#restaurant lingo

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 3}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Thoughts about Joel Miller have you desperate for something you hadn't sought out in quite a while: human touch. So when your friends suggest a girls' night out, you readily agree. It's just your luck that the very man plaguing your thoughts happens to be at the bar picked out for the night.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warning: alcohol consumption, drunken interactions, creepy flirthing, unwanted attention, fighting, bar fights, nonconsensual touching (not joel), protective joel, injuries, blood, degrading talk, power dynamics, abuse of power, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, smoking, cigarettes, joel miller is a conflicted man, kissing, drunk makeout session

A/N: this story is literally keeping me from climbing the walls in my apartment, i've applied to over 20 jobs the last few days and made even more calls to see if places were hiring. the issue isn't finding something, it's finding something willing to pay me for my experience and skill set. but i found out a local coffee shop is opening a new location and i should be getting a call back with interview times for that today, they need cooks and bakers and i can definitely do that

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was Wednesday, your normal day off for the week, but Joel had scheduled you two hours of prep, the shift reminder notification early that morning. It had woken you up, having allowed yourself to sleep in after the rather busy shift the night before. It had been a record-breaking sales day, the concert downtown only blocks away bringing increased foot traffic. It had been a week and a half since that terrible Sunday shift where you had finally given into hunger and had ordered food only to be told you had messed up. You had gone hungry that night, nothing in your kitchen at home.

You hadn’t spoken to Joel beyond confirming that dishes were ready to go out and helping to take updated pars out to the servers’ board for them to be aware of throughout services. Lists were left atop the sandwich prep station, and you completed it every shift you had before making your way toward the bar. They were in his writing, some things new with recipe page numbers for the guidebook stored on the expo line.

You had completed a few things on your list and were moving onto the next thing when his booming voice sounded from the walk in.

“Where are the rest of the yellow onions?”

Everyone in the kitchen looked over their stations, including you. The yellow onions you had chopped up for the red lentil soup were sitting in the pot you had atop a portable burner on the left side of your station. Cutting board beside it as you chopped the carrots that were to be added next.

“Whose used yellow onions today?” His brow was furrowed, lips downturned as he gazed around the kitchen. The three confirmations of ‘here, chef’ had him moving intimidatingly through the space, the first two seemed to come out of their interaction unscathed. But you felt like you weren’t about to be so lucky.

“When did you start the prep for these? They look nearly caramelized already.” He stirred the wooden spoon resting in the deep pot, getting a feel on the state of the onions cooking inside. You had stepped aside, hands behind your back as you let him inspect your station. He turned to watch as you answered, professional air about you as you briefly met his eyes with your own. You spoke in an even tone, worried about how he was going to react. He had already proven himself comfortable with cutting you off and denying you food that you had paid with your own money. And that was when you hadn’t actually done anything to warrant that type of reaction.

“I started this half an hour ago, gathered them from the walk in as I gathered everything else, chef.”

“Did you happen to notice that you grabbed the last ones? There are none in the box, left empty on the shelf. That you too? Don’t understand the way things work here, do ya?” He turned with a sharpie held tight between his fingers and he jutted it at the dray erase board beside the walk-in door where things low in stock were to be written down. “In case anyone is unclear on how this kitchen operates: things low in stock are to be written on that board there BEFORE we run out. Boxes or containers that are emptied while grabbing items are to be discarded or put into dish, not left on the shelf for the next person to find.”

“Yes, chef!” The chorus rang out evenly throughout the room.

He turned back to the portable burner and clicked it off, turning the nob off and the whoosh of gas going out was loud in the slight hum of busy work that the kitchen returned to once he had finished speaking.

“Why don’t you go clock yourself out.”

“Chef, there-“ You tried to talk to him, let him know that you had left nearly three pounds of onions left in the box. It wasn’t empty when you left the walk-in. You had been too wrapped up in your work to notice who else had gone in afterwards, though you wouldn’t have sold them out to begin with.

“Go. Clock out, now.”

“Yes, chef.” You wouldn’t raise your face to meet his look. Trying to keep your anger in check lest you give him a real reason to go off on you. Instead, you moved to grab your sharpie laid out over the recipe binder. The small field notes pad of paper beside it with the notations for a double batch written neatly on the page it was open to. Joel blocked your movement with a sidestep, his broad figure blocking your reaching hand.

“Now means now.”

“My-“

“Is now mine. Go.”

Your eyes flicked up and you tried your best not to pin him with the annoyance that was humming through your very blood. This man was nothing but a nuisance, you had only agreed to come into the kitchen because they were short staffed. But it was degrading work, to be around this man who deemed nearly everything below par and had extreme standards for the way things were to be done. The two instances of common decency he had offered you had to have been a fluke, maybe he had been extra tired and worn out those days, didn’t mean to let his guard down. Either way, you were quickly getting over the fluctuating temperatures of his attitude. At first it had been jarring, but you weren’t about to let it get to you any longer. You were determined to face it head on or dish it back out in what ways you could safely do so without risking your job.

You were lagging outside of the back door, standing with the bar back, whose name was Millie and a server who were both on break. You each had a cigarette in hand, swapping stories about the worst pick up lines that you had been approached with. You had removed your apron, it was folded carefully in your crossbody bag to be washed when you got home, simple black long sleeve Henley along with it. That left you in your black denim with that kitschy cute heart belt buckle and a dark green racerback. You had left your hair up in its normal fashion of low buns on either side of your head, short black beanie atop your head.

“You gotta admit,” Your laughter ringing through the air accompanied by the giggles of the two girls in front of you. “He was honest, what better way to start a conversation, though I could’ve done without the-“

All the laughter cut off as the backdoor opened and Joel appeared with a bag of trash. The two younger girls snubbed out their waning cigarettes and scurried inside, deeming breaktime over with his sudden arrival. You watched as Joel tossed the bag over the lip of the nearby dumpster before removing his gloves and tossed them in as well. He removed a pack of his own cigarettes from the breast pocket of his chef’s coat, and you could see the spiral wiring of your notebook peeking out over the top of it. His eyes took in the way your lips moved as you took a long drag from your own, bringing your phone out to ignore him.

The snick snick snick of his lighter resulted in a deep grunt, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. The cigarette he had pulled out was between his plush lips and his dead lighter was being pushed back into the pocket of his chef’s pants. When his eyes flicked to you, your attention snapped back to your phone. He cleared his throat, and you cocked an eyebrow up at the sound, turning to give him the barest hint of attention. He was leaning heavily against the side of the building, his hands stuffed in his pockets as he regarded you.

“Do you-

“Nope.” You took the last drag before snuffing out your own cigarette and tossed the butt into the pail beside the door. You started walking toward the parking lot, your truck beeping with a press of the control in your hand. The strap of your bag over your shoulder caught the man’s eye as you began to move away.

“You’re just gonna walk off from your shift?”

“Today’s my day off, chef.” You didn’t look back at him but could tell that your words had affected him.

“Shit, I-“ He straightened up and moved away from the wall, taking a step toward you, his hands coming out from his pockets to take the unlit cigarette from between his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. Now you don’t have to worry me using up all your inventory, right?” You pulled another cigarette out from the pack still in your hand along with your phone and brought a lighter out from your own front pocket. You took a long drag and blew the smoke in his direction over your shoulder, aware of his gaze on your back and you hopped into the cab of the truck.

The next day, everything that was on your prep list had been completed and the one for today had instructions on where to find the mise for each recipe. Everything was already prepared for you and were just combining and finishing the last few steps of each one.

“Hi there, what can I get started for you?” You placed a coaster down on the bar top before a glass of water, eyes coming up as you smiled at the new guest. Your smile faltered a little when the face of your biological evolution professor beamed back at you, but you didn’t let your surprise show other than that.

“I heard a rumor that the bartender here made the best whisky drinks. Here to test out that theory.” His voice was smooth, something you had often spoken aloud to your friends that made the class lectures rather easy. His baritone deep and the ways in which he spoke with such passion and interest in his material was an added bonus to understanding the class subject matter than most.

“Let’s get to testin’, what your preferred whiskey?” You busied yourself making the drinks that had been rung up the last couple of minutes, the man having sat to the side of the well in the last seat along the right side of the bar.

“I’m a Bullet man, myself. But I’m up for whatever you think is best.”

“Oh, well, of course the one I think is best is our top shelf.” You tossed the man a playful smirk, aware that it was a possible line being crossed. But neither of you were on campus, you were at work, and he was one of your bar guests. His laugh was beautiful as he knocked his head back, the line of his throat catching shadows from the strong lights over the bar.

“I actually prefer Woodford, it’s not too expensive but its leagues above some of the stuff on the shelves like Evan Williams.”

He was funny, quick-witted. Matching your jokes as fast as he could. Bringing up documentaries he had recently seen.

“No, but like that’s the thing! There’s been no discovery of this caliber ever before, its unprecedented in nearly every aspect.” You were making a round of lemon drops for a group of girls on the other end of the bar, loading up the shaker and then securing the smaller component over it before lifting your hand and shaking it. As you did so, you reached over to grab the coup glasses you would need for the pour. A figure appeared at the well, taller than the servers and barback, who had gone on break a few minutes ago.

You glanced over at Joel, the man had his hands atop the plastic mats, eyes taking in the organized garnish container and the jars of small straws and picks for the servers to complete their drinks. You nodded at him to let him know you saw him and would be with him as soon as possible before you held the shaker tight in one hand and used the heel of your palm to knock the smaller part loose. Your hand was steady as you parted the two components enough to strain the bright pink liquid from the ice, not looking up from it.

“To actually have fossil evidence of not just any Hominid species, but of a newly discovered hominid species, with a crafted tool in their fuckin’ hand! Like, I got chills, and I was pretty sure my attention was plastered to the screen. Didn’t even touch the food I made that night. I immediately started just taking notes throughout the whole thing.”

“To be fair, it was just as intriguing to find out that the child’s body had been in the cavern wall, not even properly buried like the rest of the bodies in the Dinaledi chamber.”

“Oh my gosh, I know! That opens a whole plethora of questions about what that child was even doing, was he the one carving those symbols into the wall, was he alone- hold on one moment.” You moved over to the other side of the bar, two coup glasses cradled carefully in each hand, and you took the four of them over to the girls who had been watching you make them. They were all bright smiles and excited giggles as you told them you used Meyer lemons for a sweeter drink and added a bit of cherry juice for the color.

“She’s a busy one, guests seem to love her.” Your professor smiled over at Joel, who was watching you flit around behind the bar much like he had been admiring all night. Joel’s eyes snapped to the man beside him and he just nodded, crossing his arms over his chest.

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“Not much of a talker in class, but her papers are beyond wonders. The way her mind makes connections is amazing. And the way she uses her words so carefully, so eloquently.”

“You go to school with her?” Joel questioned, mind going over the small interactions he’s had with you recently. You tended to stutter over your words around him, as if you were hesitant to speak in the first place. He didn’t like the comparison, now, seeing you in your element and recalling the way you had always been professional around him. But this, you behind the bar and completely enthralling as you entertained so many people and mixed drinks like it was second nature. Firing back jokes and conversation as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Your laughter ringing through the space of the dining room. He felt the pull of a frown, not liking the shift he was causing in you lately.

“Oh no, school is way behind me. I’m her professor.” The grunt Joel made seemed to display his trepidation at the revelation and the man was quick to jump into defense mode. “It’s not what it looks like, she’s at work and I’m just here on a friend’s word that it’s a good place. Didn’t even know she was here until I sat down.”

“Sure.” Joel said in a tone that said he didn’t buy a word the man was saying.

You were back with them by the well, professional smile in place as you addressed Joel. You were busy tucking a receipt and some bills of money into your server’s book, secured underneath the counter and atop a cooler beside the drink station.

“Yes, chef?”

“Bourbon for the steak sauce. And whatever amber you have on tap.” He tried to muster up the courage to lighten up his face from a frown, but the way your eyes flashed away from him told him it didn’t work.

“Heard, chef.”

You busied yourself with retrieving the bottle of bourbon he had asked you to tack onto your order. He hadn’t wanted to deal with the liquor vendors himself and sure you would find a better deal than him anyway.

“It’s gonna be a 6.7 percent amber, it’s smooth and the notes of pecan to cut the malt. Only one I have on tap at the moment, that okay?” You talked over your shoulder, picking up on the waves and attention from the other patrons of the bar top, reaching to get more than the one glass needed for just Joel’s request. You poured two blondes, an IPA, and a stout and placing them in front of those who had been nursing them all night before going to pull the tap for the amber. It poured for maybe two seconds before it sputtered and compressed air forced itself out of the spicket.

“I told Millie to change out the keg last night, I’m sorry, chef. It’s gonna take me a minute before I can step away and replace it.” Your brows were furrowed in a worried expression, not wanting this to be something he used against you. You were really hoping to get something to go later, needing to finish a paper that was due tomorrow before class. He must’ve clocked the rising panic in your eyes because he squared his shoulders before shoving off the drink station.

“I gotcha, which label am I looking for?”

“Oh, um, Riverbank Red.”

“Heard.” He turned to move toward the small walk-in just behind the bar, the heavy door opening easily underneath his hands. You could hear him rustling around inside, the hiss of him removing the empty keg and then the clunk of him placing the new one in its place. The two knocks on the wall alerted you that it was all set and you pulled the tap, compressed air working its way through the hook up before foam began to stream. Letting it run for a few seconds, you turned around and grabbed a fresh pint glass for Joel’s drink. You used the previous one and filled it, cutting off the tap and took a long pull from it.

When you lowered the glass after your drink, you found two pairs of eyes on you. You looked between your professor and Joel, both on each side of the corner of the bar. Some of the foam from the outside of the glass when the tap died out had run down your chin and settled on your chest. The cut of your shirt was a little low, your simple, silver chain necklace catching the soft glow of the bar lights much like the foam.

You avoided meeting either of their gazes as you poured a second pint for Joel and walked it over. Before you could place it atop the drink station beside the bottle of bourbon already waiting, he reached out for it and his thick fingers brushed yours. His beautiful, brown eyes flashed down and caught yours, full of something you didn’t recognize, prompting you to pull your hand away as you struggled to catch your breath.

His teeth clicked with the clenching of his jaw, his hands tightening around items he came over for and he turned to make his way back to the kitchen.

“He’s not much of a charmer, is he?”

“He just has an asshole voice, don’t mind him.” With a somewhat fake smile plastered on your face, you turned back to your professor and started making him another drink as more rang through the printer. “Now, what were the most concrete dates we had archived for allusions to tool use?”

The alcohol in your system was washing your stress and anxieties away. Moving your body along to the song that was bumping from the speakers of the bar that held a small dance floor. Your friends’ bodies were moving alongside you, along with you, tangling with your own in a heady and exciting way. It was such a relief to not have any worries at the moment, only blipping thoughts of ‘oooh this is a good song’ and ‘another drink, yes please’.

You were taking a break, downing a glass of water and ordering a round of shots for everyone. There were five of you altogether and they huddled around you as you passed one to each of them, smiling widely at the bartender across from you. He just chuckled with a shake of his head and moved on down the bar to help out two waiting men. If you had been paying attention, you would’ve recognized one in a particular. But you were too preoccupied with the rather loud cheers the girls were trying to agree on before someone finally just shouted, ‘drink up, bitches!’ and you were downing the shot along with them.

The burn of it down your throat was anticipated and you gathered the empty glasses from them while they sputtered and coughed, not able to handle it as well as they normally could with already being more than tipsy. You were leaning over the bar a little, on your tip toes to place them atop the washer on the plastic pad you knew the bartender liked to gather used cups before loading them up.

A large hand found the exposed small of your back, your crop tank top allowing for the skin to be on display. It was dangerously close to the waist of your skirt, and you jerked back with a start, face contorting into one of anger.  

“Hey, who the fuck do you think you are?” You settled back on your heels, the height of them making you a little taller than normal. Your eyes swept over the crowd around the bar and found that your friends had returned to the dance floor, leaving you to deal with this on your own. Not that you couldn’t, but it would’ve been nice to have a witness. The man in question was rather tall, blonde, nice suit, but his forwardness left little to be desired.

“Just helpin’ to hold ya steady, looked like you were about to flip over the bar, little lady.”

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Didn’t mean to offend-“

“Yeah, well, ya did. Don’t fuckin’ touch me, got it?”

“C’mon now. You were gettin’ all close and personal with your friends, maybe I wanted a feel for myself.”

The man stepped closer to you, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath, cheap and cloying as it wafter over into your personal space. His hands were coming up as if he were going to wrap them around your hips and pull you to him. His eyes were raking slowly up and down your body, taking in the short skirt and crop tank top you had deemed appropriate for the night. The cleavage peeking out of the top of your shirt glistening with the glitter body spray you had used before leaving your apartment.

“Leave me the fuck alone.” You spat, stepping away from the man only to collide with another’s back who had been passing by.

“Watch where-“ Joel of all people turned around, a scowl on his face. You felt like a deer caught in headlights, totally caught off guard that your boss was here in the same bar. The beer in his grip had sloshed over his fingers when you slammed into him and it was dripping to the already sticky floor. There was another man beside him, similar height and build. He had the same brown eyes and you realized they must be related.

Joel’s eyes took in the slightly panicked air about you, gaze moving behind you to see the man you had been fleeing from in such a haste.

“He touch you?”

“Don’t know if that’s any of your business, old man.” The man stepped forward and hooked a finger on the strap of your crossbody, pulling you backwards and you stumbled at the bold move. “We’re just two friends having an intimate-“

You maneuvered your stumble into a pivot and raised your clenched fist to deck the guy across the face, cutting off his words. You felt the crack of his nose beneath your knuckles, the action splitting two of them open. There was a gasp and a bark of laughter from behind you.

“I said, don’t fuckin’ touch me.” You sneered, anger lighting you up from the inside out. You didn’t pay the dull ache of your new injury any mind as you brought your arm back closer to your body, but you did flinch when the man’s hands shot out and his nails scratched along your neck where he had tried to grab you.

Joel was moving with a grunt of effort before you could fully register that the man had lunged at you.

Body slamming into his and pinning him face down against the bar with a hand tight on the back of his neck. His forehead had cracked against it, and he had shouted out weakly at the pain the action must’ve caused. His arms were twisted behind up, Joel’s right one holding them tight by the wrists. As he did so, the man with Joel had pulled you away from the confrontation, hands far more gentle with you than the man now pinned to the bar.

“You okay?” Joel looked back at you, his eyes hard and his expression schooled into one of control despite the way he had just cracked that man’s head on the top of the bar. When you didn’t answer, he looked to the man who had pulled you further out of harms way. “Tommy, she okay?”

There was no time to answer him, the bartender was out from behind the bar in a second, security that checked identification alongside him and they were forcefully guiding the man toward the door. He was putting up a rather good effort, but the two men were stronger than him. He turned with one last look over his shoulder and spat at you. The spray of it startled you and the tears that formed were angry, wet, ugly things.

Suddenly, the girls were swarming you, all talking at the same time and guiding you toward the bathroom to help get you somewhere safe to gather yourself. You let them guide you away from Joel and what you assumed was his brother, not glancing over at them lest they see more of the tears than they already had.

The bathroom muffled the booming music enough to hear your own thoughts, the lights a little brighter to help you process what had just happened. The girls were dabbing wet paper towels underneath your eyes to wipe your smeared makeup, to sooth the scratch marks on your throat. They plopped you down on one of the chairs off in the corner, removing your bag from around your body and just allowed you to take however long a moment you needed. Someone fetched a bottle of water from somewhere and you gulped down half of it without taking a breath. Your hands were shaking and you lifted your hand up to inspect the damage on your knuckles.

Someone gasped and it startled you, making you jump in your seat and then the bartender was there with a first aid kit.

“Me’n my boyfriend kicked him out, some cops were walking down the way and he taken to the station.”

He said as he kneeled in front of you, tearing open a package of sterile gauze. He dabbed some disinfectant on it before gently taking your hand and patting it across the top of your hand.

You found yourself back up at the bar, seated in a stool with your bag laid over the back of it. Your friends had checked on you again and pouted at your insistence of not going to another place with them. They wished you a good rest of the night and told you to check in with them when you got home, you returned their kind words.

You downed the last dregs of your cocktail, a vodka something, and gathered your keys from your purse.

Heels heavy, you stumbled over your own feet as your head swam and the lights of the bar flared. You reached out for the back of the stool but ended up grabbing onto a man’s arm. It was warm and strong and white-hot desire raced down your spine at the contact. Bringing your face up to apologize, it was lost in your throat as you realized it was none other than Joel Miller you were holding onto. You stepped back, turning from him to properly retrieve your bag this time.

“You’re not the boss of me here, lemme go.” You struggled against the hold he had on your upper arm, where he had turned you to face him. He seemed to realize you were uncomfortable and he dropped his hand, allowing you to turn back to face the bar. Jerry looked from your annoyed expression to the man behind you, taking in the situation and trying to determine how best to deal with it.

“Hey, man, good on you and your brother for helping us get that guy earlier, but I don’t think she likes the attention.”

“She’s drunk, you really gonna let her leave alone?”

“She comes here a lot, knows her limits and she’s got me to look out after her.”

“She’s drunker ‘n you think.”

“I am not.”

“Darlin-“

“I am not your anything, Mr. Miller.” You turned back on him with such a glare he was surprised you could hold the look in your state. He could see the way your head was lolling with every turn, your movements loose and uncoordinated. “This is a public space, I am not your prep cook and you are not my boss. You can’t lord over me and refuse me food here like at work. And I want…I want French fries.”

You stumbled as you turned around to face him again with heat behind your words. Eyes flaring in anger as he tried to reach for you again. Your body sung where one of his arms wrapped around the small of your back, helping you to keep upright as your balance faltered. The heels weren’t helping. You wished you had just stayed home, the sting of being ditched by your friends, the sting of his treatment at work and the workload of your classes, all of it was a lot and tonight was supposed to help you get out of your head, not make things worse.

“You-“ You swayed on your feet, leaning back from him slightly. The length of his forearm supporting you as you did so and stabbed a finger into his chest to emphasize your next words. Ignoring the way that his chest was firm and hot through the fabric of his shirt, he would probably have chest hair and it would be as peppered as his scruff… “You’re mean.”

His brother was doing his best to smother his laughter behind a hand, but you could hear it and you pouted even more.

“Your little brother is laughing at me and you’re a meanie.” You shoved away from him again, the warmth of his arm gone from your back as you turned around to retrieve your bag from the back of your stool. “I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are, you can’t walk, let alone drive.”

“Don’t need help. I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember.”

“Sweetheart, you-“ Tommy tried to step in, hoping that maybe he could help out the situation. It was clear they were both worried but you were just being so stubborn. Jerry was right, you didn’t like the attention, you didn’t like getting felt up and your boss had been there to witness the aftermath. That he was still there and seeing you in such a way.

“I’m not your sweetheart.” Your voice held more bite than you thought you were capable of in your current state. Tommy stepped back with his hands held up in surrender. His brows furrowed as he shared a look with his brother.

“Lemme call you a cab, please.”

“No, I don’t need anything from you. You made it clear how you feel about me, barking at me all day when I’m helping you with your kitchen because the staff don’t wanna show up and deal with you.”

“Oof, that’s a hard hit, brother.” Tommy reached over to help you drape your purse strap over your shoulder, the crossbody secure over your form and he stepped away as you pushed at his hands much like you had done with Joel. “You really did a number on her.”

“Lemme just, please, lemme take you home. Need to make sure you get home okay.” His voice was pitched quiet, leaning a little into your space with an open expression. His hands were at his sides, not reaching out to touch you again, his fists clenched at his sides. Your eyes lingered on the way his mouth formed around the words and you swallowed the harsh ones you were about to fire back at him. All you could manage was a small nod.

That’s how you found yourself in the passenger side of his own truck, waiting in a short line of a drive through.

Once your fries, and some for him too, had been passed through the window, he was following the spoken instructions to your house. Watching the way you watched things pass by the window as you munched on the salty treat in your lap out of the corner of his eye. The dried blood on your split knuckles making his stomach lurch as he thought of that man putting his hands on you and the look on your face when you tried to flee. The look on your face when you had run into him, eyes wide and panicked.

You had calmed down, now in a lazy mood after the adrenaline packed events of the night.

“You do know what you’re doin’, just don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud ‘fore now.”

“Hmm?” You rolled your head along the back of the seat to face him, bringing a fry up to the seal of your mouth as you did so. He had to look away from the sight, your entire body and demeanor relaxed. Your expression was so open and curious, eyes soft as you looked over at him. Containing none of the animosity and worry he seemed to pull from you at work as you looked him over. He was in a pair of dark wash jeans that his thighs looked good in as he drove, a simple white Henley for a shirt. It allowed for the tan of his skin to pop, the grays that speckled his hair looking good in the lights of passing cars and lamps.

“You-uh-you, nevermind.” Joel’s deep voice wavered before he cut off, not being able to handle the earnest gaze you had pinned him with, his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“Mkay, whatever you say.” You turned back to look out with window, letting him know that your complex was around the corner.

He parked along the curb beside the gate that opened up into the parking lot. Watching him as he hopped out of the cab and toward your side of the vehicle, his expression hard to read. He was opening the door and leaning into the can to undo your seatbelt. Not wanting to risk you trying to do it and spill your fries, knowing you would probably tear up at the mishap should it occur. He said as much under his breath when you asked him what he was doing and you couldn’t help the giggles that bubbled up from your chest as you agreed with him, it would be tragic.

Once unbuckled, he reached for the fries in your hand and put them back in the bag they came in, tucking it into your purse that was still across your body.

“Will you let me help you step down?”

At your nod, his hands came around your waist, the wideness of them allowing his fingers to span across your back in a tantalizing way. He lifted you a little, holding most of your weight as you hopped down from the cab. His arms tensed around you as you felt yourself wobble, forgetting you were in heels for the entirety of the drive. Another round of giggles bubbled up and you found yourself leaning more into Joel’s space. His body was warm where you were pressed up against his front, the scent of cedar stronger tonight than it had been all those nights ago when he insisted on making you food to take home.

“I wish you liked me.” You spoke quietly into his neck, lips brushing against the skin there as you did so.

You felt his fingers twitch where they held onto you before you were pulled back a little so he could look down at you.

“Darlin’, I do like you, that’s the problem.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pulling yourself closer to him.

“You’re not in the right state to be talkin’ about this right no-“

Surging up, you smothered the words from his lips with your own. His arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back. As if he was unable to stop himself despite the words he had just been ushering. It was all teeth and tongue, sparking heat that pooled low in your middle. A whimper sounded in the air, Joel swallowing it as he licked into your mouth. Your nails dug into the curls at the base of his neck and you pulled.

A deep groan rumbled through his chest and you pulled away to catch your breath, looking at the face of the man who had been consuming your thoughts for weeks now.

He looked back at you, took in the way your eyes were blown out and dilated, the puffiness of your swollen lips, the quick breaths you were taking to recover from his mouth on yours, the heat that he was causing was all consuming and you knew that he could feel through your skin underneath his hands. He was swooping back down to capture your lips, his hands moving up to cradle your face in his hands as he did so and you melted at the action.

Consciousness hit you like a jolt and you were shooting up from your bed. The covers fell from you to pool around your waist, and you looked around the room, nothing looked out of place but something felt off, so incredibly off. Your bag was on the bedside table, an empty greasy bag crumpled beside it and your lips were tingling with the memory of pressing them against someone else’s.

“Oh, fuck.”

You had drunkenly kissed your boss.

And he had kissed you back.

previous chapter || next chapter

#dev writes #fic: garnish #the last of us #the last of us au #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou au #restaurant au #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #chef joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #food industry #restaurant lingo #chef! joel x bartender! reader #joel is still a meanie #tommy miller #line cook joel miller #joel miller's hands #ao3 #ao3 link #ao3 fic #archive of our own #secret relationship #work dynamics

[scaehime]

I'm in the break room at work and just heard one of our grill cooks say, "86 the grill line!" Lol.

Note for people not familiar with restaurant lingo: if something is 86'd, it means servers shouldn't ring it in (typically because we're out of whatever it is, e.g. if there's no more squash casserole available for the night, or if the chicken needs more time to thaw)

#cracker barrel #restaurant lingo

[ilguna]

so much to say about the bear. the part where carmen screams at sydney to get out of the expo line? HA i’ve done that!!

perfect. the way that there was so much shit to be fired and called for and sydney was only doing some at a time? NO BITCH you call for all of it AND KEEP CALLING until it comes!! GIMME WHAT YOU HAVE AND THEN GIVE ME MORE

like. LIKE. i cannot express to u guys how good it was. wish there was more of that aspect. the amount of shit that happens in a restaurant is fucking unbelievable

i had a ticket situation like that once. it wasn’t preorders but it was a crazy ass sunday night LAST YEAR and i was on to go’s with one new girl. and we were just FUCKED with tickets that kept coming and wouldn’t fucking stop dude. the stress is immaculate.

AND SYDNEY THEN WALKING OUT AND SAYING IT WASNT HER PROBLEM WHEN IT WAS HER FAULT. EXACTLY RESTAURANT BUSINESS. CLAIM NO OWNERSHIP.

#ilguna #the bear #IM SORRY i just had to scream it out #the FUCKING restaurant lingo #when is season 2 coming out

[kstudiokonstadina]

Redesign: Ταράτσα rooftoop cafe bar στη Φλώρινα | winter edition - πριν και μετά

Στη καρδιά της πόλης της Φλώρινας το ξενοδοχείο Lingos διαθέτει μια υπέροχη ταράτσα με πανοραμική θέα στην πόλη και το πανέμορφο δάσος που την περιβάλει. Ο χώρος έχριζε ανανέωσης ενόψει Χριστουγέννων και αλλαγή αισθητικής σύμφωνα με την επιθυμία των ιδιοκτητών, ώστε προσφέρουν στους επισκέπτες της πόλης, στους κατοίκους καθώς επίσης και στους διαμένοντες του ξενοδοχείου, έναν ιδιαίτερα όμορφο…

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#Christmas #cocktail bar #decor interiors and more #Design #hotel #πριν και μετά #ταράτσα #τζάκι #χειμώνας #Κωνσταντίνα Νάστου | Interior designer #Φλώρινα #Χριστούγεννα #διακόσμηση #εστιατόριο #καφέ #καφε #μπάρ #ξενοδοχειο #Lingos Hotel Φλώρινα #Restaurant #roofotop

[idiopathicsmile]

I've been thinking about American diner lingo lately.

Like, relaying an order for poached eggs on toast as “Adam and Eve on a raft.” Or “shingles with a shimmy and shake” for buttered toast with jam.

(I personally learned about this phenomenon as a very young child because we had a picture book where a bear and an elephant are roommates and temp workers and they get a job at a diner for a while. Couldn't tell you why this streamed back into my brain like a week ago, but here we are.)

I'm not sure I can articulate this but there is something so beautiful to me about it. We as a culture know so little about its origins—maybe the 1870s, maybe the 1880s—or even really why it exists.

Wikipedia (yes I wikipedia'd this, yes I feel actual embarrassment about the lack of academic rigor in this aimless tumblr post but also there is also just not a ton of information on the topic) suggests that some diner lingo might've been mnemonic devices for short order cooks to remember specific dishes but honestly scroll through any list and you'll find it mostly isn't that. What it reads like is bored food service workers, mostly in the 1920s through 1970s, looking for a way to amuse or at least entertain themselves.

Milk is “moo juice.” Jell-o becomes “nervous pudding.” Black coffee is “a mug of murk.”

Western history loves its individual heroes, but my guess is the practice arose organically at multiple luncheon spots across the US. We don't know the names of the servers and cooks who came up with the terms but a few of the terms have survived, in a fashion—as wider used slang (“Joe” for coffee), as a vintage-y affectation in quirky restaurants of the present, and in compendiums of self-consciously useless factoids (oysters wrapped in bacon are transmuted into “angels on horseback”). It's something about the ordinary people of the world of the past, the tiny fossils we leave behind without even knowing it. One unknown day in history, someone then working as a diner employee thought to call a tall stack of pancakes “Jayne Mansfield” because for some reason it made their day a little better, and this somehow caught on to the point where I can, without doing much work, still find multiple written sources insisting it happened. It wasn't a marketer or a CEO somewhere, it was just a bunch service workers passing the time and leaving the slightest little linguistic footprints behind.

I don't know. Imagine if one of your inside jokes from work was still being spread by offbeat trivia lovers a hundred years from now.

#history

[ham1lton]

-> pairings: lando norris x fellow driver’s sister/reader.

-> summary: two time f1 world champion. face of multiple different famous companies. part-time bassist, part-time model, and full time older sister to you. your older sister breaks barriers every time she breathes and you’re coming along for the ride.

-> lingo: o/s stands for older sister. mrs fluffkins is her cat. o/s/bff is her best friend who you find out more about in party in the u.s.a.

-> author’s note: reader is faceless and although o/s has a faceclaim, reader is her adopted sister. so reader is whoever you’d like her to be. the list is in chronological order and this series will be updated whenever people send in requests or i feel inspired! <3

tags -> all related works will be here.

nepo sister? - when o/s suddenly has a barrage of hate and online users comparing her to a certain lando norris, you’ve gotta step in and sort it out. even when the result isn’t quite what you expect.

the dinner - after o/s asked you to apologise, you fully anticipated grovelling for lando’s acceptance but to your surprise, he doesn’t seem mad. if anything he’s acting really weird? - aka the one where he tells you he likes you.

the talk - when o/s asked you to apologise to lando she did not expect for you to start dating him? you decide to break the news over lunch at her favourite restaurant. we’ll see how that goes…

my favourite interviewer - the one where you interview your two favourite f1 drivers. your boyfriend and your sister. you aren’t too half bad at this interviewer shit, even if you do say so yourself.

another day, another drama - the one where you think o/s is hiding something from you, so with the help of your boyfriend and his friends, you try to figure it out.

too bad you find more than you bargained for. ↴

— part two (COMING SOON)

alternative storylines in the same universe.

these can be read independently of the nsu but will be more enjoyable if you read the other works!

party in the u.s.a! - before the miami grand prix, o/s posts you and charles goes on a journey to find you. too bad that time has plans of its own.

━ w/ charles leclerc x fellow driver’s bff!reader. ━

#nepo sister universe ✽ #you asked i answered 😘 #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #f1 smau #ln4 x reader #lando norris social media au

[rain0tes]

No words can express how much it is doing HEHEUSVJSGSJZBWKUE to me, thank you for writing this, I shall take it and bite it

Can I request on how the other character staying in the hotel feel about the reader?

Of course you can, nonnie! I'm so glad people like hacker!reader so much 😭

How the other residents at the Hazbin Hotel feel about hacker!reader

Angel dust and you would not get along at first. His hypersexual nature puts you off, which he teases you for.

"what? can't handle a bit of teasing, sweet cheeks?"

"stay six feet away from me."

Eventually, when he does tone it down, he finds that he enjoys your company quite a bit. You're pretty down to earth, and probably the sanest resident in the hotel.

That doesn't make your conversations any less weird.

"so basically you can use 'ussy' as a suffix for anything that has a hole."

"So, like, spidussy?"

Collective groan from everyone else while you cackle uncontrollably.

Teaching sinners gen Z lingo aside, you two would get up to mischief very often (much to everyone else's annoyance). The whole "replacing every porno video with a rick roll" was actually his idea. Petty revenge!

Husk is mostly indifferent about you, up until he realizes that Alastor is interested in you in one way or another. He tries to warn you not to have anything to do with him. He would know. But then again you've never been one to be told what you can or can't do.

Annoyed when you make a deal with Alastor regardless of his warnings, but at least you didn't give up your soul(?)

You two get pretty close afterwards. Something about looking out for you since you're so impulsive.

He's the one who helps you adjust to hell, telling you about things you need to know.

Learns very quickly that once you've put your mind to something, there's no persuading you out of it.

"Husk! Let's go eat at that fancy restaurant, my treat."

"It takes months to get a reservation to that place. And neither of us can pay for it."

"I bumped our reservation for tonight. Besiiiiides, I don't think the Vee's would mind if I take a couple hundred dollars off of their account."

You're gonna get yourself killed one of these days.

He's gotta make sure to prevent it.

Vaggie does not appreciate you messing with the V's.

You try to assure her that they wouldn't find out, but she's still skeptic.

Point taken, you just hide what you're doing from her as much as you can.

She wonders if you really did stop but has a nagging feeling that you're just doing it behind closed doors instead of doing it in the hotels lobby.

"You're endangering everyone else in the hotel!"

"They're not smart enough to find out. Did you know that they have surveillance around the hotel? I can turn all of that off."

Well, so far, they really haven't found out.

But the moment you endanger anyone in the hotel, you're out.

Charlie was ecstatic the first time you came to the hotel after it had just been rebuilt. After a while of staying there, that excitement dies down as she realizes how much of a handful you are.

Still, she's glad to have you around. No one said that redeeming souls was an easy task.

Realizes way too late that you're not really interested in redemption.

Like a few months in way too late.

But at least they have a new technician? You're pretty adept with anything that works on electricity and the help is really appreciated. Especially now that they're confident they won't be spied on while you're around.

Also worried about you constantly messing with the V's, but she's more worried about your safety.

But her dad seems particularly fond over you, and Alastor said he'd make sure you won't get killed. You should be fine, right?

(masterlist)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk #angel dust #charlie morningstar #vaggie #gn reader #🌧Rain0tes

[waitingonher]

h.o.o. characters & their icks

characters: percy jackson, annabeth chase, jason grace, piper mclean, leo valdez, frank zhang, & hazel levesque

content warning: slight cursing

word count: 853

author's note: idk if some of these are necessarily icks? but 😆

percy jackson

percy thinks he’s sooooo cool for growing up in nyc 😒😒

he’d say some new york specific lingo and would be all like “oh hah sorry, i forgot you aren’t from new york.” 

it is not that serious percy. 

somehow he always finds ways to relate things back to new york. you could be talking about a weird homeless person outside a convenience store, and he’d be like “well i’ve seen worse in new york.” 

percy lost his metrocard one time, but you guys needed to take the subway somewhere so he tried to act so nonchalant about hopping over the turnstiles. 

“oh yeah, i do it all the time. i’m basically a pro.” 

then, he went to jump over it only for his foot to get caught. he face planted onto the floor. when percy got up, he tried to act like he didn’t care, but you could see the embarrassment in his eyes. 

not his best moment! 

annabeth chase

in her own way, annabeth lowkey mansplains a lot 😭😭

she doesn’t mean to, but whenever she explains certain concepts or ideas, she comes off as super condescending. 

it could be the most niche subject ever, and she’d be peeved when you don’t know anything about it. i’m sorry i don’t know shit about a random philosopher who died hundreds of years ago 😒 

(i’d let annabeth mansplain to me any day of the year) 

jason grace

if no one orders for him, jason’s go-to are chicken tenders and fries. it’s not that he’s picky, it’s just that he’s so accustomed to ordering it, that he simply forgets he can order other things.

it’s as if his eyes just ignore everything else on the menu and only look for chicken tenders and fries. like, it’s okay to eat something other than that… 😕

when he orders at restaurants, the waiter always gives him the strangest looks. because why is a 6’0 athletic-looking teenager in here ordering chicken tenders off the kids menu. 

speaking of kids menus, jason treats the little activities on them so, so seriously. not to say that the activities aren’t fun, but he’s oddly obsessed over them. he gets genuinely upset when food or drink splatters gets on it because he likes taking them home?? jason please tell us why these little word searches and connect-the-dots matters so much to you. 

piper mclean

piper always claims that animals love her. (they do not) 

whenever she encounters wildlife, she’d start calling it over just for it to run away from her. “oh no, i think you scared it off” is her excuse 90% of the times. 

i know for a fact it wasn’t me. it was definitely you and your bad excuse for a squirrel call. 

she’s also convinced she can charmspeak animals too. last time she tried, the cat ended up smacking her across the face. 

when will piper learn 💔

leo valdez 

to all the leo lovers out there…i’m sorry to say that he’d have that little mustache after he drinks anything. he’s always rocking that milk mustache!!

after a long day of working in bunker 9, you’ll see him walking around camp with a bright red stain above his lip. you won’t even have to ask him to know that he was drinking fruit punch gatorade.

leo even gets that little stache with water?? it’s not as prevalent, but it’s definitely there. if he’s under the right lighting, you can see his top lip just glistening. 

you always have to remind him to wipe his mouth after taking a sip of anything. but it’s just as worse when he wipes his mouth because he uses the back of his hand or his sleeve…

if you go through his closet, there’s a high chance that you’ll find some of his shirts with different colored stains at the bottom of the sleeves. someone get leo some napkins please! 

frank zhang

whenever frank wears flipflops, his toes always hang over the edge of them. the worst part is that he really does not see an issue with it. he thinks it’s fine because “it’s just loungewear.” 

yes it may just be loungewear, but i promise you that no one wants to see your toes hanging out like that.

even if someone buys him a bigger size, he’d still find a way to have his toes over the edge. 

at this point, everyone just thinks that frank finds it comfortable so they don’t say anything anymore.

hazel levesque

hazel’s the type to enter those random instagram giveaways… 

she’d tag you in the comments and would text you asking you if you could follow the account and tag five people too. 

please hazel, you’re not gonna win that $300 amazon giftcard or that new laptop. give it up!! 

somehow she finds so many different giveaways?? you’re always tagged at least once a week. it’s gotten to the point where she’s entered so many giveaways, that people start recognizing her username. they feel genuine pity for her because why is @horselover1217 entering a giveaway for the third time this week.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #jason grace #piper mclean #leo valdez #frank zhang #hazel levesque #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians

[chelseeebe]

gasoline.

so this was supposed to be like a the bear au and then i just got carried away and now it’s just whatever the hell this is lmao it’s been sitting in my docs since july and i thought it finally needed to see the light of day :)

this is two parts in one bc i hate doing two seperate parts but it’s highlighted where p1 ends and p2 begins

wc: 12k+ oops

‎♡‧₊˚

Look, the sleazy, deteriorating walls of Frank’s had never been his idea of a dream. But flunking high school and a failed band had meant limited this is where he’d ended up. Running the line at the frankly failing restaurant was more like his idea of hell but it paid the bills and with a solid team of other degenerates, meant that it wasn’t all that bad. 

Well, that was until the devil incarnate came along. And by devil incarnate he means you. 

Eddie couldn’t grasp why someone of your stature would ever take a job at such a shitty restaurant, with your fancy knives and kitchen lingo that really meant nothing to him, why wouldn’t you look for something else? Something better?

You’d ended up here because… well, despite going to culinary school, getting the big job after you had graduated and doing everything by the book so to speak, you’d missed that burning passion that could only be found in the shittiest, dirtiest kitchens. 

Well that, and the fact you’d been let go. But that wasn’t relevant. 

“Honey, I’ve been here for years, I really don’t give a shit about anything you’ve gotta say,” flapping his arms around at your suggestion of maybe washing his hands when he got back in from smoking, “Helen never had a problem with it, so why do you?”

“First off, I have asked you not to call me honey or whatever other stupid pet name you wanna give me… it’s chef,” brows furrowed, the rest of the kitchen pretending not to listen to your latest bickering, “and secondly, Helen is gone, so whatever rules she implemented mean nothing now, okay? You wash your hands when you come back in or… or…” struggling to come up with a suitable punishment. 

“Or.. or what?” he mocks, turning to his colleagues for a little backup, “you gonna fire me? ‘Cause I’d love to see you try,” refusing to back down. 

It was the principle, you see. Eddie really would’ve had no issue with washing his hands if literally anyone other than you had asked. He was positively fuming that you had just flounced in here and started laying down a bunch of bullshit rules that no other soul had cared about in his five years working here. Not only that, you’d beaten him to the head chef role. He was certain that he was a shoe in the second Helen announced that she was moving on. Only to walk in one morning to your grinning face, your uniform crisply ironed and this certain energy only Eddie had seemed to sense.

You sigh, you never liked to be the first one to resign after an argument but Eddie was relentless and would’ve kept at it all day if you didn’t, “Just wash your hands.. chef,” it was entirely too busy to spend all day going back and forth with the man child. 

“Say please and I’ll think about it,” he’s smirking now, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wanted you. 

“Please,” you frown, hand firmly on your hip as you stare back at him. You felt pathetic begging for the tiniest bit of respect in your damn kitchen but it was simply the only way to get him to cooperate. 

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it?” he goads, brushing against your shoulder as he makes his way to the sink, the rest of the kitchen is in complete silence, watching and waiting to see how this one would end. 

You readjust your collar, pressing your lips together in a firm line, choosing to ignore his childish remark. There would come a day that he’d regret every horrid thing he’d said to you and maybe that day wasn’t today but it would come and you could not wait. 

-

It’s another month of butting heads with the long-haired prick before things come totally to a head. His inability to just follow simple orders had you at wits end, because Eddie truly believed that he knew better. A suggestion to add thyme to the mash potatoes had caused all out war in the kitchen. 

“No, we add rosemary… not fuckin’ thyme,” he spits, aggressively stiring the pot, his back to you, guarding his precious dish from your grabby hands.

“And I’m saying to add both- actually no, I’m not saying, I’m telling,” grabbing the container of thyme and attempting to sprinkle it into the pan, “move out of the way, that’s an order.” 

“Oooo,” he mocks, knuckles turning white from his grip on the handle, “An order.. I’m so scared,” chuckling as he blocks you from reaching over his shoulder, “why d’you think you know better, huh? You don’t know shit about this restaurant, we’ve done it my way for years and that’s not gonna change now.” 

“Because I’m the fucking chef and I know better than you,” finally snapping at the man, slamming the container down onto the stainless steel countertop, “move. now,” you bark, widening your eyes as he twists around to meet yours, you could feel the disgust radiating from his glare. 

“No.” 

You huff, wanting nothing more than to wrap his fucking ponytail around your hand and slam his head into the worktop, “Step out chef,” a simple order that you thought was far more gracious than he deserved.

His mouth falls open, still gripping onto the now-overworked potatoes, “What the fuck?” frantically flailing for some comradery from his fellow workers, it seemed that they’d all fallen into place, no longer the bunch of grimy assholes he once knew. 

“Step out,” you persist, teeth gritted as you stand strong on your order, tilting your chin to meet his harrowing gaze. Eddie didn’t frighten you per say, but he was intimidating and if it came down to it, you probably weren’t going to be the one to win that fight. 

“Fuck this,” he exclaims, slamming the pan down onto the stove top with a loud bang before storming off out of the fire escape door, not before grabbing his cigarettes from the shelf you’d repeatedly told him not to keep them on. 

There’s now mash potato all over the hob that would probably need some extensive scrubbing and would ensure that your kitchen would absolutely reek of the stuff all night. If you could have it your way, you’d have made him scrub the entire oven with a dang toothbrush until you could see your face in the metal. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your cheeks burn as the rest of the kitchen watches on in utter amazement, even the old, hardened chefs had taken to your ways even if it had taken a little bit of pushing. There was no understanding as to why he couldn’t just listen, just shut up and get on with his job without trying to constantly argue and bite back. Maybe because you were a woman? You were younger than him? Or maybe it was simply because someone was finally up to the job of challenging him and he hated that fact. 

Whatever it was, it was getting on your last nerve. 

Eddie wasn’t by any means a bad chef, he was innovative and knew how to make shit taste good, he was just incapable of accepting that maybe his way of doing things wasn’t the only way. 

You smooth your clammy palms down your apron, nodding at Tina. A subtle way of telling her to carry on and take charge while you dealt with the pathetic man outside. 

The door slams as you step outside, looking around the dark alley for the man, following the trail of smoke to his slouched position around the corner. Now, this was the difficult part, you weren’t really looking to fire him but what choice did you have if he couldn’t just accept that you were his boss now. 

“Have you calmed down?” breaking the silence, fingernails pressed into your palm leaving tiny crescent moon indentations. 

You never were one for confrontation. 

He scoffs, refusing to look in your direction as he puffs on the cigarette, “I’m calm.. are you calm?”

Even now, he couldn’t just smile and nod, always had to say something else, “I’m calm,” swallowing the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, “do you want to work here?”  

“Nobody wants to work here, shit- even you don’t wanna be here,” chuckling to himself, smoke falling from his lips. 

“Yes I do. Do you? Because I can help you if you don’t, trust me I am not scared to just let you go.” 

He chews on the inside of his cheek, tossing the cigarette to the ground before finally meeting your gaze, “you’re firing me?” 

“No,” relaxing your shoulders, “but I need to know that you want to work here. That you aren’t going to keep arguing with me about stupid shit because I truly do not have the energy for it anymore,” watching as his expression falls, at a stretch you’d say he looks remorseful but that could very well just be the moonlight reflecting on his face, granting him more grace than he deserved. 

The alley falls into silence, the only sounds being that of the bustling city around you and Tina’s faint voice barking instructions inside the kitchen. 

His eyes avert to the concrete, with a pained expression he breaks the silence, “I do… wanna work here,” it’s like that tiny sentence caused him physical pain to get out. 

“Good,” you nod, his words may mean nothing but it’s a relief to finally hear that he gives somewhat of a shit about this place running smoothly, “Eddie, for what it’s worth, I think you’re a really good chef… but even the best chefs have to take orders sometimes and you are no exception to that.”

Eddie untenses his jaw for what must be the first time in ten years, that tiny bit of affirmation was exactly what he was looking for, “...thank you,” he turns his head towards yours, “I think you’re… you’re an okay chef,” the tiniest traces of a smile on his face as he pushes himself from the rough brick.

Your eyes roll instinctively but you’re not mad, for once, “get back inside,” waving him off towards the door without turning to look at him. 

Taking the moment to gather yourself and your thoughts. Who knew if Eddie had meant what he said or if it was even going to change anything but it had definitely meant something. It wasn’t a burning desire of yours to come in and be the new evil boss in fact, it was the very opposite of what you’d pictured. There just wasn’t much lee-way when you were given a team of stubborn assholes that had gotten far too used to slacking off. 

Frank’s could really become something if everyone wanted it and were willing to put in the effort required to get there. Sure, you probably weren’t going to earn a Michelin star but you were sure you could make it worthy of something. 

-

Eddie had mostly kept to his word. Finally washing his hands and keeping his hair out of his face, even if you had had to nag at him a little. There wasn’t as much kick back as before. Sure, he’d roll his eyes and huff and puff but he’d actually do it. 

It’s another Saturday night, you’re not so busy but enough to keep you on your toes. Just longing for the moment you collapsed into your bed and didn’t have to think about this place until Monday morning. 

Eddie sidles up to where you’re working, going over the rota for the next two weeks. Weighing up if waking up at the ass crack of dawn was actually worth all this. 

“So I was thinking..” 

“Uh oh,” you add, snapping the book shut before turning to him, he’s hopeful. Well, that or he’s about to say the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“Yeah great thanks.. so I was thinking, it’s getting warmer, right? I think we should put sandwiches on the menu, and not just boring old sandwiches.. like, like good ones,” his vocabulary is limited but you get what he means. 

You ponder for a moment, staring into his wide, optimistic eyes. It was a good idea to be fair to him, you just weren’t sure if you had the time to conjure up a whole new sandwich menu on top of everything else on your plate. 

“Okay, I actually think that’s a great idea,” you two were civil, not exactly the best buds but you think maybe now you could trust him. “If you can come up with some ideas and make them for me.. I’ll think about it.” 

His grin is infectious as it spreads across his face, “I got you… what are you thinking? Something with chicken or..” fishing for ideas. 

You throw your hands up, a shadow of a smile on your lips, “that is entirely up to you, okay?” 

He nods knowingly, slowly backing away, eager to get started on his first individual project since your arrival. 

“I’m trusting you with this!” you holler after him, getting back to the mess of a rota in front of you. 

“Yes boss,” he calls back from somewhere in the kitchen, “I mean chef,” catching himself. 

Your heart warms a little. Maybe your lectures hadn’t gone so unnoticed after all? 

-

No matter how hard you stare at the screen, willing for something to magically appear, it doesn’t. The line marker blinking at you, taunting you, pleading with you to just write something. Anything!

There’s a quiet wrapping of knuckles against the door causing your head to fly up, finding a surprisingly clean Eddie standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” spinning your chair slightly, “shit, sorry I forgot to say you’re good to go, I’ll see you tomorrow,” flashing him a tight lipped smile. 

“Oh no… most of ‘em have already gone,” vaguely motioning to the now empty kitchen, “uh… a few of us were gonna grab a drink and wondered if you’d wanna join us?” He resembles a shy child, fingers tapping along the battered door frame. 

“Oh!” you must’ve sounded shocked as his eyebrows travel up his forehead in surprise, getting invited out by your crew had just.. never really happened before, “I’m sorry, I actually can’t tonight,” pointing at the blank word document, “the menu is due next week and I uh- I have nothing but you guys have fun,” shooing him off. 

It was a Thursday night and you couldn’t think of anything worse than waking up tomorrow with a blinding hangover. 

“You need help with that menu shit? I mean, my sandwiches are a hit so.. maybe I could help?” placing his jacket on the old cabinet in the corner, prepared to help no matter what you replied. 

You’re not exactly in the position to say no to help at this point.. 

“I mean.. yeah, if you can think of six amazing, brilliant, showstopping new dishes then be my guest because I sure as shit can’t,” unintentionally coming off a little rude. 

It’s just frustrating, the first big step you were taking for this restaurant and you were still somehow managing to fuck it up

“Okay, what’ve you got?” he peers over your shoulder at the blank screen, “ah, right,” he sucks his teeth, “not great.” 

“No.. no it’s not,” slouching down the chair, “I’m completely fucked,” pushing the loose strands of hair from your forehead. 

“You’re not completely fucked- not yet,” dragging the spare chair around to the other side of the desk, “I’m sure we can think of something tonight,” pulling the laptop closer to him. 

You smile at him, grateful for his positivity even if it was fake. 

The pair of you throw some shoddy ideas back and forth for a half hour. None of them good enough to make it to the word document, instead getting scribbled onto a ripped out page from your notebook. 

“I am fucked, aren’t I?” you frown, rubbing your sleepy eyes. 

He chuckles softly, “nah.. there’s some good stuff here,” running his finger down the messy list. 

You feel completely vulnerable with him here, it might have been the lack of sleep or just the fact that you appreciated his presence so much but you foolishly begin to let your thoughts wander. 

“I just feel like I’m fuu-,” immediately regretting opening your mouth, “no, you know what? Doesn’t matter,” you look at the clock on the wall signalling that it had gone well past midnight, “you should get going, it’s late,” pretending to scroll on the still-bare document. 

“No, what were you gonna say?” 

You keep your eyes on the screen, tapping your foot against the leg of the chair, “I said it doesn’t matter.” 

“It obviously does,” he pushes, egging you on. 

You take a sharp intake of breath to signal that you weren’t willing to go any further with this. Why couldn’t he just fucking drop it?

“Oh my God, you started this conversation and now you don’t wanna finish it,” frustrated that it had seemed like you were finally beginning to seem like you were somewhat human, he grabs his discarded jacket, rolling his eyes as he starts to exit the office. 

“I’m scared I’m not doing a good job… you all obviously care about this place and I’ve just come in here and ruined it,” biting down onto your bottom lip, “and as much as you all pretend to like me, I know you don’t and- and that’s fine,” you shrug, exasperated with the weight of a thousand bricks hanging onto your shoulders, “I don’t care about being liked, I just want this restaurant to work but it feels like I can’t even do that,” slumping forward, confounded and slightly in shock that the first person you’d spilled all of this to was fucking Eddie.

“I do like you,” he says quietly, stopping in his tracks, throwing his jacket back down, “everyone does… you’re making this restaurant better,” rejoining you at the desk, “we’re all just stubborn and mean so no one’s told you but you’re doing good,” a reassuring smile overcoming his lips, his hand wavers, unsure of whether to reach out to touch your shoulder or if that was a step too far. 

He flops back into the chair and you offer him a genuine smile for his words. It was really all you could muster without starting to cry. Coming into an already established restaurant with new ideas and ways of working was never easy but to be met with such pushback from him had made it even harder. So to now have him say in front of you, telling you that what you’re doing is right, well it meant the world. 

“Thank you,” you mouth, blinking earnestly as you flip the laptop lid shut, it was too late and you were far too tired to even try to continue. “That really means a lot from you,” attempting to turn your vulnerability into a joke. 

“I mean it, though,”scooting closer on the chair, “I just enjoy arguing with you too much to admit it.” 

You roll your eyes playfully, that much was true, he definitely enjoyed getting under your hair and pissing you off as much as he could. 

“We should go, it’s super late and I’ve got all day tomorrow to do this,” sliding the pen into the pot, feeling his eyes still boring into the side of your face. 

You stand from your seat, expecting him to follow but he stays firmly planted in his chair. Hand reaching out to grab your wrist as you grab your bag. Jolting away as you’re not expecting the sudden contact. 

He swallows, standing up before deciding whether to just fuck it or if this was about to get him fired. You’re blissfully unaware that this internal battle was even happening until his hand is on your cheek, tilting your chin upwards before closing the distance between your bodies, smashing his lips to yours. 

Oh shit. 

It takes a second for your brain to process what was happening but you don’t.. dislike it. He tastes like cigarettes and coffee, sliding his tongue into your parted mouth with a quickness. 

Leaning into the kiss, your hands hesitantly coming to rest on his shoulders. You’re taken aback by how easy it feels, moving together just right. The small of your back crashes into the rigid desk, pulling you out of the kiss and back into reality. Staring back at his darkened eyes with a slight bemused expression. 

“No.. not here,” squeezing his shoulder. His hand paused on your shirt button, getting ahead of himself. Maybe you had found yourself wanting to fuck Eddie but not here. You weren’t that stupid. 

His hand falls, swinging to his side, “oh.. you didn’t- did I fuck up?” still mere inches from your face, so close in fact, you could feel his breath on your flushed cheek. 

“No.. no, I just..” deciding to just bite the bullet and go for it, “do you wanna go back to my apartment? It’s not far,” blinded by the haze of lust that was filling the small room to the brim. 

His eyes grow wide, realising exactly what you meant, buzzing with impatience and excitement. “Yes.. yeah I’d love to,” his plump lips still wet with the remnants of your mouth. 

You nod, letting go of his shoulder to gather your things, and yourself, before pulling him out of the restaurant. Eddie is more than willing to leave his van in the parking lot, jumping into your car with an primal eagerness. 

The car journey is quiet and you wonder if this maybe wasn’t the best idea. What would everyone at work say? Maybe they didn’t have to know? This could be a one time thing and you’ll both just never mention it again. Well, you hope anyway. 

You think your head might just burst the second he walks into your apartment, somewhere you had never expected Eddie to ever appear. 

You’re quick to continue the abandoned kiss, not giving him any opportunity to make wise cracks about your apartment. It somehow felt easier if it was just mindless sex where you didn’t speak. 

Guiding him towards your bedroom because the couch felt just a tad too casual. His hands are everywhere, sneaking underneath your blouse and then back down into the waistband of your pants. You shove him backwards onto your bed, clambering on top quickly so as to not give him a chance to start speaking or to do anything stupid. 

Eddie’s obviously not keen on giving you the higher ground, gripping onto your waist and flipping the both of you so that he led on top. He’s got this devilish grin on his face that is so smug, you just want to slap it off of him. You chase the taste of his mouth with yours, becoming accustomed to the mixture of cigarettes and mint. God, you hope this doesn’t become a regular thing. 

He pulls away from you to gawp down the space between your bodies, mouth hung open, gasping for breath while his fingers skillfully unbutton your pants, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips, “woah… when the hell d’you get that?” staring at the black ink covering your thigh, a rose curling around the length of your flesh. 

A dumb decision you’d made the first week of culinary school. You felt out of place alongside the other chefs who were absolutely covered in tattoos and felt the need to join them. Except, you hadn’t exactly thought about it and just went along with the first thing the dodgy artist had suggested. He’d also quite purposely left out just how much such a large piece would fucking hurt, especially for a first tattoo. 

You join him in looking down at it, curling your lips in disgust, “when I was like… eighteen, it’s ugly and I hate it so thank you,” continuing your task of getting his jacket off, ignoring the fact that he was still ogling the inking and slightly starting to regret your decision to bring him here. 

“It’s fucking sick, what are you talking about?” he’s smirking, running his fingers along the thick lining as your pants hang around your knees, “I thought you were like… boring,” finding the hem of your lacy underwear and tugging on it. 

Your lips hover above his, eyes hooded as you glare at him, “can you just shut up before I regret everything and make you leave?”

He nods instantaneously, connecting your lips with a quickness, shaking his jacket off of his arm and onto the floor with a thud. Repositioning his knees to either side of your thighs, you’d done a good job of getting your shirt half-off, his fingers fiddling with the rest of the buttons as you break from his lips, leaving wet kisses along his stubbly jawline. 

“Holy fuck, you’re joking?” his eyes just about popping out of his head as your pierced nipples spill out of your bra. Another spontaneous teenage decision you hadn’t got round to getting rid of yet. 

His hand is immediately drawn to your exposed breast, full of pure glee, “you’re a dark horse, you know that right?” thumb running over the erect nipple as you fumble with his tattered old belt. 

Your mouth opens to protest his ogling but is quickly replaced with a soft gasp, his thumb working miracles on the sensitive bud. Head falling back against the pillow when his lips replace his thumb, licking and sucking on your nipple with a wicked grin. 

“Shit,” you moan, his growing erection rutting against your core, “can you- please hurry up,” it sounds strangled coming from your throat, embarrassed that you’ve completely melted into a pile of putty beneath him. If you’d have known that his mouth could be put to such good use, maybe you’d have tried this earlier. 

Thankfully, he takes the hint, leaving one last kitten lick to your chest before rushing to get his pants down. Kicking them off to the side somewhere, the clunk of his belt buckle hitting your bed frame on the way down. 

“Oh baby, that all for me?” remarking on your absolutely sodden underwear, hurriedly pulling them down your thighs, before using the same hand to position himself at your dripping entrance. 

You’re too desperate to think of anything smart to say back, knowing that if you opened your mouth you’d probably just start begging. 

His face mere inches from yours as he pushes himself inside, a groan from somewhere deep in his chest falls out, “Jesus Christ,” he stutters, willing himself not to cum right now. Sex is always better with someone you detested. Now why is that? 

Your arms loosely knot around his neck, intertwining your fingers with his hair, trying your utmost to hold eye contact as his hips begin to move. Slow at first, reaching the hilt before pulling back and sliding in, it’s excruciatingly slow and your legs tighten around his waist, begging for more. 

“Faster.. please Eddie,” whining as his pace quickens, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Yeah yeah.. yeah, say my name,” he blabbers, one hand sliding between your, thumb tapping against your swollen clit before rubbing tiny circles to the sensitive surface. 

“Shit,” you breathe, feeling incredibly full as his tip nudges against that soft, spongy spot. Your eyes squeeze shut, illuminated with an illustration of stars and white hot light. Your heart wasn’t eager to just adhere to his demands like that but shit, when he sounded this desperate, you couldn’t help it. 

Chanting his name like an oath in time with his thrusts. The filthy sounds of his balls slapping against your ass fills the room, accompanying the strained groans coming from his throat. It was far too late and your neighbours could surely hear every single thing. 

“Fuck,” he breathes and you can feel his hips stutter, “you gonna cum for me? Huh?” dropping his forehead to rest against yours. 

Your thighs squeeze around his torso at the words, feeling yourself grow closer to your impending orgasm. His thumb still expertly rubbing your clit, slow but deep thrusts as he nears his own end. Your brain too hazy to think coherently about anything as you tighten around him, overcome with the blinding pleasure of your orgasm. 

“Yesyesyes,” you garble, trembling as you come undone completely, back arching from the mattress which brings your bodies impossibly close. Tugging gently on his curls as a means of encouragement, not that he needed it. 

“Ohhh fuck yeah.. shit,” unable to stop himself in time, spurting thick ropes of cum inside of you. You’re too fucked out to truly think about the implications yet, still gasping for air as he pumps his cock a few measly times before pulling out and sitting up on his knees. 

His wild hair stuck to his moist forehead as he looms above, trying to catch his own breath between your knees. “I’m so sorry.. you’re not.. you can’t get pregnant, can you?” one hand coming to rest on your thigh. 

Your eyes roll on their own, accelerating back to Earth at an insane pace, “no,” reshuffling so you laid comfortably on the pillow, “but you can’t do that again,” glaring up at him without any realisation as to what you just said. 

“Again?” his brows raise, still poised between your legs, “there’s a next time?” 

You huff, turning on your side, away from Eddie and his stupid doe eyes and that ridiculous smirk. Reaching down to grab a shirt from your bedside table while he chuckles to himself. 

Ashamedly, your heart skips a beat when he slides in behind you, pressing his body into yours. You were losing it, and embarrassingly quickly too. Ah fuck. 

-

A hand snaking around your waist pulls you from your sleep and for a brief moment you start to think someone had broken in and decided to crawl into bed with you. Until said hand creeps down to your hip and those lips you’d hung off last night press a small kiss to your shoulder. 

“Morning,” you grumble, placing your hand atop of his to stop it creeping into the waistband of your shorts.  

“Ah c’mon..” frowning against your back, “best way to start a long day.” 

“I have to get ready for work, so do you actually,” keeping your head firmly on the pillow, there were no real intentions of getting up. Not yet. 

“Hmm.. five minutes,” hand descending even with yours on top, his smirk evident, dripping through his words. You shudder as his hand reaches your cunt, leaning backwards into his chest, ever so slightly parting your legs. 

“Five minutes,” you agree, fully acknowledging that you were slipping into dangerous territory here. 

-

“Did you fuck Helen too?” you ask, not really wanting to know the answer but just having to know if you were right in your stereotyping. 

Every kitchen had one. The one that seemed to make their way around everyone eventually. You were sure Eddie was that one and you were the last on his hit list. 

“What? Helen was like fifty dude,” messing with the volume dial on the radio. 

“So? Did you?”

He’s silent for a second, throwing his hands into the air, “it was one time,” raging that you’d caught him out on such a baseless accusation. 

“I knew it,” nodding smugly to yourself, he most definitely has the aura of the kitchen bike and that was for sure. 

“Yeah but… you’re like actually hot and I know what you’re thinking but no, I am not a slut… it was once and we were drunk and that was it, so you can shut up,” deciding to turn the stereo off, not a fan of your choice of Taylor Swift records. 

“I’m like… actually hot?” mimicking his tone. 

His eyes roll into the back of his head, of course that’d be the only part of the sentence you picked up on, “hon, you don’t notice me pop a boner everytime we argue?”

Your face screws up, unsure of whether to take it as a compliment or if you should be speaking to HR, “wasn’t generally looking in that direction if I’m honest,” swinging round into the car park, just past Eddie’s abandoned van, “thanks though… I think,” smiling at him as you gather your things. 

“It was a compliment, by the way,” stepping out of your car, tapping the doors of his rusty old van before walking inside, going on and on about Peggy (his van) and how important she was to him. 

You’re not entirely paying attention as you walk into the kitchen, startled by the presence of somebody already clattering about in there. Eddie follows closely behind, just as confused as you that anybody sane would be here this early. 

“Hello?” you call out, rounding the corner to spot Marcus who had taken it upon himself to come in early to start prep, making a monumental mess of the counter. 

“Oh yeah, hey… I wanted to start now ‘cause I need to leave early- you two came in together?” perplexed by the sight of Eddie peering over your shoulder, the batter covered wooden spoon pointed at the pair of you. 

“Right… er- his van broke down last night and I said I’d give him a ride,” nodding at your obviously fabricated story, looking to Eddie for some back up. 

He nods along happily, “I’m gonna take a look at ‘er later, fingers crossed or you’ll be givin’ me rides all week,” slinking away into the locker room with a sly smirk on his face, thankfully hidden by the shoddy wall as he winks. 

“God forbid,” you quip back, scrunching up your nose as you leave the two of them and make your way to the office, throwing your bag onto the cluttered desk and collapsing onto the desk chair. 

You had to get this damn menu done by Friday or you were completely, utterly fucked. Already three days behind on the schedule, you’d be lucky if you even made it home tonight. Flinging the discarded laptop lid open to be met with the very much blank menu once again. An email pings through that makes your heart jump. It must’ve gone unseen when you were otherwise occupied last night. 

Hello,

I hope this email finds you well. 

I just wanted to confirm that Joan will be in attendance on May 18th as per your invitation. She is looking forward to trying the new menu and will subsequently write a review expecting to be published on or around the 20th. 

Thank you, 

Imogen Smart, The Indianapolis Star

Oh shit oh fuck oh balls. 

It had slipped your mind that you’d even invited her along to try the new menu. What a colossal mistake this would turn out to be. 

Stupid, stupid girl. 

You’re slouched over the desk, head in your hands when Eddie creeps through the open door, startling you when he speaks, “you good?” making his way to the desk, leering down to look at the screen as if it was any of his business. 

“I really do not have time for you right now,” smoothing out your new-found forehead wrinkles. You never had time for his bullshit but you certainly did not have time for them now. 

“Eh, what the fuck? I was inside of you like three hours ago and now you’re being weird again?” 

“Shhh- shut up,” you whisper-shout, the chair rolling back as you stand rather ferociously, staring at the gap in the door and just praying that Marcus was too busy doing whatever the fuck he was doing to hear. 

“Jesus… chill out,” his hands are on your shoulders, soothing your nerves irregardless of how much you cared to admit it. 

You blink at him, cheeks burning, “I just- I have so much to do today, this critic is coming and I still haven’t finished the men-” 

Your sentence is rudely interrupted with his soft lips pressing against yours, caressing your cheek with his rough hand. It’s automatic, but you’re leaning into it, finding yourself gripping onto his bicep as he nudges you back towards the desk. It’s probably a good thing that your tailbone smacks into the sharp edge, pushing him from you as you come back to planet Earth. 

“Stop.. stop,” gently squeezing his arm, the other consoling your throbbing spine, “I need you out there today, okay? You’re gonna have to take charge, get shit done and do not bother me unless that kitchen is on fire or you’ve cut your arm off, okay?” lowering your head to meet his eyeline. 

“My arm? That’s a bit extreme,” deciding to turn your high stress situation into a joke. 

“Yes your arm, finger you can deal with, capiche?”

“Yes ma’am,” hand lingering on the small of your back, “you sure you’re good?” 

You exhale slowly and perhaps a tad too harshly snap, “yes.. I’m okay, now unless you have a brand new menu for me.. get out,” sweetening the blow with a sickly smile, motioning for him to leave. 

“Okay okay..” he begins walking to the door, “I’m in charge, right?” ever the opportunist. 

“Yes, but do not make me regret it,” flashing him a warning look. 

“Sweet,” winking at you as he slips out of the door, rubbing his hands together like the little demon he is. You roll your eyes but can’t deny the way your heart thuds with affection.

Whatever was blossoming had the potential to fuck up every single good thing you’d done for this place, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to at least see how far you could go before total chaos.

- p2

You had meant for it to be casual. Like a few times a month sorta thing. And yet somehow you’re sat with your head on Eddie’s shoulder, half asleep as the gory horror film he’d picked plays on. 

It had started that way, to be fair. After a stressful day or on a quick lunch break you’d catch him and pull him into the office. It’s no surprise really that it didn’t take long for the rest of the kitchen to catch on. 

But back to right now, you’re only supposed to be  resting your eyes as you lean into his shoulder. He smelt like kitchen, cigarettes and the new cologne you’d bought for him as his old one was quite frankly disgusting and had irritated your nose. He jolts upright when the screen flashes, knocking you from his shoulder and rudely pulling you out of your slumber. 

“You’re a prick,” you mumble, glowering in his direction before opting for the opposite side of the sofa, the side that wasn’t rude. 

He snorts but quickly realises that you are very serious and very much not happy, “I’m sorry.. come sleep on me again,” pleading with you, “or d’you wanna go to bed?” clicking the pause button on the remote. 

“I wanted to go to bed an hour ago,” grumbling into the cushion as he’d ignored your request and swore that you’d just love this new movie. You didn’t. It was fucking boring. 

“Okay okay, let’s go to bed,” he shuts the television off before standing from the couch, towering over your curled up body, “I’m not fuckin’ carrying you,” already wise to your tricks. 

You groan something incoherently, something deeply offensive to his entire bloodline, before pulling yourself from the couch. “You know, if we’d gone to bed when I’d asked, I would’ve let you put it in my ass,” shrugging innocently before leading the way to your bedroom. 

“Wait what? You didn’t say- I didn’t know that was an option!” speed-walking to catch up with you, incredibly eager to figure out if this offer was still on the table. 

It was not. 

“Yup, shame really.. you should probably listen to me more,” clambering into the unmade bed with the tiniest smirk on your face. 

He’s not far behind, leaping into your bed, “we can still do that though, right? It’s only..” glancing at your alarm clock, “..two” he doesn’t even sound sure of himself. 

“Nope,” pulling the blanket over your shoulders, purposely choosing to face the other way, “you missed your chance buddy.” 

-

Whoever had done the ordering (you) had royally fucked up and left tomatoes off of the list. So as a consequence of your stupidity, you were now in Bradley’s trying to balance ten packets of stupid fucking tomatoes in your arms. 

You’re not even looking where you're going, too focused on not dropping the damn horrid red things as you skulk through the store. It’s already too late when you bash the elbow of some innocent bystander, knocking multiple packets to the ground. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” you grumble, grabbing at the discarded fruits with your spare hand. 

The kind gentleman had already started to try and balance them back in your arms. You look up to thank the stranger to be met with a face you hadn’t seen since high school. 

“Steve Harrington? I- what the fuck?” you remark, clutching onto the produce so as to not cause another collapse. 

“Holy shit, it’s you,” he’s utterly dumbfounded, staring back at your face in amazement. 

You’re suddenly extremely aware of your dirty uniform and messy hair, eyeing his well pressed suit and just general put-togetherness. His hair still perfectly styled though just a bit shorter now. 

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think you lived in Indiana anymore?” the last you’d heard of him, his father had sent him away to his office in New York, desperate for his son to have the life he never had. 

“Ah.. well, I do now, bit of a long story,” chuckling awkwardly as he takes the majority of your tomatoes to the counter, lightening the load. 

“Oh well, that’s cool..” you nod to the cashier who asks if you’d like a bag or multiple bags in your case, “I’d love to catch up but I’ve got a bit of a tomato crisis, uh..” digging in your pocket for the company card. 

“Yeah definitely… here let me,” he grabs one of the jam packed bags under his arm, “I’m gonna assume these aren’t all for you?” leading the way to the parking lot. 

“Oh no, I fucking hate tomatoes.. I messed up at work so it’s my job to fix it,” loading the bags into your dusty old car, “here, take my number and we can plan something.. it’s been so long,” grabbing for your phone in your apron. 

“I uh- I actually have your number,” he nods, not bothering to get his own phone out. 

“I’ve changed my number since high school, Steve.” 

“No, yeah I know.. I got it from Robin, I was s’posed to call you when I got back..” rubbing his thumb along his forehead and into his hair, “I’ll give you a call later and we can do something,” smiling softly as he closes your back door. 

“Oh, okay.. yes please call me, I- uh I really have to get back,” sliding into the driver's seat, fumbling with your keys, as you roll the window down to continue the conversation. 

“I will, I hope your tomato crisis.. gets better,” shrugging awkwardly as you start the engine. Wincing at his choice of words. 

“Me fucking too,” rolling your eyes as you pull off, not entirely registering what had just happened, focused on getting these stupid vegetables back to the restaurant. 

It’s not until an unknown number flashes up on your screen that you think about it again. He’d left it until you were right in the middle of stuffing dinner down your throat to call of course. 

“Hello?” you muffle into the phone, chewing on the lukewarm piece of chicken. 

“Hey! It’s Steve.. you said to call so.. I called,” he sounds nervous, like he was calling a stranger and not you. 

“Oh hey.. sorry I’m eating,” covering your mouth as you loudly swallow, “how are you?” 

“Yeah I’m good, hope your crisis turned out okay,” laughing into the receiver. 

“Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad.. thank you for your help, you saved me from squishing a ton of tomatoes.” 

“Of course,” he clears his throat, “would you wanna grab a coffee or something tomorrow? I take it you’re busy with your.. tomatoes but I’m free pretty much whenever.” 

“Yes.. yes erm-,” you set the phone onto loudspeaker and flit through the bookings for tomorrow, it wasn’t insanely busy and you were sure they would manage without you for an hour or so, “does ten sound good for you?” 

“Ten is perfect,” you can hear his smile through the phone, “I’ll see you there then, enjoy your dinner,” still sounding as awkward as ever. 

“Okay.. I’ll see you then, then,” making a mental note for tomorrow that you’d probably end up forgetting anyway. 

You end the call, locking your phone and finally giving all your attention to the cold plate of food in front of you. 

“Who was that?” Eddie appears out of nowhere, frowning as he walks into the office. 

“Hmm? Oh, my friend Steve,” devouring the chicken without a second thought as to why he was even questioning it. 

“Your friend? That you’re going for coffee with…?” 

“Were you listening to my conversation?” blinking up at him. 

“No.. I overheard you- don’t change the subject, you’re ditching work for a date?” he’s scowling, coming to perch on the desk. 

“It’s not a date,” you warn, prodding the fork into his rib, “he’s a friend from school and we’re catching up while it’s quiet tomorrow, is that okay with you?” shaking your head, not that you were genuinely asking for his approval. 

He narrows his eyes, “I suppose..” he takes the fork from your hand, helping himself to your dinner, “it’s just coffee?” asking tentatively as his greedy ass tucks in. 

“Oh my God yes, it’s just coffee,” he was incredibly jealous for someone who was not your boyfriend. 

“Okay okay.. sheesh, no need to get defensive.. date whoever you want,” shrugging as if he couldn’t care less. 

“You’re the one getting jealous, not my fault you never ask me to go for coffee.” 

“Because we spend every waking moment together anyway,” repetitively banging his heel into the desk, irritating you to no end. “But I’ll make sure to ask you to go for coffee from now on.. don’t want some loser taking my place.” 

You huff, pulling the plate away from his greedy hands, “are you done?” 

He shuffles backwards, still picking at your food despite your obvious attempts to get it away from him. “Okay okay.. I’m done.” 

Eddie, in fact, does not drop it. 

He’s still pouting when you climb into bed, sighing to himself like a pathetic old dog. Except now, he’d become desperate and slightly weird about it. Making all sorts of promises and hypothetical dates for you two to go on. 

“Why don’t we go for coffee tomorrow? I’ll even pay,” walking his fingers along your side. 

“Eddie please, can you stop? Who am I in bed with right now? Because it’s not Steve, I can tell you that,” exasperated by his incessant attempts to piss you off. 

“Okay.. okayy,” retiring this tired bit for the night at long last, “you’re still taking me to work, right?” settling his hand on your waist, cuddling into your back. 

“Yes, you bum,” switching the lamp off before setting your head on the pillow. 

“I’m not a bum,” feeling him frown against your back, “it’s not my fault you refuse to get in my van.” 

“It’s a death trap, I’d rather risk walking along the highway,” smiling into the darkness. 

“Yeah whatever, good night,” he mumbles, pretending to be pissed off until you feel the tiniest, sweetest kiss to your shoulder. 

-

You’re running late, as usual. Something about the bookings being fucked for tonight meaning you were either going to have a full restaurant or have absolutely no one show up. 

It didn’t matter to you, not right now anyway because you’re jogging along the sidewalk to get to the dang café before Steve thinks you’ve abandoned him.  

You’re huffing and puffing when you shove open the door, making a royal fool of yourself as anyone would believe you’ve just sprinted in a marathon to get here. 

Steve jolts up the second he hears the door go, giving you a small wave from his table in the corner. It’s a relief that he hadn’t just up and left considering you were fifteen minutes late. 

“I am so so sorry,” you say hurriedly, sliding into the other chair, “another crisis and obviously I’m the only one who’s capable of fixing things so..” you stop your rambling to look at him properly, “sorry- you don’t care, shit did you order?” 

He chuckles nervously, “yeah.. I didn’t know what you wanted so I didn’t get you anything,” he stands up, “what d’ya get?” 

“Uhh a cappuccino would be great.. thanks,” setting your bag down on the vacant chair beside you. 

You chat about nothing and everything for a while until Steve turns the conversation back to high school. Now, you and Steve had a weird relationship during high school; hung around the same group, had a massive crush on the guy and was pretty certain that he at least liked you too. It had just never amounted to anything. 

“I remember in school, you always used to cook shit for us.. it’s crazy that you’ve got your own restaurant now,” shaking his head in slight disbelief. 

You’d bring tupperware full to the brim with whatever random shit you’d cooked up the night before. Forcing your friends to eat it and share their opinions no matter how harsh they could be. 

“It’s not really my restaurant,” sipping the cappuccino he’d kindly bought, “I just run it and make sure it doesn’t burn down or go bankrupt,” laughing to yourself. 

“So it’s technically yours..” fingers fiddling around with the empty sugar packet, “I’ll have to come by sometime, I wanna see what all the fuss is about.” 

“I mean, I could probably get you in tomorrow.. if you wanted?” 

“Well yeah, that sounds great,” smiling earnestly across the table. 

“Great! I’ll text you the details later but you should definitely bring your wife, I’d love to meet her,” you vaguely remember seeing the extravagant wedding pictures on Facebook a few years back. 

You hadn’t paid much attention as to who he’d married just recalled noticing the absolutely gargantuan manor house in the back and how stunning her dress was. 

His smile fades and his mouth opens to speak but doesn’t manage to squeeze anything out. You get the feeling that that might have been the wrong thing to say. Immediately wanting to slide down your seat and hide under the table. 

Steve takes it well though, laughing softly, “Ah.. not anymore but uh- thank you for bringing that back up,” playfully shaking his head. 

“Oh no, oh my God.. I’m sorry,” grimacing because of your big fat mouth, “I thought I’d seen it on Facebook but maybe that wasn’t you.. oh fuck.” 

“No.. it probably was me, we just- yeah not anymore,” wiggling his empty hand in your direction, only just now are you noticing the lack of a ring. 

“I’m sorry,” smiling apologetically, “I’ve gotta ask though.. what happened?” 

He sits back in his chair, preparing for the absolute novel of a story he was about to tell, “well, my dad moved me to New York, wanted me to learn how to be a man or whatever,” waving his arms about, “and I met the love of my life- I thought I met the love of my life.. we got married and it was great for a little while but she..” he inhales, recalling the still bitter memories, “..obviously didn’t feel the same way,” you’re sat eager eyed, waiting for the real gossip, “she was fucking her boss.. whole time.” 

“Shittt…” baring your teeth in a pained expression, “that’s awful Steve, I’m so sorry,” gingerly patting his outstretched arm, “what a bitch.” 

He nods along, “yeah she is,” his fingers drum a rhythm into the table, “that’s why I’m back here… I’m sick of New York.” 

“God,” guilt rising into your chest for being the one to bring that back up, “at least you’re home now, right? Must be nice seeing everyone again,” your eyes flitting to your phone that had lit up for the umpteenth time. 

eds:) : when r u coming back?? 

eds:) : helloooo? 

eds:) : stop fucking ur boyfriend and come back 2 work 

eds:) : i’m being serious now we need u 

Steve follows your gaze to your phone screen, realising that you’d been sitting here for a while now and he’d just pulled you from your work to talk about his messy divorce. “Work?” 

You look back at him, “yeah.. I’m gonna have to run, but I’ll get you a table for tomorrow,” pushing your chair back, grabbing for your bag, “bring whoever.. I’ll text you the details!” offering him a small smile as you rush out of the busy cafe not bothering to wait for his reply. 

-

Eddie is just as irritating as expected when you get back, hanging off of your arm the second you walk in the door. 

“So, you just had coffee? You were gone a long time, man,” an attempt to play off his jealousy, though it was hardly working. 

“Don’t call me man, and yep, just coffee. Like I’ve said a hundred times before,” hanging up your bag and tying the apron around your waist. 

“Right.. he wasn’t tryna do anything though, was he? ‘Cause I can tell him straight if you need me to,” hanging around your ankles like a lost puppy dog. 

“He’s in the middle of a divorce. I don’t think you need to do anything, big boy,” gently patting his arm. 

“Ohh so that’s why he’s back and trying to fuck you now.. I get his game.” 

You turn to face him, sandwiched between his body and the rusty lockers, “will you just relax? Please,” running your hands down his chest. 

Eddie frowns slightly, but nods, “he’s got nothin’ on me anyway..” a silhouette of a smirk forming on his face, “you know who’s givin’ it to ya good,” planting his lips on yours before you get the chance to express your utter disgust. 

You’re smiling when he pulls back but push him away from you regardless, “do not ever say that shit to me again,” tightening the straps around your waist, walking away from the freak and into whatever hell awaits you in the kitchen.  

-

It’s not very surprising that Steve comes in alone, your heart aches a little seeing him sat at the table on his own. 

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie is watching your face with a foul scowl on his. His eyes roll to the back of his head when you announce that you’re going to see how he is, practically snarling at the thought. 

He knows the dish in front of him is Steve’s order, he’d audibly criticised the fact that Steve had removed the mushrooms from his food, is he a fucking toddler or something? 

His eyes dart around the room, pursing his lips as he prepares to maybe just let the glob of spit fall out of his mouth and accidentally into Steve’s childish dinner. 

“Don’t,” Tina’s hand clamps over his mouth, stopping his despicable plans in motion. 

“I wasn’t actually gonna do it,” he protests, glowering at his co-worker. He definitely was going to do it and she knew it. 

“Leave him alone,” flashing him that universally understood look that tells him not to even dare, “can you blame her, though? Meow,” grinning as her eyes flicker to you and Steve through the tiny window. 

Eddie kisses the back of his teeth, whipping the dish towel at her, “ha ha very funny,” she’s desperate to rile him up as much as possible, taunting him with her mean quips. 

His eyes slide to the window, met with the image of you absolutely cracking up at something Steve had said. It was the kinda laugh he loved to force out of you, usually late at night when you were overly tired and a little hazy. Unheard by most people. It was a slight comfort to know that Steve definitely wasn’t that funny, he could almost bank on it. 

It’s like torture watching the pair of you interact for what feels like forever. Pulling his eyes away, deciding to go for a cigarette instead of putting himself through any more of that. 

The air outside is still, it’s getting colder again but it seemed like Indiana was still hanging onto the dregs of summer; the sky illuminated with streaks of pink and orange. Maybe that’s what he was doing? Desperately clawing to keep your thing alive all the while you were trying to wriggle out of it. 

He’s harshly pulled out of his self-pitying cloud, “Eddie?” you call out of the door, bounding over to where he was slouched against the brick wall, “thank you for doing that.. he said it’s great,” your toothy grin making an appearance. 

Eddie grunts something in response, trying desperately not to think of you smiling at Steve like that. 

“What? You okay? Why’re you being weird?” 

“I’m not being weird,” he shrugs, lying through his teeth. He couldn’t help it, his heart twisting and contorting with every mention of that prick's name. 

“Yes you are,” sighing softly, “you’re actually jealous? I thought you were just joking,” stepping toward him as he throws the cigarette to the floor. 

His eyes eventually find yours, “I’m not.. jealous,” curling his finger into the bow of your apron strap, using it to pull you in, “I don’t get jealous,” another blatant lie. 

“Mhm is that right?” you giggle, his behaviour over the past few days had proven that statement to be false. Wrapping your arms around his waist as your cheek begins to rest on his chest. 

Desperately trying to convince himself that this is a sign. That if you’d really wanted to, you’d be in there, doing this with Steve. But you’re not. You’re here. You’re clinging onto him and everything is fine. 

-

The door handle at the front of the store rattles a couple times before whoever is behind it gives up and knocks, you all look at each other slightly confused before Eddie takes the plunge and goes to answer. You’re standing behind the counter with a guarded expression, not prepared for whatever crazy was trying to get in at stupid o’clock in the morning. 

Steve is standing behind the open door with an apologetic smile, holding up a takeaway cup obviously bought for you. Eddie is less than thrilled, skulking back into the kitchen with the most horrendous scowl plastered on his face. 

“I’m sorry.. I should’ve text first,” kicking the door shut behind him, offering out the warm cup for you to take. 

You breathe a sigh of relief, “yeah.. that would’ve been a good idea, thank you though,” gladly taking his offering. 

“I just wanted to say thank you for last night, I didn’t catch you before I left so thought I’d stop by,” sipping on his own coffee, poised in the middle of the restaurant floor. 

Eddie’s stood leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen from the front of house, arms crossed against his chest. Disapproving glare set solidly on Steve. 

“Yeah absolutely, I’m glad you liked it,” smiling fondly at the man, sipping appreciatively on your cappuccino. 

“I uh- I have a question for you,” his eyes flit to Eddie who was still stood with his eyes narrowed, scowling, “in private.. if that’s alright?” 

You spin to look at Eddie, nodding towards the back, “I’ll meet you in my office in a minute,” shooing him off, “please.” 

He snarls back at you, looking back over his shoulder to shoot daggers into Steve before eventually disappearing into the kitchen. For someone acting so jealous, you’d think you’d have been in a committed relationship for years. 

Rolling your eyes as you trundle closer to Steve, “ignore him.” 

“He a handful?” 

“Mm and a mouthful sometimes,” perching on one of the tables, totally oblivious to your innuendo. 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead, blinking ferociously as you finally catch on. 

“Oh no- I just meant he’s like.. rude,” stumbling over your words, cheeks beginning to burn. 

“I know what you meant,” Steve assures, though he looked a little flustered himself. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, “just continue,” rolling your hand, desperate for him to forget you’d opened your mouth.

He clears his throat, “so I was talking to my buddy.. he owns Garson’s in the city and he was saying there’s a spot opening for a sous,” glancing at you, “I just mentioned your name and I’ll give you his number but he said he’d love to meet you,” his mouth twitching into a smile. 

Well, that was not at all what you were expecting.  

In fact, it was a massive curveball ball that you’d not rehearsed a response to. 

Garson’s was insane, they’d just earned their first star and everybody who was anybody was trying to get a reservation. It would be career defining to even stage there. 

“Oh wow… Steve I actually don’t know how to reply to that,” placing your coffee onto the table in fear of dropping it on the floor. 

“Well obviously think about it, I’ll text you his details later, he seemed pretty eager to get someone in so.. don’t take too long,” drumming his fingers onto the table. 

“Yeah.. right, holy shit,” you remark, trying to take it all in. It’s unclear what to even say to him in this situation, thank you seemed too small but slathering his face in kisses was probably a step too far. 

“I gotta go, let me know what you decide,” his smile honest and genuine as he grabs his coffee and heads to the door. 

Just before he slips out, you jump back into action, “thank you!” beaming with pure unadulterated joy. 

He nods, disappearing into the street as the door slams shut behind him. 

You can barely contain yourself, practically skipping through the kitchen to go and find Eddie who you were absolutely certain was not going to share the same level of excitement you possessed. 

“What’s got you so happy? He ask you out on a real date finally?” turning up his nose without you saying a word. 

“Noo..” you chime in, still riding the high, kicking the door shut behind you, traipsing over to rest your hands on Eddie’s shoulders, “so.. Steve said there’s a position going in Garson’s and it’s basically mine if I want it..” struggling to contain your grin. 

His hands falter, brushing down your sides to now hang limp beside him, “what?” Unsure if what he had heard had been correct. 

“There’s a job at Garson’s and it’s basically mine.. isn’t that great?” grabbing at the back of his neck. You were expecting a little more happiness than this, you can’t lie. 

He looks almost offended. Features screwed up in pure confusion, as if you’d insulted his mother. “So you’re leaving? Some fancy job pops up from your fancy pants boyfriend and you’re suddenly abandoning us?” 

“Wha- no? I’m not abandoning anybody,” removing your arms from his shoulder, “this is an opportunity to actually do something with my career, show everyone what I’m capable of,” you couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just pretend to be happy for you. 

He stands up, the chair making a god-awful noise behind him, “so you get to come in here, change everything and then jump ship as soon as something better comes along?” eyes that once looked at you with pure adoration now full of disgust. 

You’re gobsmacked. Utterly speechless that he was acting like such a petulant jerk. You hadn’t seen this side of him since that night so many months ago in this very office. 

“Eddie, what has got into you? This is good news! You didn’t expect me to stay here forever, did you?” 

“I don’t know,” exasperated, “I just didn’t expect you to run to the next best thing so soon,” he looks venomous, mean. 

“I’m not! He’s my friend and he’s helping me out.. why are you being like this?” he may as well have torn your heart from your chest and stomped on it in front of you. 

Eddie scoffs, running a hand over his mouth, “your friend… who you haven’t spoken to in years suddenly has this great new job for you and has absolutely no ulterior motive? Ha, right.” 

It finally clicks in your brain, he doesn’t really give a shit whether you stay or go. This was about hating Steve and being a jealous loser despite still not asking you to be his girlfriend. 

“That’s what this is about? You think Steve.. what? That he wants to fuck me? You’re pathetic, do you know that?” 

“It’s not about that,” raising his voice, chest puffed out. This was the Eddie you’d met and hated six months ago. You were sure you’d never have to deal with that prick again. “I don’t.. I don’t care what or who you do, I just think you’re a traitor and I don’t want anything to do with someone like that.” 

Your face falls, blinking rapidly as the tears prick in your eyes. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat. He could be an evil prick when he wanted to be and before, it never would’ve upset you this much. But now it felt personal, like you’d let him in only for him to use everything you’d told him against you. 

“Get out,” bottom lip quivering, tears threatening to spill. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction at least, waiting until the door is slammed in your face to let them fall. 

Humiliated and utterly pathetic as you flop into the chair, letting the tears fall free. 

If he was trying to convince you to stay, then he’d failed. Majorly. 

-

You’re hidden in the office for the remainder of the day. Courtesy of Eddie’s horrible words. 

And he’s just a ray of sunshine in the kitchen. Clattering about as he drops pans, recklessly launching knives and utensils onto the counter. 

Marcus has had enough of his tantrum, tapping on his shoulder, “let’s get some fresh air, yeah?” steering Eddie towards the back alley. 

He slides down the brick wall, cigarette poised between his lips while Marcus mouths something to the rest of the beady eyed staff. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Marcus asks, he’s genuine but stern. Has talked the boy down a multitude of times but this seemed different. 

“She’s fucking leaving..” blowing the smoke from the side of his mouth, “some stuck up restaurant that dickhead Steve got her into.. that’s what’s wrong with me.” 

Marcus’ mouth opens but doesn’t speak, deciding to get down to Eddie’s level, perching next to him on the floor, “and why’s that made you so angry? She break up with you as well or somethin’?” struggling to understand why he cares so much. 

“No,” Eddie glowers at the floor, “you can’t break up if you’re not together. I’m just.. I’m pissed off, she came in here.. changed everything and now she gets to just move on like it’s nothing.” 

Poor Marcus is trying to piece it all together in his head. Settling on the only sensible conclusion that maybe whatever was going on between you and him was perhaps a hell of a lot deeper than either of you were admitting. 

“So.. you’re pissed that she made this shithole better? You sure that’s it?” questioning the validity of Eddie’s anger. 

“What’re you tryna say?” Eddie snaps, gritting his teeth together. How dare Marcus not believe his incredibly flimsy words? 

“That you’re not really angry ‘cause she’s moving on, you’re pissed because of this new guy and you think he’s.. he’s gonna take your spot or something? I can see right through you bro,” clapping his hand emphatically on Eddie’s shoulder, having caught him red handed. 

Eddie glares at the man, snarling but unable to respond. Because he was right. Eddie is a pathetic, insecure loser who can’t bring himself to just admit to you that he was jealous of Steve. It was easier for him to just make you hate him than to be honest with you about how he felt, at least that way you didn’t have the opportunity to shut him down. You couldn’t reject him if you didn’t know. 

“You’re gonna fuck this up forever if you keep acting like this,” Marcus sighs, getting up from the floor, “get in there and apologise or you’ll just push her right into his arms and I really don’t wanna deal with you if that happens,” flashing him a stern but well-meaning glare before disappearing back into the kitchen. 

His eyes squeeze shut, and as much as he didn’t want to hear that, he knew he was right. Self-sabotage had always been his forte except this time he was truly terrified of the possibility of losing you. And he wasn’t going to let that happen.  

-

There’s a quiet knock on your office door and you’re just about prepared to bite the head off of whoever dares to disturb you. 

“Come in,” you bark, dropping the pen onto the desk in frustration. 

A very meek Eddie peeks around the door, testing the waters to decide if it’s safe to fully come in without you throwing something at him.

Nothing collides with his head so he pushes the door open, holding onto a plate of pasta he’d made especially for you. He’s chewing on his bottom lip, still deciding on the right words to say. 

“You haven’t eaten all day..” he decides on, gingerly placing the plate in front of you on the desk, “you don’t have to eat it but don’t throw it away,” stepping back from the desk with extreme caution. 

You’re taken aback, not at all expecting the kind gesture, blinking at the delicious food in front of you. “Can I have a fork..?” 

“Shit yes I got one,” digging in his apron pocket for the utensil, laying it down next to the plate gently. 

“Thank you,” you nod, poking your fork into the food. It is delicious and it was still warm which is an even better bonus. 

He smiles slightly, “I wanted to say.. I’m sorry for being an asshole, you should..” trailing off into silence, swallowing the lump in his throat, “you should go for it, it’s a great opportunity,” reassuring himself even if he didn’t quite believe it. 

You chew slowly, apprehensive about his sudden change in attitude. This surely hadn’t been a conclusion he’d reached on his own and you wonder just who in the kitchen had given him a pep talk before sending him in here. You appreciated it nonetheless. As weird and complicated as you guys were, you weren’t quite ready to give it up already. 

“Really?” you look up, trying to gauge his reaction. It was evident that he was putting on a brave front and he still had some apprehensions about it all but for you he was willing to ignore them. 

Your heart swells. Which makes you feel a little sick. In a good way though, well, you think so anyway. 

“Yeah.. you’re a great chef and you deserve better than this shithole,” one side of his mouth twisting into a smile. The words are heavy and difficult to get out, but they’re true. He means it and would really do anything to ensure you were happy. Even if it did mean swallowing his pride and letting you follow that douchebag Steve. 

You stand from your chair, rushing over to wrap your arms around his neck. “Thank you..” resting your chin on his shoulder. His arms wrap around your waist, placing a soft kiss upon your forehead. 

He was going to miss these little moments the most, he thinks. Shaking his head slightly when his mind flits to the thought of you in some other kitchen doing this with someone other than him. 

“You want some food? Don’t wanna eat this whole thing myself,” pulling away from his grip, motioning back towards your desk. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” masking the ache in his heart with a sloppy grin. 

If his uncle had taught him anything, it was that you had to make sacrifices for the people you loved. Or thought you loved. Whatever. 

-

It doesn’t take long for Steve to show his stupid little face again and it irks Eddie to know that you were probably texting with him this entire time. Getting excited about this new position with another man. Blergh. It was knocking him sick. 

You look over Steve’s shoulder to give Eddie a small glance, smiling ever so tenderly as you disappear into your office. That should be enough confirmation that he truly had nothing to worry about. It was just a job. Oh God, what if you find someone else to bicker with? Look what had happened to you two. 

That sicky feeling returns and he wants to bolt. But he doesn’t, he’s big and brave and instead chooses to focus on finely dicing some onions until you reemerge from your office. Whenever the fuck that would be. 

It must be a whole half an hour before Steve walks through the kitchen, giving Eddie a sly pat on the back on the way out. Smug prick. He just grips the knife tighter, waiting for you to confirm that you’d be gone next week and that he should really start moving on before you left. 

“Ed’s can I talk to you outside?” your voice snaps him out of his pity party, giving the rest of the crew what looked like a sympathetic smile, you’d tell all of them the bad news later. 

He knew this was it. You were about to lay it all bare, tell him it’s okay, maybe we can still be friends? I hope you understand but I have to go and work at this fancy restaurant with my fancy high school boyfriend, sorry! 

Reluctantly walking into the alley way, the alley way you’d shared many sneaky kisses, reassuring words and that one time you’d got carried away and almost gave him a hand job right then and there. It was painful, the once comforting aura of the brick walls had since vanished. 

He’s already bracing for the worst, keeping his back to you as he walks further down the path. It’s the only way he could be sure that he wouldn’t end up begging on his knees for you to stay. And even then he couldn’t guarantee that wouldn’t happen. 

“Will you look at me?” your voice echoing through his veins. 

He does, turning on his heel excruciatingly slow. Bottom lip starting to sting as his teeth cut into the skin. 

“When are you going?” solemn and miserable, honestly trying his hardest not to start pleading with you. 

“Never,” shaking your head, “I’m staying here,” feeling incredibly smug. You looked it too, nose scrunched up as you grin at him. 

Fuck. He’s not even sure if he’s heard that right. But the blood rushes back through his body and he almost crumbles, falling to his knees to thank whichever being up there had answered his prayers. The glum look he’d seemed to possess had vanished, grinning like a fucking maniac as he bounds over to you. One minute you’re on the floor and the next you’re being spun around, his arms almost crushing you. 

“What? Why’d you change your mind? I- fuck I’m so happy,” setting you back on solid ground, much to your relief. 

“Well, the thing is.. there’s this guy who works here, he’s a bit of an asshole but for some reason I really like him and he’s convinced me to stay,” fingers digging into his biceps, still afraid that you might become airborne at any moment. 

There’s not time to catch your breath before he’s crashing his lips into yours with great force, sending you flying backwards against the wall. His hands grabbing at anything he could touch, travelling the length of your body to brace your cheeks. Keeping you steady, making sure this was actually real. Christ, he thinks he loves you. 

Scrap that, he’s fucking certain that he loves you. 

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic

[iam-anordinary-human-orami]

Okay but I need Jean being particularly and exhaustively French. As a person who lives far away from my country of origin, I really appreciate Jean speaking English in a proper manner, cause that's how youre mostly taught before you move to an English speaking country and realise there's different accents and the lingo makes no sense whatsoever. Also his discontent for Americans is on point and familiar and I love that for us.

But yeah gimme Jean forgetting a word in English and trying to mime it out. Gimme Jean making a joke that makes sense in French but sounds like nonsense in English (Cat and Laila are looking at him confused but Jeremy is laughing cause he didnt get it but Jean attempting to joke is adorable behaviour that should be celebrated) Gimme Jean recognising English words that come from French ones and pointing it out to the people around him ("that comes from the french word such and such, and your pronounciation makes me want to wither and wilt until i am an empty husk" "Jean it's just a croissant" "americans, thieves of cultures, butchers of languages") . Gimme Jean walking past French tourists and listening in to their convos. Gimme Jean being taken out to french restaurants only to be thoroughly dissapointed that everything tastes off and is incredibly expensive to boot. GIMME HIM GIMME HIM GIMME

#aftg #all for the game #jean moreau #tsc #the sunshine court

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 8}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: A routine gets settled as you spend more and more time of yours in Joel's home. Sharing your lives in a new and exciting way. But of course, your streak of bad luck continues in a way you never could've expected.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: stress, stressful work environment, secret relationship, power dynamics (due to work hierarchy), past trauma, family trauma, academic language, reader is in college, age gap, stalker, stalking, ultimatums, reader is so stressed, talk of pregnancy, braxton hicks doing the lords work of stressing everyone out, tommy makes an appearance, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, smoking, allusions to cheating, dishonest language, racy photos, sexting, cigarettes, tobacco, outburst, sexual content, smut, unprotected p in v, reader has an iud, secret sex, sex in the workplace, oral, f receiving oral, cum eating (!), joel is a sexual menance, dirty talk, sweet talk, um if i missed anything let me know?

A/N: so, the first week of this year has thoroughly kicked my ass, but i've been distracting myself with finishing up this fic. i hope y'all like this new chapter, pls don't be mad at the ending, feel free to (kindly and not really)yell at me in the comment or even message me c:

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Joel carried your unconscious form up the stairs, the weight of how different this time was compared to all the others before. Before you weren’t broken. Before it was all desperate kisses and the peeling off of clothes to get to the skin underneath. Before it was all sleepy mumblings as you had insisted on a movie only to fall asleep against him within the first half hour. Before it had been a quiet shadowing of each other after a long day of work. A refuge found in his room, all warm tones and soft sheets, softer skin underneath wandering hands.

But this time, this now, was so unlike all the times before. It was heartache and worry that permeated his very skin. Had been consuming him from the second he got that call you would be late because of a meeting with the man who visited you at the bar, who sent warning bells ringing within his mind.

It was after.

After the distance you had put between them for three days that he tried to respect. After the times he didn’t ask about the meeting, knowing you would tell him on your own if you wanted to. After he chased away an intruder that was determined to take what they wanted from you. After he fired that inane cook for his behavior toward you, citing all of instances he had failed to mesh into the atmosphere and environment he had painstakingly created in his restaurant. After he rushed to you, only to find you looking so small and alone in your apartment with a set of stitches he felt at fault for. After he saw you crumble in on yourself and reveal the broken pillars you had been trying to maintain.

You had seemed to calm, so quiet as you talked about your childhood. About a woman who tore you down before you could even begin to build yourself up. About a man who let her, who was supposed to care for you and protect you. A family that saw you as a burden to pass around. About a professor who was sworn to teach and provide a safe environment for his students. Who was abusing that power to protect the man who was targeting you now.

He tried to connect all the puzzle pieces that fell from your mouth in such a calm, matter of fact manner.

He tried to make sense of it all, his head pounding and his heart thudding as he laid you down in his bed and fixed the blankets around you the way he knew you liked. The softest one that normally rested over the comforter, slipped in between the sheets so the plushness of it brushed against your skin. A softness you craved in every aspect of your life but could only seem to find in the comfort of a measly blanket at the end of each day.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he cradled your face in his hands and wiped away the tears that had made tracks down your cheeks. Silent ones that had alarmed him as you fell apart in such a controlled way right in front of him. And he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to help. His words had fallen on deaf ears, on resolute thoughts that this is what you deserved.

Joel sat there, silent tears of his own falling from bleary eyes as his heart ached for you. Resting his forehead against yours, he peppered kisses all over your face, he tried to make it right. He could only hope he was doing right by you, doing you more good than harm. You’ve had enough of that in your life, he was slowly learning.

Thinking back on his own girls, the ones he protected from bullies over not having mothers. The ones he protected over accusations that they weren’t wanted, that Joel was a poor substitute for a guardian. The ones that he cared for the second she was born and the second he realized one had been abandoned at a park. A mother that had been ill, hadn’t wanted to tell anyone, hadn’t wanted her daughter to know. A mother who had seen how Joel interacted with his own daughter and left a note in a coat pocket for him to find. Asking him to care for her like his own. A folder with all of her official papers loaded in the backpack she had left behind on a bench, hoping for the best of a situation she hadn’t revealed to anyone.

He ached.

For his girls. For the woman who saw him for the man he tried to be. For you.

The clock on the beside table displayed that it was late in the afternoon, bleary eyes looking around the darkened room. Joel was nowhere to be seen, no sign of him having been beside you, the covers wrapped around you and the other side of the bed cold to the touch when you reached out a hand.

Oh.

Trying to tamp down on the feeling of abandonment, you slipped from underneath the covers. The house was quiet, the ticking of a clock in the living room the only sound greeting you when you descended the stairs. The trilling of a phone the next thing to signal that you were alone. Joel’s phone left atop a counter in the kitchen, but his boots and wallet were missing. Tommy’s name flashed across the screen and you set your own down beside it and picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Oh finally! Someone is answering, Maria’s at the hospital now. Said she had a crawling feeling over her stomach, so we rushed in. Waiting on the doctor now.” His voice was frantic, his anxiety palpable over the line.

“Tommy, I’m sorry. I have no idea where Joel is, he left his phone behind.”

“Dammit, old man always forgetting it’s the only thing that let’s me talk to him.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“…you okay, hon?”

“I will be, do you want me to…come sit with you?”

“No, no, you just stay put. I’ll call if we need you to, okay? You’re so sweet for offering.”

A ding from the phone had you pulling it from your ear and the notification of a text peeked at you before disappearing. Then another and another. You couldn’t see anything other than the nondescript display of ‘new text message’, Joel opting to hide the details in case anyone glanced at his phone if he set it down at work.

“Okay, Tommy, everything is going to be okay.”

“Alright, hon, be in touch. Oh, and yell at my brother for me will ya? Old man leaving two important things behind in his rush for whatever pulled his attention.”

“Sure, Tommy.” You felt a small tug at the corner of your mouth. 

Making coffee in Joel’s house was a start to feeling more like yourself, you enjoyed it in the backyard, watching the way the sky reflected in the pool he had installed there. Cup half empty and cell phone in hand open to an email that sent your heart racing is where Joel found you when he returned home. The sound of his tires hitting the drive not registering even as you sat outside.

His warm hand cupping your shoulder focused your eyes to the way he was kneeled in front of you with a concerned look on his face.

“Hey, darlin’,” His lips quirked up, trying to comfort you any way he could. He leaned in to press a kiss to your temple. As if waking from a dream, you lunged at him and wrapped yourself tight around him at the touch. He huffed out as his butt hit the ground but it arms encompassed you all the same, his face buried in your hair as you tucked yours into the crook of his neck.

“I’m so sorry, Joel. I just got so overwhelmed and-and-“

“Hey, woah, hey now, it’s okay.”

“T-tommy called your phone while you were gone. Said Maria had to go to the hospital.”

“I know, called ‘im as soon as I got in. Said he spoke to you and to keep an eye on you as well. Everythin’ is fine with them, false alarm.”

“He-Joel, he told me it was his brother.”

“Who told you what now?”

“My professor, the guy who’s been doing all this to me, is his brother. Said that the internship I applied for is mine if I drop the charges and ‘play nice’.” Sardonic tone coated your words as you confessed to what had happened the other day, swallowing down the shame and embarrassment to talk to the man trying to take care of you, trying to look after you.

“What the f- oh darlin’, no.”

“He-he said it was my fault because of how I was dressed and interacted with him while he was a patron at the bar. How I interact with you, playing a victim but that the attention I’m getting is deserved.”

His silence was heavy, tension coiling in his muscles as he stayed wrapped around you. Anger and the need to protect rolling off of him in waves.

“We’ll fix this, okay. We’ll…we’ll reach out to the dean, take in copies of the two three police reports we have against the guy. They can’t argue with that paperwork, and I don’t know what your professor can do other than deny it, but they have to look into it if you bring that to their attention. They have to sweet girl, we’ll make this right. I’ll help you. I’ll go up there with you.”

You both sat in silence for a moment, when he shifted a little to hold your weight more evenly, his back cracked, and he tried to muffle the response of a groan. One of your hands stretched out to caress his back, hoping to alleviate the ache there.

“Got you some stuff for the house, to make yourself more comfortable. That fancy body soap you like so much, some of your favorite candles, supplies for lil Sweet Pea, stuff to make easy meals if you feel like cookin’. Was also gonna leave a card, ‘n I know you got your own money, for takeout if you wanna do that.”

All you could do was nod and press a grateful kiss to the column of his neck.

The rest of the week goes by smoothly, you finish your finals with passing grades and go to register only to find out that there’s a hold on your academic profile. You walked into work with a weird sense of reality, everything oversaturated and too bright. Sounds too loud, stomach clenching around what little you were able to eat that morning. Nervous about being back at work, nervous about signing the paperwork that Joel had drawn up for Mary to approve of. Nervous of how everyone would greet you after your rather embarrassing departure the last time you had been in the restaurant.

The sound of the backdoor opening garnered everyone’s attention, service beginning in about half an hour. You had your stitches removed but were deemed expo for the next two weeks to work at a lighter, easier pace to get back into using your hands to full mobility. You had been so worried about losing feeling or movement in your hand, due to how the knife had dug into your skin, but the doctors had eased your worries.

Joel was just now exiting the office, Mary on his heels as they called attention for the preservice meeting.

“Alright, now, we’ve had quite a few changes happen recently.” Joel started off, nodding to you as you sidled up to the last station and gave your attention to them both. Millie rushed to your side and took her arm in both of hers and pressed the side of her body to yours in greeting. You smiled softly at her, happy to see that she wasn’t too ragged looking after what Joel had said been a challenging week.

“As you know, we had a couple of incidents leading up to the firing of a recent hire. He didn’t mesh well with the team, as y’all were witness to. It is never okay to move about the kitchen or floor without using safety words. Communication is key, it allows us all a safe place to work and move in. Please proceed the way you’ve always done so, with respect and mutual understanding toward your fellow workers.”

“And it’s been brough to my attention that there is a shift in dynamics,” Mary cleared her throat, eyes glancing at you before she announced the one thing you were the most worried about. “Joel here and our bar manager have filed the appropriate paperwork declaring their relationship status. Now, that is not to say that anything will change around here. Work is work, personal life will remain outside of the premises, but this does not give anyone the right to retaliate against either of them.”

A soft hush of murmured words broke the silence of the kitchen, eyes raking over you and then over Joel. Millie’s arms tightened around your own, her eyes looking to you with something you couldn’t quite make out.

“Now, I know this may make a few people uncomfortable.” Joel spoke up, stepping forward to get the attention of the room back. “But I assure you, everything will remain professional and appropriate. There have been no promises or conditions of this, there is nothing but the blossoming of something that warranted such an announcement. To cover my butt and hers, it’s the right thing to do and that’s why it’s been done. I know we have two other couples employed here and it’s just the same paperwork they filed.”

Well into the service of dinner, Millie kept glancing at you any time she was in the kitchen. Her eyes training from your concentrated look as you made sure food was pristine before going out to the tables and Joel who was working away behind the stove stop and grill, the furrowing of his brow and the slight downturn of his lips as he focused on his dishes being perfect to hand off to you.  

“It’s lulled, gonna take a smoke break. That okay with you, chef?” Your eyes found his through the line, fingers tapping on the metal on the metal top, hands warm underneath the heat bars tucked up on the shelf. His eyes softened when they landed on you and he nodded an affirmation at you before turning back to one of the only two tickets that hadn’t been worked.

You barely light the end of your cigarette before a squealing Millie was approaching you from the closing back door.

“Oh my god, you bagged the chef!”

“Millie…”

“No, no, he’s like so ruggedly handsome and those eyes? Girl, you didn’t tell me you even liked him! Y’all been at each other’s throats but now it all makes sense! You wanted him, and he wanted you back.” She smirked over at you, hands lighting her own cigarette.

“Oh hush, dirty girl.” You tossed back, genuine smile pulling at your lips.

“But seriously, he’s good to you? I mean, he’s obviously serious about what y’all got drawing up the paperwork ‘n all.”

“He’s good to me, promise.” You take a long drag, holding in the inhale for a beat before exhaling it out in a deep sigh. “He’s helping me figure out this shit with my professor who’s telling me I can’t get the internship I’m qualified for unless I drop the police report and arrest out for his brother who attacked me.”

“No fuckin’ way, the guy who attacked you was your professor’s brother? That lowkey creepy guy who sat up at the bar with you a few times?”

“That’s the one.”

“Do…do you think if it all gets sorted out that you’ll leave the restaurant to do it?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, a full time internship and your last semester, that’s going to be a lot to juggle. You’re a TA too, right? To get teaching credits.”

“Oh, um, I haven’t really thought about it. I was maybe considering just going down to weekend nights?”

You both talked and gossiped, tossing the butts of your spent cigarettes into the pail beside the door before going back in to finish the shift.

“Fuck.” You moaned, the sound filling the cool air of the walk in, back arching as you tried to push back against the man who had sheathed the entirety of his hard length into you with one smooth, drawn out move so attuned to your body. His grip on your hips was bruising, the feeling of him gripping tight to your shoulder even more so, but he didn’t move.

He seemed frozen, head bowed down and forehead connected with the back of your head, hands gripping tight, chest heaving with each deep breath and brushing hot against your back. Murmured words falling from his plush lips too quiet for you to catch, but you were sure if he could safely do so, he would be praising you in that filthy way he was prone to do. His large thighs were pressed to the backs of your own and the feel of his chef pants was rough on the naked skin of your thighs where he had pushed up the skirt of the dress you had worn for your shift.

“Please, Joel, I need you to move.” You circled your hips, grinding back on the entire length of him and you could feel yourself clench. A guttural moan sounded from his lips, puffing out in a misty breath.

“What did I tell you about bein’ a good girl f’me?” The hard line of him twitched deep inside you and your knees wobbled. The hand on your waist curled around your middle to help keep you upright, lest they give out on you completely. He pulled out nearly all the way only to slam back in, it took everything in you not to scream from the pleasure as white sparked across your vision. Your teeth digging into the hands that were grasping desperately onto the edge of the metal storage shelf you were pressed up against. Trying to hide the sound in an effort to keep the secret that had become your personal life just that, at least from any prying ears as your relationship had become common knowledge within the restaurant.

“Such a dirty girl, getting’ me all riled up in that lil dress. The skirt flippin’ up when you walk through the door to the floor.” He growled into your hair, close to your ear. His scruff tickling against your skin in the best way. He moved against you in quick movements, chasing his high and drawing you closer to yours.

“Ngh, Joel, please.” You whined quietly, moving your hips back to meet his thrusts.

“Come on, now, give it t’me,” He punctuated his words with pulling you closer to him, the backs of his thighs slamming against you so hard he was enamored with watching the way your ass jiggled. And you heeded his words, body tensing around him and clenching with the force of your release. Joel grunted at the feeling, reveling in the way that he could make you into such a crumbling mess, that you let him do it.

He followed after you, tingling in his spine at the way you clenched so tightly around him. Grinding his hips into you, he painted the inside of your walls with hot spurts, filling you up. You could feel some of the mixture of you both dripping down from where it collected around the base of him as he slowly moved against you as he rode out his release.

“Hmm, can’t take it all, can you? ‘m too much for you, huh, baby?”

You could only hum in response as he pulled out, wiggling your hips at him as he caressed down your waist and hips You could feel him kneeling down behind you, though you were too out of it to register what he could possibly be doing. Head set heavily on the shelf you still clung to, panting as you tried to come back to yourself, body alight in a way that was all encompassing. His large hands splayed across your cheeks, thumbs pulling you apart to watch his spend pooled up inside you. He groaned at the sight and without a thought he leaned in and swiped his tongue through your glistening folds.

A startled shout pushed out your chest, core throbbing at the overstimulation.

“Lucky it’s closin’ time, sweetheart, otherwise we’d be given away with all your pretty sounds.” He bit at your folds gently, teasing you with a smirk you could feel against you before he delved his tongue into your entrance and lapped up the salty taste of you both collected there. The thick wet muscle felt amazing, and you pressed yourself back to get more of the feeling. His nose bumped against you, and you keened as it sparked new tingles at a sensation against the tight ring of muscle you seldom paid attention to.

His hands spread you open, exposing you more to his ministrations as he moved down to suckle at your pulsing clit.

“Gonna give me ‘nother, come on now.”

The overstimulation, the feel of his teeth nipping and suckling, the tight grip he had on you, it was all so much, and you gushed against his skilled mouth. His mouth moved to gather what had trickled down the inside of your thighs, cleaning up every last drop from your body. Loving the way your muscles shook and your shoulders shuddered. Body going slack as he gave you one wide swipe of his tongue before standing behind you. He carefully dragged your panties back up your hips.

“Did such a good job, f’me,” His belt tinkled as he fastened it back together, body draping over your prone form. He turned you in his hold, your head lolling back slightly as you tried to look up at him through heavy lashes. You smiled, dazed and satiated, hands coming around the back of his neck to pull him down for a passionate kiss that took the last of your energy.

 The meeting of your lips let you taste the remnants of what he licked from your core and you moaned as he licked into your mouth. His scruff damp and glistening where it brushed against your skin.

“I…don’t want to go back. It feels…tainted.” You stared at the email summarizing the rather…tense meeting you just had with the dean and your advisor. The police reports Joel had handed over spelling out the situation better than your stuttering and his forceful words as he sat between you and your angry professor who had silently fumed as his life went up in flames.

The cab of his truck was warm, turned on a idling while he waited for the AC to combat the build up while it had been sitting in the campus parking lot. He looked over to you, wanting to reach out to grasp your hand or thigh but you were closed off, overwhelmed. You knew he did, could tell by the twitching of his fingers as he gripped the steering wheel though the wasn’t actively driving.

“Okay, we can pack up your things and get you someplace that you’re comfortable in.”

“Oh.” You tried to hide the way you deflated slightly, at his quick offer to help you find somewhere as if your things weren’t already scattered around his home. Like he hadn’t made you feel the most welcome you had out of the times you’ve spent at anyone’s home. His soft wake ups, his lips ghosting over your skin any chance he got. “O-okay, sure. I can start looking after work today.”

“Was gonna say you could take the night off, it’s been…a lot today.”

Trying to tamp down the feeling of him wanting space, knowing he was doing so out of genuine care for your wellbeing.

“Work helps, I need to feel like I’m doing something.” You looked over to him, eyes wide and searching for comfort.

“Whatever you want, darlin’.” He finally reached out when he noticed you tuck your phone back into a pocket and began to stretch toward him. He kissed the back of your hand before starting the truck and driving off.

The next few weeks were spent focusing on packing your apartment up, carefully wrapping everything up and labeling boxes for each room. There hadn’t been any news on the applications you filled out for places around the city, a lag in the market as the fall semester neared and college students flooded the city limits.

You found yourself laboring over moving the boxes around, looking for stuff you needed for school, getting out a larger backpack to prepare for long days of TA work, classes, and then closing shifts at the restaurant. Millie taking over for four days during the week and you on weekends. The worry of waiting for them to announce the recipients of the internship following the firing of your professor and the arrest of his brother a low hum in the back of your mind.

Joel stepped through the door and melted your worries with his attentive lips and wandering hands.

A text. A photo. A question if he was hard for her. Another photo. A wall of notifications streaming on the screen of his phone. A woman contacting him, her first name only. And Joel Miller was a man adamant about his contact information being first and last names, with business, neighbor, or restaurant identifiers. Only his family and you were saved in his phone with first names only. Only his family and you and this woman.

Anger and betrayal came alive inside of you, making your every move seem as if it was life or death. Each breath sucked in between clenched teeth burned in your lungs as the taut pull of tears constricted your throat and made your face feel too hot. Fingers trembling you tossed the phone back onto the bed, the screen continuing to light up. The shower was barely turning off when you called out to him, voice strong despite the shaking of your hands.

“Joel, who the fuck is Valerie and why is she sending you naked photos?”

“What?” He popped back into the bedroom, hair wet from his shower. He had been toweling off before coming back into the room to change.

“Valerie is sending you naked photos and racy texts.”

“God dammit,” He rubbed a thick hand over his face, hiding the expression he was making save for the furrowing of his brow.

“That’s all you have to say?” You asked, getting up from the bed, searching for your discarded clothes that had been peeled off by his own hands not even an hour ago. You pulled your jeans on with rough movements, worried about the way he wasn’t saying anything else and the stillness he adopted in the doorway. Steam wafted around him, stray droplets of water trailing off the ends of his curls and down his chest, looking like a sight that would normally have heat curling in your middle.

“It’s not-“

“It’s not what I think? Joel, every man in history says that line.” You shrugged the black hoodie back on, not bothering to fix the rumpled hood that bunched up in an uncomfortable way around the back of your neck and shoulder, hair half tangled in it.

He said your name, something he seldom did unless at work, preferring to use sweet names when alone together or out in public as things had blossomed. You turned to look at him from where you were shoving the errant items of yours that had found a home on the nightstand that mirrored his own on the other side of the bed. Phone, small wallet, keys, box cutter, rings back in place on shaking fingers. A hair claw that he had bought to replace the one you had lost nearly two months ago now. A special one in the shape of a butterfly made of muted teal and a shiny inlay for the wings. He had surprised you with it but now it felt like a punch in the gut.

“I don’t, Joel, I can’t do this.” You wouldn’t listen to the half-hearted mumbling falling from his lips, towel held up on his waist with one hand, still stood in the doorway across the room.

“She does this, every blue moon, Sarah’s mom. Gets lonely and reaches out in this way, it’s not-“

“And you haven’t told her to stop? That you’re seeing someone? That it’s inappropriate?”

“And this isn’t? You not hearing me out or even giving me the chance to explain?” The low timbre of his voice gave his growing frustration away.

“Obviously you like it, let her do it while I’m lying in your bed, in your house, avoiding talking about moving in with you even though my stuff is in boxes in the damn garage?”

A pause settled in the space between you both, eyes watching each other, waiting for words that might damn each other further or save this mess from growing into something unmanageable.

“I didn’t know she was going to.”

“But you didn’t tell her to stop the last time? When was the last time, Joel?” You turned to face him fully, eyes narrowed and a glint behind them told him how hurt you were, how much this was affecting you for you to shrink in on yourself. Question yourself, question everything you two had built over the last six months.

“When was the last time, Joel? Did you respond, send your own photos back?” His eyes met yours, determined to explain it all away. But it was making you angry, the secondary emotion to your hurt and insecurity.

“It was before, before the meeting when you asked about the fall menu.” He ran a hand through his damp hair, fingers raking through it in a nervous fashion you knew he displayed when overwhelmed and trying. But it hurt, the messages that had popped up.

Been missing you, big boy.

Need a response like last time, when you showed me how much you wanted me.

Can you call, I need to hear your voice, tell me how you like me.

“Before you smiled at me for the first time.”

“Before and now. She seems to think you’re gonna engage with her.”

“’m not, I wouldn’t. Wouldn’t be unfaithful to you.”

“Go ahead, no one’s stopping you.” His features hardened, hand holding the towel clenching tighter.

He was about to respond when his cell phone dinged again. And then rang.

The doorbell downstairs sounded in the air.

“She’s awfully eager, when was the last time?”

The doorbell sounded again, followed by a knock.

Tension crackled between you both, the knowledge that she wouldn’t be so adamant if the last time was over four months ago. His gaze broke from yours and to the carpet at your feet.

“Okay, that’s fine. That’s…perfectly fine, deny it. Don’t tell me the truth. I get it, you both have history. She’s not someone who works for you, she’s not as young as the daughter you both share. Don’t know what the fuck I was thinking falling for you anyway. You won’t even ask me to move in despite not having anywhere else to go.”

You bolted, falling back on instincts from when you had been in a similar situation last, from your emotions that were clawing their way out of your ribcage and fueling the words rushing from your lips.

“It was before we talked about doing this, before we kissed,” His small voice followed you out the door, but that was….that was too close to the dance you two had been engaged in around the restaurant, too close to not feel like a betrayal.

Muffled footfalls on the stairs echoed in your ringing ears as you left Joel standing in his bathroom doorway. The thud of you throwing your bag over your shoulder and woosh of the door opening underneath your hands. The woman from the photos was on his doorstep, her eyes glassy under the influence of whatever she had indulged in that night.

She seemed momentarily shocked as you shouldered past her, leaving the door wide open for her to see into the house that had been set up with a soft light in the living room for the evening.

“Who’re you?” She slurred, words jumbled together and voice honey sweet.

“Nobody.” You grunted at her as you marched down the walkway and toward your truck. The engine roared to life, and you didn’t look back to see if she had gone in of her own accord or if Joel had finally moved from his spot upstairs.

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#dev writes #fic: garnish #tlou #tlou fic #tlou fanfic #tlou au #the last of us #the last of us au #restaurant au #chef! joel miller #joel miller #joel miller series #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #restaurant world #restaurant lingo #food industry #triggers associated with the food industry #smut #hurt and comfort #angst

[around1302]

YOU WROTE ME

SPARE PARTS: blurb 1/1

THE TROUBADOUR, LONDON

(W) strong language, alcohol use, brief smut: if u can call it that

THIRD PERSON’S POV

9 MONTHS POST-SPLIT

“Why can’t you just trust that it’ll be fun?”

“Because you don’t even know who’s playing! What if it’s some screamo guy and I get traumatised.”

“Please, Charlie, you’ve met my friend. You think he’s going to guitar for a screamo guy?”

Charlie pauses, remembering everything she can from the brief meeting between her and Becca’s friend at her house party last week.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Becca rolls her eyes, nodding in gratitude at the bouncers who let them into the Troubadour, past the lines and lines of people. Charlie has to admit that’s promising, at least. Surely a hundred teenage girls wouldn’t be queueing for something unworthwhile.

“I thought as a musician you’d be buzzing for a free invite to the Troub!”

Charlie’s turn to roll her eyes, now.

“The Troub?”

“Let me pretend I’m in on the lingo, too.”

“God, you’re just making it worse.”

Becca is Charlie’s only remaining friend from her pre-band days. In contact far too little, but enough to see each other in between schedules. Becca manages a restaurant in London, and throws killer house parties every Saturday. It’s ritual.

Of course, with band life, Charlie barely ever attended. But since the split and a (much too long) nine month hiatus from the industry, she’s had a little more time for living her 20s like she never entered that competition in the first place.

“You want a drink?” Becca shouts over the already loud crowd. Just as Charlie opens her mouth to answer, her forearm’s gripped so tightly she’s sure the blood supply’s been cut off.

“Oh my God! Charlie Greene?” A girl practically screams in her face, holding the hand that isn’t keeping Charlie there in a death grip over her mouth.

Despite her usually extreme routine when it comes to being avoided in public, Charlie assumed tonight could be a one off. Who would recognise her in this crowd, in this venue? Panic strickens her before Becca has to step in, shoving the girls palm off.

“Dude, don’t touch strangers like that.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just such a huge fan. I can’t believe you’re here! We all thought they were just rumours.”

“What?” Charlie’s dumbfound, forgetting all that media-trained ‘smile at the fans, don’t let them know you want to punch them’ bullshit.

“You know, you and–”

“Look, I’m sure you’re a nice kid, but we’re just trying to enjoy our night. You want me to buy you some alcohol to get you to go away?”

“Becca–”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, of course. E-enjoy your night.”

The poor girl scurries away, screaming something to her group but Charlie’s too riddled with guilt to hear what.

“For fuck’s sake, Becs, she’s like sixteen!”

“Gripped you like a forty year old WWE champ though, look at your arm!”

Charlie glances down, noticing the white and red splotches beneath the hazy blue lights. Becca has a point, even if she was a little harsh about it.

“Screw the drinks, let’s just get backstage before anyone else tries to cut off your circulation.”

Nodding, Charlie follows Becca through the crowd, making sure to keep her head down this time. Of course they’re asked for IDs and stage passes before getting through, Becca proudly letting security know they’re friends of the guitarist.

“I’m so proud of Mitch, man. He’s come so far. Can you believe he used to work in a pizza shop?”

“I know, it’s impressive shit,” Charlie nods, hugging her hoodie tight to her chest. Something bad swirls in her gut as she watches the audience from the safety of a thick curtain, seeing whispers and screams shared.

“You don’t think that’s about me, do you?” She points for Becca. Becca scoffs.

“Nah, don’t get too up your own ass, Char. The act’s probably about to come on.”

The band will be entering from stage left, opposite to them both. Charlie has to admit she’s curious. It’s been forever since she’s attended any kind of underground gig, it’s exciting – what music’s really about.

“Gemma Styles.”

Until that moment.

Ears ringing, throat drying, sweat forming. Charlie grips her hoodie so tight her knuckles blanch – she’s wrong, she has to be. It’s just her mind and anxiety playing tricks on her. It’d be impossible for–

“No way, Charlie?”

“Fuck.”

“… Charlie?”

“I mean hi! Sorry, hi!”

Pretending her ears aren’t still painfully ringing, Charlie accepts the open arms of the woman in front of her. Specifically, the sister in front of her. Her ears stop buzzing enough for her to hear Becca’s gasp beside her, and enough to hear her heart coming up through her throat.

“I can’t believe you’re here, it’s so good to see you!”

The one thing Charlie never understood was how Harry could be so intolerable and Gemma could be so… Gemma. Despite the ugliest truth she’s discovered in a while coming undone, she feels somewhat comforted by her hug and her words and her smile.

Perhaps they’re all a little too alike Harry, or perhaps the opposite. She can’t tell. There’s a lot happening.

“Yeah, um…” at a complete loss for words, Becca quickly steps in.

“Hi, I’m Rebecca. Friends with the guitarist.”

“Oh, Mitch! Isn’t he amazing? I’m Gemma, Harry’s sister.”

“Jesus, I’m sorry.”

Charlie shoots Becca a pointed glare. She apologises again, a little more sincerely this time.

“So does Harry know you’re here? Bet he’s thrilled, are the others here?”

“Um, no. And no. Not that I know of. I’m actually here for Mitch, too.”

“Oh, I–” Gemma frowns, understandably confused, but is cut off by the house lights dimming and some opening music starting.

Charlie pinches at her arm beneath the once soft material, it only now feels scratchy and too thick. Should she run? It seems like her only viable option. Except her feet are failing her and it’s too fucking late because–

“Hi everyone! I’m Harry, it’s a pleasure. This is my wonderful band, and we’re going to play a few songs for you. Starting with a new one, this is Complicated Freak.”

Frozen to her place, Charlie listened harbouring feelings she couldn’t quite place. Part of her wishes she had just done those few shots before she left like Becca had quite smartly suggested, but a larger part of her wishes she never came.

Because fuck, has she missed him.

She’s missed his voice, and his hands, and his eyes, and his dimples, and she could say she’s missed his hair but that’s gone with the last nine months. She missed watching him concentrate entirely too hard on playing the guitar and she missed watching that crease form between his brows as he closes his eyes and just feels the music. His music.

The music that sounds eerily familiar. Then suddenly flashes of a tour bus come to mind; long hair and slender fingers strumming a guitar. Lyrics that rendered a little to close to home but were promptly ignored at the time now echo the venue, echo her chest.

“Thank you so, so much everyone. I’ll see you soon!”

Harry lifts his palm to the roaring crowd, intimate and small yet still as deafeningly loud as she remembers them always being for him. Begging for an encore, or at the very least one more wave.

But it’s only then that she realises, still stuck to the floor, that he’s taking his guitar off. He’s offering the audience one final bow and kiss, and he’s turning, and he’s walking, and he’s grinning ear to ear and accepting his friends and family’s congratulations, and then he’s stopping, and he’s staring, and his lungs have stopped and his heart has faltered and–

“You wrote me.”

His lips quiver, paused in an effort to say the right thing. Say anything.

“Yeah, I…”

It’s as if the venue and people around them grew wings and flew away as time itself stopped just for them. The first time they had seen eye to eye in the time you could grow a whole fucking baby for God’s sake – and yet they could barely speak. So much unsaid, it’s almost too much. What do you start to say to the love of your life – who you lost?

Luckily, the people around them didn’t actually grow wings.

“We’ll see you later, H,” his older sister squeezes his dead arm, nodding towards Charlie (as if she saw) and then the other confused onlookers who had developed behind them during the show but fuck if Charlie noticed.

Gemma leads the group out, leaving the pair of them in a silent standoff, the muted sound of a dying crowd and crew starting to clean punctuating the quiet.

“Drink?”

“I wanted to call you so many times.” Charlie finally admits, three double vodkas deep.

“Why didn’t you?” Harry almost whispers four whiskeys in.

Malibu’s, their old, usual haunt, has been avoided for the last nine months. Not a single band member dared to go, whether it be that Zayn no longer bartends there or that they were afraid of memories. But it felt like the only place for them to be right now. Elbows leant on the same sticky counter, knees pressed together in their tipsy mis-care, no time passed yet the whole world between them.

“I was scared.” Charlie begins. “I needed time, and after I realised that you leaving us didn’t really matter in the end, I was too late.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Harry. I saw the tabloids. A month after we split you were seen with this person, that person. You had moved on from us, from me.”

Her confession is startlingly sobering, and Harry can’t help but gulp down a painful lump at the way her eyes water. Harry hadn’t moved on in any sense of the word, Harry was simply trying to find Charlie in anyone he could. The way in which he had coped with his web of feelings for the woman for the past six and a half years.

“I could never move on from you, Char. I was just… lost.”

Charlie snorts, turning to down the rest of her drink.

“Baby I–”

They both freeze. Harry didn’t mean to call her that, but God, doesn’t it feel natural? Isn’t that why it slipped out in the first place? Yet, a slap in the face would have felt better for Charlie. The vodka gets caught in her throat, the once warm liquor running ice cold down her chest.

She turns, her heart melting at the sight of his face. It’s that same heartbreaking, broken concoction of regret and worry knitting his brows and dripping from his eyes. And it has her lips hungrily on his.

He catches her, grabbing her hips as he opens his legs for her and draws her to his chest, breathing in every inch of her. Because that’s what kissing Charlie is like. Oxygen for the first time, water for the first time, life for the first time. His rough hands snake up her back, grip her sides, pinch her skin. Her nails rake at the nape of his neck, muscle memory expecting locks to hold onto but finding short curls as their home instead.

Their tongues and lips work in an unspoken agreement, all the way to her new apartment by the bar, all the way to her bed.

They didn’t speak. They were both far too terrified to lose this moment. They just needed each other, the touch they’d both been desperately chasing for months. Charlie closes her eyes as Harry’s mouth starts its attack on her neck and is transported to Louis’ apartment, where she first felt that same desperation.

“Please.” She breathes, wrapping her legs around his hips, eliciting from him a muffled groan as she grinds up towards him. He nods into her neck, his lips still working down her soft skin. She still tastes the same, that strawberry vanilla he could drink by the gallon.

Charlie claws at his back, making an attempt to remove his black button-up as he moves down her body. She just about manages it as he settles between her legs, pushing up her denim dress without grace or care before biting the edge of her knickers.

The heels of her feet press into his toned back, her palms already fisting the sheets as he harshly grips her hips to push her back into the mattress.

A million thoughts run through Harry’s head, but fear holds him back from saying a single one of them. Months ago, he would’ve told Charlie everything. How good her thighs feel, how fucking pretty she looks laying there, needy for him. How much her soft little pants sound like she should be begging for him, how hard he is for her like this.

But he can’t. For all he knows, he’s simply a mouth right now. He’s not Harry, he’s just something she needs, and fuck if he’ll be whatever she needs.

So he bites into her inner thigh, sucking away the sharpness as she grips and tugs at his hair. He moans into her skin, eyelashes fluttering against her hips as he kisses the top of her pubic bone. His touch is rough in every place but his lips as he makes a path to her core, pressing teasing kisses over her clit. Her knickers are fucking soaked through, and the sight alone is enough to send him berserk.

“Charlie, I’m gonna have to–”

“Please, just–”

With that sliver of permission, he reaches down, squeezing himself over his trousers. The slightly relieved pressure has him gasping against her lace, which quickly becomes wetter. Charlie sits up on her elbows, watching Harry touch and squeeze while he continues to tease her.

And it’s there. In between the need and the pleasure, Charlie begins to cry. Softly, quietly, but enough to garner Harry’s distracted attention.

“Hey, hey,” Harry moves back up her body, tugging her dress back into place as he squeezes her hip, “I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s fine.” Charlie’s voice cracks as her head hits the pillow, hot tears quickly meeting her hairline before she can wipe them away.

“Sweetheart–”

“I’m not your fucking sweetheart.” Charlie murmurs between gritted teeth, sending Harry aback. He sits up on his heels, his touch slowly leaving her. Charlie presses her palms into her eyes, squeezing the tears out as she muffles sobs against her hands.

“That’s the problem.”

It’s hardly above a whisper, but Harry hears every last syllable. Leaning back over her, he removes her fists, gently brushing her blotchy cheeks.

“I’m just drunk and emotional and weird and–”

“Stop it,” Harry murmurs, pulling her up to sit in front of him. “Tell me what you’re feeling.” When she doesn’t budge, he drops his head and whispers, “please.”

Charlie finds his eye. In so many ways, he’s unchanged. He still looks at her like that, and it crumbles her, just as easily as it did all those months ago.

“Everything got so fucked up, Harry. The band, me, us. I haven’t sang a chord in months. I see the guys, what, once, twice a month? And you…”

“It’s my fault, Char.” Harry sighs, collapsing beside her, rubbing his face. “I left, I split everyone up–”

“You needed to.” She interrupts, stern. “I didn’t realise at the time, it took me a while to accept it, but you needed to. Niall was starting a family, everyone was starting to burn out, even if we didn’t want to admit it.”

“You did the right thing.”

Those fives words are all that Harry’s wanted to hear for nine months. He’s spent countless, sleepless nights wondering if he’d messed everything up for everyone, forever. If in his selfishness he’d forgotten to use logic.

“I’m just not sure I did.”

Harry frowns, turning to look at Charlie.

“What do you mean, Charlie?”

“I worry that I was… hasty. Rash.”

Harry can’t help the small smile that starts to tug at his lips. He lifts his knees and rests his chin on his palm to hide it.

“I did a really messed up thing, you were justified.”

“No.” Charlie sighs, looking at the ceiling. “I was right to be mad, but I wasn’t right to have said all the stuff I did. I was especially not right to leave you.”

Harry’s chest jumps, but he tries to calm his excited heart before Charlie can finish. When it comes to her, there’s no real predictability. She might be about to destroy him all over again.

“Those six years mean more to me than anything I’ve done in my entire life. You were there through everything, every shitty and amazing thing, all I can think about is flashes of you. My sister, my audition, my first heartbreak, my first– I could go on and on, but the point is, you were there.”

“Even if you annoyed the shit out of me for the better part of it, you’re my life, Harry. I was stupid to think I could ever live it in the same way without you.”

It’s impossible to fight his grin, now.

Charlie finally turns to face him, instantly rolling her eyes at the sight of him. His entirely too wide smile, his glinting eyes and how they quickly flit to her lips, the twitch between his brows that lets her know he’s holding back a comment.

And despite his speechlessness, his answer is obvious.

“You sure you don’t want someone easier?” Charlie lilts, swaying into him.

“Why on Earth would I want anyone else?”

“I don’t know. I yell at you a lot.”

“I’d rather have you hate my guts than have anyone else.” Harry takes her waist, easing her beneath him again as he hovers over her. “I’ve spent my entire life waiting to hear you say that, you know.”

“Entire life is a bit dramatic.” Charlie drapes her arms around his neck, her fingers finding his nape. That hair is going to take some getting used to.

“Nope,” Harry pops his P, leaning down to press a kiss to her jaw. “You’re my life too, Char.”

She leans back into the pillow, her thumb circling his neck. “You mean it?”

It’s Harry’s turn to roll his eyes, now.

“You really have to ask? What more could I possibly do to prove to you that you’re it for me, you always have been.”

Charlie smirks. “I could think of something.”

“Always thinking with your dick, Greene.”

Charlie lets out a scoff, and Harry let’s his chest do whatever it wants.

@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles

#harry styles smut #harry styles x oc #harry styles angst #harry styles series #1d ot5 #one direction series #harry styles x reader #harry styles #1d series #1d smut #spare parts series #harry styles friends with benefits #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fic

[ilguna]

working in a restaurant is a curse.

that being said, i am halfway thru The Bear. wow i love jeremy allen white. and you’re telling me that jon bernthal has a minor role? okayyyy

#ilguna #do i add the bear onto my fandom list? 💀 #i’m out here wondering how many fanfic writers are getting the kitchen/restaurant lingo correct #and how many had to look up what it means LOL #the idea is funny to me #anyway

[rocknrollbabe14]

Stuck In The Middle (Joe x Reader) (Part One)

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: My spin on the enemies-to-lovers trope, cursing, drinking, vomiting, Joe being a little bit arrogant and assholish at times, hate sex (p in v sex, no protection), coercion to have sex (but secretly reader wants it too!), if  I forgot anything, let know!!

**Special thanks to @josephs-quinns for making my header!! ❤️**

It seemed like yesterday that your best friend, Melanie had moved to the UK—London specifically for her job. It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. It hurt like hell to see your best friend go, but you tried to understand. Every now and then, you’d go to visit her in London and stay at her “flat” as she called it—she said that’s what they referred to an apartment as. It made you laugh, picking up bits and pieces of their lingo the longer Melanie lived over there. The time difference was one of the biggest hurdles you both had to overcome. 

You were still awake while she was asleep and vice-versa. In the beginning, it was exhausting to try and wrap your head around. But as time went on, it got a little easier. You all made time to talk to one another, working around each other’s schedules. It’s like you all never skipped a beat—you always picked up right where you had left off. Both of your lives continued to change even if you all lived on two completely separate continents. 

Melanie had found someone—a British man. All you really knew was his name was Wesley and he was a really nice guy. You had met him a few times along with his annoying friend, Joseph. Wesley was always very nice and inviting, making sure to make you feel welcome and included. Sometimes, you felt like the third wheel. It was like watching a sappy Hallmark movie—hearing them laugh and giggle, going as far as to even rub noses together. It was so cute that it was nauseating. 

You’d order drinks, downing them quickly to try and get drunk and forget the entire thing. They told you how lonely you looked as if you needed reminding. You scoffed lightly laughing and they smiled at one another before telling you they had a solution. Their solution? Inviting Wesley’s friend Joseph along. You were told you’d love him and you both would hit it off, no problem. The idea was nice at first, but your delusional mind believed that may really work out. 

But your delusion was quickly shot down. The first time time you met Joseph, he came off as a pompous asshole who obviously thought a lot of himself. Even telling Wesley about all the girls who were in his dms. Not a great way to start a conversation. He appeared to be glued to his cellphone, barely making any conversation with you when you asked him questions specifically about his acting career and how it had taken off. He seemed bored as you tried to make a small conversation.

He would look off, seeming to eye the girls in the bars or restaurants where you all ended up with Wesley and Melanie. It was hard to talk to someone who seemed like they cared less about you or getting to know you. Wesley would apologize for his behavior if he went to order a drink or went off to the bathroom, saying he had just been overwhelmed since becoming famous. You’d just nod with a small smile, pretending like you believed him.

You’d count the hours or minutes until the night would end, returning to Melanie’s apartment. When asking you how you liked Joe, you lied. You hated to lie to your best friend, but she and Wesley acted like you all would just have some fairytale romance and that wasn’t going to be the case. Melanie smiled at your response, telling you she felt like you and Joe hit it off. Was she blind? Where the hell had she been? Or was she too busy in her little love-drunk bubble to realize? 

Either way, you were not excited to see him again and honestly dreaded it. You’d seen him a few times after this but did your best to just tolerate him for Melanie. 

“So……”, Melanie began, the smile evident in her voice while on the phone. 

“So what?”, you smirked back, lying down on your bed.

“Um, you wanna come to London and see me? Wes and I have some really exciting news.”

You sat back up abruptly, your heart dropping down into your stomach. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

You heard Melanie laugh on the other end of the phone. “No—no. But it’s great news and I’d love to tell you and show you in person.”

“Um—okay.”, you began. “When do you want me to fly in?”

“Monday?”

You blew air, thinking about taking more PTO off from work, but you wanted to see Melanie.

“Yeah—okay. Um, question?”

Melanie giggled. “Sure, what is it?”

“Joe’s not gonna be there, is he?”

There was genuine concern in your voice, evident you wanted to avoid him at all costs if you could. He was not your favorite person and that was clear. 

“At some point—but Wes and I can pick you up from the airport—just us. I don’t get what you have against Joe. He’s really nice once you get to know him.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Was she talking about the same Joe that you were? Because you didn’t think so. 

A deep exhale escaped your lips as you rubbed your furrowed brows. “He thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

Melanie laughed. “Well, he was GQ’s man of the year.”

“Melanie.”, you deadpanned before groaning. 

She laughed. “Well, just saying. You know, he still isn’t seriously dating anyone.”

“And I care why?”

There was slight venom in your voice as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. To be honest, you couldn't care less who Joe was dating and what kind of girls he was dating. You knew you didn’t match his type. He had been seen with a couple of women, the model kind. You didn’t fit that mold. And you were okay with that. 

“Maybe—just maybe you all will hit it off.”

“Doubt it.”

“You never know.”, Melanie sing-songed.

“Promise me it’ll be just you and Wes at the airport, please?”

“It will be, Y/Nickname. I promise, okay?”

Her answer satisfied you, and you hung up. Laying in bed, all you could think about was being forced to see Joe. It was going to be daunting, but whatever Melanie’s news was, you wanted to know and had to be there for her. She was your best friend, after all. You called your supervisor asking for time off and thankfully she didn’t seem to have an issue with it. You apologized for it being such short notice. 

The weekend passed and all you felt like you accomplished was packing clothes. Your flight left early at five thirty tomorrow morning and the flight was a long one to London. Laying in bed, you decided to scroll on your phone. Instantly, his face popped up. You groaned, throwing your phone off to the side. Could you not have one last night of peace? Everywhere you looked, Joe seemed to pop up. You knew he was famous and all, but it was becoming really annoying. 

Your phone dinged, causing you to pick it up again.

-Can’t wait to see you!! X

Melanie.

-Same here! Text you when I board the plane. :)

Setting your alarm, you closed your eyes and attempted to go to sleep. It felt like you barely closed your eyes when they shot open, hearing the alarm go off. You groaned, reaching for your phone on charge and unplugging it before shutting off your alarm. You blew air as you sat up and grabbed your robe, heading off to the bathroom to start getting ready. It was four in the morning. You fixed your hair quickly, put on some makeup, and got dressed in record time.

Grabbing your suitcase, you made your way downstairs and loaded it in your car. You closed your trunk, releasing a sigh. Nothing to do now but prepare yourself. Once you arrived at the airport, you texted Melanie that you were getting ready to board the plane. Here went nothing. What craziness would find you on this trip? Would you finally go off on Joe? Would you be able to hold your tongue? It was all a mystery. It all depended on what kind of news Melanie and Wes had to share.

The flight was long and exhausting. Your hips hurt from sitting in the seat for so long. When it was announced that you all were finally going to land, you couldn’t have been happier. The process still seemed to take forever as you waited for your luggage in baggage claim. Yours finally showed up, grabbing it and finally feeling excited to go see Melanie and Wesley. Your eyes panned the crowd of people, finally noticing Melanie who was waving widely with a smile on her face. Wesley was waving lightly beside her as you rushed over to them both.

“Oh my God, I’m so happy to see you.”, you smiled as you and Melanie embraced one another. 

“Same here. Look, Y/N, there’s something—”

“Wesley, you look so good.”

He chuckled as you all shared a hug.

“Welcome to London.”, Wesley laughed as he shared a nervous look with Melanie. 

“Y/N.”, Melanie persisted.

“Yeah?”, you smiled easily but your heart dropped into your stomach as he came into view. 

“Is she here yet? She’s taking forever.”, Joe didn’t look up from his phone, making his way back over to the group.

Your smile instantly turned into a frown as you crossed your arms, debating a smart-aleck response.

“You know I don’t control the airline.”, you rolled your eyes, finally getting his attention. 

“Joe came with us.”, Melanie smiled through gritted teeth. 

“I see that.”, you narrowed your eyes.

They promised you that Joe wouldn’t come with them and now, here he was. You felt overly annoyed and frustrated, wishing you could have five minutes to ask her what the hell she had done by bringing him with them. 

“I thought just you and Wesley were coming.”, you said, a hint of annoyance in your voice.

“Well, there is something we’d like to tell you and Joe. You’re our best friends.”, Melanie smiled, her eyes beaming.

You mustered a fake smile before Wesley offered to grab your bags. Joe stayed on his phone, never looking up as you all continued through the airport. The car was parked out front, and Melanie got in the front passenger seat, leaving you and Joe in the back seat. From your understanding, ever since Joe’s acting career went off, he had been hard to relate to and thought he was better than everyone. He thought he could pull any woman he wanted to— the thought alone caused you to roll your eyes.

“How was your flight?”, Wesley asked, closing the door.

“Long.”

Joe chuckled from beside you causing you to instantly glare at him. Who did he think he was?

“What’s so funny, Joe?”, you crossed your arms. 

“Your flight was long, that’s a bit of an understatement.”

You rolled your eyes. He was so insufferable. What right did he have to push your buttons like this? You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defensively. Even his presence annoyed you. Everything about him—from the way he fixed his hair to the shoes he wore on his feet annoyed you. 

“How does dinner sound?”, Melanie smiled, trying to break up the animosity. 

“Fine.”, you and Joe answered together. 

Silence took over the car ride as Wesley continued to drive. You knew you hadn’t been here long, but you already wanted to go back home. Especially if Joe was going to be part of your visit. Wesley and Melanie began talking amongst themselves, leaving you and Joe silent in the back. The car ride to the restaurant was agonizing, punishment enough already. You could only imagine how horrible dinner was going to be. What a disaster it would be. You’d have to drink. No, not just drink—get drunk to get through this night.

Then maybe after, this trip wouldn’t be so bad. You could only hope. That was all you could manage to hold onto right now. Wesley finally parked, pulling you all up to a fancy restaurant in Soho. Nothing like you usually had in the States. You all carefully got out, Wesley opening the door for Melanie before handing his keys to the valet, ushering you all to follow him inside. 

Inside, quiet jazz music played as the waiter asked how many you had. Wesley told them he had reservations for a party of four. The waiter quickly grabbed menus and told you all to follow him. Weaving in and out of the crowd, you finally found yourselves at a table. Melanie sat on the other side of Wesley, unfortunately leaving Joe and you sitting together. . You both ended up beside each other, you trying your best not to look at him or make accidental eye contact. 

You eyed the menu, trying to decide what you wanted. Wesley asked if you had any questions but you told him you decided on steak tartare, also ordering some wine to get started on your way to forgetting this night. After you all ordered, the waiter took the menus. Your drinks were served and you got a funny feeling while Melanie and Wesley were smiling at one another. 

“So….”, Melanie began as she grabbed Wesley’s hand.

“So….”, you repeated.

You grabbed your wine glass, bringing it up to your lips.

“Um, Wes and I have some news…..”

This caught Joe’s attention, causing him to look at Wesley with a confused look. Your mind instantly went to the thought that she was pregnant by him. 

“We’re engaged!”, they said together as Melanie flashed her ring, causing you to almost spit out your sip of wine.

You heard Joe take a deep breath as you grabbed a napkin to dab your lips.

“Congratulations.”, you finally choked out before coughing easily. 

Deep down inside, this felt a little sudden. 

“Yes, congratulations.”, Joe agreed, clearing his throat. 

“And…..”, Melanie smiled as she looked back at Wesley, he nodded encouraging her to continue. “We want you and Joe to be our maid of honor and best man.”

She was smiling so wide, she was showing all her teeth. She laughed easily, giddy as ever. You were stunned by her even suggesting that you could be a maid of honor with Joe—being the best man. What was she thinking?

“You’re our best mates.”, Wesley smiled before he and Melanie shared a kiss. 

You debated for a moment if you should agree to this—you knew what the maid of honor and best man did. Most of the wedding stuff was up to you all. Like bachelorette and bachelor parties, organizing a rehearsal dinner—you’d have to be in constant contact with one another. Did you really want that? But you didn’t want to let Wesley and Melanie down either.

“Um, sure—I’d love to.”, you spoke up finally.

“Yes, of course, I will.”, Joe agreed.

You met each other’s eyes, almost as if you all were thinking the same thing. 

“Brill! Can’t wait.”, Wesley smiled.

“So when is the big day?”, Joe asked, sipping his wine before tearing into his oysters.

“The 15th of August.”

Joe coughed abruptly. “That's like—two months away.”

Melanie nodded. “We can’t wait any longer.”

“So I need to stay two months?”

“Actually, we’re planning to have the wedding in Italy.”, Melanie smiled. 

“Yes, we’re planning to leave next Monday for Italy—but don’t worry—you and Joe are coming too, we hope.”, Wesley looked into Melanie’s eyes.

You and Joe exchanged looks for once, seeming to be thinking the same thing. Making a mental note, you knew you’d have to ask for an extension on your time off. 

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”, Joe smiled easily before bringing the wine back up to his lips, making a small face as if it was bitter.

But it wasn’t the wine that was bitter. It was the thought of you all having to be in the same place together for two months. What were Wesley and Melanie thinking? They knew you both clearly didn’t get along well. And now you all were going to have to work together to plan a wedding for your best friends. This was clearly going to be the hardest thing you ever had to do. 

“We’re so glad. And we got tickets to see the Arctic Monkeys tomorrow night at the music festival, try to relax and clear the air before things really start up.”, Wesley smirked to Melanie.

“Fun.”, you smiled easily.

“Cheers to that.”, Joe raised his wine glass. 

You all made a small toast before you and Joe began downing wine as fast as the waiter could refill your glasses. The rest of the dinner ended up being a blur. You didn’t remember getting in the cab or Melanie and Wes helping to carry you inside Melanie’s apartment and getting you in the bed in her spare bedroom she had prepared just for you to come stay. 

“How much did she drink?”, Wesley asked, your brain barely registering his voice inside a haze.

“I don’t know, several glasses. How’s Joe?”, Melanie asked.

So that idiot got drunk too. That made you feel a little better in your drunken state. 

“Drunk off his ass.”

“Do you think you’ll be okay getting him inside?”

Their voices were low, barely audible through the door.

“I think so. If I need reinforcement, I’ll call some of our other mates.”, Wesley laughed lightly. 

“Okay. Call me when you get home, I love you.”

“I love you too, babe. I will.”

There was the soft sound of Wesley’s footsteps departing along with the apartment door shutting quietly. You heard Melanie sigh before opening your door to peep in on you. 

“Are you okay Y/N?”

“Fine—sleepy.”, you responded. “Can you help me out of my clothes?”

You knew you weren’t being yourself. This reminded you of your college days when you and Melanie would hit the clubs, partying. But this felt even worse than those days did. Was it because you’re older now and your body couldn’t handle that stuff anymore? Melanie attempted to help you stand up, most of your weight leaning on her. 

“Okay, let’s get these clothes off.”, Melanie said as she tugged at your shirt.

It went up and over your head as she tugged at your dress pants, helping slide them down your leg. She fought against the fear you’d fall over. 

“Y/N, can you help me some?”

“I’m trying, Melanie.”, you groaned. 

After several minutes of fighting and frustration, your clothes were off leaving you only in your bra and panties before Melanie wrestled to get you in bed, covering you up. 

“Goodnight, Mel.”

“Goodnight, Y/Nickname.”, she sighed as she flipped out the lights and shut your door softly. 

Your head was pounding as you flipped over in bed in an attempt to get comfortable. It didn’t take long before you drifted off to sleep. Unsure of how many hours passed, you were awakened by that familiar sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. You shot up out of bed, throwing the door to the guest bedroom open and desperately looking down the hallway for the bathroom. Thankfully, you found it before throwing yourself over the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach. 

Silently, you prayed your best friend wouldn’t find you in this state. Hanging your head over the commode, you tried to wrap your head around what happened last night. All you remembered was going to dinner, Wesley and Melanie announcing their engagement and wedding, and you having to be in contact with Joe for at least two more months in Italy before this wedding. Apparently, all that information had been too much and that’s why you felt like wine was the appropriate answer, drinking yourself into oblivion. 

You heard the door creak open softly. “Y/N?”

“I’m good, Mel. Go back to sleep.”, you groaned. “And no need to gloat on your way out.”

She chuckled lightly. “Hard to sleep when your best friend is puking her guts out.”

“I know—it’s my fault.”, you groaned.

“Was dinner really that miserable?”

“No. I’m happy for you and Wes, I really am. It’s just putting up with Joe.”

“Joe really isn’t that bad. I’ve had to put up with him a lot—he and Wes are kinda a packaged deal, you know.”, she crossed her arms playfully.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t hate you.”

You felt the nausea coming back on just thinking about him. 

“He doesn’t hate you either.”

“Unless you wanna see me throw up again, can we finish this conversation later?”

“I’ll go make tea. Want some?”

“No thanks.”, you grabbed your stomach.

“Suit yourself.”, Melanie shrugged her shoulders playfully before closing the bathroom door.

_________________________________________________________________________

Several hours and a couple of tylenols later, you were finally beginning to feel like yourself again. You were lying on Melanie’s couch, staring at the white ceiling and debating your life choices. The only reason you had agreed to do this was for Melanie and Wesley. You had come to like Wesley a lot and you were happy to know he and Melanie were getting married. He was a good guy and seemed to genuinely care about her. You never expected her to find love in London, but you were happy she did. She deserved it after her last relationship.

“Wes and I are going to taste cake flavors today.”

“Sounds exciting.”, you responded lightly before turning your head to look at her.

She was putting her small hoop earrings in as she tried to simultaneously put on her heels. 

“Who doesn’t love cake? Are you feeling any better? Think you’ll be up to the concert tonight?”

“Yeah, I think so. The room doesn’t seem as swimmy, so that’s a plus.”

Melanie chuckled in response. “Good. You and Joe really need to try and bond. It’s important to Wes and I. You’re our best friends and this is our big special day. We can’t have you all getting drunk in the bathroom, trying to avoid one another.”

“He’s the one who comes off snarky and like a pompous asshole.”

“Y/N, please. Just try. For us.”

“Fine.”, you groaned, crossing your arms.

“Alright, I’ll be back later. Go explore London or something.”

You gave a slight smirk at her as she grabbed her keys, and exited the apartment. 

You turned on the television in an attempt to find something to watch, eventually leaving on the BBC channel and drifting off to sleep. The time difference was really fucking with you. Your phone’s annoying tones started you out of your sleep as you searched for your phone that you were sure you laid on the coffee table. 

“Hello?”

Your voice was groggy.

“Hey. Can you do me a huge favor, please?”

Melanie. Her voice was desperate, she needed a huge favor.

“What’s up?”, you stretched easily, yawning. 

“Have you been asleep?”, Wesley chimed in.

“Maybe. Look, the time difference is fucking with me. I’m jet-lagged. What’s up, Mel?”

“I forgot our wedding planner at Wesley’s apartment. We really need it.”

Your brain was trying to catch up. 

“And risk running into Joe. No thanks.”

“Please.”, Melanie pleaded. 

“Joe won’t bet there, I promise. He’s out for a run. Said he had to pick a few things up.”

You sighed, knowing you were gonna give in. But for the record, you were only doing this for them. No one else. 

“Fine. Can you send me the address?”

“Thanks so much Y/N. It means so much to us. I’ll text it right over. See you soon.”

“Uh-huh, you’re welcome.”, you nodded through her endless appreciation.

You got up and threw on your shoes. For the weather, you had decided on jeans and a tank top. You had read that London’s weather could change at the drop of a hat. So far, it was warm and beautiful weather as you locked the apartment. You looked at the address to Wesley and Joe’s apartment, noting that it wasn’t very far from Melanie’s. You decided the walk couldn’t be that bad, right? Hopefully, you would avoid Joe’s running route. What psycho went running in the middle of the day? 

You passed a lot of Londoners, feeling like you stuck out like a sore thumb. It felt like everyone’s eyes were on you as if they knew you didn’t belong here. Some people were riding their bikes, running, walking with friends and you silently prayed one person you wouldn’t pass was Joe. You were not in the mood to deal with him today. Not right now, anyway. He was like alcohol, you had to build a tolerance. 

After a brisk twenty-minute walk, you arrived at the apartment numbered 213, knowing this was their apartment. Wesley had texted you, telling you there was a spare key under the mat in the event that he or Joe had forgotten their keys or locked themselves out. Looking around, you made sure no one was watching you as you pulled the mat up and grabbed the spare key. One step closer to getting in here, finding the planner, and getting out. That was your goal, that was your mission.

Clearing your throat, you slid the key into the lock. It opened with ease. You braced yourself as you entered their apartment, hesitant of what the smell would be or what you’d find but to your surprise, everything was fairly neat and in order. Shoes were lined up neatly at the door, the smell of bourbon filling your nose. You slid your shoes off, making your way into the apartment, feeling like you were in the clear. 

Their apartment was posh-looking, especially for be two men living there. It was neat and classy, but honestly you didn’t expect much less from Joe.

“I wonder where she left that stupid planner.”, you sighed as you began to look in the living room.

“Well hello to you too, love. What planner?”

You jumped, not expecting to hear another voice in the apartment—much less from the person you loathed. Your eyes shot over to the kitchen to find a nude Joe in the kitchen, the counter covering his cock and balls. He had a huge cheeky smirk on his face as he lit a cigarette. His curly hair was sticking to his forehead, his arms glistened in the kitchen light. You cursed your body as your stomach twisted into a pretzel. 

“Oh fuck—oh my God. I didn’t think you’d be home. Wes told me and promised me you wouldn’t be here.”, you stammered, covering your face. 

Instantly, you could feel the blood draining from your face and your cheeks heating up.

“I came home from my jog a little early. It’s hard not to stare right?”

“Um no I just came here—for Melanie and Wesley’s stupid wedding planning book. Where is it?”

Joe smirked as he took a puff from his cigarette as you flipped over pillows on the couch, turned over magazines, and moved anything that you thought could be in the way of you finding this planner so you could get the hell out of here. 

“I could tell you where it is—if you wanna do a little something for me in return, you know, help one another?”

“And what’s that?”, you snapped back, opening the cabinets to the entertainment system.

You were too focused in the living room to notice Joe coming out from behind the counter, his cock on full display. He chuckled softly, causing you to turn around and recoil. 

“Maybe give me a little something of yours?”

You knew what he was implying, your eyes narrowing. 

“Your sexy little cunt. God, it’s been a while since I had sex.”

“Please. You could have sex with any girl you want.”, you rolled your eyes. “And besides, I hate your guts.”

“Have you ever had hate sex? I mean you’re not looking away or telling me to put clothes on. It’s so big, it’s hard not to look, right?”

“Fuck off, Joe.”

He chuckled tauntingly like he was trying to make you mad. “Aw come on, you’ve never had one this big I bet. Have you?”, he asked, taking his cock in his free hand while he stroked the length of his shaft. 

“I’ve had one bigger.”, you lied as you turned your attention to the bookcase. 

“Really? Then you’ll have no problem taking mine, will you?”

“And just why should I?”

You skimmed through the bookcase, searching and hoping you’d find this planner. But it wasn’t looking to work out in your favor. 

“Because I’m sure you got the speech where we need to get closer, didn’t you? Wesley gave me mine this morning before I left on my run.”

“So sex will bring us closer?”

Your tone was condescending, making it sound like his proposition was the dumbest thing you’d ever heard of. 

“Maybe it just makes us hate each other a little less?”

“Where did she put this fucking book?”, you groaned, feeling like you wanted to pull your hair out while completely ignoring Joe’s question.

He watched you for a minute before putting his cigarette out in the ashtray, able to comfortably stroke himself now. You bent over looking in every place that you thought this planner could hide. Were you trying to entice him? It was like dangling a piece of meat in front of an alligator and expecting it not to bite. He bit his lip while watching you intently, thinking of all the things he could do to you. He’d make a mess of you, he just knew it. All he needed was the okay and he would.

You stood back up, running a hand through your hair and debating ripping some out in frustration. 

“Fuck me.”, you sighed.

“I’d love to if you’d let me.”, came his snarky response.

You glared at him. “You really know where the planner is?”

“Of course I do. Wes and Melanie always work on it here.”

“And if we do this, you’d tell me.”

“Of course, I would. I’m not a total dick, Y/N.”

“I’ve already been here fifteen minutes.”, you eyed your Apple Watch. 

“Fifteen minutes we could have utilized, hm?”, he hummed as he came closer—so close his breath was on your neck. 

You could feel his eyes staring at you, studying you. You swallowed hard, closing your eyes. You were not about to give in to Joseph Quinn, were you?

“You’re a pretty girl, you know that? It’s just that fucking bratty attitude of yours.”

You turned to meet his eyes, him continuing to steadily stroke his cock. You couldn’t help it—your eyes wandered down to his cock. You pursed your lips, close to saying something in response but the words weren’t forming. It was like your brain was mush and you hated feeling this way. You hated allowing a man to make you feel this way. Feminists everywhere would be so ashamed. 

“So what’s it gonna be, love?”

“Where?”, you sighed, gritting your teeth.

“The couch. Gotta make it quick and fast. You gotta get that planner to Melanie and Wes.”

“Thank you Captain Obvious.”, you rolled your eyes. 

“Just shut up and let’s fuck.”, he breathed as he pulled you closer, crashing his lips into yours. 

Your brain was running a million miles a minute, trying to think of every reason that this was wrong. He gently backed you up into the living room, beginning to tug at your jeans making quick work of unbuttoning them. You felt the button come loose, him tugging your jeans down so hard you were afraid he might have ripped one of your favorite pairs of jeans. Another reason you could hate him. He broke the kiss, allowing you to steady yourself by holding onto his shoulders as he bent down, helping you out of your jeans. Why was he being rough but nice? It didn’t make sense.

Closing your eyes, your brain was trying to convince you this was stupid. You hated this man. But you weren’t listening to your voice of reason, trying to bury it as one of his hands brushed over your cunt. 

“Let’s just see how wet you are for me.”, he breathed as he pulled your panties to the side, immediately inserting two fingers causing you to gasp and dig your nails into his shoulder blades.

He smirked up at you, brown eyes burning with desire and lust. Not those little puppy dog eyes all the girls claimed he had.

“Fuck. You’re soaked.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to look at anything but him. “Am not.”

He laughed at your attempt to convince him otherwise. “Oh you’re soaked, love. This turns you on—I turn you on.”

“It isn’t you.”, you laughed bitterly as his fingers traced your wet folds, going deeper.

“No?”

“No.”, you argued more confidently. “Any human is gonna get turned on when sex is mentioned. Basic sex ed.”, you scoffed as you choked back a moan.

“I suppose.”, he agreed. “But you’re just a little too eager for this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck—you.”, you choked as he buried his fingers deeper. “Thought this was gonna be fast.”

“You want it rough and fast?”

“I’m sure Melanie and Wesley will be blowing up my phone any second.”

“Fine, we’ll fuck fast.”, he groaned as he slid both fingers out of your wet cunt, causing you to whimper before he picked you up and tossed you on the couch, grabbing your tank top, pulling it up and over your head fast and in a hurry. 

All that was left was your bra and panties. Grabbing one side of your panties, he jerked them down your legs and kept only one leg in so it would be faster to put them back on or so you imagined. Climbing on top of you, he pulled the cups of your bra down and exposed your breasts just enough so he could play with them. There was no need to take it completely off when you all had to rush through this, right? 

Wasting no time, he quickly lined himself up with your entrance. You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for him. It had been months since you’d had sex and you weren’t going to lie, you were a little eager. Or your body was at least. 

“Fuck.”, you hissed as he split you wide open, burying himself deep in your cunt. 

“Thought you had one bigger than mine.”

You glared up at him. “It’s been a few months since I’ve had sex, okay?”

“Aw, you’ve been deprived, haven’t you?”, he feigned as he began to move his hips. 

You closed your eyes and tried to ignore him, feeling him working himself deep inside of you. It stung slightly, but you knew it was because you hadn’t had sex in a while.

“Fuck you’re so tight.”, he groaned as he quickened his pace, the burning sensation intensifying.

Fighting the urge to crinkle your face, you hoped this pain would soon turn to pleasure. It always did. You didn’t respond to him, choosing to ignore him.

“M’ can tell you haven’t been fucked in a while. How long’s it been?”

“I don’t know—exactly.”, you moaned as you turned your head to the side. 

“Sure, you do.”, he moved one of his hands to twist and pinch your hard nipple. 

“I don’t know…six months.”, you breathed in a moan as he hit the spot that made you forget your name, instantly turning the pain into pleasure—finally.

“Six months.”, he repeated, breathing beginning to hitch. “I’m gonna give it to you so hard.”

You opened your eyes. “What are you waiting for then?”

He chuckled, a smile spreading across his face. “Be careful what you wish for, love….”

Without warning, he picked up his pace causing your eyes to widen and your senses to heighten. He was putting a lot of force behind it, pounding you into the couch so hard you could almost see stars. 

“You—just—might—get it.”, he groaned out. 

“Fuck, Joe.”, you moaned as you gripped his shoulder tighter, sinking your fingernails in. 

“Your cunt takes my cock so well....”, he hissed as he grabbed one of your legs, slinging it over his shoulder, allowing himself more leverage. 

How did you end up in this situation? It wasn’t by chance. Would it happen again? Your brain couldn’t hypothetically answer those questions right now, much more focused on something else—someone else.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah—fits like a glove.”, he grunted as he rutted himself into you.

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on a climax. You needed to cum and at least get something out of this for yourself other than Melanie’s stupid planner. You deserved it for having to put up with his dumb ass. It was happening, you were climbing that hill and fast. Joe could read it on your face, he could almost see your heart beating out of your chest. Your pulse was skyrocketing, you just knew it. 

“Close?”, He breathed.

You didn’t respond. He was going to get an answer out of you—one way or another. Smirking, he pulled out abruptly causing your eyes to shoot open, a gasp leaving your lips.

“What—the—fuck, Joe?”

“You never answered me.”

You sighed, clearly annoyed. “I was close before you fucking pulled out.”

“See? Was that so hard?”, he asked.

You groaned. “Can you please just shut up and let’s finish?”

He grunted as he continued to fuck himself deep inside you. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on your own release. You needed this. Your stress was through the roof and you owed this to yourself to get through these next two months. Melanie never explained that you’d be coming to London for a wedding. It was just supposed to be catching up. Joe wasn’t supposed to be in the equation, not for the full length of time. 

“It’s easily been thirty minutes.”, you groaned.

“It’s hard to cum when you’re complaining, love.”

“You probably jerk off thinking about it—about my bitchy little mouth, don’t you?”

“I’m not letting you get in control.”, he gritted his teeth, clearly becoming close. 

The fight for power kinda of turned you on, helping you become closer to an orgasm. Anything to get you through this. His expression eased when he noticed the signs coming back—the signs you were becoming close to an orgasm again. He decided this time he wouldn’t be too mean. His curls were sticking to his forehead, sweat beading up on his forehead and face. One thing you learned in a short time during your stay here was that Londoners didn’t use air conditioning.

His single chain was dangling as he aimlessly fucked himself into you. What a grade-A douchebag he was. You knew he thought he was God’s gift to women. Hell, he’d probably have another one tonight at the music festival. All you were was a notch in his belt. 

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum.”, you hissed.

“Oh fuck—cum all over my dick.”

His words sent you over the edge instantly. You tightened your grip, sinking fingernails into his shoulders as your eyes rolled back in your head, toes curling as you felt your cunt tighten around him and your juices began covering his dick. 

“Fuck—fuck—fuck….”, was all you could hiss out during your orgasm. 

A proud smile spread across his lips as he watched you come undone right in front of him. He wasn’t going to coerce you through your orgasm, you were a big girl. 

“Shit, you squirted all over my dick. You’re a squirter, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer him.

“Fuck, you are. And that’s sexy shit. Porno shit. Every man’s fucking wet dream.”, he laughed as he continued to fuck himself inside of you, only intensifying your orgasm.

Interrupting your moment of euphoria was your stupid cell phone. It took a moment for your brain to even register what it was. It was Melanie’s ringtone. 

“Joe.”

“I’m working on it.”, he hummed. “Almost there if you’ll shut your bitchy mouth.”

“You have to fucking cum or get out of me because this means I’m taking too long.”, you rolled your eyes, squirming under him.

“Just relax. Gonna—cum—hold still, fuck—here it comes.”, he threw his head back. “Gonna fill you full.”

You feel his hips stutter as you held onto him haphazardly, instantly feeling his hot, sticky cum coat the walls of your cunt as you stretched just enough to answer your phone. 

“Hello?”, your breathing was quick and sounded like you had run a marathon.

“Hey Y/Nickname, did you find our planner? The baker is kinda waiting on us.”, she laughed nervously. “What have you been doing? It sounds like you’re working out or something.”

Joe held back a laugh only snickering as he finished cumming deep inside of you, holding himself there and making sure none was wasted.

“Uh—just nerves. Can’t find your planner and freaking out. I was hoping not to have to call you but I can’t find it.”

Joe slid out once he was sure he was finished, causing you to wince as some of his load seeped out behind him. He disappeared into another room, leaving you on the phone with your best friend, practically naked. 

“It’s in Wesley’s room. Just open the door and it should be on the bedside table or in the drawer one, I can’t remember.”

Joe came back with a towel and the planner, holding it like it was some prize. 

“Uh, I found it. Be there asap. Send me directions to the bakery. Thanks, love you, bye.”, you hit the end button quickly.

“Clean yourself up and go. Here’s the planner.”, he tossed the towel at you and laid the planner on the arm of the loveseat. 

“Really? What a gentleman.”, you rolled your eyes.

“And yet you could have just called Melanie from the beginning to ask her where her planner was, but you fucked me so I would tell you.”, he smirked. “Who really wants this worse than the other?”

You were lying there in disbelief, trying to process this. No way you wanted this more than he did. The only reason you considered this was because you hadn’t had sex in a while. That was the only reason—wasn’t it?

“You’re a dirty girl, Y/N. I’ll see you tonight.”

With that, he turned to go and disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You groaned as you quickly wiped yourself off and fixed your underwear and bra before sliding your jeans on. You tossed the towel on the floor, leaving the remnants of the mess you made behind. You quickly looked at yourself in the reflection of the cabinet before grabbing the planner, you looked okay but you definitely needed a shower. In the bathroom, you could hear the sound of water cutting on. 

You looked down at the address on your phone, opening the door to the apartment to leave. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day. Closing the door and eyeing your watch, you knew you had to be fast. That took a little longer than you were expecting especially since you had run into some…obstacles. Deciding quickly to hail a cab, you knew this would be the faster route. You had to make up time and it felt bad to know Wesley and Melanie were waiting on you. You couldn’t tell them the real reason for your delay. 

Ten more minutes passed before you arrived at the bakery, quickly paying your fare and exiting the cab, holding onto the planner for dear life. You threw open the door to the bakery to see Melanie and Wesley sitting with the baker, looking at designs and flavors while they apologized for the delay.

“Sorry, it took me so long. I looked everywhere.”, you laughed nervously. 

“It’s fine, thank you for doing that for us.”, Wesley smiled as you handed him the planner. 

“Yes, thank you so much Y/N.”, Melanie chimed in. 

Suddenly, your phone buzzed causing you to pull it out of your back pocket. The number wasn’t in your contacts but you instantly knew who it was upon reading it. 

-Thanks for earlier. We should do it again sometime. X

“No problem. I’m gonna grab some lunch and head back to the apartment and grab a shower before tonight. Have fun picking cakes.”, you smiled nervously, causing Wesley and Melanie to sense something was off with you but they couldn’t put their finger on it. 

You rushed out of the bakery, feeling like you were about to suffocate. The fresh air with the breeze didn’t seem to quail your issues in the slightest. You needed to come to terms with what you had done and quickly. Reality was hitting you full force as you felt something between your legs. This really happened and there was no undoing it. Your phone buzzed again, reminding you that you hadn’t opened or responded to the text message. And your dumb-ass self actually looked again. It was going to be a long two months. 

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #eddie munson #joseph x reader #eddie imagines #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie stranger things #enemies to lovers #Spotify

[satorutini]

pairing: eren jaeger x reader

summary: After ruining your potential dream relationship - and spring break plans - with Jean, you retreat to your hometown over break for the first time in years to lick your wounds. But you can mope around for only so long when you're strapped for cash. Luckily, the manager at your usual summer gig has an unconventional shift you can fill on short notice. The only issue - the guy you hooked up with and ghosted last winter is scheduled to work the same shift. Even worse, he's your only ride home.

rating: explicit

tw: recreational drug use, inappropriate use of a backseat, excessive chain restaurant lingo

read on ao3 | series nav

#eren x reader #eren smut #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #aot smut #aot fanfic #eren yeager x y/n #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger #welcome to pepper’s

[spiteless-xo]

i’m working on a restaurant fic rn and me and my bf are joking about how the chapter names should be restaurant lingo like “86” or “corner”.

and he’s like, “one chapter can be called behind and then the next chapter there should be a betrayal and you can all it behind with a knife”

#tiff.op #me and him used to both be servers during uni #and we worked at the same chain but different locations #(before we started dating but we were friends) #and there were only 2 of this chain in our town so our restaurants use to lowkey compete #i recently read On Writing by Stephen King and he suggested writing about something you know #like an experience you had or a job you worked at #and i’m like whelp i already wrote about accounting so let’s try serving!! #so far it’s partly funny memories from when i was a server and part actual plot #i can’t wait to write another fic after this one about my experience as a cashier at walmart 💀