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nolita-fairytale · 9 months

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burn your life down | chef luca x fem! reader | part seven

summary: you and luca go to a club opening and take an opportunity to learn more about each other.

warnings: fluff, smut (18+ only), eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, slow burn, baby, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 5.3k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: hi cuties. here is a long chapter with a whole lot of juicy content considering i've been gone all week. i'm also hard launching what luca's last name could be in this series -- something i've brainstormed with @arctvrvs and @superhoeva. there IS smut so please be respectful of it being 18+ only content.

also: mild implication on reader/mc having some kind of asian heritage, but you can super not take it that way, which is why i wrote joe's family as japanese-english. let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

part six | masterlist | part eight

“Cool shoes,” you say, your eyes fixed to Luca’s choice of Nikes for the night, instantly chuckling to yourself as you realize how silly the words coming out of your mouth sound. It’s like you’re a kid again, sitting on the back of the bus with her crush, trying to come up with something– anything – to say.

Luca chuckles, stealing a glance your way as he replies, “Yeah I've got a bit of a thing for them – trainers.”

“I… noticed,” you say, exchanging a look with him, your eyes meeting his as the two of you sit side by side on the train.

“Oh yeah?” he asks, with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, there’s the coffee table book – that and you wore some to the ballet,” you explain, a blush running across your cheeks.

“You noticed that?” he questions with a hint of amusement in his voice, only a little surprised that you’ve picked up on the little things before he’s shared them with you.

“I notice you,” you answer, your voice quieter, yet genuine in your admission.”

He smirks.

“And?”

“And… so far, I like what I see,” you flirt, boldly, this time.

The right side of his mouth turns up into a small smile, and while you’re too busy reading his facial expressions, Luca’s busy finding your hand with his. You can feel it: the lightest touch that sets off butterflies in your belly, his fingers tangling with yours as you ride the train with him to Vesterbro, the humble beginnings of something good.

As Luca continues glancing over at you, he shakes his head incredulously, letting out a small laugh in the opposite direction.

“Hmm?” you hum, inquisitively, stealing a glance his way this time.

“You just ehm…” he trails off, almost as if he’s not sure how to say what he wants to say next. “... you look… really beautiful tonight.”

“Uh-, I-, Thank you,” you stumble through, deciding you’ll just accept his compliment.

It’s not like you don’t know it – didn’t know what you were doing when you put on the barely-there lace bodysuit meant to be a lingerie teddy, that lays perfectly layered underneath your high rise pair of denim. The plunge neckline is cut deep, showcasing quite a bit of inner boob, so much of your cleavage, that you put pasties on just in case. You can tell Luca’s having trouble not ogling you as you smirk, giving his hand a confident squeeze.

As you get off the train and back up to street level, you discover that it’s not a long walk to where the newly-opened club is located. Luca hasn’t let go of your hand and you savor the feeling of new love as the two of you walk hand in hand.

“So explain to me again what all the drama’s about again,” Luca requests, recalling something you previously mentioned.

“Oh it’s a whole thing,” you sigh, as you begin trying to explain yesterday’s gossip. “The guy Jesper is dating is one of the guys opening the club. I don’t think it’s serious, perhaps just a… fling of sorts, but Jesper’s ex-girlfriend who he dated for two years is a… well, she’s a bit of an influencer and it’s a whole thing because she’ll be there too.”

“Ooof,” Luca sounds, giving you a grateful hand squeeze.

“Yeah. Any ex girlfriends we might run into tonight?” you ask, only half-joking.

Luca shakes his head, “I doubt it. I don’t get out much.” He pauses. “Think my last serious ex-girlfriend moved to Spain a year ago or so.”

You hum in response, momentarily relieved that the likelihood of running into any of Luca’s exes tonight is low, considering it wasn’t something you’d worried about until the words were coming out of your mouth. You’re ready to wait in the line that’s formed outside of the club until you hear the sharp sound of Jesper calling your name, waving you into the club. You watch as he exchanges words with the bartender, while Luca mutters something to you about how fancy he feels about skipping the line.

You and Luca follow Jesper down the long, dark hallway, the feeling of pulsating music and a heavy bassline undulating underneath your feet with each step. It feels more like a grungy club in Berlin than Copenhagen, but it seems like it’s what they’re going for, and you thank your past-self for choosing to wear something this sexy. While you feel out of place, at least you look like you knew what you were getting yourself into.

“I’m glad you made it!” Jesper shouts over the loud music as he leads you and Luca to a table in the VIP area.

“What? Thought I’d skip?” you shout back with a raised eyebrow.

This time, Jesper leans in closer, “Thought you and Prince Charming would have a hard time leaving the bedroom now that you two are-.”

“Jesper!”

“What?” he asks with a shrug, looking from you to Luca, who sends you a quizzical look of his own.

You send him an ‘I’m so sorry’ look before ignoring Jesper’s comment.

“I don’t think I’m drunk enough for this yet,” you say, and you’re only half-joking.

“Can I get you a drink?” Luca asks, overhearing your comment.

“Yes,” you nod, before telling him your drink order.

“Great. I’ll go,” he offers, though it’s more like a confirmation than anything else. He leaves the sweetest peck on your lips, earning a look from Jesper as you watch Luca disappear into the crowd.

“Please don’t tell me you haven’t-,” Jesper groans.

“We haven’t,” you interject, firmly.

“You’ve got more self control than I would,” Jesper sighs, disappointedly as he shakes his head your way.

Before you can reply, a pair of arms are wrapping around you as Mathilde’s voice follows with:

“Jesus Christ! Who said you could be hotter than me at my brother’s fling’s club opening?” Mathilde teases you, giving you a big hug.

“It’s not just a fling!” Jesper protests at the same time as you, replying with: “It’s good to see you too, Mathilde.”

It really had only been a few hours since you closed down the restaurant for the night, but seeing the Mikkelson twins off the clock was a whole other animal. You can imagine a time, when they were both single, that the two of them could have ruled the Copenhagen social scene – two fiery forces to be reckoned with.

“So have we run into the ex-girlfriend yet?” you ask, desperate to get the spotlight off of whether you and Luca had slept together yet.

“Ahhhh,” Mathilde smirks. “No sign yet, but my money is on a fashionably late arrival.”

“What’s the drama? Claudio knows you’re bi. You and Sofia ended on good terms. I don’t get it,” you ask, curiously.

“Because it’s Claudio’s big night. And I don’t want anything to fuck with it,” Jesper begins.

“And because Jesper’s a big drama queen,” Mathilde adds, as her brother glares at her in response.

“Who cares about how the night goes,” you chime in, from the perspective of an optimist.

“So you and Luca…” Mathilde solicits, raising her eyebrows a few times cheekily.

“It’s good,” you guys, a broad smile spreading across your lips. “I mean… it’s really, really good.”

It’s good morning texts. And funny cartoons he sends you from the paper. And using him as a soundboard for new dish ideas.

“I’m proud of you, babe,” Mathilde smiles proudly. “For taking the leap.”

“I-,” you begin, before pausing. “Me too. I’m proud of me too.”

It’s then that you see Luca appear, just at the opening of the VIP area, headed in your direction with Emil following closely behind.

“Hey!” you greet the both of them as they approach. While Luca has your drinks, Emil carries a tray filled with shots that you're not entirely sure you’re ready for. Your eyes widen. “Shots?”

Emil only shrugs, as Jesper corrals you, Luca, and Mathilde for a round of shots. You all pick up the soon-to-be-yours shot glasses, as Luca scoots over so that he stands closely, next to you.

He leans in, the feeling of his lips ghosting over your ear sends a chill down your spine as he murmurs, “How much do you want to bet we’ll regret this tomorrow?”

“Oh, so much,” you answer, turning ever so slightly towards him, your lips inchest away from his.

“To a night of letting loose,” Jesper shouts over the loud music as he begins his toast. “To old friends.” He pauses, toasting his glass towards Luca this time. “And new.”

“Skal!”

“Skal!” you all echo as you cheers.

“Eye contact!” Jesper orders, earning a laugh from you and another questioning look from Luca.

Over the electronic music and flashing laser lights, you take in the sound of shot glasses hitting the table, the faces made in response to the bitter liquid, the whoops and cheers of a triumphant first shot of the night.

You set your shot glass down on the tray along with the other empty ones as Luca asks you:

“Eye contact?”

“Yeah,” you shrug in response, taking a more flirtatious approach as you continue your explanation. “You’ve gotta make eye contact while you cheers or it’s seven years of bad sex.”

“Huh,” Luca smirks in response as you take his hand.

“I think I’m ready for a proper drink now,” you coo, a seductive tone in your voice that Luca hasn’t heard yet.

He likes it. Not just because it’s for him, but because he likes discovering these new parts of you, unraveling you as he goes, finding something different every time.

And the more he learns, the more he likes you.

He really likes you.

Luca is quick to locate where he put your drinks down right before you started taking shots. He hands you yours, then goes for his this time, raising his glass towards you.

“Cheers,” you say with a raise of an eyebrow.

“Cheers,” he replies, clinking his glass with yours with immovable eye contact.

You raise your glass to your lips, taking your first sip, as Luca does the same, holding your gaze the entire time as if it’s a damn promise. Before anything can get too heated (because you swear the way he’s looking at you could start a forest fire) you hear the sound of Mathilde’s voice as she saunters over to the two of you.

“Luca!” you hear her call out. “Come. Have a sit. I want to know everything about you.”

You giggle, watching her usher Luca away so that she can bombard him with questions, and your heart fills with warmth. He’s here – meeting your friends, meeting your people – and you don’t even feel like running in the opposite direction.

-------------------------------

In tandem with the loud, pulsating dance music, you move your hips in a swaying motion, against the feel of Luca’s tall, broad body. You’ve got your arms wrapped around his neck and at this point, you’re quite sure you’ve lost count of the drinks you’ve had.

That anyone’s had, really.

“Have I told you how absolutely ravishing you look tonight?” Luca rasps, leaning down so that the sound he makes vibrates right against your ear.

You let out a gasp, the feel of his body pressed up against yours and the sound of his voice all feel too good.

“I think last time you said ‘beautiful,’” you tease him, playfully.

“Why can’t it be both, darling?” he asks you, grinning down at you.

Instead of answering, you pull him towards you, pressing your mouth to his in a passionate attempt, yet very sloppy, drunk kiss.

Do you want to get out of here? is what you think he’s going to say, but instead, Luca pulls back from the kiss, only to lean in once more as he whispers in your ear:

“Are you hungry?”

You laugh at the unexpected question, and suddenly, it becomes apparent to you that you’re starving.

“Yes. You wanna get out of here?” you ask back.

“Lead the way.”

Knowing it’ll take longer than you’d like for it too, you bypass the idea of trying to find everyone to say goodbye, and skip right to the Irish Goodbye, leading Luca out of the noisy club and back out to the bustling streets that are the red light district. The two of you are blissfully drunk and giggly as you sit on the train, on the way back to your place.

You’re more than grateful that you live so close to the train station, since it’s only a quick walk back to your apartment.

“I can’t believe those girls from the train were only just starting their night’s. Can you believe it?” you ask with a giggle, as Luca follows you up the stairs of your walk up. You fidget with your keys, unlocking the door as you continue on about how you’re not twenty five anymore and tonight’s reminded you that you can barely keep up now.

But Luca doesn’t answer your question.

Instead, as soon as you close the door behind you, he’s pressing you up against it and kissing you like he’s going off to war tomorrow. You sigh his name against his lips as you kiss him back, completely turned on by the brute force of a man as tall as him. Your head spins as you realize that he’s only just started kissing you and he’s already got you this hot and bothered. You can’t tell whether it’s the alcohol, the way his lips move expertly against yours, or the way his hands snake up your torso, inching dangerously close to the exposed skin of your plunging lace teddy.

“Touch me,” you gasp as an encouragement, impatient with the way your nerves seem to be screaming for more of his touch.

“Oh fuck,” he groans, his large hands moving to cover your breasts, only confirming his suspicions that you’ve been braless this whole time.

This new discovery leads to another moan from his mouth as his hands wrap around you, pulling you closer to him. Luca presses his forehead against yours, abruptly breaking the kiss, his breath heavier, more uneven now.

“Fuck, I think I might be too pissed for this,” Luca murmurs, as you try to catch your breath, knowing that he means drunk.

You giggle, as you admit, “That’s-. Yes. I… too am very drunk.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he starts up again, leaving a small kiss on your lips. “But I’m not sure that’s quite the impression I want to leave on you either.”

“That’s… so respectable,” you say on an exhale, in pure disbelief of how perfect this man is.

“Plus,” he continues, in between kisses as his lips begin to place gentle kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “When we do finally sleep together. I want you to remember. Every. Single. Thing. I do to you.”

You’re not sure whether you feel completely sexually frustrated or entirely turned on by how responsible of a decision Luca’s making for the both of you, considering the circumstances. Luca leaves a trail of kisses up your neck once more earning a moan from you as manage to get out:

“Fuck, okay. Just let me cook you something.”

You both laugh as he agrees to the terms of your agreement. You playfully shove Luca off of you, knowing that you won’t be able to function much longer if he stays pressed up against you like this.

“Wait here,” you order, holding up your index finger as if to say, ‘give me a moment,’ before disappearing into your bedroom.

-------------------------------

By the time you emerge from your bedroom, you’ve changed into one of your favorite t-shirts to sleep in – an old, mildly tattered Rolling Stones tee that you once bought at the thrift shop back in college. Luca’s kicked off his shoes and has found a few of your cookbooks that he’s started flipping through as you pull an amalgam of half-full frozen dumpling bags out of your freezer. With your pan on the stovetop preheating, you silently offer Luca a glass of water, before leaving a soft kiss on his lips once more.

You put a little music on, just something soft for the background as you add oil to the increasingly hot pan. Luca hums along with the song that’s playing, cookbook in one hand, glass of water in the other, as he approaches you, making his way to the kitchen island that sits directly across from your gas stove. He settles in, placing both objects down on the counter top as he sits down on the barstool you have tucked underneath the kitchen island.

There’s a quiet intimacy about the way you move around each other, so comfortable, so familiar, even if you’ve only just met within the last few months. The sound of sizzling hot oil as you place the first frozen dumpling down into the pan adds texture to the symphony of your evening: your choice of music, Luca’s soft humming, the way the pan slides against the coils of your gas stove as you shake it.

“Did you grow up cooking like this?” Luca asks, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

“Uh… yes. And also no,” you reply, cryptically, ready to explain more.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Luca says with a chuckle. “You know… when I met you. When I first came to the restaurant… I was pleasantly surprised.” He takes a beat, taking a quick sip of water as he explains himself. “It’s just that the whole fusion thing got a little tired, a little too played out, but you seem to have given it new breath… new life.” Luca flips the page of the book he’s been examining.

“And I recall you saying something about an Italian restaurant… so the Asian inspired flavors….”

“Yeah, no, it’s a great question,” you reply, turning to look at him as you let the bottoms of the dumplings crisp up. “So my mom was a single parent – raised me solo. Growing up we ate a lot of easy things… you know, like frozen dumplings… and lots of Stouffer’s lasagnas which… you could say that that combination alone is perhaps the foundation of discovering my culinary voice.”

You chuckle, recalling your childhood memories as you share more.

“So no, I didn’t grow up cooking with her often. We didn’t do the whole… sit around a table and make dumplings for hours kind of thing, but Mom always has a bag of ‘em in the freezer and chili oil on hand. But yes, I grew up cooking like this, more so than anything I do now.”

Luca nods as he listens, his half smile growing as you so openly share about yourself. The way he responds to you – to learning about you – only makes you want to share more. It’s all true… but it’s not the whole story.

“Do you have siblings?” he asks, curiously.

“Nope, just me,” you answer, before deciding that you really do want to answer Luca’s initial question.

“I actually learned a lot of this stuff – about miso, how to make a proper dashi, how to pleat dumplings – from Joe. From his mom,” you hesitate, before pausing.

You want to check in with Luca, searching his face for any kind of reaction, before you proceed to talk about your ex husband considering you were so close to getting naked with him just minutes ago.

“Is it okay… if I talk about him?”

“Yeah,” Luca answers with a shrug, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. “He was a big part of your life – of you. And I like learning about you.”

You accept his answer, trying your best to be cool about the fact that the level of emotional maturity it takes to respond that way really impresses the hell out of you. Realizing that it’s time to add water to your fry pan you turn your back to Luca momentarily once more. You add the smallest bit of water from your drinking glass, a white hot sound filling your ears as the cooking process goes from pan-frying to pan-steaming. You cover the pan tightly with its lid before turning back to Luca.

“Joe’s family… they’re Japanese-English, which is really where I learned to start blending my own stories into food,” you explain, with an honesty that makes you feel incredibly naked right now. “His mom would teach me very traditional Japanese recipes when we first started dating – I think it’s how she knew how to connect with me, how we got to know each other, and I was more than eager to learn. we got to know each other. I… sort of always had a thing for food, for cooking, and learning things I didn’t necessarily learn in my immediate family unit… it was cool, you know? I just, I didn’t think it could really be a career, wasn’t my priority at the time to be an artist as the full-time gig.”

“But the more I learned from her, the more I realized that it wasn’t dissimilar from what I’d learned growing up inside of my best friend’s family’s Italian restaurant. And it all just kind of… grew from there. After Joe and I got divorced, I figured it was now or never, take the leap, do the thing I always wanted to do.”

“Opening a restaurant. That was your dream?” he asks, searching for confirmation. You nod as he smiles proudly.

“And look at you now.”

“Yes,” you chuckle, taking a breath. “Yeah, somehow I now have a whole new life and restaurant in Copenhagen.”

“You do,” Luca nods, admiration evident in his eyes.

You take a beat because the way he looks at you sends another rush through you, and this time, you know it’s not the alcohol.

“While we’re on the subject… What about you? What are your parents like?” you ask, shifting the spotlight over to him this time.

“Well, like you, I grew up mostly with a single mom,” Luca replies, as a flash of recognition flashes through your eyes.

“Mostly?” you question.

“Yeah um..” he trails off.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t-,” you interject.

“No, I-, I want you to know,” he reassures you, a soft look in his eyes that makes you want to trust his word, as if he wants you to know him too.

“Okay,” you say, softly.

You’re not sure a man’s ever let you in like this before and it feels terrifying and electric all at once.

“My full name is Luca Davies-Bernardi,” he starts. “...but I dropped the last part when I turned eighteen.” Luca flips another page over, glancing down quickly before he returns his gaze to yours.

“My mum had me when she was pretty young. Got a bit of the short end of the stick when my dad left her and me. I was… three or four maybe? A real tosser, if you ask me.”

“Woah,” you sound on an exhale, as you listen.

“Yeah,” he scoffs, before continuing.

“He got another woman pregnant. Moved back to Italy instead of staying here with us. Apparently I’ve got a sister, out there… somewhere.”

You wait a beat before asking:

“And he never tried to keep in touch?”

“He tried,” Luca admits, a hint of bitterness in the way the words come out. “But I was a really angry kid. And as I grew older, I just didn’t see the point.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, empathetically.

“No it’s-, I dunno,” Luca shrugs. “I much rather put my energy into my relationship with my mum. We’re actually quite close.”

“Yeah?” you ask with a smile, because it really is the most darling thing you’ve ever heard.

“Yeah,” he answers, leaning in to show you the larger forearm piece he has on his left arm. “I got this tattoo for her. She was a nurse… for most of my childhood. It’s what she had to do, so she worked a lot. I had a lot of time on my hands, perhaps why I got into so much trouble as a kid. Really put her through it till I started working in the kitchen.”

“You little rebel, you,” you tease him, with a giggle. Turning your attention back to your stovetop, you remove the lid and the pan for its heat source, before turning off the stove entirely. Giggling again you add, “You know, I’m just trying to picture it.

“Oh, I’m sure I have a few old photos around my flat somewhere,” Luca laughs, as if it’s a promise that he’ll show you someday.

“Your mom sounds like a badass,” you sigh, making your way around your small kitchen island so that you’re standing right in front of him.

“So does yours,” he replies, reaching for your hands.

As your eyes take in the ink that adorns his hands and his arms, you drag your fingertips across the little designs: the A, the scotch bonnet, the nurse tattoo he got for his mother.

“And I like them… your tattoos,” you finally say, breaking the momentary silence between the two of you.

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, his eyes catching yours as you look up at him.

“Yesssss. They are… very sexy,” you smirk in return, biting down on your lower lip as you run your fingertips along his inked forearms.

“Glad you like ‘em. They’re permanent,” he preens, showing off cheekily

“Oh shut up,” you tease him as you place the gentlest peck against his full lips.

He chuckles, pulling you in for another kiss, this time deepening it.

As Luca kisses you, your mind wanders to his choice of words.

Permanent.

Of course it’s too freaking soon to think anything else of it other than this:

If it were up to him, Luca’s not planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

-------------------------------

As the morning light trickles in through your bedroom window, it dawns on you that you are not alone. You blink your eyes open, taking in the image of the gorgeous man that lays beside you.

The one who you ate dumplings with on your couch in the early hours of the morning. The one that fell asleep with you in your bed last night, because there was no way in hell you were letting him walk home at 4 am. The one who's making your heart race and your head spin and who reminds you that there is romance in this world.

Yep, that one.

You slip out of bed, careful not to wake him as you get up to pee, the massive headache a result of far too many drinks consumed last night. You tiptoe into your kitchen, filling up your glasses from last night with fresh water before heading back to the bedroom.

“Good idea,” Luca says, as he notices the glasses of water you return with.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” you ask.

He shakes his head, “It’s alright.”

“Figured they’d be helpful considering neither of us are 21 any more,” you joke in reference to the water, as Luca sits up in your bed.

Handing him his glass, he happily takes it before taking a few greedy sips of water. It’s a silent exchange: he hands you the water glass and you place it back on your bedside table before crawling back into bed with him.

The way you fit curled up against his side feels better than you imagined as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, whispering a soft ‘good morning.’

“Morning,” you reply softly.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, or how long it takes, or who makes the first move, but one minute you’re peacefully snuggled up to Luca’s side, and the next, he’s all over you, rolling you over onto your back as he presses hot kisses to your mouth, to your neck, his hands snaking underneath your favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt as you sigh out his name.

“Luca.”

“Yes, love?”

You repeat your plea from last night – now that neither of you are intoxicated.

“Touch me.”

No longer hesitant, Luca grabs at your breasts, his face buried in your neck as he sucks, kisses, leaves love bites all over you as you arch your chest up into his hands. Large hands cover each breast and you moan as you feel his thumbs graze your nipples, your breathing becoming heavier with each touch.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs into your skin, one hand making its way down your body at a smooth, slow pace. His fingers play with the waistband of your panties, and he knows that he’s got you in the palm of his hand as you’re more than impatient for him to continue his exploration.

“May I?” he asks cooly.

You let out a frustrated moan, anticipating his touch like your life depends on it.

“Please,” you beg, a desperateness in your voice that you’re unfamiliar with.

“Well when you ask so nicely,” Luca smirks, cockily.

You wish you had it in you to roll your eyes, to shake your head, to tell him to shut it, but as soon as his fingers slip into your panties, your mind goes blank. He sighs softly at the feel of you, then puts all of his energy into sliding your panties down your legs, the wet heat of you already slick with desire for him.

“My god,” he groans, as soon as his fingers find the wetness that’s pooled between your legs. “This all for me?”

And you don’t even have it in you to reply, letting out a loud, keening moan as his fingers slide through your folds, parting them as he explores new territory. They move up a few inches, dragging your wetness up and down your core, expertly finding your clit as you hiss in pleasure.

“What do you think?” you bite back, letting out another moan.

Luca smirks, watching as you writhe underneath him, enjoying the way you look at his mercy.

“I think,” he begins, his fingers rubbing circles around your clit, earning a gasp from your mouth. “I know. That this is all for me.”

“Fuck!” you cry out as Luca pushes his index finger into you.

The way you feel stretching around his finger elicits a moan from him too this time.

“You’re so tight, love,” he groans, as if he’s getting off to the idea of you.

You fall into a haze as Luca begins to fuck you with his finger. One. Then two. And before you know it, he’s moving at a rapid pace, his fingers buried deep inside of you, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that has you calling out his name while his thumb comes up to pay close attention to your clit once again. You’re on the edge, ready to come undone, the coil that’s building in your belly ready to burst.

It’s all Luca, and fuck, and I’m so close, and yes right there, are met with groans of your name, eyes that look at you like you’re a work of art, and hands that are intent on bringing you to your climax.

“I want to see you fall apart, love,” Luca commands, his voice low and raspy.

And that’s all it takes for you to cum around his fingers while they work you through your climax so beautifully. You cry out his name, your eyes snapped shut as you experience one of the best orgasms you’ve had in a long time.

“Holy shit,” you pant, trying your best to catch your breath as you come down.

You whimper at the loss of him as he slides his fingers out of you, both hands come up to your torso as he kisses you passionately, deeply, breathlessly.

“C’mon,” he says as he pulls away from the searing kiss, knowing that he is fully in control here.

“Let’s get you some breakfast.”

-------------------------------

a/n: IS EVERYONE DOING OK BC WOW THE SEXUAL TENSION

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

555 notes · View notes

savingcrxws · 10 months

Text

masterpost

THE BEAR

carmen berzatto

EYES ON FIRE | carmy x ex!reader, exes to lovers

mikey berzatto

chef luca

JOHN WICK

john wick

santino d'antonio

vincent de gramont

OUTER BANKS

jj maybank

rafe cameron

pope heyward

MARVEL

peter parker

loki

thor

steven grant | marc spector | jake lockely | moon knight system

kang the conqueror

THE SANDMAN

dream of the endless

the corinthian

death of the endless

desire of the endless

#masterpost.txt #marvel #the sandman #the bear #obx #outer banks

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translatemunson · 8 months

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writing masterlist

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ ONLY MDNI

Eternity with you series — part 1 • part 2 • part 3 (vampire!eddie munson x reader, steddie x reader, SMUT)

The Ex Tapes series — masterlist (rockstar!eddie munson x reader, angst)

do you get deja vu? — oneshot (chef luca the bear, angst)

#effie writes

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zablife · 2 years

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Salvation

Luca Changretta x pregnant reader x Jack Nelson

Summary: Jack has tried for many years to get you to share his feelings, but always failed. When he discovers you’ve made a life with someone else, he vows to take revenge on the man who came between you and make you his once and for all.

Authors Note: Requested by a lovely anon. I hope I didn’t turn this darker than you wanted. I got a little carried away with your wonderful idea! Also inspired by "Salvatore" by Lana Del Rey.

Moodboard: courtesy of the amazing @ilovefinncole

Warnings: Dark AU, possessiveness/stalking, pregnancy, ethnic slurs, mild smut, violence, murder, mention of blood, mention of abortion, my poor Italian

You reclined in your chair, enjoying the feeling of warmth on your skin from the bright sunshine. It was a balmy summer day, but a gentle breeze kept you cool. You watched a few clouds float on the horizon as you listened to the waters of the Mediterranean lap at the pebbled beach below. It seemed as though the light that danced on the water was sparkling just for you and you wondered how life could ever be more perfect than this.

Looking down at your stomach, you smoothed your sundress, smiling to yourself. Only you knew of the life growing inside you and your heart surged with love. You and Luca weren’t yet married, but you knew he would be overjoyed when you told him the good news. After all, he told you daily how much he desired a family with you.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t heard Luca approach when he stooped down to place a loving kiss on the top of your head. You tilted your neck to look up at him, seeing the adoration glimmering in his hazel eyes. He captured your lips in a kiss, rubbing your shoulders soothingly with his large hands. You were deliriously happy here with him in the home of his ancestors.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you said gently.

“I’m sorry the business call took so long, amore. Are you enjoying the weather?,” he asked taking the seat next to yours. He reached for your hand and kissed it by way of apology. “The summer is hot, but I’ve been cold without you,” you said with a smile, moving to sit on his lap and caress his face. A few gray clouds rolled above you, shading the sun’s rays.

“I’m here now, baby,” he reassured you, firmly wrapping his arms around you. You felt the warmth from him radiating over you, replacing your need for the sun. “Baciami*,” he requested. You giggled at his familiar demand, leaning into him for a passionate kiss.

Suddenly a light rain began to fall. “Let’s go inside,” Luca offered adding with a smile, “the chef prepared cacciatore.”

“My favorite!” you squealed with delight. “Yes, I know,” he said chuckling at your enthusiasm. Rising from the chair you shared, Luca removed his jacket to cover you from the light drizzle of rain. “You spoil me, Luca,” you declared and he joined you under the coat to steal a kiss. “Not as much as I’m going to after we’re married,” he replied.

That night as you ate dinner, Luca discussed the business waiting for him in New York.

You thought it over before answering hesitantly. “I don’t know if I want to go back. It’s so close to…him.”

“I know, tesoro, but I have to do this one last deal for the family before I leave all this behind. You can wait for me here if you’d like, but I want you with me,” he explained patiently. Understanding your reservations he offered, “We’ll be far away from Boston and you’ll be protected. You know I would never let anything happen to you.”

You hated to be parted from one another. Luca often told you he was unable to sleep without you by his side and you felt the same. You responded with a nod, “Where you go, I go, Luca.” You sounded confident in your decision, but your heart raced at the thought of returning to America where your ex-boyfriend Jack, could find you more easily.

———————————————————————————-

You met Jack Nelson when you were a teenager. Although you lived in the same neighborhood and shared Irish heritage, there wasn’t much more you had in common. He thought you were perfect for each other and constantly pressured you for a date. You eventually relented and began seeing him, but you didn’t understand him at all. In fact, you were scared of him. He had a bad temper and liked violence, a dangerous combination. He had never mistreated you when you were together, but you had witnessed too many displays of his anger to feel safe in his presence. His love was so unlike Luca’s. Luca loved you truly and deeply, while Jack had demanded possession of you and that frightened you more than it assured you.

You could still recall the day Jack saw you with Luca for the first time. Jack had travelled to New York for a meeting and spotted you in a jazz club. He had a woman on his arm you didn’t recognize, but he quickly discarded her. Sauntering over to your table with practiced swagger, you could tell by his intense gaze and raised eyebrow he didn’t like what he saw. The only comfort you had was Luca’s arm around your shoulders.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Luca asked noticing the way your whole body suddenly tensed.

“It’s the man I told you about from home,” you replied as Jack came closer.

“Good evening, y/n,” Jack started pleasantly. You hoped he had just come to say hello and leave, but that wasn’t Jack’s style. He continued, “Is this guinea your new man?”

Your face felt hot with anger as you tried to contain your emotions. “This is Luca Changretta and he commands a lot of respect here so I’d be very careful if I were you, Jack.”

“Is that so? I’m not afraid of a fucking dago,” he spat, lunging for Luca.

With that, Luca stood and straightened his jacket. He snapped his fingers, motioning for his men. “Show this gentleman out,” Luca ordered. You knew Jack wanted a fight, but Luca didn’t need to throw punches to assert his dominance. You admired how calm he could be in these situations. As Jack was being escorted out of the club he looked back over his shoulder, yelling to be sure Luca and everyone else would hear him. “You think you can have her? She’ll never belong to you!” he threatened.

———————————————————————————

The rain had subsided after dinner and you asked Luca to walk with you in the fresh air. You were ready to tell him about the baby and you wanted it to be under the light of the full moon, fitting since that’s when you conceived your child. Luca asked the maid to fetch a shawl for you so you wouldn’t catch a chill in the night air and you beamed at how protective and thoughtful he was.

You strolled together aimlessly for a bit before taking Luca’s hand in yours, lightly tracing your finger over the cross on his middle finger. “Luca, do you remember the first night we arrived and the beautiful evening we had?” You looked up toward the sky noticing the soft haze around the moon and the millions of tiny stars surrounding it. Luca stopped, following your upward gaze, and replied, “How could I forget, cuore mio? The salt air, the sound of the waves, you on the balcony under that full moon,” he reminisced. Guiding his face to look down at you, you took his right hand and placed it on your stomach with a radiant smile. “It’s a boy, I feel it,” you said quietly watching Luca’s face go through a series of emotions. The surprise gave way to excitement as he picked you up and spun you in a circle. “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world,” he said cupping your cheeks in his hands and giving you a slow, gentle kiss. “What names do you like?” you asked. “Salvatore,” He answered with conviction. “After your grandfather?” You asked, thinking only of tradition.

“Yes, but it also means savior, amore. He will be our salvation from the world we’re leaving behind. I promise you, he’ll never have to do the things I’ve done and he’ll never want for anything,” Luca stroked your cheek watching your eyes fill with happy tears.

“Oh, Luca, that sounds wonderful. I love you,” you said, wiping a fallen tear.

“Ti amo,” he answered pulling you into his embrace.

—————————————————————————-

The boat ride to America was difficult for you, morning sickness combined with sea sickness kept you in your state room constantly. Luca worried over you losing weight from the vomiting and begged you to eat and drink. “This is normal, Luca. I’ll be fine,” you assured him, but he wouldn’t leave your side. You spent much of the voyage in bed reading together. When you felt too ill, Luca would take up your book and read to you. Laying your head in his lap, he would card his fingers through your hair as his voice lulled you to sleep.

When you arrived in New York, you hesitated to leave the boat where you’d been tucked away with your love. You felt vulnerable outside the confines of your cabin, a voice inside you screaming out a warning that New York was no longer safe. Your paranoia lingered as Luca showed you the apartment he had arranged. Although you tried to dismiss the feeling when you met the two men who would guard you. You were already thinking of the time when Luca’s business would be concluded and you could go back to your paradise.

————————————————————————-

The first week of your visit, you didn’t eat or sleep much. You were keeping watch over the house more carefully than your guards some days, still feeling uneasy. Luca thought it was your hormones making you overprotective of the baby. He allowed you to double check the locks and question his men if it meant making you feel safe.

During your second week in New York, Luca was desperate for you to eat. He found gelato for you, knowing it was you favorite sweet treat. Too full for dessert after dinner, you stored it in the ice box for later and got ready for bed. Choosing a light, baby pink nightgown and peignoir for the evening, you changed and sat at your vanity to brush your hair. When Luca saw you in the satin dressing gown, he couldn’t keep his hands off you.

He had been leaving early every morning and you missed his touch. Feeling desperate for him, you allowed him to lift your nightgown and take you from behind. You giggled as he sucked a bruise into your neck, reaching an arm behind his head to steady yourself against his thrusts. Finishing with a grunt, Luca dropped his head to your shoulder breathing in your perfume. “I could die a happy man,” he said voice muffled by your hair. You turned and hit him in the chest playfully, “Don’t say that, Luca, it’s not funny.” He recaptured you in an embrace and kissed your nose saying, “I’m not going anywhere…except for now, when I get you a glass of water, amore mio.” Luca pulled his pants on and you smiled at him lovingly in the mirror as he walked away from you.

No sooner had he left the room, you remembered the gelato. It would be such a treat to eat it in bed, you thought. You scampered after your fiancé in the dark, but felt yourself pulled back suddenly by a pair of strong arms. You screamed out and a hand came to your mouth to silence you. “Shhhh, baby, it’s alright. It’s just me,” you heard a familiar voice tell you. Your eyes grew wide with fear at the realization that Jack had you in his arms. Panic set in as you tried to move your head to find Luca. Jack shoved you back into your bedroom as two men hauled Luca through the door. His hands had been bound behind his back. When Luca saw an opportunity, he shoved one of the men away with his body weight and kicked him in the ribs while he lay on the ground. The goon stood, brushing himself off, and Jack motioned for him to take you. “Mr. Changretta, you shouldn’t have done that,” Jack scolded, opening his jacket to reveal a pistol.

“I think it’s time we settled our dispute, don’t you?” Jack said to Luca, holding the gun on him.

“We don’t have anything to talk about, you fucking mick,” Luca said unable to control the vitriol spilling from his mouth while a man was torturing you.

“You’re right, it’s not a matter that should be up for discussion. I told you you’d never have y/n. She belongs with me,” Jack explained coldly.

“She’s not going anywhere because she doesn’t love you, you sick fuck,” Luca spat.

“Your pathetic attempt to threaten us isn’t going to work,” you said holding your head high, trying to be brave.

“What’s pathetic is your level of security, sweetheart,” Jack scoffed. “No one’s going to stop me, especially not those useless guards of yours. They’re lying dead outside,” he taunted you. You tried to control the shiver that went through you knowing you and Luca were alone with Jack and his men. You blinked back tears feeling utterly helpless.

Jack pushed Luca onto his knees and shoved the barrel of his gun into Luca’s back. Luca stumbled for a moment before straightening himself with dignity. “Don’t be afraid, vita mia,” Luca said to you in a warm, comforting voice belying the peril he faced. You were fighting desperately against the hulking man who restrained you. Although you knew it was futile, you instinctively reached for Luca, needing to feel his touch. With trembling lips, you called out to Luca, “ti amo.”

“That’s enough,” Jack said pointing the gun at you. You were shaking, unable to control the mounting fear within your body. Turning back toward your lover, Jack commanded, “Go on, say goodbye to her,” releasing the safety on the gun.

“No, Jack, please, please….” You begged him sobbing.

Luca locked eyes with you, a pained look on his face. You both felt the sand slipping from the hourglass as he spoke to you with urgency, “Ti amerò per sempre**,” he called out to you.

You never heard the shot that struck Luca in the back of the head, killing him instantly. Shock had overtaken you and you felt your throat go raw from the scream you released into the night. The man who had been holding you, dropped your arms and you sunk to the floor. Crawling over to Luca, you clung to his body, feeling blood seep onto your nightgown.

“Pick her up,” Jack ordered and one of his men approached you. You clawed at him as he raised your weight easily and placed you back on your feet.

Your hand flew to your stomach protectively. You looked around the room, feeling the weight of the men’s stares and wishing you could run. You cursed yourself for forgetting that Jack was as observant as a hawk. You dropped your hand quickly, but it was too late. He stalked over to you with purpose. Before you could pull away, he ran his calloused hands down your body to rest over your stomach. Rubbing his thumbs over the silk of your nightgown, he felt the small swell that jutted from your slim form. His eyes flicked to yours, but you looked away trying to stop your tears.

“That fuckin’ wop ruined you, didn’t he?” He said angrily. You shook your head, wanting to dispute him but knowing it would be futile to explain your love for Luca to a man like Jack.

You watched him take a knife from his pocket and your heart began beating wildly. Seeing the rage behind his eyes, you took a step back. “Don’t hurt me, ” you pleaded. Pulling you close enough for you to see the scar above his lip, he watched your horrified expression as he ran the false edge of the knife down the side of your neck and pressed it to your skin feeling the racing pulse underneath. You held your breath, waiting for him to turn the knife and execute you as well. You closed your eyes in prayer.

Then you felt the pressure of the blade subside and you exhaled in relief. His tone turned soft, as though he were speaking to a lover, “I would never hurt you, doll. You see, I want you to be my wife.” You could tell by his tone of voice he was smirking at you. Your stomach dropped, feeling your world crumble around you.

You flinched as you heard him flicking the knife closed and putting it back in his pocket. Before you could relax, you felt his fingers wrap around the column of your neck without applying pressure. He stroked your throat as he spoke, stopping to scowl at the bruise Luca had left only an hour before. “I just want to impress upon you the seriousness of my intent. No one will ever come between us again,” he said placing a kiss on your cheek, licking a salty tear as it fell. You turned your head away, eyes still closed to him, willing him away from you. Jack released his grip, but continued to loom over you, watching the rise and fall of your flushed chest, glistening with spilled tears.

Sensing your despair Jack leaned forward to press his mouth to the shell of your ear and whisper, “It’s gonna be ok, sweetheart. We’re gonna sort out this little situation,” he said stroking your stomach once more. He hooked his knuckle under your chin to make you look at him.

Your eyes flew open to confront him. “I won’t get rid of my baby! I won’t!” You shouted at him, feeling the fight return to your body. You stared at Luca’s lifeless form, lying in a pool of blood on the floor. You had just watched the life drain from your beloved and you were resolved not to give up the only piece of him that remained.

Jack rubbed your arm gently, reassuring you,“No, no, no. Nothing like that, doll. I couldn’t risk losing you with a dangerous procedure like that.” He disgusted you with his words, but you breathed a sigh of relief knowing he wouldn’t take your child from you.

He looked around with a wave of his hand, “This place isn’t good enough for ya. That fucking wop was no good for ya,” he pronounced.

“I’ll never love you, you know that?” You retaliated.

At that admission, Jack smacked you hard across the mouth. Your head swung to the side and you rubbed your stinging jaw, your tongue recognized the sickening metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

“Clean yourself up. You have 10 minutes,” Jack warned walking out of the room. His men stayed to watch you change and you didn’t care. You were numb to everything around you.

—————————————————————————

Meanwhile, Jack used your phone to place a call.

“Sister Margaret, thank you for taking my call so late in the evening. I’m sorry to disturb you,” Jack said acting as the gentleman she knew him to be. “It’s a matter of urgency though. I have a young woman who has come to me very distraught,” he waited for the sister to express her concern. Continuing the ruse he answered, “Yes, well, as you know I couldn’t leave her this way being an unwed mother. My family will take her into our care, of course. You’ll have a place for the infant when it’s born?” He nodded thoughtfully at her adamant agreement. “You’ve been most helpful, sister. I’ll be sending another check on Friday,” he said concluding his business with the head of the orphanage. His plans were coming together and you would be his bride in a few months time, after the donation, of course.

---------------------------------------------------------

Translation: *Kiss me, **I’ll love you always

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Read Prequel headcanons for Jack x reader here.

Additional moodboard of Luca x reader in Italy here.

#Peaky blinder fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Luca Changretta fanfic #Jack Nelson fanfic #Luca Changretta x reader #jack Nelson x reader

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allyreads · 4 years

Text

fic recommendations

this is a list of few of my favourite fics, check my reblogs for even more fics !!

author recommendations here

search the members’ initials to see what i recommend that isn’t on this list!! (kth for kim taehyung, ick for im changkyun, etc.)

fandoms i read: bts, svt, mx, exo, got7 and nct (so far)

disclaimer:

1. this is not a complete list, i’ll keep adding to it.

2. majority of these contain or are smut

3. very angsty so be careful of your heart

got7:

jaebum:

far from home - @red-exo

a light-hearted read that doesn’t use the most complex of vocabulary yet is able to make me feeeeeel all sort ways. although based on a simple concept, the story will definitely hike JB up your bias list!!

jinyoung:

the noisy neighbours - @chickenkooks

mark:

i want desire (a series) - @taexual

who doesn’t love a good mafia AU! series

bts:

seokjin:

currents - @yeoldontknow

one of the most powerful fanfictions ive ever read. all the revelations at the end…i can’t find any other words to describe how powerful it was.

hoseok:

systems of touch - @yeoldontknow

fuelled by love and sexual tension, this story portrays a rather professional side of jung hoseok and a reader through an artistic storyline.

oceans of gold - @junqkook

always had a soft spot for greek mythology (as mentioned below in yoongi’s) the myth of apollo and hyacinth were incorporated perfectly into this fic i’m obsessed.

jungkook:

policeofficer!jungkook - @nothingatallspecialinanyway

inspired by the music video, it’s a simple and hot piece of writing that portrays the AU!possible sexy side of jeon jungkook

oblivion - @softlyjiminie

demon!AU’s are just the best. this has angst too UGH I LOVE.

young wolf - @junqkook

for game of thrones fanatics ;)

forever and a night - @gukyi

a heartbreaking yet lovely werewolf!JK fic

not quite lovers - @junqkook

a hot ass fic, as expected from yara. in this fic the reader is the CEO rather than the guy. it was a refreshing change of perspective

rottenfolk - @junqkook

faerie jk is rotten alright

after dark - @seokoloqy

the sea & the storm - @jamaisjoons

P E R F E C T I O N honestly. so well written and so well thought out and the concept isn’t like any other im so in love

the turing test - @fortunexkookie

there are so many kook stories that i adore and this is one of them that i read so far. it’s another multi-chapter android!jungkoo; and recommend this story so much it’s so carefully crafted.

the monogamy monologues - @kpopfanfictrash

comedy gold, honestly. it’s so funny and so romantic and an amazing late-night read where you get lost in jungkook’s eyes through the form of words.

rattled - @taehyungforreal

i know the series just started but i can’t help but fall for single dad!JK and i can’t wait to see how the series progresses

namjoon:

legacy - @mintjoonlep

intro: for her - @jamaisjoons

yoongi:

upgrade - @gukgalore

sorry tae, but i think yoongi has won here in this one

1. hello paradise my name is

2. mint

3. aidoneus, my love - @seokoloqy

i’m a sucker for greek mythology so it’s natural that this whole hades!AU series has got to be one of my favourite yoongi fics

heart haunting - @jamaisjoons

taehyung:

the morning after - @softlyjiminie

i just realised i didn’t list any tae fics when i first created this, but i found one!! this is a short, poetic angst / smut written in a genre i can never ever get bored of: the powerful, lingering feelings for an ex lover

1-800-music-street - @httpjeon

buzzed - @ junqkook

warm - @ httpjeon

i’m seeing a pattern in these fics...roommate!taehyung. there’s something so simple and sweet about this concept. gives me hope that love (and sex) can be exciting even in a domestic setting.

everythingoes - @jamaisjoons

so. fucking. good. OH MY GOD. this fic shook me to the core. unrequited love! angst! new found love! all my fucking favourites i love this fic pls go read it i don’t care if it’s 24k words and it’s 3am just go read it ok thanks bye.

taboo - @jhspetitegf

professor!taehyung oops

jimin:

lovebug - @ httpjeon

rockin’ the coffin - @ junqkook

HOT DAMN (it’s all i can say tbfh)

casual clothes - @httpjeon

faded love - @jamaisjoons

my all time fave genre: angst on divorcées / exes who still love each other. this piece was written to perfection. *chef’s kiss*

bloom - @ jamaisjoons

similar to seungcheol’s fic (listed below), this is also about the hanahaki disease and unrequited love. (my favourite!) i sound like a sadist but i promise i’m not

ot7:

eternal orbit - @interludemoonchild

stumbled across this and spent hours reading this series. every single second was worth it. i love the development of character and relationships between each of them. can’t wait for the next few chapters.

nct:

ten:

mine - @whereisten

demon!ten is seriously what i live for. such a hot, sexy fic i loved it. can’t really say much because you’ve got to read it to truly understand just how one demon can really rid you of your sanity.

lucas:

lovestruck!lucas - @warmau

exo:

baekhyun:

nothing like us - @ohh-baekhyun

enough - @kpopfanfictrash

a heart-clenching, emotional angst that potrayed the falling out of and falling back in love perfectly. alongside that came sensual smut to emphasise the connection AU!baekhyun had with the reader. it’s a lovely piece, everyone should check it out.

behave - @elle-lowriting

dom!baekhyun is just… wow. who knew a five letter, authoratative word could have such an effect. i know, me neither. catch a glimpse of baek’s dominance with this fic!!

light - @writing-exo-things

an extremely creative take on fanfictions, created based off exo’s latest demonic-esque concept. intriguing storylines such as this are then well planned out such as this one right here ^ i really recommend reading a few of her/his works. here’s the masterlist for the whole x-ėxø series. it’s a wonderful concept.

mister - @angstyexo

chen:

i hate you - @soobadnoonecanstopher

similar to far from home (JB’s fic), this piece is based on a rather common idea. this one was an enemies to lovers AU. it’s fun to read a tension-filled relationship that is soon resolved by unexpected ways. in short, this was a blithe and beguiling story.

saudade - @fairyyeols

a slightly heartbreaking but lovely mixture of angst and fluff

chanyeol:

the dress - @thotantics

black tie - @yeoldontknow

my universe - @sehunniiie

the etymology of us - @8bityeol

bodyguard - @optimizche

junmyeon/suho:

automatic - @exosmutxoxo

( i can’t find the link for this :((( )

jongin/kai:

reunited wrongly - @causekpop

heaven - @fairyyeols

seventeen:

jun:

ashes - @taexual

i knew i had to add this to the list right away after reading it. overall, this is a piece that portrays angst and a deteriorating relationship perfectly.

heat - @guccisvt

if u enjoy werewolf!AU’s and hot sexual tension like i weirdly do, this fic is for you. a little lengthy, but worth every word.

mingyu:

but he didn’t - @pasteluji

i clearly have a thing for angst these days but this fic really crushed my heart. managed to portray everything so well: the situation itself and the perspective of BOTH characters I LOVE IT

seungcheol:

what you can’t have - @guccisvt

unrequited love with a twist

monsta x:

hyungwon:

#ally-127’s #fic recommendations #kpop writing #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #bts #seventeen #exo #got7 #nct

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greenorangevioletgrass · 8 months

Text

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

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

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

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

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

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

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

Fine enough.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

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

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

So much for quality time with his son.

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

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

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

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

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I just—”

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

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

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

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

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

***

05:04 PM

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

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

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

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

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Your meeting went okay?”

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Er, kind of.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

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

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

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s a burr, sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

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

“Listen, I—”

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

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

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

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greenorangevioletgrass · 6 months

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

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 6.6k warnings: established former relationship, discussions of separation and divorce, discussions of moving on, luca and reader has a son, brief mention of blood and minor injury, smut 18+ (fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, size kink? idk luca's big, dirty talk, creampie) notes: it's finally here! thank you everyone for your patience, i am a slow writer by nature and life gets in the way, but i finally got around to finish it! happy reading, and do comment, reblog, and send me asks to tell me what you think <;3 ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted for my latest fics ✨

<<< read part 1 here >>>

06.13 PM

Your apartment has never felt so claustrophobic after that little moment you shared with Luca. You try to stay busy in the next hour —tidying up Alfie’s room even after he made it up, checking your email four times, even doing the laundry, for fuck’s sake— as Luca keeps to himself in the kitchen area. Whether Alfie is obliviously enjoying his screen time or purposely ignoring the weird tension between his parents, you’re not entirely sure. Right now, you’re just grateful that he’s not saying anything at the moment.

The boy simply creeps up to the kitchen counter with a shy eagerness about him. “How long ‘til dinner, Dad?”

“3 more minutes, Chef,” Luca answers, focused on the task at hand, so poker-faced that it makes his son giggle.

“I’m not a chef, you’re a chef!”

“Well, where I work, we call everyone in the kitchen ‘chef.’ Out of respect.”

Alfie climbs onto the dining bench in interest, peering up to watch his father set the dish on the plates meticulously. Luca doesn’t miss how the boy deeply inhales the delicious smell in the air.

“Smells yummy.”

“Thank you,” Luca replies, his excitement seems muted although his heart is soaring. He looks up to find Alfie staring at the plate, chin propped up on his little fist. You’ve always said that he looks just like his dad, but in that moment, Luca only sees you. Alfie has the way your mouth tugs ever so slightly into a smile, the way your eyes shine in childlike wonder. In quiet thoughtfulness.

No Michelin star, earned or retained, would ever amount to this.

“Can you go get your mum and tell her dinner’s ready, please?” He softly asks Alfie, as if not wanting to disrupt this peaceful silence. “Thank you, Chef.”

“Yes, chef.” The six-year-old salutes him and pads over to your home office, which doubles as the guest bedroom. The door is open, and he sees you reorganizing the linen closet with your back to him. He hugs you from behind, startling you.

“Oh!” You put your hand on his head, stroking him lightly. “Hey, bub.”

“Daddy told me to come get you and say dinner’s ready.”

“Gotcha. Thank you.” You half-expect him to run off like he usually does, but he lingers, his arms still wrapped around you. “What’s up, bubbie?”

“Nothing.” He buries his face against your side. “Love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, bubbie.” This makes you smile, pleasantly surprised at this seemingly random admission.

“Love Daddy too, but don’t tell him that,” he whispers as he looks up at you, putting his forefinger in front of his mouth.

“Why not?”

“Sometimes he gets sad when I say that,” he murmurs. “He doesn’t tell me, but I know it.”

Oh. His playful exterior sometimes makes you forget just how emotionally sensitive he is. And it breaks your heart that he can see through the complicated adult emotions with his childlike eyes.

“Alfie…” you level with him and pull him closer, “Your dad loves you very very much, and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear you say that. He’s just sad because… he’s been away, and he misses you a lot.”

“He should come home, then.”

It’s so simple, the way Alfie puts it. His Dad comes home and reunites with him and you, and his puzzle would piece together perfectly again. And you all live happily ever after. The end.

The truth, of course, is not so simple. But maybe, just for tonight… Maybe you and Luca can sacrifice a few of your own puzzle pieces. For your baby boy.

So you get back on your feet and guide your son out of the room. “Come on, bub. Let’s see what Daddy cooked for us, hm?”

When you and Alfie turn the corner into the kitchen-living area, Luca is wiping the side of the plate neatly. He smiles at you somewhat nervously, like he’s not sure what to do with himself, so you throw him the figurative olive branch.

“Smells amazing,” you compliment him as you and Alfie take your seats. “What are we having, Chef?”

Luca’s eyes light up and your heart stops. You stopped calling him ‘Chef’ long ago, when the moniker became synonymous with workaholism and neglect. But there’s no venom in the way you say it tonight. Call him sentimental, but it reminds him of the early summer days in the tiny apartment you first shared in Chicago.

Of blueberry pies and barely there bumps.

He has to remind himself that this whole ‘happy family’ shtick is just a charade now, it’s all for Alfie, it doesn’t mean anything for the two of us, but he can’t help but miss this.

And little does he know, so do you.

“Well, buckle up, you guys, because we are having…” He carries the plates over and serves it to you and Alfie with a flourish, “Baked sweet potato wedges with Mediterranean dip, and our pièce-de-résistance… Alfie’s Nuggies.”

It looks nothing short of beautiful, with the wedges fanned out like autumn leaves underneath a colorful burst of cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, and feta cheese. The chicken nuggets are rich golden brown against the brilliant white plate. The splatters of sauce (is that Tahini?) is a hint of thoughtful chaos on the dish.

Your six-year-old let out a little noise of awe and amazement next to you, but no sound escapes you—not for the longest time.

“This is…” you look up at Luca as if he would have the word you’re looking for.

But his blue eyes just look a lot like I love you.

“Thank you,” you ultimately say, with absolutely no pretense whatsoever.

And if he does hear an ‘I love you’ hidden somewhere in there… he hopes he’s not imagining things.

***

08:37 PM

If you could travel just a few hours back in time and tell yourself that you would spend the whole day stuck at home in a nasty storm with your son and his father that you’re divorcing—and that you’d be okay with it, you would’ve probably scheduled yourself an MRI scan because clearly something is wrong.

But the night is winding down. Luca is tucking Alfie into bed for the first time in months. You are washing dishes in the quiet accompaniment of steady rain and running water, and everything feels just right.

“He’s out like a light,” Luca informs you quietly as he reemerges from Alfie’s bedroom and stops right by the kitchen counter. “Need a hand?”

“Nah, I’m just about done,” you casually wave him off. “You want anything to drink?”

“Uh… what do you got?”

“Scotch, gin…” you pause, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. The sink tap squeaks a little as you shut it off. “...wine.”

His heart skips. Don’t overthink it, he reminds himself. “Red or white?”

“Take your pick,” you shrug nonchalantly.

Luca reaches up to see the bottles of wine you have in store, and you try not to pay too much attention as his shirt rides up around the waist—or the sleeve, showing off the remnants of Alfie’s crayon work over his inks… you’re just two co-parents hanging out. It’s normal, right?

“What about the Malbec?” he eventually chooses, taking out the bottle.

He’s always loved Malbec—this particular brand of Malbec you brought him when he first invited you for dinner on your third date.

Don’t overthink it, you remind yourself. “Yeah, sure.”

You pick up two wine glasses and set them down on the dining table, shuffling into the corner bench. Luca settles into the other bench, directly against the kitchen counter, pouring the wine onto both glasses.

“How many bedtime stories did Alfie manage to get out of you?” you pipe up, swirling the purplish liquid around.

“Just one…” he sips on his wine thoughtfully. “Although he made me read it three times.”

You smile, bemused. “Which one was it?”

“‘The Bear Who Did.’”

“Ah, yeah. He’s been into that one lately,” you muse. “But… for what it’s worth, I’m glad he asked you to tuck him in tonight.”

The two of you exchange a soft look. A ceasefire. A truce, at least when it comes to your son. Because you really do want Luca to have a good relationship with Alfie.

“Me too.”

“And I’m sorry you had to… make do with spending the day with Alfie here.”

He shakes his head softly. “Nah, don’t be. I had a good time. It’s nice to just hang out… at home.”

At home, the words echo in your head.

With you, they echo in his, loud and unsaid.

“So, uh… how have you been?”

“Ah, you know how it is. Work is kicking my ass—my current client’s only two blocks away, but the house is a total fixer-upper, and Alfie’s… Alfie.” You don’t want to backtalk your own son, although you both know how trying he can be sometimes. “But it’s all good. My mom helps out with Alfie, and Jess insists that I go out and live a little every now and again.”

“And do you? Live a little?”

“I mean, within reason. I can’t go clubbing ‘til 4am anymore. I think I’m getting old…” you stretch your arms, feeling that soreness just from your daily activities.

Luca grins, raising his glass. “I hear you. I don’t even really go out anymore.”

“Seriously?”

“Mm-hm.”

You make an incredulous face. It would make sense for you not to go out much, with Alfie and everything. But he was alone, abroad… “Why, though?”

He just shrugs lightly. “I’m working. Whenever I’m off, I mostly just… eat or sleep.”

“I somehow find that hard to believe.” You take a dubious sip. You both know how much Luca enjoys grabbing a cheeky pint. He’s British; it’s in his blood, goddammit.

“Oh come on…”

“You don’t even go out drinking or whatever? Meet people?”

His gaze flashes towards you almost playfully. “Do you?”

Your face falls, not expecting to be caught so off-guard with such an innocent question. And upon seeing that, his face falls. Shit. And with that, the air between you shifts so dramatically.

Stupidly, you still try to save the conversation. “Of course my friends and I go out—”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice darkens, his blue eyes piercing through you.

This conversation is a long time coming. It’s a natural progression of your relationship—or the lack thereof. You separate, you get divorced, and eventually you move on. Two years is a more than acceptable time to start dating again. And still, you phrase out your next words very carefully.

“I’ve been on dates here and there…”

Luca sucks in a slow, calculated breath. “Does Alfie know?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious so far.”

He’s not sure what’s worse, the fact that it’s nothing serious, or that you’re holding out for something serious in the future.

“Look, we both know this is happening sooner or later…”

“I know,” he quickly recovers—or as much as he can recover. He just stares down the stem of his glass. “It just… It’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“I understand.” The wine feels like gravel down your throat, and the words coming out of your mouth feel like throwing up a boulder.

“Because I do miss you.”

Your eyes immediately dart over to his, as if you’re not sure you heard it right. “Luca…”

“I miss you everyday. I miss us. I miss everything we used to have.”

Your heart catches—no, stops altogether at his admission. “Luca, we can’t do this anymo—”

He swallows thickly, his jaw setting as he braces himself. “I’ve been thinking about it everyday—the whole time I’m away, and frankly, I’m kicking myself over not telling you this sooner.”

“That’s probably just the homesickness talking.” You turn away. This can’t be possible. This can’t be happening. What the fuck?! “It got you reminiscing about the good old days. Give it time, you’ll come around.” You try to maintain a neutral, distant, cold approach to this, although the crack in your voice betrays you.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

Your words cut through the quiet apartment like a flash bang. Luca stops dead in his tracks in his shock, and honestly, so do you. Awful silence hushes over the room, and both of you are almost too afraid to break it. Neither of you even dare to move.

After what seems like forever, Luca moves first. A tear escapes his eye, and he wipes it away with his knuckle hurriedly. “Noma should’ve been a dream. And it is, in a way. I guess.” He stares blankly ahead, his life in Copenhagen replaying in his head like it’s on fast-forward, and the playback seems to just highlight how lonely he is there. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m utterly miserable there. I get up and go to work and I just feel empty. Because what’s the point? You and Alfie are way over here, being a family while I’m… doing what?” He wants to tear his hair out, because this is everything he’s dreamed of, and yet he is living the stuff of nightmares. “It makes no fucking sense.”

It makes even less sense to you. You can’t even begin to process this tangled mess in your head. “Luca… we are almost officially divorced. You’re telling me this now? When everything is—”

“I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I should just… let you cut your losses and—”

“The best for me? How the fuck did you think giving up was the best way forward for me?” The thought of it burns your eyes with angry tears. They melt, and you don’t do a thing to stop it from running down your face. “You didn’t think to fight for us while you still could?”

Luca’s heart aches to see that. He is dying to reach out and wipe them away, but he can’t. His voice is quiet and small and almost childlike. “I tried. You were just so… sure about the divorce. You had it all figured out. And I… I thought you had no room for me anymore.”

“I had to keep it together. I had to figure it out—for Alfie’s sake. For mine.” You stare at your little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “I don’t see the point in being vulnerable with you anymore when you’re already set on leaving.”

The words have run out. The whirlwind of emotions has passed. What he feels and what he wants is now very clear.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.” You wished he didn’t. Everyday for the last two years. And everyday you set yourself up for disappointment because, the truth of the matter is, he did leave. So you stop wishing. “Because I don’t know how to come back from this. I really don’t.”

Nothing that comes out of your mouth is unexpected. But it doesn’t hurt any less to hear it from the horse’s mouth. “It’s just… seeing you guys today… We were a family again. And I would do anything for us to be a family again. Please.”

You sigh heavily. “What else is there to do, Luca…?”

“We can, I don’t know, figure something out, go to couples counseling—”

You groan in frustration, Jesus Christ not this again, wanting to tear your hair out when— CRASH! You accidentally knock over your wine glass and it shatters as it hits the floor. “Shit…”

“Mommy?” Alfie calls you from inside his room, sleepy but alert.

The two of you freeze just before you can move out of your seat. Afraid the slightest of noises would rattle your son.

“Yes, bubbie?” you try to sound bright and normal. Maybe if you can convince him that everything’s fine, he won’t come running in panic.

“What was that?”

“I just knocked over a glass, kiddo, everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

You and Luca wait a few seconds with bated breath. One, two, three… ten seconds go by, and there’s no movement in the bedroom.

The coast is clear.

You scramble down to pick up the shards of glass. The spilled wine looks like blood in the dim light of the room. It’s a painful reminder of the broken pieces of your former life, the casualties. He quickly follows suit, as if struggling to put it all back together. The irony is not lost on either of you, you’re sure of that.

“It’s fine, Luca. I got it, I—” a sharp piece of glass accidentally cuts your palm as you pick it up in hurry. “Fuck!”

“You okay?” He takes your hand as quick as lightning, wanting to inspect the wound, but you snatch it away.

“I’m fine.” You get up on your feet, teetering over to the sink, away from the crime scene, careful not to step on any piece of glass.

Yet he still follows you, walking over to where you’re standing now. “Come on. Let me just take a look.” He reaches out to your wrist, running little circles with his thumb to ease your grasp.

“It’s not a big deal…” you let him look anyway, you figure it’s easier to just let him do his thing than to argue your way out of it.

His calluses are brittle against your palm, but he handles you with the gentlest touch. The wound is not too big or too deep, but the sight of blood marring your palm makes his heart drop. There’s no visible piece stuck to it, that’s a good sign, he thinks. He rips off some paper towel and wets it on the sink, and softly dab at the gash, cleaning the wound and wiping the blood off.

You grit your teeth, not wanting to show any sign of pain although it stings. “It’s just a little cut…” your tone bears less and less conviction, as if you have no energy left to argue with him on such a small matter.

There’s a very particular way his eyebrows arch when he’s deep in thought. The left one always sits slightly higher than the right. Blue eyes fixed on the object of his focus. A minute gesture behind the chaos in his head. “You need a Band-Aid,” he points out.

“It’s in the—”

Luca is already opening the drawer next to the stove, taking out a packet of a Star Wars-themed Band-Aid. He still remembers where everything is, and you can’t tell whether the ache in your chest is a good or bad thing.

He puts the Band-Aid on your cut, then takes your hand close to kiss it better, like he used to do.

“Um.” You freeze in your tracks, taken aback. And it seems he’s just as equally as taken aback by his own action. He is flushed with embarrassment, and you feel your face growing hot as well.

He’s the first to break the awkward silence, quiet and tentative. “I’ll clean up the mess. You just hang tight.”

It seems so mundane, sweeping broken glass and cleaning the floor. His body registers it as a simple muscle memory—he must’ve cleaned up messes on this very spot a million times. But his heart is heavy with the burden of your history, and all the pain that comes with your separation. He might not be able to put the pieces back together, but maybe he can clean up the mess and make it nice again for you.

And all the while, you’re stuck to the kitchen counter, watching him so effortlessly reacquainted with his former home. It’s as if he never left. For a confusing moment, it feels like home again. How did you manage without this view, this presence for so long?

Luca puts away the debris in the trash, hidden away in another kitchen drawer next to you, and hovers in front of you, as if wanting to reach out and touch you… but too afraid you’ll push him away.

“Does it still hurt?”

You can’t tear your eyes off of his. The little cut on your hand is but a dull ache now, but the insides of your chest feels like it’s been mangled beyond repair. You burst into tears, sobs ripping through the seams.

His arms wrap around you, keeping your tattered pieces together. Your face is buried in his chest, surrounded by soft cotton and earthy perfume, and your first thought is you can’t remember the last time you were in his arms like this. You rake your mind through all the memories, all the times you hugged each other hello and goodbye and all the times in between, and you can’t remember the last time you stopped, why would you stop—

“My love…” Luca’s voice soothes you, so quietly murmured against your forehead with a soft kiss, yet rings so clear in your ears. He cups your face with both hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay... I got you.”

The palm of his hand grazes your lips, and you kiss it the way he kisses your Band-Aid earlier. You have no energy left to fight whatever is going on inside you. You don’t understand the nagging urge to be away from him, when being close to him feels this good. You miss his touch and his voice and his face, and you’re so overwhelmed with longing that you close the distance between your lips and his.

Luca gasps when you kiss him—and it feels like the first breath he’s drawn in two years. Your lips are just as he remembers, just as warm and inviting and familiar, and he relishes coming home to them tonight. He didn’t think he would be so lucky ever again, but now you’re here, kissing life back into him again.

Against your better judgment, you stumble into the bedroom, careful to make as little sound as possible as you tread down the hallway. Still tangled in each other. Refusing to let go even for a second. His five o’clock shadow scratches your skin, following the trail of his lips down your neck.

You push him into bed and climb on top of him without a single thought. You need him close, closer than the past two years, closer than now, and your clothes feel like they’re in the way. Of his hands, of his mouth, of his warmth…

You tear your dress off and throw it away, and he stops in his tracks. He has every part of you memorized, every curve and every ridge, every notch of your stretch marks, every inch of your C-section scar from Alfie’s birth… and yet he’s looking at you for the first time all over again.

“Beautiful…” it escapes his mouth just like that, and you kiss him senseless in return. You worry that if you stop, the moment will pass and this whole thing turns out to be just an illusion.

Or worse, a mistake.

You tug his t-shirt over his head, trying not to linger on his broad chest too long. He gets the idea—he is dying to say something, but doesn’t—and just unclasps your bra in response. He keeps his mouth busy by kissing and licking and sucking your newly exposed breasts.

It’s not that you haven’t been touched like this in a while; it’s just that you haven’t been touched by him like this for so long.. “Luca…”

He never thought he’d hear that again. His name in a wanton sigh, uttered by the lost love of his life. He’s not one to waste his chance. “It’s okay. I got you, my love. I got you.”

Because for the first time in a long time, it’s true. He’s got you. He’s got your body underneath him, your nipple in his mouth, your sweet sex in his hand.

God.

You’re so soft, so warm, so wet against his fingers. The little stuttered moan you let out sounds absolutely heavenly. He remembers exactly the last time he was here.

Christmas Eve, two years ago.

Things had been tense long before that, but Luca was home and able to spend some time with his wife and kid at last. You didn’t seem all that chuffed having him around—whether he was here or not brought out that “neutral look of displeasure” from you these days— but at least you didn’t pull away when he rested his head on your shoulder as the three of you watched Jurassic Park (Alfie’s all-time favorite). Didn’t roll your eyes and turn away when he kissed you and wished you happy Christmas before bed.

And he wanted so desperately for you to openly want him again.

So he tentatively deepened the kiss and reiterated his love for you in every inch of your body that he could get his hands on. Trying to convince you that he was still here. Trying to convince himself that with every orgasm he pried out of you, that you still wanted him there.

But you just… laid there and watched. Hands locked in on the sheets, not even touching him. Motionless as he went through the motions of his thrusts. Numb as he touched and kissed and fucked you the way you used to like. He was fighting a losing battle. He might as well have been making love to a ghost.

“Luca…” Your breathless voice snaps him out of his own intrusive thoughts, more clear and alive and real than any memory of you posing no desire for him.

“I— yeah, sorry. I just…” he shakes off his own thoughts.

“Hurry up, come on…” you needily thrust yourself into his hand.

“You sure?”

No, and neither does he. But at this point, you’re much too stubborn about your decision in the divorce and much too prideful to admit that you want him back and maybe just a tad too eager to make a mistake with him.

So you nod your head yes, and with a searing kiss, he fingerfucks you the way you needed him to.

“Oh, God… fuck…” you sigh under the undoing of his fingers. It’s like he never forgot how to work your body. His fingers play a pattern on your clit that makes you sing. And when one slides into you, crooking and curling against your silky heat…

“Luca, I— now.”

He unlatches his mouth from your nipple almost begrudgingly, as if too sweet to part with you. “Not yet, baby. We can’t…”

“What, why?”

“Because…” he nips at the smooth flesh of your chest thoughtfully. How can he explain it to you in a way that makes sense? “I want…” to take as much time with you as possible, he adds another finger inside you deliciously slow. “I need…” to feel you in every way first, he chants in his head as he kisses you through your orgasm.

Your resolve is slipping, but the craving is as ravenous as ever. You try to squirm in protest anyway. “But…”

“Please.” His lips press against your forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I got you, okay?”

His blue eyes meet yours, as familiar as the sky you’ve walked under your whole life. As sure as day. And before you realize it, you find yourself nodding along.

Watching him slither further down your body. Mouth paving the way between the valleys of your breasts, up the diamond-hard tops of your nipples.

Down your torso.

Between your nether lips.

You don’t remember the last time you did this either. Memories of attempts to rekindle the romance flash before your eyes. The nights that he climbed into bed late at night after work, still smelling like chocolate or mint or whatever ingredient he was working with that day. Waking you up with the parting of your legs and hushed kisses saying, “Missed you so much, baby…”

“Right there. Yes…” you pant as he laps you up where you’re dripping, catching every drop and coaxing more at the same time.

His eyes close, and he swallows back a needy groan. “Come for me, baby.”

The words shoot right into your core, and you’re suddenly overcome with the waves of pleasure running through you, grinding your hips into his mouth shamelessly. Has he always been so greedy in the way he ate you out?

Your head is spinning with need and you hope the broken words you string up are comprehensible enough for him. “Luca, come on, I can’t—”

“No, please—” he seems to understand just fine, but still he shakes his head and buries his face deeper into you.

“Luca…”

“Wait, just let me—”

So insistent. So stubborn. So… needy. You grasp a fistful of hair on the back of his head. Both heaving, you breathe out,

“Please.”

The word stops him in his tracks. But it’s not so much the word as it is the gravity that comes with it. Whatever the two of you are doing, whatever you’re feeling is beyond words at this point.

It’s just you and him and this need.

And as much as he wants—needs— to satisfy his hunger, there’s just no way of stopping you anymore. Truth be told, he’s not even sure why he’s been stalling you in the first place. Not when you’re so eager to tug his clothes off and touch him absolutely everywhere. To stroke him, and taste him…

“No, baby.” He stops you just before you slither down his body, settling you back on the bed and caging you underneath him.

You throw him a look, indignant. If he’s gonna hold it off some more, you swear to God—

“No, I…” he kisses you hard, hoping you’ll get that he wants you too. More than anything. And that he’ll give you what you want. Hell, he would give you anything if he could come back to this again for the rest of his life. “Just trust me, okay?”

You marvel at the sight before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With dark blond locks tousled in passion and eyes lidded from lust and longing, and it makes your heart stop because… there it is.

Love.

As much as you shut it out and as much as you avoid it, love is permanently etched to his actions. Tattooed onto the smallest of things. In the way he kisses your temple softly, and the way he caresses your skin as he aligns himself against you, and the way he holds you as he pushes in…

“Luca…” you gasp sharply.

He stops halfway into you, his eyes searching your face with compassion. “You okay?”

You’re aching and craving the stretch of him all at once, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, so you ultimately nod your head. I’m okay.

And he knows that deep down. He feels the same. Soothed and tormented by your very presence, although he can’t help but ask, “Do you want me to stop?” Please don’t ask me to stop…

You shake your head quickly. Neither of you would ever dream of it. You would take everything—the weight and the sting of it all— and he would leave everything behind just to have this again.

Your hips colliding again in a frenzy of a rhythm you haven’t played in so long—still remembering every beat like it’s your own pulse. Your walls gripping him like you wouldn’t let him go.

He shudders a little. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that…”

“I don’t care,” you murmur into his neck with a kiss, “Come.”

“What…?” He can’t have heard that right… right?

“I want you to.”

“Jesus…” he breathes out. “I wanna make this last, baby—”

You shake your head again and wrap your legs around him almost demandingly. “I want you to come inside me and fill me the fuck up… want you dripping down my legs… please…”

“Fuck!” The images flash before his eyes faster than he can stop his hands from grabbing you by the hips, slamming himself into you.

Nor can he stop himself from coming deep inside you.

There’s no way to describe the way he feels at that moment. The way tension peaks and snaps into release. How it brings you into your climax as well. Your lips must be swollen from the assault of your own teeth as you hold back the filthy noises coming out of you. You don’t mind the building ache in your thigh muscles, because as soon as that warmth fills you up, your body is overcome by waves of bliss.

“Fuck…” he flops back onto his side of the bed—the right side—and quickly gathers you in his chest. It’s an effortless little maneuver, making sense at last as you lay half on top of him.

Your hand finds his—more puzzle pieces coming together as he fills the spaces between your fingers. You bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Surprised to find the gold wedding band still adorning his ring finger.

***

9:56 PM

“Was that really your first time since we… you know?” Your murmured question rings loud in the absence of the rain. The storm has finally passed, but neither of you move—neither even dare to bring it up— afraid to ruin the moment.

“It was.”

“Not even in a casual, ‘no strings attached’ kind of situation?”

“No.” He looks almost embarrassed to admit it, but there is no hesitation in his answer.

“Wow…” your heart sinks. Is it possible to feel good and bad at the same time?

Luca pauses for a moment. You can see the conflict brewing in his head. “Did you?”

You don’t have to answer. The sheer silence you take is an answer enough.

The confirmation feels like shit, but he tries to stay neutral. His thumb stills on the back of your hand. “Can I ask how many?”

“Gosh, does that even matter?” You sigh. There’s another argument coming—you can feel it.

“No, I just… I wanna know.”

“You don’t really wanna know.”

“Is it a lot?”

“I mean…”

“How many?”

You take in a sharp breath. There’s no way out of this now. If the truth is what he wants, then the truth is what he shall get. “Twelve.”

He tenses up next to you. The whole world stops, and you can’t help but think, it’s over. There is no way this marriage is salvageable now. “What…?”

“I know that it’s a big number, and I know you might be upset—”

“That is a big number.” He doesn’t say anything about the latter part of her sentence, but it’s obvious that he’s upset, too. “I just… why?”

“I was trying to get over you.” It’s a pathetic answer, but that’s all it is to it. “I couldn’t sleep in this bed for months. I just couldn’t. Slept on the guest bed instead,” you motion at the next room, “and then one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like a switch flipped inside my brain, and I needed to—”

“What?”

“I needed to… overwrite the memories of you,” you admit feebly. “On this bed. On my body.”

Knife, meet heart. He’s not sure what answer he was expecting, but whatever it was, this hurts so much more. “And did it work?”

“Up to a point…” you pause, a sad smile in realization. “It’s funny. I keep getting bits and pieces of you somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

You close your eyes, your memories flashing, reminding you that every single time reminds you of Luca one way or another. “It’s… somebody’s perfume, or the timbre of their voice, or the way they hold my hand…”

“And you see me in them?”

“Every single one.”

“Jesus…” Luca finds himself relieved and choked up at the same time. He doesn’t want you to ever get rid of your memories of him, but at the same time, it’s painful to hear that you tried anyway.

And you tried very hard.

“I’m sorry.”

He hums, and you realize… he hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. Not even after your little confession. It makes the argument easier, knowing he’s there. It’ll be easier to part with him again after tonight, you hope, knowing you both did your best to understand. Why you needed to be apart. Why you did the things you did.

The armor has been shed, and the two of you are now naked, in every sense of the word.

Luca turns to look at you, studying your profile. He remembers the last time he was here.

He had just told you about Denmark. Stupid of him to feel excited, to tell you he’d just been offered his dream job, to ask you and Alfie to move someplace new with him, because it turned into a fight.

Worse than a fight; it was a death sentence.

You turned away and stared at the ceiling, and told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

And in some fucked up way, Luca feels as if he’d been brought back in time, and this is his one chance to make it right. So he asks you,

“Do you still love me?”

You breathe out, heart clenching because in spite of yourself, “I do.”

“Do you want us to try again?”

“Luca…” you sigh heavily, “How would that even work? Alfie and I are here, and you have Noma–”

“No more Noma. I’m giving that up.” The answer is straightforward, and he surprises himself over how easily it rolls off of his tongue. How right.

“What? You wouldn’t…” Your face falls as you turn to him.

“I would. And I am,” he says firmly. “Look, I’ve thought about this for months now. I can’t do Noma anymore, I need to be home.” His gaze softens, and you feel the pattern running on the back of your hand again.

Slow and steady and certain.

The tear rolls off the corner of your eye and onto the pillow with the tiniest drop. “I wanted you to come home…”

“Then let me come home. Please?”

“I want to. I just…” you reach out and cup his face tentatively. “I just want to make sure that we’re not doing anything rash.”

His eyes light up. The only thing that matters is that you want him home, too. It takes him everything to let his logical part of the brain take control. “How about this, then?” Luca pauses thoughtfully. “We’ll take a minute. For me to sort out everything at Noma, find a replacement… and for us to figure out if this is really what we wanna do.

“If it starts to feel like a bad idea, maybe we should rethink it. But if it feels good… maybe we can give it another shot.

“And in the meantime, we’ll talk. We’ll FaceTime and… figure out what the hell to say to our lawyers.”

That makes you grimace. You were supposed to have another meeting with your divorce lawyers. Tomorrow is going to be awkward. But awkward beats saying goodbye to the man you’ve always loved, right? It’s a small price to pay.

“What do you say, baby?” He looks at you with all the hope that he has. “Just give me a minute to get everything sorted and then I’ll come home.”

You smile tearfully. “A minute is not enough… how about a month, hm?”

“Yeah, that makes more sense, actually.” He chuckles sheepishly. “A month. I can do that.”

“Good.” You sidle up to him and kiss him where his heart is. You’re willing to settle for having him just for the night, but you can’t wait until he comes home to you for good.

You hope he will.

#will poulter #chef luca #luca the bear #the bear fx #chef luca x reader #luca x reader #chef luca x ex-wife!reader #chef luca fic #chef luca smut #will poulter fic #will poulter smut #ava writes

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greenorangevioletgrass · 20 days

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hi love! would you ever consider writing a sequel for give me a minute? i think it is literally my favourite fic ever! you are so so talented <3

awwww?? that’s so sweet of you to say! and yeah, i do have a sequel in the works, watch this space 😉

#ask ava #give me a minute fic #chef luca #luca the bear #luca x ex-wife!reader

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nolita-fairytale · 10 months

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burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter four

summary: you and luca go to the ballet, bringing up a very important question: is this, and could it be, a date?

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this chapter is all about things left unsaid, the pining TM and yearning TM. shoutout to @arctvrvs who recommended onegin, as the ballet they go to see. thank you again for all the shares, reblogs, comments! let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

part three | masterlist | part five

You: I have your book. Devoured it over the weekend.

Luca: Glad you liked it.

You did like it?

You: No, I clearly hate-read it one weekend.

I’m kidding.

Of course I liked it!

Luca: You’re hilarious 🙄

You: I can return it to you later today.

If you have a free minute.

Luca: For you? Always.

Come by the restaurant?

You: Done. See you later.

Text exchanges like this have become more and more regular between you and Luca and it makes you question why you’d ever been so hesitant to tell him about your ex husband in the first place. You know part of the answer: you’d been afraid – afraid of what he’d say, afraid it’d be too much for him, afraid it’d scare him away – and yet, your admission seems to have only brought you closer.

Which is a fact that makes you feel incredibly seen and also scares the shit out of you.

But, with Luca’s copy of A Work In Progress: A Journal tucked underneath your arm, you decide you’ll conquer one mountain at a time as you come in through the doors of the closed restaurant.

“Oi!” one of Luca’s pastry chefs, a burlier man with deep brown eyes and a beard that only facial hair enthusiasts could dream of hollers, in an attempt to grab Luca’s attention when you enter the pastry room. The man follows up his exclamation with something muttered in Danish – something that almost sounds like a cat call directed towards the head pastry chef.

Hey, loverboy. Come get your girlfriend.

You and Luca lock eyes from across the room, and you watch as his face simultaneously lights up as he sees you, while glowering in his coworkers direction. Luca shouts a ‘shut it, mate’ in return before approaching you,

“Did he just-?” you ask him, with a small laugh.

“Call you my girlfriend? Yes,” Luca admits, a blush running across his cheeks as he looks down, embarrassedly.

Brown-eyed-bearded-burly-chef exchanges glances with another chef, focused on weighing dough on a food scale, before asking you with an intrigued hint in his voice:

“You speak Danish?”

“Barely,” you answer, an apologetic half smile on your face.

He exchanges a knowing look with the other pastry chef in response, then snickers, because he really is only trying to be a good wingman here.

“I don’t know what the hold up is… but I see it,” he says in English this time, his Danish accent thick as he wags his finger towards the both of you, earning another glare from Luca.

“Okay, let’s step outside,” Luca hurries, ushering you out of the kitchen and into the empty dining room with a hand on your upper back.

Your laugh echoes in the barren dining room, since pastry prep starts so damn early in the morning, and the physical restaurant doesn’t open for service till evening.

“Again, I’m terribly sorry about him,” Luca apologizes, a little more flustered than you expected him to be.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him with a warm smile. “If anything, you at least now know you’ve got a great wingman when you need one.”

You watch a brief flash of, well you’re not sure what, flash across Luca’s face as he wonders if that’s what you’re hoping for. Instead of overthinking it, wondering why you’d want his coworker to act as his wingman in the first place, he pushes it to the back of his mind, moving forward with what he’d planned on bringing up with you anyways.

“Your book, sir,” you say, handing Luca his copy of the book.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he grins.

“Yeah, thanks for lending it to me. Took me a few weekends to carve out the time but… once I started, I couldn’t put it down,” you inform him, gushing over the borrowed book.

“I have something for you,” Luca states, as he pulls out a white envelope from one of his apron pockets. “In return.”

“Awww. Don’t tell me you went through all this trouble to get me a bookmark and when I’ve already finished it,” you banter with him, playfully.

“They’re not bookmarks,” he smirks, as he looks at you with those electrifyingly blue eyes.

“Ah, tell me more,” you encourage him, curiously.

“They’re tickets,” he answers, handing you the envelope.

“Oh.”

Before you can wonder whether Luca went out of his way to purchase you tickets to the ballet, he continues with his explanation.

“Yeah we’ve got this regular diner. Always entertaining, bringing in investors, board members, the likes... Turns out he’s the Artistic Director of The Royal Danish Ballet. Hooks us up with tickets all the time,” Luca says.

“Couldn’t make it opening night so but what do you say… to a performance of Onegin Thursday night?” he continues. “That is if you can – if you want – to take the night off.”

“With you?” you ask, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“Yeah, if you’d like,” Luca answers. “Figured I owed you after you purchased the Jazz Fest tickets.” Taking a more playful approach, almost as if he’s testing you as he adds: “Unless there’s something other bloke you wanna take instead of-.”

“No!” you protest, quick to correct him. “I mean, yes. I want to go. With you. Let me see what I can do scheduling wise.”

Was this a date? You wonder to yourself.

For whatever reason, this proposal feels much more like a date than anything else you’ve done with him so far. Bike rides to bakeries, walks through the park, even asking Luca to join you for Jazz Fest with tickets you purchased almost a year ago, still haven't felt this monumental.

But a night at the ballet?

A night of getting dressed up and taking off work to spend time with each other?

This feels much more like a date.

And you might even be excited about the prospect of having one with him, with Luca specifically, something you haven’t felt for anyone in a long time.

“Just let me know,” Luca says, coolly, followed by his oh-so-charming-crooked smile.

By the time you take this… proposition – taking off a night at the restaurant for a maybe-a-date-with-Luca – Mathilde and Jesper are practically pushing you out of the restaurant swearing that if you don’t go, they’ll write you out of the business partnership, and that Mathilde is more than happy to run the kitchen all by herself that night.

While you appreciate the support, it feels like it add pressure – expectations, really – to Thursday night.

You push the thought from your head, choosing to charge forward despite your nerves, before sending Luca your official yes via text message.

So… what does one wear to the ballet?

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You settle on a silky white slip dress with thin straps, a sweetheart neckline, and a slit in the skirt that travels up the leg in a way that’s revealing yet still appropriate. You’ve draped a blazer across your shoulders because you can’t be bothered to properly put it on during the warmest month of the year but you know you’ll want it when you’re inside of the Opera House. You slip on a black kitten heel to match your bag, then pull your hair back into a loose ponytail, allowing the stray pieces of hair that fall out of it to frame your face.

It’s not until Luca shows up at your flat with a text that he’s here, do you make your way outside. Your head is buried in your bag, taking a last minute inventory, ensuring you have what you need for the night: phone, keys, ID, extra lip gloss…

“Hi,” he says on an exhale, as soon as he sees you.

There’s something in his voice that sounds different, you note, as you lift your head to look at him.

Holy. Shit…

Fuck me, you think to yourself, as soon as you see him. He’s dressed in black slacks with a blazer to match, layered over a white button down worn without a tie, and pristine white trainers that you can’t help but notice.

It’s classic – classy – with a little bit of swag from the trainers that feels… pleasantly unexpected. You look like one of those hip couples that decided to stick it to tradition and get married at the courthouse with a dope photoshoot instead.

“Hi,” is all that comes out of your mouth, your eyes wide as the two of you stare each other down.

Yeah, this really feels like a date now.

“Hi,” he says in return before exhaling. “You look great.”

He’s grinning from ear to ear now, and the man cannot take his eyes off of you.

“I-,” you start, as you gather your words, reminding yourself that you do in fact know the English language. As your words come back to you, you take a more playful approach instead, making up for lost wit as you say:

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Luca smirks, a twinkle in his eye that tells you he’s pretty damn enchanted by you right now. The two of you share a look – one that feels very not-friendly, emphasizing just how much more date-like this seems to be.

“Shall we?” he asks you, offering out his arm for you to take.

“Let’s,” you answer, taking it as he escorts you to the metro.

You and Luca look wildly out of place while waiting for the metro, then on the metro as you make your way to the Royal Danish Opera House in your dressier-than-normal apparel. You share small talk while you wait on the platform, ramblings over your day and then his while finding a place to sit, then nervous giggles and flirtatious stolen glances while seated next to each other on your journey.

It’s nice to be reminded that you haven’t entirely forgotten how to flirt.

From its shoreside location to its sparkling interior, the Royal Danish Opera House is awe inspiring. You take it all in as you and Luca settle into your seats and a comfortable quiet intimacy as you look over your programs, just before the show begins.

Onegin, you come to find as the show begins, is a story of unrequited love, missed changes, and ‘too little, too late.’ Its relevance is not lost on you as you watch as the young country girl falls in love with the worldly Count. She is young, naive, a hopeless romantic, perhaps the character you would’ve related to when you were younger – before your marriage ended. A younger version of you might laugh at the fact that you somehow find yourself relating more to the Count. He’s cold, jaded, a pessimist even, only to be rejected when he realizes he missed his chance at love so many years ago.

You steal a glance in Luca’s direction, his eyes fixed to the tragedy that plays out on the stage in front of you.

He really is stunning, you think to yourself, as you carefully examine the near-perfect symmetry of his face, before returning your focus back to the performance.

To say that you haven’t noticed the way Luca looks at you would be a lie. And you can’t help but notice how eager you’ve been lately to find any excuse to spend extra time with him too.

But you can’t help wondering about just how ready you are – how and when you might know when you’ll be ready:

Ready to date. Ready to open yourself up to someone. Ready to fall in love again.

Would you know when it was time? And was this a sign – meeting Luca – that it’s time for a new beginning now?

But what if it weren’t? What if you weren’t ready now? Then what?

It’s not like you’d expect for Luca to wait for you or anything, but the idea of a new beginning, of falling in love again, of possibly getting your heart broken again instills the kind of terror in you that shakes you to your very core.

But what if this was your only chance?

You can’t imagine Luca would be single for much longer – the fact that he even is now completely perplexes you – and you’re sure that he has an entire roster of women lining up, ready to take your place. Not that you feel like it’s your place now, though you’re not sure where he’d have the time to entertain an entire roster of women with how much time you’ve been spending together lately.

You push the thoughts from your mind, trying your best to focus on the dancers, even though it’s the thing that’s got you pensive in the first place.

And it’s almost as if, right on cue, the minute you turn your attention away from Luca, his eyes are on you, admiring the way that you marvel at the story unfolding in front of you.

Luca smiles to himself, in pure disbelief that the same woman who brought him much needed inspiration could also be the same woman he’s begun to have feelings for. He finds you extraordinary: you’re funny, you’re incredibly talented, and you make his heart skip a beat every single time you walk into a room. He doesn’t know which deities to thank for meeting you, but he’s sure he must’ve done something right in a past life for it to bring you to him in this one.

He’s glad you told him – about your ex husband, about the divorce – and while it’s filled in some blanks for him, it’s also brought up more questions. Questions like:

Were you even interested in dating? Were you ready to start dating because he couldn’t blame you if you weren’t? And if you were, would you be interested in dating him?

These last few months of getting to know each other have been wonderful – and he’s thoroughly enjoyed getting to know you as friends – but Luca wants more. He wants to hold your hand while walking along the Nyhavn waterfront. He wants to press a kiss to your lips when you stop by the restaurant as he’s getting off shift, before heading into your own. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, curl his body around yours as you settle in with him on your shared couch after a long night at the restaurant, going on about your new special, or your recently hired line-cook-in-training.

Luca wants to call you his, and he wants nothing more than for you to call him yours. He yearns for the quiet domesticity he thinks he could have with you – one he knows he could have with you.

He doesn’t want to miss his chance. It’s why he asked you that question when you told him about your ex husband – are you still in love with him? – because Luca can’t bear the thought of falling in love with a woman already in love with another man.

He replays the answer in his head – no, I’m not in love with him – almost as if he’s reassuring himself.

Luca knows what he needs to do. He just needs to talk to you and tonight feels like as good of a time as any to do so, considering you’re practically on a date. Luca makes up his mind about it – that he’ll bring it up after the performance, maybe even ask you on a proper date.

As the performance ends, the two of you applaud with the rest of the theatre before exiting the performance space. You and Luca linger outside of the theatre, watching the other patrons walk by, arrange rides for themselves, head out for a night cap. He’s working up the nerve to bring up the conversation, watching your lips carefully as you go on about the performance, a brilliance in your eyes that he notices you get whenever you talk about something you’re passionate about.

You’re in the middle of dissecting the end of Act Two as he Luca abruptly blurts out:

“You hungry?”

You pause as your mouth hangs agape, noticing that’s something different, that’s something’s shifted between the two of you.

“Uh… no. Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” you ask back, hesitantly.

“Ehm. Yes, I do. But eh, I don’t know. I’d ehm, I’d be up for a bite. If you are,” Luca manages to explain because he’s not ready for the night to end.

You can feel it – the tension between the two of you hangs thickly in the air – and you know this isn’t just a ‘let’s go out for a bite’ kind of ask.

You wondered how you’d feel when this moment came, and instead of being ecstatic, instead of wanting to jump at the chance, the panic sets in, filling your belly with the urge to jump into harbour instead.

You wish you felt differently – you want to feel differently – but you don’t.

So instead, you stammer out a:

“I think I’m just ready to head home, but you should go. If you want to. I think I’m just going to walk home or-.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll take you home,” Luca offers.

You hesitate before agreeing, “Uh… yeah. Okay. As long as you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Luca says as he places a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you in the direction of home. “I’d rather know you got home safe.”

You nod, instantly filled with guilt as Luca’s demeanor changes, his facial expression moving from somewhat-confused-and-disappointed to one of concern, kindness, and genuine care.

What the hell is wrong with you? You think to yourself.

But you know you can’t push it – you can’t push yourself to be ready, to open up – regardless of how perfect Luca is.

As Luca walks you home, there’s a palpable shift in the dynamic between the two of you. He seems cautious, almost as if he’s tiptoeing around you, uncertain about where the two of you stand. And truthfully, he is uncertain. He’s worried that he scared you off, if he came on too strong, if his ask changes something between the two of you. Luca realizes tonight is perhaps not the night, but he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to wait – be able to keep the way he feels about you to himself.

“Thank you… for walking me home,” you say, as you arrive at the door to your apartment building.

“‘S no problem. Had to get you back to your flat safely,” Luca reassures you with a smile on his face.

You stand across from him, mere inches away. You could do it – close the gap between the two of you because you really do feel like an asshole for earlier – but it feels like something’s stopping you. You wait too long, letting your impulse move too thoroughly through your body, until it’s too late and the impulse is gone.

You’re at an impasse: Luca opens his mouth to say something before pausing and you’re not sure what to say either, the two of you standing across from one another, frozen in a moment in time.

Instead of speaking, he simply steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace as he inhales.

It feels too good.

This feels too good: the way he smells, the way it feels to be pressed up against him, his hands running smooth patterns across your back.

“Luca,” you begin as you pull away from the hug, your eyes locked with his.

He waits, but as you open your mouth to say something else, nothing comes out.

You’re not sure if it’s a look of disappointment, regret, or something else that flashes across his face, before he gives you a half smile. Luca takes a few steps backwards, almost as if he needs to create space between you and him, his voice a low deep rumble as he says:

“Goodnight, love.”

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a/n: and now we're getting somewhere. i PROMISE we are getting somewhere. just wait ;)

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