anytime sooner.

Madja, of course, had had an answer ready – an answer that had left him staring at her door for long twenty minutes before you appeared.

“Kallias should have sent something to Rhysand, but he didn’t” he started, not sure why he was traveling so far from the event. “So I went to check. Turns out someone must have taken it and, well, I tried to…”

He trailed off before he could finish, aware of your confusion. You never talked about what he did for Rhysand, in any court. No matter how big or small was the assignment, he didn’t tell you about it.

But that wasn’t what your confusion was about, at least not all of it. You couldn’t possibly notice because you had given it for granted since the beginning, but Azriel did notice. He noticed the change as soon as it happened, and babbled when he explained to Rhysand what he should have been feeling for years.

Had explained to Madja moments ago, who had given him a knowing smile and a proud nod.

“I accepted the bond” he confessed, continuing before you could say anything else. “I don’t know how, or why, but I was there and suddenly I was hit with – with this in my chest, and I don’t know why it wouldn’t happen sooner”

“You accepted the bond” you repeated, looking between his chest and face.

“I don’t know how, or why now. I was, thinking… And it hit me” Azriel smiled sadly, not saying what his thoughts were about – what they had been about since that night. “I didn’t want to tell you, because, this is, you don’t have to do anything now. Me accepting the bond doesn’t change what I did”

Azriel hadn’t meant to tell you, neither to be so vague and ridiculously nervous about it.

It had been a surprise when, in the middle of a conversation, he felt it. He had been thinking about you, because there were flowers and they were pretty against the cold weather, and to him, you were the prettiest thing the Cauldron had made. One moment Kallias had been going through the last movements of the package and the next the high lord was looking at him with raised brows.

Congratulating him for something that should have happened six years ago.

“It’s not that I didn’t want the bond before, Y/N” he continued when you didn’t say anything. “I promise you, I didn’t know how to accept it. I didn’t know that I deserved it”

Azriel had thought, and he still wanted to, that you so pretty that you were meant for someone else. That it was borrowed time, that he didn’t deserve the bond just as he didn’t deserve you. With Madja and Rhys, they had had deep conversations about his mental health, about his version of life where he lived through a glass of pain and rejection.

As he stared at your surprised form, he tried not to let hope leak into his heart. He knew it didn’t fix what was broken, but he hoped it was the first step of a long recovery to win you back.

Only if you could confirm or deny, instead of stare at him.

“Say something” Azriel finally broke, almost begged. “Whatever you want. Just say something”

And you wanted to, because wasn’t that what you had wanted? You had fooled yourself lately thinking about may what ifs. What if he had accepted the bond in the bagging, what if he had told you that he wasn’t fine, that he was broken and needed help.

What if you had helped him and not rushed things when he wasn’t ready. Now, it felt like the Cauldron was giving you that opportunity, only that you didn’t know how to react.

You finally looked away from him and decided to give an experimental tug on the bond, to see if anything had changed.

It had.

“Az”

It was a chuckle, maybe the beginning of a cry. It was anger but also relief because what came back from that tug wasn’t what you usually felt. It was stronger, solid, as if there was a physical string between your bodies that kept you linked.

Usually, it was just an intense feeling that was enough for you. But now that you felt him tugging back, felt him loving you, you couldn’t hold back another laugh. He shoved down through it everything he felt – adoration, love, joy. Many fears that had you stumbling towards him, and pain.

So much pain that your smile dropped. His dropped too, and you felt the bond getting fainter.

“That’s another reason. I didn’t want you to feel… that” Azriel retreated the bond farther. “I have so many fears and pains here that I couldn’t even imagine sharing them with you. And that – “

“You don’t have to feel ashamed” you cut him off, your voice hoarse. “I love you the same”

Words were unnecessary when you hugged his middle and buried yourself in his chest. He curled around you, like he had done so many times.

The channel snapped open again, and you just closed your eyes tightly. It was an endless source of emotions, and it broke you that most of them were bad. There was rejection, from so many people that it felt like an angry, black bull coming your way. Sadness that felt overwhelming and never ending, always coming in waves when Azriel didn’t expect it.

You also felt disgust, and you only held him tighter when you discovered it was self-disgust. Not only at the things that he had done, but also at what had been done to him. The scars on his hands, the shadows around him. He had hated himself for so long he had forgotten how to love.

But then, at the bottom, there was something bright, and that part you realized it was only dedicated to you. There was his family too, but it wasn’t as intense as his love for you. Everything that he lacked during his life, that he yearned for, was tucked where it mattered the most.

“I love you” he whispered against your head, softly. “I love you”

You didn’t answer, just raised your head until you could brush your lips against him. Later, you would have time to blame the cycle, which you wouldn’t get for another two months, or the emotions of the moment. But you knew it was just what you needed, what you both deserved, when you felt him kissing back.

At the beginning, it was just his lips against yours, and it was enough. Your noses brushed each other, you got on your tiptoes and his wing cocooned both of you. His hands only pressed you tighter against his body when you moved your lips against his, brushing the edge of your tongue against his bottom one.

Azriel could barely keep himself straight when you silently asked for permission to open his mouth, which he happily obliged.  

From that moment, it was crashing. The kiss was only a physical proof of your feelings traveling through the mated bond, so wild and intense you couldn’t tell which one was his or yours.

“I’m sorry, darling” he whispered against your lips, giving you no time to reply. “I’m sorry for hurting you, for being a coward. I’m sorry”

“I forgive you. We don’t keep secrets anymore” you managed to say between kisses.

“Never” Azriel answered while leaving kisses on your cheeks and nose.”

“And we’ll talk about our emotions, and feelings. You’ll tell me about your life when I ask”

“Always”

“You won’t close off to me” you pulled his head away and made him look at you.

While you held his face between your hands, Azriel smiled. It was a different smile from the previous ones, from the ones you had seen so far. It was carefree, loving, and yours.

Your thumb brushed the corner of his eye, his upper cheek, the border of his nose.

“I’m here, Azriel. Always. So you don’t have to hide anything from me, or to be ashamed or afraid. I’m here” you closed the distance once more, controlling the kiss by holding onto his face. “Right around the corner”

“Right around the corner” he repeated, dipping his head and sealing all his promises with another kiss.

Want to read more? Check out my side blog @imaginesmaimasterlists, where I keep all the masterlists! Feedback is always appreciated

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