#I cannot step in to write it because I know next to nothing about it except I have a great grandma who was Ashkenazi

[minty-bunni]

I wonder about Sam's family in relation to that one comment about being Jewish in the Christmas episode.

Like, were both her parents raised Jewish? Is it a 1 parent is Jewish and 1 parent isn't situation so both Jewish and non-Jewish holidays get celebrated? What is the family history like? Is it only Sam who is Jewish or her entire family? Do they actively practice or is it a holidays and/or cultural thing like with some Catholics I know?

That one off mention left too many questions.

[suhkusa]

TO THE TOP.

PAIRING. Sakusa Kiyoomi x f!Reader

SUMMARY. Sakusa Kiyoomi was ranked #1 in his class. Was, at least until you came along. After this revelation, he makes it a (personal) challenge to overtake you. Sakusa Kiyoomi is a genius at everything he does, but for once he finds it a challenge when it comes to you.

CW. hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, rivals to lovers except kiyoomi is the only one competing, idiots in love (but theyre actually geniuses), high school setting, ~3k words

A/N. Got inspired from a tiktok and came up with this word vom hope u enjoy

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Academically, at least.

While all his classmates found themselves struggling to take tests or study, it was as natural as breathing for Kiyoomi. There were some cons to being as incredibly intelligent as him, but he found himself drowning in the gratification of being #1. 

At least until the 2nd semester of his third year. At least until you.

———

Class Rank: 2

Sakusa finds himself staring at the transcript in his hand, as if his ogling would have an effect in changing the number presented before him.

His eyes scan through his class history, looking for any clues as to how he might’ve dropped in ranking. But there was nothing. All A’s, and as many extra classes stuffed into each year as possible. 

Kiyoomi’s home room was rowdy as students caught up with one another, as winter break had just ended. While in his own little world, his ears catch onto a couple of words his classmates threw around.

“I heard Sakusa isn’t the top in our class anymore, is that true?”

“Woah, hasn’t he been the top of our class since the 1st year? I wonder who was able to catch up,”

His eye twitched a bit at that one.

“It was that new girl, Y/N,”

The paper crumbled slightly under his grasp. Y/N?

The ring of the bell, signifying the start of class, caused him to slightly jump in his seat. Kiyoomi crumbles his transcript before tossing it in his bag, it’s going to change soon anyways.

He would just have to step up his game.

———

It was ironic really. The world really loved to test Sakusa Kiyoomi, and not only at his school subjects. Of course, you were his desk partner in his math class. Only he had the amazing luck of being seated next to his new self-declared rival.

Kiyoomi knows it’s rude to stare, but he can’t himself because you’re the number one student? You?!

Honestly, you don’t seem like the academic type. You seem too pretty to be caring about stuff like that. At first, he considers the fact that you could be using your looks to get people to do the dirty work for you. But he witnesses first-hand as you write down every math equation, answer every question correctly, and even check your work not once, but twice.

His hyperfixation on you is bad. So bad, he missed the whole introduction lesson and is trying to rapidly copy down what’s on the whiteboard as the teacher is erasing it. Fuck-

“Would you like to see my notes?”

Kiyoomi’s pencil comes to a halt as he looks back at you, your papers are being pushed towards him on the desk. He watches as your eyes widen, as if you suddenly became self conscious. 

“I-Is there something on my face? You were staring at me so I wasn’t sure…”

Shit. 

“No,” he tries to make up something, but what comes out of his mouth is stupid, “I was just looking past you,” it appears it’s sufficient though, as you nod in response.

“I see, well, did you want to see them?” you gestured to the notes between the two of you.

Kiyoomi tells himself that if you hadn’t offered, he wouldn’t have asked. But since you oh so kindly offered them up, who was he to say no? He doesn’t need them. He could always ask his cousin, though his handwriting resembles chicken scratch more than human writing.

“Sure,” he takes the papers and positions them in a way where he could just look between them and his own.

In his head, Kiyoomi is scolding himself over and over again for not paying attention. This cannot be a regular thing. If he was going to take back his rank, he needed to be on his A-Game. 

His pencil slaps against his desk as he finishes, quickly sliding your papers back towards you.

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi offers.

He watches from his peripheral vision as you smile and give back an “Anytime,” before gathering your things and getting up to go to your next class.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what it was about you, but he could tell he was going to need to up his game. This was war.

———

By the second week of sitting by you, he decides you’re annoying. More annoying than the people who talk while the teacher is talking. Which, in his book, is hard to beat.

Maybe you weren’t as smart as he pinned you to be, since you kept helping Kiyoomi with his work when he did not need it. 

Though, you were only able to backseat his work because you somehow finished before him. He’s used to being the only one who sits back and relaxes as the rest of his class struggles to complete the practice problems. 

It’s weird though. Because as much as Sakusa hates your yapping, he doesn’t find himself putting an end to it. Instead your voice plays in the background as he completes his work.

He hates it, or at least that’s what he tells himself, the way you praise him like a little kid when he finally completes the work sheet. 

“Nice job!” you smile at him, “but, how come you don’t check your work to make sure you’re right?”

“Because I’m always right,” he replies with a slight roll of his eyes.

You laugh at that, I’m not joking, he thinks.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you tell him. 

Kiyoomi gives you a shrug, “Whatever,”

———

A month in, he begins to indulge in your shenanigans. But only because he had felt bad.

During the third week of sitting by each other, you had taken his short and dry responses personally. You halted your chatter and no longer offered to help like you usually did. The way the classroom felt quiet without your talking was eerie, so Sakusa reluctantly decided that he’d rather hear your voice instead of nothing at all. 

So a month in is when your friendship, or whatever you called it, began with him.

“Why do you use erasable pens? Just use a pencil,” he questions you, eyes peering down at your pen.

You look taken aback as you respond, “I don’t know, is there something wrong with it?” you examine your pen, “I just found it on the floor and stuck with it,”

First of all, gross, remind him not to touch you or your belongings ever. “It’s just a hassle, sometimes it doesn’t erase,”

“Well, it hasn’t given me any problems, so!” you exclaim as you get back to write on your practice quiz. “This is kind of challenging, huh?”

“Nah,” he lies, “You’re just stupid,”

You laugh in his face, “Rude,” Kiyoomi watches as you glimpse at his paper before going back to yours, “That’s why you got the first problem wrong and I didn’t say anything,” 

Sakusa can feel his eyebrows scrunch up, he’s quick as he glances at it and then yours. Fuck. He’s mumbling something under his breath and he begrudgingly erases the circle around his answer. 

“Told ya,” you smile before moving onto the last problem, “you know, we should hangout or something,”

“No,” he’s quick to cut you off, catching you by surprise.

“Whaaat, it doesn’t have to be like that, weirdo,” it seems like you’re going back on what you meant, “Like to study,”

“Still, no,”

“C’mon, don’t knock it till you try it,” you nudge at him, and to be honest, if you were anyone else he might’ve punched you, “please, just once,”

You’re annoying and pushy. But he supposes that if saying yes to you would get you to leave him alone, he’d say, “Fine, whatever, it has to be my house, though. Your house is probably messy,”

Kiyoomi watches as your face slowly brightens before silently celebrating to yourself as you get your way with him once again.

———

“Wow,” you’re amazed as you walk through Sakusa’s house, “your house is so nice, do you have a maid to keep it clean or something?”

“No, just me,” he says before leading you into his room, “please don’t make a mess,”

“I won’t, I won’t,” you say before settling down on his rug, playing with the soft threads, “Okay, I was hoping to review the practice quiz, I know the teacher said I got it right but I feel like there were some parts that had me second guessing myself,”

You’re quick to open up your textbook and blab about whatever problem you were having trouble with. You actually came over to study. Kiyoomi was under the impression that once you got over to his house you’d make him do whatever silly shit you usually have in mind. But no, you actually respected his wishes. Which in turn, earned you some respect from him as well.

“So you’re number one, huh?” He asks, looking up from his textbook to meet your eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s surprising that all my credits from my old school carried over,” you mindlessly say as you continue to write on your sheet of paper.

The sound of the pencils scribbling on paper fills the room before you interrupt it, “You were rank one before I came, right?”

His pencil stills, “Mhm,” It was a touchy subject, though he never thought he’d hear it from you.

“I’m sorry,” you surprised him, “When I found out I took your ranking spot, I was nervous because people are serious about that stuff. And then, when I got seated by you and you stared me down, I thought you hated my guts,”

Well, you had it down to the T, but he wouldn’t tell you that. 

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s out of your control,” you smile at his words.

“Thank you,”

It’s then, in his room, when he realizes he’s losing sight of his goal. To overtake your position. As he watched you look back down at your textbook, he found himself locking in as well. 

He needed to get serious, now.

———

These hangouts, or study dates, or study hangouts, whatever, became basically practice. Always at his house, though. Since he couldn’t fathom the idea of how dirty your room might be. 

“I don’t know how you balance volleyball and school, Omi,” you say from your position lying on his floor.

“Don’t call me that,”

You laugh before continuing, “All I do is school and I’m always exhausted. I had to quit my shifts at the cafe down the road because I would fall asleep before making it to my room,”

“Dangerous, Y/N,” he says, frantically writing down practice problem after practice problem. 

Picking yourself off the ground, “Wow, you’re serious about this final, huh, Omi,”

He glares at you, causing you to laugh again, “Sorry, sorry,” your eyes meet his for a brief second before he looks back at his paper, “but you know it’s okay to take a break, right, that’s all you’ve been doing. We haven’t even gotten to try to compete for today’s Wordle yet,”

“Mhm,” is all he offers you.

You sigh in response to that, “Boring, so boring,” you say as you lay back down

“You can go home if you’re bored,”

“Ugh, rude,” you roll around to make yourself comfortable, “I would but sadly I like being in your presence,”

“Whatever you say,”

“Do you like being in mine?” you question, causing Sakusa to hesitate on the problem he was on.

“You’re tolerable,”

You find yourself cheesing, “That’s a yes in my book,”

———

Finals are coming up. There’s so much on your mind, that you finally decide to let one of the thoughts that have been driving you crazy go. The fact that you like Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

It’s nerve wracking. Not only because you’re basically confessing your feelings, but also because he’s your only friend you’ve made since being here. A lot of people think he’s rude and condescending, but to you he’s different. 

He lets you talk your head off about whatever your brain decides fits best. And while he gives you short responses, they show you that he’s listening and observant. He’s on your level regarding academics and can keep up to your train of thought. He just cares.

And while you hope he might feel the same despite only knowing you for the past couple of months, you chalk it up to fate as to whether or not your intuition is correct.

As you approach the gymnasium, you slow and quiet your steps as you hear familiar voices by the entrance.

“You’ve been hanging out with Y/N quite a bit, huh, cous’? Your mom told mines,” you assume is Komori based on his words.

“Yes. It’s not like that, though,” you recognize as Sakusa. 

You assume he might be fronting since it is his cousin, and feelings are embarrassing at times.

“C’mon, you can’t tell me you don’t like her, she’s like one of the prettiest girls in class and she’s smart. So like, your type,” Komori pushes. And while part of you likes that he said that, you soon take it back after Kiyoomi’s words.

“I don’t like her. I only put up with her because she’s so pushy and always hovers over me while I try to do my work. Plus, she took my ranking spot,”

The world feels silent for a second, the only sound audible to you is the sound of your heart slowly breaking.

“She’s just a nuance, honestly,”

Your feet are moving before you realize. Slowly backing away before running the opposite direction.

He doesn’t like you? You were right that he hates you because you’re number one? He let you into his house but only because you pushed him? Your thoughts are running faster than your own legs, you don’t even realize the drips of water slowly running down your cheeks. 

If number one was what he wanted, then you were going to give it to him.

———

Kiyoomi finds it weird. Finds you weird. Well, he’s always found you weird, but particularly as of recent. But only because you’re quiet. And have been for the past couple of days. 

At first, he assumes it’s because the finals had finally arrived and you wanted to focus on your work. Which, respect, because it also allowed him to focus on his own. 

But even after the finals had passed, you were still quiet. You opted for doodling in your notebook instead of talking to him about a new video game you’ve hyper fixated on or this new show you started to watch. 

It’s even weirder when the teacher is going around passing out the graded math finals, that he stops by your desk, letting out a whispered, “I’m disappointed in you, Y/N,” 

Kiyoomi hears, and it calls his attention towards your paper before even his own. His eyes widened.

A big, fat, red 0 marked at the top of your quiz.

“Y/N-”

“Are you happy now, Number 1?” you ask, still looking down at your paper.

He’s about to ask you what the hell you’re talking about before the bells conveniently cut him off, allowing you to take off without a second glance back at him.

His mind is caught up on your words, Number 1. Kiyoomi has never brought up his disdain regarding the rankings to you, ever. Yes, it bothered him at first. But eventually he didn’t mind it, since the only person he’d ever allow to be above him is you. 

Kiyoomi thinks back on any time he’s ever mentioned it before he remembers the one time he had ever verbally brought it up to anyone. But there was no way… unless.

Fuck, Sakusa thinks as the bright red 100 on his paper stares back at him. It mocked him, poking at his head uncomfortably. Without a second thought, he crumbles the paper before stuffing it into his bag. Kiyoomi had finally gotten back what he’s been working for this whole time, so why does he feel empty?

Kiyoomi realizes then that while you may have lost your Rank 1 position, he was the true loser. Because he didn’t have you.

———

He finds himself at your door before he even knows it. He’s giving an excuse of “she left her notebook,” to your parents as they direct him to where your room is. 

When he finally walks in, he’s shocked. Your room is clean. 

Even as you lay in your bed so peacefully, the space around you is clean, and he feels like it’s safe to walk in. 

“Y/N,” is his first attempt at waking you up, before he’s walking closer to your bed, crouching down a bit to pat your back, “Y/N,” again.

It’s by the fourth or fifth time that he calls your name that you finally look up at him, and you look heavenly.

He’s always known you were pretty, but even more so now you were gorgeous, hair messy, eyes droopy with sleepiness. You were perfect.

Your eyes blink a couple times before you look like you’ve processed who is standing before you. Quickly sitting up, hands moving every which way to fix your appearance, “Omi- I mean Sakusa what are- what do you want?”

Ouch.

“You need to leave, I-I don’t want to see you,” your voice is beginning to tremble and it hurts him, “You finally got what you wanted, I don’t know what more you want,”

“You, I want you,”

Your face drops in disbelief, “No, you don’t. I heard you, what you said,”

“Y/N-”

“No, you hurt me, Kiyoomi. I like you,” you cry, “You can’t just say all of that and then show up out of nowhere claiming otherwise,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he’s kneeling now, allowing him to be the same height as you as you sit in your bed, weeping, “I-I’m sorry,”

His rough thumb smoothes away your tears as they fall, “I didn’t mean it, I was frustrated- and that’s no excuse for what I said, I fucked up really bad,” with every word another sob breaks loose from you, “And I’m sorry,”

“At first, all I ever wanted was to be rank #1, but then you came along and changed everything… Then I realized that it wasn’t being #1 I wanted, it was you,” he continues, “and that’s scary, because my ranking was all I’ve known all these years,”

“But even so, you made it okay. I was okay with being #2, I was so caught up in you that I forgot I ever wanted to be #1 in the first place,” your eyes finally meet behind the thick tears in your lashes, “I like you, Y/N,”

He can tell you’re at a loss for words. And for once he can finally say he has out-talked you. 

Until finally, you decide words aren’t sufficient in this situation. Before he knows it, you’re leaning forward, and your lips are on his. The kiss is short, but definitely more than a peck. But it felt infinite to Kiyoomi. He never wanted the moment to end, and found himself sad as you finally pulled away.

You stared him down for a brief second before tackling him down to the ground in a big hug, “I hate you, Omi,” you laugh angrily.

“Sure,” he smugly replies, watching as you smile into his shirt.

“My number one,” you sarcastically mutter as you fake pout at him.

He cringes, “Ugh, don’t. I feel guilty, why would you even do that? You’re crazy,”

“Because I don’t care about the ranking. I never did. Plus it somehow only dropped me to #2 since the rest of our class failed and I’ve taken too many extra classes,” you say, “I only cared about you,” 

Kiyoomi smiles at you before crushing you in his hug. 

Everything came easy for Kiyoomi. Especially now, his feelings for you.

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[mirohlayo]

Hi, can I request a Reader x F1 grid story where reader breaks her arm/leg and she can't race because of it, but she still attends the races to watch with her team? And then the drivers start to draw on her cast as a feel better soon gesture.

Maybe she also posts it on her social media throughout the day to show fans the progress of the drawings.

Thank you so much xxx

P.S. Love you writing

Hi !! So as you requested I used the F1 grid, but only the drivers who I write for originally (+ Albon). I also wrote reader as a F1 Academy driver to make it more easy to write and more realistic. It's the first time I write something like this, so hope you'll enjoy it girll !! ᥫ᭡

DRAWINGS ON MY BROKEN ARM

( because maybe you just need some love from your handsome friends. )

warning : none just a broken arm, a cast and fluff

note : I really struggled a lot to find some good cast pictures, these ones are a bit awful lmaoo sorry

word count : 1.3k

It was not planned. This was absolutely not what was planned.

As you get out of the car with difficulty, greeting pleasantly the driver who kindly accompanied you to the Suzuka circuit, you try as best you can not to move your arm too much. If you make unnecessary efforts you will tire yourself out for nothing.

You absolutely did not choose to break your arm. It was due to a mistake, a very big mistake indeed. While you were testing your car during free practice, during a session where the falling rain flooded the track with water, your tires did not grip effectively and you found yourself thrown against the wall, in a fairly serious crash. surprising.

The teams immediately helped you, and while everyone was asking you if you were okay after this crash, that's when you realized a big problem: yes, you were okay, but not your arm. . And after a short stay in the hospital, you now find yourself - or rather your arm - stuck in an amazing cast.

You obviously cannot participate in the next F1 Academy races. But you can, however, do something else that is much more energetic and beneficial for you in the state you are in: attend the F1 race which is currently taking place in Japan.

After all, being locked up for almost a week in your apartment was totally boring and you really need a little fresh air, and above all the passion for this sport to stimulate. Being a very close friend of certain drivers, you did not hesitate for a single second to accept your team's proposal when they offered to accompany you to the Suzuka GP.

Now there you are in the paddock, trying to slip through the others to get to the Mercedes garage. There where you find Georges, who smiles with all his teeth at the sight of you.

“Hello you” He walks over to you and starts to wrap his arms around you in order to give you a hug, but a reflex immediately makes him step back. “Oh sorry, I forgot you have a... little problem” He struggles to finish his sentence, grimacing at the sight of your wrapped arm in a cast.

You giggle before patting his shoulder. "Are you better since your crash? I saw that a few days ago and I was really scared for you." His eyes scan you, he is worried about you. You smile softly at him to reassure him. "Don't worry. I may have a broken arm but that won't stop me from supporting you in this race."

“Oh, Y/n!” Lewis' voice calls out to you, and you turn to face him, Charles next to him. They both smile at you, taking care not to touch your arm so as not to hurt you further. "I'm so sorry about your crash. You must definitely be disappointed." Lewis affectionately caresses your shoulder, a show of affection and support.

"At least you're alive, that's the main thing. It's good to see you here, the other guys miss you you know." Charles explains the situation, telling you how worried and scared the pilots were following your accident. You also received several messages from them on instagram, in which they supported you and showered you with kind words.

“Y/NNN!!” Daniel screams your name from afar, a big smile on his face as he almost throws himself at you. “Hey watch out for his arm.” Lewis alerts Daniel so he doesn't hurt you, but he doesn't seem to hear anything and comes to take you in his arms. “Daniel, I’ll go back to the hospital if you continue.” He finally pulls away, carefully observing your cast.

“Maybe I should call the others, they’ll be happy to see you.” Charles volunteers to bring the other drivers back, while you chat with your friends. They are all very respectful and very attentive, they are sincerely empathetic towards you.

In the distance, you finally see the rest of the boys arriving.

“Here’s my girl.” Lando comes to wrap his arm around your shoulders, a smirk present on his lips. You push him away, grimacing to tease him, and he holds his heart as if you had just broken it into a thousand pieces. "I know I shouldn't have sent you that 'get well soon' with a red heart on Instagram, hypocrite." He pretends to roll his eyes but his smile betrays him.

"Indeed, you shouldn't have. Your teammate was the first to message me and that's why he's my favorite boy today." Oscar tssk while crossing his arms, however amused by the situation. Max, Carlos and Alex are discreetly added to the group that has just formed around you.

“Even with a broken arm, you can do a lot of things you know.” Max told you in a confident manner. “Like Lance last year.” Carlos chuckled at Lando, both nodding at the same time because they thought the same thing. You can't help but feel alive again.

It's true that the last few days were difficult. Alone, injured and locked in your apartment, you no longer had much of a taste for life. You kept asking yourself questions about your future, about the rest of the races of the year. You were also worried. But you knew that coming here, being surrounded by your closest friends again, laughing and talking with them, was all you needed. You can only be grateful to them.

“I have an idea guys!” Alex then exclaims, drawing attention to himself. “Since Y/n is injured, and her cast is… white and bland, we should draw to give her courage.” He said while pointing at your cast. The other drivers nod, agreeing with the Williams driver's idea.

“I will have the honor of drawing first!” Then begins George, who is already ready to fight to have his drawing on your cast. "She wants a drawing of her favorite driver which is me. Too bad for you, George." Lando, and his sassy attitude, is ahead of the Mercedes driver. “I bet I draw better than all of you so let me do it.” Carlos steps forward to assert himself.

They seem to be on the verge of fighting over who will have the honor of drawing best, or who will draw first. You laugh while calming the situation. "Look, you're all going to be able to draw. We just need some markers." You remark, as you wave to your team in the distance to help you.

It doesn't take long before they arrive with a small pencil case filled with different colored markers. You then sit on a chair in a corner of the garage, the nine drivers around you. Oscar is the first to draw on your cast, while the others are still fighting over who will go second.

In the end, after a good session of laughter and slightly failed drawings, the result is there. Your plaster is decorated with designs, each one as extravagant as the last, but that doesn't matter, because their intention comes from the heart. This sincere gesture will certainly give you courage for the rest of your adventure, you are sure of it.

And as they all give you one last smile, one last hug, they leave to prepare for the approaching race. You end up joining your team further in the VIP stands, ready for the start of the race. “What a beautiful cast” Your engineer nods at the magnificent designs on your arm, and you smile. “Beautiful may not be the word, but it’s very precious to me for sure.”

And as you share a laugh, the red lights go out, as the din of cars echoes throughout the circuit. For a moment, everything seems wonderful. It's crazy how a simple little attention like drawings can brighten up your day a little more. And can also brighten up the day of others, like those of your fans for example...

yourusername just posted !

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and others...

yourusername: maybe no more arm but at least I have my handsome boyys ❤️

view comments

danielricciardo: if anyone wonders who drew the beautiful star, it’s me ✌️😁

⤷ landonorris: you wrote on her arm instead of her cast you dickhead

⤷ danielricciardo: I was feeling different 😜

user: Alex just writing his name makes absolutely sense

user: no cuz they're literally the SWEETEST ahww

⤷ yourusername: only oscar cuz he's the one who drew the best

⤷ danielricciardo: but you said it was me earlier

⤷ yourusername: i lied plus you literally drew on my SKIN instead of my cast 😠

landonorris: my girl not giving any credits to my amazing beautiful drawing 💔

⤷ yourusername: yeah cuz you have no talent, keep it up it's awful mate 🔥🔥

⤷ landonorris: hypocrite I hate you

charles_leclerc: take care of yourself y/n ❤️

georgerussell63: I slayed, my drawing is lit

⤷ yourusername: no 🙄🥱

user: i need friends as precious as them, love their friendship !!

[carmenized-onions]

Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

logline; it's time to retrace your steps. both of you.

[!!!] series history, this is the thirteenth; nothing distresses me more than when i see people read this out of order PLEASE BABY PLEASE

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. constant headache was actually in season 3? my brain. my power.

Or, maybe you'd like a playlist made especially for this chapter? Consider this my Fishes special.

portion; 17k new record again, please god tell me it gets shorter from here on i'm so. tired..

possible allergies; you will know exactly what trigger warnings you need upon reading seeing the first line. Also! I watched Season 3, and injected some lines from it into this, including the finale. I don't consider it full spoilers, because it's an entirely new context, but you might wanna catch up before you read this one!

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader so excessively gendered, in this chapter. my bad.

it's my birthday so if you typically lurk legally you have to tell me your thoughts on this one! Also it's once again the new longest, so like. cmon.

“What are you, Amish?”

You blink, craning your head back to look up at this annoying giant. You’re too tired for this shit. This is your one day off this week and you’re spending it fixing faulty lights with your dad, at some shit diner. Why did you agree to start coming on jobs? Why’s this guy gotta bother you on your lunch break? What’s wrong with you not wanting to smoke? Pardon you for not wanting to kill yourself with tobacco—

“Ah, no, I’m just uhm—” You gesture your hand to your head. “I get migraines, kinda easy, so I can’t, uh— Can’t indulge.”

He nods, he opts to stand next to you, while you’re sitting on the curb. At least the smoke will blow over your head, this way. You try to eat your lunch in peace. He does not let you have this moment of peace.

“Jack, right?” He nudges your foot with his. “That’s what your pop’s calls you, at least?”

“Yeah. Everyone calls me Jack.” You nod. Guess this is a conversation now, whether you want it or not. “You’re Mikey? The owner?”

“The Original Chicago Beef, in the flesh.” He nods, and he says it like he’s proud but he doesn’t look it. He leers at your partially consumed tin foil wrapped sandwich. “You bring your own lunch?”

You shrug. “Uh, yeah, grilled cheese with pork—” 

“Why would you—”  The door to the kitchen swings open, as Mikey grimaces. You both turn your heads to see another guy come out— Oh it’s that one, the one that cannot stop talking about his divorce— Mikey consults him. “Yo, Rich, do I look like some jamoke, to you? Just wonderin’.”

Rich, tilts his head, and his legs follow after him, “No, cousin, whatssup?” He takes the cigarette from Mikey, when it’s offered up.

“Well, our little fixer friend here—” Mikey nudges you, again. “—seems to think me a fuckin’ ass.”

Now when did you say anything like that? “Wha—”

“Stop making lunches, I’ve been watching you come in here with your little lunch pail the past few jobs, you eat free ‘ere, aright? You’re workin’.” Doesn’t matter what you said. Mikey sees you. Mikey’s always seen you. 

‘workin’�� is a bit generous. The most you do is hand your dad tools, hold a flashlight, and ask too many questions. You definitely could do more, but he knows you're too tired. He really just wants to spend time with you. You pretend to not know his ulterior motives.

“We’re gentlemen here, sweetheart.” Rich bends down, so you can see him past Mikey’s frame, at your level. He reaches a hand out for you to shake. “Richie. Jerimovich.”

You’re not gonna remember that. You take his hand and shake it. “Jack. It’s— I’m just Jack.”

You’ve only got one hand on your sandwich, to shake Richie’s hand. So, like a school bully, Michael takes your loosened grip as his opportunity to grab it from you. “Yoink—!”

You whine, “C’mon—” “Let me make you a real fuckin’ sandwich, sweetheart—” “I’d just like my sandwich, alright?” “Oh, it’ll be your sandwich, alright? You think I don’t make good sandwiches? Richie, she doesn’t think I make good sandwiches.”

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

You attempt to defend yourself from the peanut gallery of one guy. “Not what I said!”

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

Because it’s easy? Because it’s orderly? Because you’ve been in a full state of autopilot for the last threeish years and every day you’ve eaten the same breakfast and made the same lunch and then you go on your shift and then someone nearly dies and sobs in your arms and then you sit on the edge of the ambulance and you eat your grilled cheese and pork? Because if you break the routine it’s all gonna hit?

“I just like making my own lunch.”

“Well, stop. You’re breaking my heart.” Michael takes a bite of your sandwich. You click your teeth. Germs. You’re going to chastise him, but he doesn’t let you. “You like pork more than beef?”

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

You take too long to respond, meaning the lie won’t be believable, so you have to tell the truth. You have to tell The Original Chicago Beef that— “I… I like pork more.”

“How dare you—” Barks Richie, the guard dog, apparently. Mikey stops him, putting a hand up.

“No, no, I asked the lady a question. She’s wrong but I asked. Fair’s fair. We express our fury like gentlemen, Cousin.” He nods, to himself. Thinking. About what is beyond you. God, so much for a lunch break. You point to your sandwich in his hand.

“Can I have that back—” “No. I’m makin’ you a goddamn real sandwich.”

You all but growl, really. You start to stand up. God, this guy is pushy. “I just said, I prefer—”

Mikey’s already making his way back into the kitchen, with the last half of your lunch as hostage. “Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ pork sandwich, aright?”

Mikey’s guard dog stamps out the butt of the shared cigarette, walking backwards into the kitchen, following Mikey but watching you. “He’s gonna make you fuckin’ pork, aright?”

“Aright!” Is all you can yell back, at your wits with the two dumbest most stubborn middle-aged geezers you’ve ever met.

Richie holds the door open for you, so you don’t get locked out. Alright, maybe he is a gentleman. You hear Mikey’s voice ring, from inside the kitchen. “And if you’re not doin’ nothin’ for your dad, try to fix the fuckin’ coffee machine, would you?”

This fucking guy. 

You have waved at him a couple times, here and there, while helping out your dad. But now, you’ve officially had Michael Bear Berzatto in your life for a solid ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it.

Carmen Anthony Bear Berzatto has officially not had you in his life for ten minutes. Doesn’t feel like it. Feels like you’ve been gone for years. But you’re probably still just outside, talking to Richie and Syd. How is it still Friday? What time is it? Almost six? They’ve still got four fucking hours of service to go? No, that’s a good thing. This is a good thing. Doesn’t give him time to think. Everyone needs to stop staring at him. 

What a fucking monster. What did he even say? He can’t remember anymore. He remembered ten minutes ago, and now it’s gone. Completely walled off in his memory. What did he say? Why did you make that face? What did he say to Richie, again? Why did you step in front of him? What did you say, again? What did Richie say? What happened? He can’t remember. He knows he did something fucked up but Carmen cannot remember what happened twenty minutes ago. That’s bad, right?

“I need hands!” Carmen does not recognize the fact that he’s working until he hears his own voice.

Right. He’s on expo. He’s doing expo. That’s what was happening twenty minutes ago, he thinks. That’s what was happening, right? Doesn’t matter. This is what he’s doing now. Fak comes back in and takes the tray to run. He looks around for a moment, confused. 

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

Fak pauses. You don’t leave, that doesn’t match up in his brain. It doesn’t really match up in Carmen’s either, but this is what’s happening now. “What’d’you mean she’s gone?”

“I mean she’s fucking gone, Fak.” Carmen barks back, practically. Such a fucking monster. Could Fak tell him what he said? Doesn’t matter. Carmen nods to the plate. “Table twenty-five, go.”

“...Where’d she go—” “Fucking go, Fak!”

There is a loud, thrumming buzz. The type that goes off after a game. Or maybe after a wrong answer. Expo clock. Since when did it have a sound setting? The kitchen flinches, including Carmen, including a meek-made Neil, and look to the clock behind them. 

Time has stopped. 0ERR is all it displays now. The sign ‘EVERY SECOND COUNTS’ is real ironic, now. What the fuck happened? You would know. You’re still outside, Carmen could get you. Carmen could get you and say he’s sorry for whatever happened. The back of his head feels like it’s hemorrhaging. He needs to go to a doctor. Maybe a paramedic. Carmen could get you, ask you what he said, and also ask if he is actively dying, right now.

“Fak.” 

“Carm?”

“Table twenty-five.” Carmen points at the plate again, with his sharpie. Then points behind him, to the broken clock. “Then fix that.” 

“Why not call To—” “Do you want a fucking job here or not?” “I—I do—” “Then do your fucking job, Fak.”

Carmen doesn’t need you. The Bear doesn’t need you. They can function just fine. Everything’s fine, without you. Everything’s normal. Everything is the way that it should be. He is shaking so much— When did he eat? Has he eaten? What the fuck is wrong with him? What happened twenty minutes ago? Or was it twenty-five? No. That’s table twenty-five, he’s mixing up his numbers. What time is it? He doesn’t know. The whole kitchen doesn’t know what time it is, anymore. You are gone and so are the minutes. 

Fak leaves, with the plate. Shrunken. Following orders. Carmen just turns everyone into himself, doesn’t he? What a fucking monster. He knows how bad it is to be him, and yet he still does it. Look at the orders, Carmen. Run fucking expo. So fucking slow, Carmen. Look at the orders. 

The crumpled piece of paper you handed him twenty minutes— Thirty? Fuck. The fucking note you handed him some amount of time ago. It sits on his table, next to all the actual orders. He rereads it, instead of the five cavatellis he’s supposed to be yelling about, right now.

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

Advanced Payment, M. Berzatto. -$2,500

You forgot the booths. And taxes. And you should probably get paid a half day, for serving for the past half hour. You also forgot all the times he called you, texted you, came over, the bookshelf you brought him, the basil, the rosemary water, cleaning up his trash, every time you tried food for him, every time you told him everything was going to be okay, every time you made everyone breath in here like it was going to be okay— You forgot everything you do. Priceless. Easily, you are owed millions, from Carmen. 

He flips over the note. He reads Sweeps’ quick scribings from David, the fucking asshole out front, the fucking asshole in his head. 

Cherry + Lamb, good flavour. A lot of elements. Fresh, Unique. Overall good? Ig? Weird tone.

Said he’d like to speak to ‘Wine Girl’ (ick), mentioned Michelin connect? Number = Connect? (Ick)

You didn’t eat the cherry and lamb dish. That just connected, in his head. You didn’t get to eat it. Not only did you not get to eat it, the motherfucker outside did. Fuck. You were trying to be nice, but you’ve fucked him. Unique is practically a slur to his Exec. Carmen has fun when he makes things for you— He plays— That’s not what his Exec wants. He wants two elements, max. The fact that David actually liked the flavour is nothing short of a fucking miracle. Carmen could throw up. He’s definitely getting an ulcer, again. Where’s your Tums? Fuck, you took it with you, didn’t you? 

It’s embarrassing how many rules he forgets to implement, when he cooks for you. Boundless, unrestricted— When he cooks for you. Doesn't cut a single concept. It’s mortifying that someone other than you ate it, let alone David fucking Fields.

Carmen’s eyes feather, almost closing, but not completely. He scratches his fingers through his hair, destroying the cast of gel it’s been stuck in. His curls are desperately trying and failing to reform. It doesn’t matter how much he runs his hands through it, he cannot get it to smell like you again. He cannot find you in himself, he cannot find you in his kitchen. That’s what annoyed him, earlier, wasn’t it? That you were everywhere? That you were carved in, everywhere? He thought he didn’t want that?

His knees bounce where he stands, he bumps into his jacket under the table. Right. You left it. Are you cold? Turtleneck was thin. You looked so good. You always look good. Better, in his clothes, but you always look good. Did he remember to tell you that? Probably not.

“Where—” Fuck, he really is going to throw up. “Where we at on Booth Twelve’s dessert tray, Chef?”

You said it was okay for Carmen to give your number out. You gave your dish out. You shelled yourself out, for Carmen. It feels like a cave is being hollowed out, in his throat. He is so angry and he doesn’t know who it’s for. He doesn’t know where to put it. Is that what happened twenty-three— twenty-four minutes ago? Did he give it to you? No, he gave it to Richie, right? That’s how it started. Marcus hands off the dessert paddle to expo, silently. No one wants to talk to Carmen. That’s probably fair. What did he say? Probably bad. It’s already huge they haven’t walked out on him, yet. Has anyone walked out, yet?

Marcus is here, Syd is still out back— Well, actually, she might’ve left with you, she should if she can. Are you still out there? Tina wipes her eyes, working at the oven you fixed thirty— No, forty— Fuck— Earlier. It’s probably the onions from the broth making her tear up. No, it definitely is. Fak is out front, Sweeps is out front, Richie is still out back.

What did he say to Richie? Something about kids? There are no servers to hand off dessert to stupid fucking booth twelve. Carmen cannot keep looking at the family he’s ruined, in whatever way he managed to ruin it. He grabs the dessert tray. He’ll deliver it himself. He can do it all himself. He’s good by himself.

You’ve been out of Carmen’s life for 0ERR minutes. Yeah. That’s exactly how long it feels like.

“Try it try it try it.” You mumble, hurriedly, excitedly, to Marcus. The bread guy. He’s the nicest of the bunch, so far. You hand him the mug. He takes a sip of the coffee you’ve been perfecting for the last six jobs here, give or take. You’ve been in The Beef’s life for two months or so.

“Holy shit.” He nods, digesting it— Actually digesting it, which means— “It’s edible.”

“I know!” You all but shout, too excited to hide it. You’ve finally figured out how to make this thing produce what it’s supposed to— Instead of what is essentially arsenic with coffee flavouring.

Your excitement makes a line cook behind you grimace. The one you’ve still got yet to win over. “My ears, kid.”

“Sorry.” You reply lightly. Your back is turned to her, so she can’t see you cringe to Marcus, crying for help, practically. He’s sympathetic. He kept saying you just need to prove yourself, but it’s been taking forever, what else can you prove?

He decides to fast track you. “Yo, T.” She nods. She respects Marcus. But you’re just some girl that’s been in her walkway for the past seven weeks. “Try it.” He hands her your edible coffee.

She rolls her eyes, already nonplussed, but she takes the coffee. She is genuinely impressed, for a split second, before it turns into a coy sarcasm. “Wow— You’ve made not poison, great job, baby.”

“I’m gonna get better.” You respond instantly. That’s something you noticed Tina likes. Quickness. “I’m gonna make you a good coffee.” Determination, too.

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

“No.” She pushes the coffee to your chest; you grab it before it spills. “I like it bold.”

God, she’s so scary. “Heard.” She’s so cool. 

She watches you, for a second; wants to see if you crack. You don’t, thankfully. She folds. She finally kinda likes you— Or rather, is willing to admit it, in some small way. “You can come tonight.”

You can come to family, tonight. It takes everything in you not to cheer. You should mix them drinks. Or is that too try hard? No, it’s the perfect amount of try— Right? It was your old party trick in college, you should use it. Prove yourself.

“Cool.” Is all you can say, without seeming like a desperate nerd. 

You've been slowly cutting away at every relationship in your life, par for your family— And even that hangs by a thread— And you thought you were fine with that. You thought you were good like that, but once you got used to The Weirdos of The Beef, you cannot help but desperately want friends, again.

Every moment you get outside of your twelve to twenty-four hour EMS shifts, you spend it here. You’re tired, but it might actually be worth it; to talk to people instead of rotting in your apartment for half a week every week.

What month is it? March? When's Squid's birthday again? Did you miss it? It's the one time a year you get to talk without the underlying pressure that you have to hang out now.

Happy Birthday, what have you been up to? Oh, same thing as last year? You're irrevocably a different person now but you're also still the same? Nothing much? Same here. We should see each other soon. We won't. I won't say I love you because I don't want to be weird. Even though we used to say it every day. I will never know you like I used to, and so I won't even try. Same time next year?

Working in The Beef reminds you of her. Reminds you of the other stubborn cook in your life. Was in your life? Don’t think about that. Sometimes you hear her dad's voice out front, buying himself a half-hot half-sweet braised beef sandwich. Sometimes you think about going out there and saying hi. Sometimes you think about asking about Syd. Sometimes you think about asking how the catering gig is going. Sometimes you think about asking if she needs you anymore.

You never do.

“Aye.” Mikey claps your shoulders, bringing you back to earth. You didn't even realize he was behind you. He digs his hands in, a sudden and always painful massage. His preferred way of saying stop fucking tweaking. He leans over your shoulder, looking at the coffee cup that doesn't look as pitiful as it usually does. “Good job, kid.”

“Thank you—” “Now figure out how to make it worth drinking.”

You scoff, rolling your shoulders to push him off you. “I'm fuckin’ trying!” 

His hands stay in place, but his massage does become gentle, and actually decent. Per usual. You’re not sure how he always manages to get the knots. “T say you can come to family?” 

You had to get all yeses that you are now in fact family to join for family. You look over your shoulder to face him. “Mhm.” 

“Good.” He looks around. “Your dad here?” 

You nod. “In the basement, something about your furnace? It's fucking beyond my skill set, so I'm up here until he needs me.” As much as your dad started doing this to hang out with you, heads got too hot with you fucking up which tools to hand him one too many times; repeatedly yelling same team in a more and more distressed tone did not seem to be helping either. Whatever. Gave you more time with the coffee machine. You’re going to make this thing your bitch, one day. One day this thing is going to sing for you.

“Oh, good.” And with that, he's already pulling you to his station. “You can help me with family brisket, then.” 

“Nooooo—” “If you want family you gotta be family, Jack.” 

You whine, but you don't mind this at all. Mikey sees you. Mikey knows you; probably better than he should. He knows you always need something to do.

“Pork?” “Pork.” “Fine.” It's your recipe, so you must oblige.

He's good. Mikey is good. Mikey pays attention. Mikey's made the cycle break in a way that doesn't hurt.

Carmen needs to apologize to Richie, for never taking his stress over running front of house seriously.

Carmen hates being out front already and he’s only just stepped out. Why is everyone looking at him out here, too? He should also apologize for whatever he said forty minutes ago. Thirty-five? Doesn’t matter. What’s important is handing this dessert tray to the fucking jagoff. The man who Carmen dreamed of becoming, the man who he’s now scared he’s become. David Fields. Former Executive Chef. Too many accolades to list. 

“Dessert is served, hope you enjoy, Chef.” Carmen manages to bite his tongue for this guy, so why can’t he do it for the people he actually gives a fuck about? He’s a fucking coward. He swallows, setting the dessert paddle down in front of the stupid five fucking guests. Far too big a party, for a fucking walk in. And all they got for dessert was the fucking tasting paddle? Why are they skimping now? Assholes. All of them. Carmen knows all of these people. Well. Knows their faces. Remembers working with them, but never really talked to any of them. Why would he? He was focused. He was good.

“Thank you, Chef.” Says David. It feels like lightning, to hear those words. But not in a good way. It should feel like an accomplishment, to hear this guy say anything remotely positive, to Carmen, but it doesn’t. It feels the opposite, honestly. Feels like something’s wrong. Getting this guy’s approval is wrong.

This is the part where Carmen is supposed to leave. This is the part where the server goes back to the kitchen and continues their job. But he can’t. He’s stuck in place. He’s back in front of the fire, and he’s not putting it out. Carmen swallows hard and his spit feels like glass all the way down his throat. His Exec stares at him, nearly coy— Like he knows. Like he can see the invisible snake coiling around Carmen. Like he knows that Carmen desperately has something to say. 

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

Fuck it. Fuck everything, fuck it. Not like the night can get worse. “Can we step out, for a second, Chef?”

“Lookit this.” Mikey pivots his phone to you, for you to see a photo he's just been sent.

It's of… “What the fuck is that?” You've got no clue. Some weird spiralling array of colours. 

“I've no fucking clue. Food? Apparently?”

It's April, and Mikey has let you in. You will not realize how big a deal this is until it's too late. But right now, you're just happy to be hanging out with him before open. Without your dad, too.

Their most frequent regular’s favourite chair broke, one of the legs just fully gave out underneath him. It's an easy fix. Mikey could probably do it himself. Fak or whatever the fuck his name is could absolutely do it himself. Mikey called you, instead. Called you. Not your dad. You think this'll be your first and last solo job. Naive.

“Carmy?” You assume, he's the only person that's on that rich people shit. Michelin Star Chef, baby boy with big dreams.

“Yessir. He’s still killin’ it.” Is all Mikey says, tucking his phone away. You frown at him, screwing the chair leg in, sitting on the floor. He groans. “Don't gimme those eyes, Jack.”

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.” 

You tilt your head, the look you give him translates to ‘Are you forreal?’

He just sighs, exasperated. “You don't get brothers, Jack.”

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

“Yeah but it's—” He gestures to the general air, attempting to explain nothing. “It's different. We communicate different.”

“Sure.” You can admit that. “I'm sure the dynamic is very different brother to brother, brother to sister. But like—” You jiggle the chair leg, alright maybe it's not that easy of a fix. “It sucks bein’ the baby, I know that much.”

“You're the baby?”

“Yeah, why?” You lift your head from the chair back to him. “I got middle child energy? I’ll fuckin’ kill you.” 

“No, no— Oldest.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Thought you were one of me, Jack. My own blood.”

You scoff. But it’s not something you haven’t heard before. You’ve got the blood of people who’ve had to take care of people. “Well, being the only sister kinda made me the oldest sister.”

You pad your hand around the floor, searching, before looking up to Michael, again. “You see the fuckin—?”

He tosses you the chair leg cap, before you can finish asking for it. “You’d like Nat. Similar ideologies.”

“I would love to know how your younger sister fuckin’ survived you, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, at that. “She’s a trooper. Surrounded by some of the worst men Chicago has to offer.” He looks at the coffee that you painstakingly crafted for him, this morning. “This is actually kinda fuckin’ good, Jack.”

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

He rolls his head back, neck straining. “For what you had, it’s fuckin’ perfection, alright? Happy?”

“Fuckin’ delighted.” You throw the chair up onto its legs, and it stands. “You?”

He gets up from his seat to try out the chair. He takes the coffee with him. There’s a split second where you’re scared that actually this was too hard a job for you and Mikey is going to fall and the hot coffee is going to careen everywhere and fucking scald him and you told him he needed to get a first-aid kit in here but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet—

Mikey sits, and the chair works. He takes another sip of your chai coffee blend, like a vote of his confidence. He never had any doubt you could get the coffee machine to work, never had any doubt you could make a good coffee, never had any doubt you could get the chair to stand strong. Mikey has always always believed in your capabilities, even when you haven’t, and has always been happy to prove yourself to yourself. Mikey is really good at being an older brother, you think. And forget that he never texted back the real baby of his real family.

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

Two executive chefs stand in front of a restaurant, there’s probably a joke in here somewhere. Carmen doesn’t care to find it. He watches your car drive out onto the road, out of the corner of his eye. That’s it, then. You’re gone. He fishes a pack of cigarettes out from the chest pocket of his chef’s uniform. 

“You should quit.” Says David, so high and fucking mighty. As if he doesn’t house a bottle of wine daily.

“I’m aware.” Carmen lights it anyways. You don’t smoke. Did his mouth taste bad, every time he’d kiss you? Probably. You probably just bore it for his sake. Maybe that’s why you so rarely went for his lips. He takes a puff, it doesn’t calm him down. 

“Your hair is fucked.” 

“And the food?”

“Busy. You can lose the basil and eggplant. You’ll re-learn.” David tilts his head, thinking, smarmy. “Someone got in your head.”

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

“Awe.” David smiles, something he so rarely did in the kitchen, but perfected in public. His tone is so perfectly pouty, like it’s disappointing he’s not the only one living rent free in Carmen’s brain anymore.

Carmen steadies his eyes forward, to the street. He cannot look his own personal nightmare in the eyes, but he can say what he’s always wanted to say. “Why are you such a fucking asshole?”

“How am I an asshole?” “Can you stay ‘til after close?” “You’re welcome.”

Carmen turns his head to face him now, eyes wide like plates. “I— I’m welcome? For—For-for what?”

“You were an okay chef, when you started with me.” David doesn’t fear eye contact. David’s probably never had a bad day in his fucking life. “And you left an excellent chef, so you’re welcome.”

Carmen’s never even heard the fucking word excellent come out of this man’s mouth. Let alone to describe him. It doesn’t feel good, for some reason. It still doesn’t feel good to receive praise from him, despite the fact that he’s everything. 

“You…” Carmen needs a second, to catch his breath. He probably should quit smoking. “You gave me ulcers, and panic attacks, and— and nightmares— You— You know that? You understand that?”

“Yeah.” David’s entirely unfazed. All he’s heard is a list of benefits, in his head. “I gave you confidence and leadership and ability— It fucking worked.”

Is this what it working is supposed to feel like? Is this what it feels like to function? Is this what it means, to make it? If it is, then what the fuck does not making it feel like?

“I’m— I’m, I’m— I’m actually fuckin’ stunned, right now, I—” Carmen rubs his hands over his eyes. “My life stopped.”

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

“You wanted to be excellent. You got rid of all the bullshit, you concentrated, you focused— And you got excellent. And it worked. You’re here.”

You’re not bullshit. You’re not bullshit and he shouldn’t have done whatever he did to make you leave. Carmen is anything but excellent, without the people behind him, and he’s realizing that now. He’s an idiot, because you told him this, the second day of knowing him you told him this. He has a wonderful team— A family— A family he now considers you a part of. And he tanked all of it, everyone— Why? Because he had a bad fucking day? Because a dish got sent back? Because he fucked up tremendously? Boo-fucking-hoo, Carmen. It takes an idiot like David, who thinks he’s a genius, for Carmen to realize they look exactly the fucking same— And that is the actual thing that’s mortifying, tonight.

The real mortifying thing, isn’t that you were so fucking sweet and considerate of his stupid fucking brain and his stupid insane aspirations— It isn’t your dish. The mortifying thing is he prioritized the man in front of him, in any regard. It’s mortifying that Carmen made you feel like you had to prioritize the man in front of him.

“I just— I just made the—The only fuckin’ good thing in my life leave because— Because you got in my fucking head.”

David just raises his brows, like Carmen’s fucking stupid. Like there’s not a problem here. Because to him, there isn’t. And once again, the stupid fucking Exec repeats. “You’re welcome?”

“I’m—” The door opens, and for a moment, despite the fact that he watched your car disappear minutes ago, Carmen still thinks there’s a chance it’s gonna be you; begs a higher power that it’s going to be you. It’s not. It’s Richie. 

“Hey asshole—” Richie stops, when he sees David. “Ah. You’re needed, Chef Carmen.”

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.” 

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

Richie’s had a habit of calling you cousin, lately. You pull your head out of the back of the Ball-Breaker arcade machine. Its controls are allegedly on the fritz, but you’re pretty sure Chi-Chi just sucks at this game. “Whaddya need? Do I have to run front a-fucking-gain?”

That was a fun out of nowhere three hour shift with zero restaurant experience— Par for bar. It will not be the last.

“Nono— Just a cuppa coffee? More like six.” 

You kiss your teeth, tutting him. “You know how the fuckin’ machine works—”

“Want your coffee?” He corrects, like stroking your ego will make you fold. It does. You stand up, stretching your legs.  

“Fine. Just get me a list of everyone’s—” He slaps a folded note against your forehead. “Orders.” 

“Fucker.” You take it off your head to read. “Whatta ‘bout Mikey’s?” He’s missing from the list.

Richie shrugs. “Surprise him, he’s out back— In one of his moods.”

You don’t know how uncommon it is for Mikey to be so out of it. You’re meeting Mikey during his slow but certain downward spiral, but you don’t know that. No. How could you? No, so you think it’s normal for Mikey to occasionally leave rooms and turn inward. 

“Aye aye, Rich.”

He kisses your temple as you pass him, making an all too aggressive ‘muah’ noise, because that’s what fake Italians do, as a form of thanks, and lets you go work your magic on the coffee machine. 

You’re pretty integrated into The Beef, at this point. How long has it been? You don’t really need this list of orders, but it’s good to visually ingrain in your brain. You’re thankful to Mikey for investing in a bunch of Torani’s syrups for your coffee dreams. You’re here enough for it to be worth it, anyways. 

You’re probably gonna start being here a lot more, soon. Well, maybe.

You haven’t told anyone yet, about what your dad told you this morning. That he’s gotta retire, soon. Like soon, soon. Now, you’re faced with a decision— Keep going with this EMS thing until your body fails and you need to be wheeled out by your own coworkers, or take on ownership of a small family business directly after the fucking pandemic. Really good options, here.

You’re leaning towards the latter, at the moment. You’re leaning towards being called here, for half your jobs. It’d be hard to make ends meet on just whatever crack change Mikey is able to pay you— But you used to bartend in college— You could work dailies whenever you’re short. Probably. It probably won’t be that hard. Could it be harder than what you’re doing now? Could it be harder than watching someone flat line? Probably not.

Ebra, watered down black coffee. T, two sugars, one milk, cinnamon and chocolate syrup. Marcus, spiced coffee. Sweeps, water in a deli cup— A delicacy. Richie, two sugars, cinnamon syrup, ideally boiling hot. 

But to be fair, people need someone like you. People need paramedics. Is it selfish for you to decide you can’t handle it anymore? Should you let your body break before you let yourself go on one? Fuck. Fuck. Where’s Mikey? You’re feeling the knots build up again. 

Out back. Richie said he’s out back. You pick up your coffee, and Mikey’s— cinnamon and caramel, this time— And head out back. 

And you see a sight that you’ve actually seen plenty of times.

You’ve just never seen it in the back alley of The Beef. You’ve just never seen it happen to a friend. You’ve just never seen it happen to Mikey. You don’t drop your coffee cups in some sort of dramatic shock, or anything like that. Because that would take time. It’d take too much time to be shocked. You just turn around, immediately, partially crashing into the door as you run back in, breaking the mugs and spilling scalding hot coffee over your hands and chest— You don’t feel it, you don’t give a fuck. 

“Cousin!” 

You’re a mom friend. That’s what Syd used to say. You carry Tums, painkillers, cough drops, pepto— All in your purse or pockets. You keep a lighter on hand. You keep safety pins— All ranging in size, just in case of a clothing mishap. You keep kid’s band-aids in your wallet. You’re a mom friend. Everyone used to find you also carrying a naloxone kit a bit dramatic, like you were overdoing it. You always hoped they were right; that it would never be used. Regardless, you'd always replace it when it expired.

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

“Right.” Carmen’s honestly kind of surprised, to be needed. But it’s probably just cover, to talk. People don’t typically need people like him, especially not Richie. He nods to David. “Chef.”

“Chef.” David nods back. He looks at Richie. “Where’d your translator go?”

The fuck? Richie does not look phased, at all. He also looks like he’s been crying— So it might just be that nothing phases him, right now— But at the very least, Carmen would expect some surprise. So this disrespect must not be new. Why didn’t he tell him?

Maybe he did, actually. Maybe that’s what happened forty minutes ago? How’d that lead to you leaving? 

“My what?” Richie knows exactly what David’s getting at, but he asks anyways, to embarrass the fucker.

But David doesn’t feel embarrassment, it’s just not in him. “Your somme.”

“She had to leave early.”

“Ah,” He nods, “You’ve got her number, by chance?”

A deep and sharp exhale, through Richie’s nose, as he desperately tries to be a good host. Tries to be star material. But he runs his tongue across his top teeth and he just can’t bring himself to bite it. Richie hates both of the men in front of him right now. “I do, I do, actually— I’ve had her number for three years, memorized, y’know why?”

David shrugs, delighted to upset someone. “She your wife or something?”

A sharp, terrifying chuckle, honestly— One that hides any sign of a smile. Rich steps forward. “Oh, I should be so lucky. I would be so fucking lucky, if a woman like that—” And he pivots his head, to speak very deliberately, to Carmen. “Decided for some Godforsaken fuckin’ reason, that I was worth an ounce of her precious time— Let alone her hand.”

“If only, truly, David.” Still looking at Carmen, squarely in his face. “If fuckin’ only. If I had someone like that— I’d be on hand and fucking knee, for her.”

“Chef.” Carmen’s talking to David but looking at Richie, but that might also be because he can’t look anywhere else. 

“Chef.” David shrugs, whatever fight here is beyond him. He doesn’t fucking care. Carmen knows the Michelin thing was bullshit—Certainly David can put in a good word, but inspectors are anonymous, that’s the whole point. But his stupid fucking Exec wanted to see if Carmen would stoop so low as to take the bait. It also wouldn’t hurt to get your number, you’re perfect. Carmen doesn’t think he’d have taken the bait, but the fact that he’s not sure speaks volumes.

David steps back into The Bear, and an Executive Chef and his dead brother’s best friend stand outside their restaurant. There’s a joke in here somewhere, and it’s probably Carmen.

“I’d fucking kill him.” You shake your head, when Mikey tries to brush off the end of his story like it’s no big deal. “I can’t believe no one fuckin’ said anything.”

“They might’ve.” He sniffs, arms crossed— Guarding himself. He sits opposite of you, both sitting on the floor of his office, backs against either wall. “But I couldn’t fuckin’ hear anything but him— And then the fucking car, obviously.”

You can tell he’s trying to move on. He wants you to ask if his mom was okay. You don’t honestly care, and you don’t care if that makes you a bad person, either. 

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

It’s close to midnight, a humid but cool August midnight. A week or so, since Mikey’s overdose. You’re finally christening your jumpsuit with a patch from The Beef, on the left shoulder. You do keep stabbing yourself with the sewing needle— If you were sleeping beauty you’d be fucking dead. 

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” You both laugh, but you’re still stuck with him, at that dining table, in your head. You’re still hearing Uncle Lee screaming, despite never actually hearing it. “They should’ve said something.”

“It’s different when you’re there.” He shrugs, again. “Hard to speak in those rooms.” 

Your lips stay tight, for a moment. There’s a long silence of just staring at each other, because you want him to know that you’re completely serious when you say— “I would’ve said something.”

“Sug tried to say somethin—” “She told you to stop, that’s bullshit.” “She was mediating—”

“And why the fuck were you the one that needed to calm down, exactly?” You frown, deeply. You don’t have anything against Sug, but this story just rubs you the wrong way. The way no one was on his side verbally. “Just cause you’re the guy, means you can’t stick up for yourself? I hate that shit.”

He thinks on that, for a moment; because no one has ever said the thing out loud, never acknowledged it. He nods, tucking one knee up to rest an arm on it. “It sucks, being the guy.”

“It fucking sucks to be the guy!” You shout back, emphatic, practically jumping to agree— You jab yourself again. “Fuck, ow— Yes, it sucks.”

“And—” You’ve really opened a faucet for him. “And no one wants you to acknowledge that you’re the guy— Like you can take the compliment, but you can never say ‘I know, I’m doing it on purpose.’”

You poke at the tip of your nose with one hand and then to Mikey with the other, bang on. “No one wants the guy to know they’re the guy!”

“We always know!” “We always fucking know!” “We’re the guy on purpose!”

It’s rare for people like you two to talk and actually get along. The typical stereotype is that two sweethearts will always end up butting heads, too intimidated— But instead, you’re both just able to honestly commiserate over being who you are. The Guy. The Dependable One. The Head.

“You shouldn’t have to always be good and—and like, understanding of every single fucking person— Especially when they’re a dick!” You yell, exasperated. “You are allowed to fucking stick up for yourself!”

He tightens his lips in a line, because he agrees, but he has been so trained to lay down and take it. To take the teeth; it’s one of the many many jobs of being the guy. You know it just as well. He sighs, “I know.”

“You’re worth standing up for, Mikey.” You emphasize. They should’ve said something. It shouldn’t have been on you. You shouldn’t have had to defend yourself. They should’ve protected you, like you did for them. Like you always do for them. 

His eyes flicker, a bit. He clears his throat and punches his chest, shaking his head out of it, because if he doesn’t, he might actually fucking cry, and that’s not what the guy does. “Okay.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He kicks your foot with his. “Now tell me some fucked up thing that happened to you, Jack.”

You laugh, and it quickly turns into a groan as you try to come up with something. “I uh… Oh! I fuckin’ hate the nickname ‘Jack’, that’s something.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, teasingly intrigued— You’ve thrown him a bone, because you’re the guy, too. He’s able to focus on this in lieu of himself.

You nod and continue. “My dad gave it to me, when I was really really little, like five or six— And it was ‘cause I like— For a kid, I was really into uhm, like— Like everything?”

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

You chuckle. “I liked helping him go on jobs, and barely being able to hold flashlights. And I liked learning what all the wires and the pipes do— I liked doing chores and like— Making shit for people, or doing shit for people, if it made ‘em happy.” You’re a little too zoned in, on your sewing. The motion helps keep you grounded. “And so he would go like Awe, my helpful little Jack of all Trades, you can do it all.”

You pull the string up and out of the fabric, taught, dramatically high. “Which like, of course he was trying to be like, a good dad and hype me up— But my kid brain just garbled it and translated ‘you can do it all’ to ‘you have to do it all.’”

“Damn.” He cringes but laughs, sympathizing. “You got ‘guy’d’ at fuckin’ five?”

“Well, when did you get ‘guy’d?!” You snap back, he takes a moment to think about it, sighing.

He shrugs. “Probably five.” “Exactly!”

You both laugh, a bit too aggressively, honestly; compensating for the sting. Mikey sniffs, adding. “So that’s why you hate it? ‘Cause of the weight?”

“‘Cause of the weight.” You nod. “Like a constant reminder, that I need to be like— constantly at service.”

“Yeah.” He nods, eyes looking down. Thinking about far too much, and though you have become his closest confidant, there are still parts of him that he won’t show. “Drinking helped?”

“Drinking helped.” You close the last stitch on the patch. “Which is funny, because that whole thing started from wanting to be helpful.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

“There was uhm—” You can’t help but laugh a little, at the ridiculousness of it. “There was this girl, and she was my best friend, and she fucking loved— Or I guess still loves— Cooking. And even as a dinky little highschooler, she’d have me try shit, and it’d be like— So luxe.”

“Right.” Mikey smiles, thinking of all the dishes that have been foisted on him by the precocious cook in his life.

“And I wanted to be like… equally impressive. So I started doing research on wine pairings and shit, so I could have something to talk to her about, have somethin’ to say other than wow great job— Because I could tell she always wanted more.”

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “I haven’t gotten there yet!” “Well stop burying the lead!” “Oh don’t you point a finger when it comes to burying a fucking lead.” “Oh, fuck you.”

“Anyways!” You clap a hand on your knee, casting aside the completed sew job. “I’d give her pairings based on research— still teens, so we couldn’t drink yet, but she appreciated the thought. And then I went to college and she went to CIA and we were talking and then we graduated and suddenly we weren’t…” You knock your fist against your hand a couple times. “We weren’t talking, anymore.” 

“And so you became an alcoholic?” “Kinda.” “Oh. I was being sarcastic.” “Yeah, dontchu feel guilty as fuck now?” “What happened?”

“It was easy.” You shrug. “I started working at pubs in college, I was getting free drinks all the time, I was trying more wines for her— I didn’t really see it as a problem, because like, I didn’t do it to function, I never reached for anything like ‘oh I fucking need this.’”

“That’s how it starts.”

“That’s how it fuckin’ starts.” You nod. “Then suddenly we weren’t talking and I became an E-M-T, and then suddenly I was watching people y’know, live through the worst moment of their lives or die, and I— Suddenly I did need that drink.” You should’ve just called her. She would’ve done a lot more for you than a bottle could. But you were stupid and tired, and still are.

“Who coulda thunk it?” “I know! Ridiculous.”

“How long you been stable, again?” 

“Six months, four days… But who’s counting?” You laugh, and so does he.

You’re both very literally counting. And the buzzer of a timer going off on your phone reminds you of that. You both stare at it, in a daze, as it officially hits Twelve in the morning. Once you silence it, you look to Mikey. 

“Michael The Bear Berzatto, you have officially been sober for twenty-four hours.”

He smiles, no teeth, but he smiles. “Gimme.”

“Be patient!” “I am being the most patient a person can be.” “Yeah that’s fair.”

You opt to go for the cupcake first, a big One candle sticking out of it. “This is stupid.” Says Mikey. “Have some fucking whimsy in the face of adversity.” Says you, pulling out your disposable camera. 

“Do we need photos?” “What the fuck else are we gonna put in my folder?” “I dunno, write me sonnets.” 

“Do you want sonnets?” You ask, and the worst part is Michael can tell you’re being sincere. You would write him sonnets, if he only asked. You would do anything, if he only asked. You quit being an EMT, immediately after seeing the state he was in, last week. You are here for Michael, and he only has to ask.

He shakes his head and blows out the candle when you lift the cupcake to his face, and he makes a wish to whatever higher power exists, that he won’t drag you down with him. 

You thread a 24 Hours in Recovery chip onto the embroidery thread you were using and tie it off. When you present it to him, he bends his head down. “Chip me.”

“That’s not what chip me means.” “It means something?” “I’m pretty sure chipping someone means shooting someone—” “Well Google it, Chip.” “Well, fuck, ok— Chip?”

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

You throw the necklace over his neck, like you’re knighting him. You grow a great degree softer. Even when he’s deliberately not supposed to be The Guy, when he’s supposed to be working on himself, he’s still your guy. Still looking out for you just as much as you look out for him. He will never realize that you consider the exchange equal.

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

“This sobriety thing is going to be easy.” “ —Okay, so— The thing is, everyone kinda says that after twenty-four hours and then a week or two in, it actually hits—” “It’s gonna be so easy.” “I love that you think that and I want you to keep that hope up, I also think maybe let’s just be easy on ourselves if it gets hard—” “It’s not gonna get hard.” “That’s what she said—” “Fucking gross!”

He throws his arm over your shoulder, a loving noogie, but a noogie nonetheless. You try to hit him from below, it’s a failed flailing. You both start laughing and he stops, opting to just hold you there. You hold his forearm with your hands, and sigh.

“...Even when it’s not easy, we’re on the same team, okay? Don’t forget that. That we’re on the same team and I love you.”

He squeezes you a little, bicep curling. In fifteen seconds you will complain that he’s choking you, but right now, he says, “I’m not gonna forget you love me, Chip.” and neither of you know this is a lie, yet.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen sniffs, is he actually going to cry? Holy shit, he might cry. “I don’t know what I said—”

“You don’t know what you said?” Richie scoffs, he can’t help but laugh. “You don’t know what you fuckin’ said? Ah— It’s— It’s all good, man. You don’t know what you said, so it’s all good—”

“I’m apologizing—” “Nonono— No— It’s all good, I don’t need a fuckin’ apology. I know how you feel now, so it’s all fuckin’ good.”

“I love you—” “You love me? You love me? Oh, that would’ve been nice to hear half a fucking hour ago.”

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

“No— No, you know what?” Richie takes a choked breath, pressing his index finger over his nose and mouth, then points it to Carmen. “If that’s what your fuckin’ love is— I don’t fuckin’ want it. And I don’t want that shit for Chip, either— So leave her the fuck out of your fuckin’ love or whatever the fuck you think that is, too.”

That one hurts, because it’s true. Carmen can’t say anything to that; the silence just eggs Richie on more. “Oh, was that a low blow, to you? Cause I’d say saying it was her fault was a pretty low fucking blow— Kinda below the belt shit, if you ask me—”

“What?”

A silence louder than anything either of them have ever heard hangs in the air.

“Fuck you mean what?”

“I said what?” Carmen’s spit still feels like glass, he is destroying his throat. “What—What did I say?”

Stunned, Richie is stunned. And he can’t tell if Carm’s lack of cognizance in the situation makes him more or less angry. He’s pretty sure it’s more. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Cousin, what the fuck did I say to her?”

“You said she failed him.”

Yeah, Carmen’s gonna cry. Carmen is absolutely going to cry. Not weeping, but a tear. Just the one. Just the one, and the dry heaving. The dry heaving and just short of falling over, managing at the last minute to fall onto his rear. He slides his back against the full length window of The Bear. All the guests will get to witness his full blown meltdown. Who fucking cares. He cards through his semi-matted hair, again— It’s not fucking working. It’s not working and he might as well tear his hair out because there’s no reason for it anymore if you're not in it.

“I am a monster.” Not said like a question, not said with emphasis, not choked. Completely monotone. Zero pulse. Said as a fact as simple as the sky is blue. And it is. Because now that he remembers that one thread, he can follow it back. “I am bullshit.”

It’s hard to kick someone, when they’re down. It’s hard to say all the things you want to say to a person, when they’re just saying it about themselves. Richie just stares, debating his options. He could so easily choose to destroy what’s left of Carmen. Frankly, Carm’s sitting at the perfect angle to kick his fucking teeth in. Richie came out here with full intent of throwing Carmen through the window. Came out here with the full intent of proving he’s a fucking problem.

“...I don’t know how to fix it.” But Carmen looks up at him, with a never before seen level of humility. “How do I fix it?”

His best friend loved this guy, and unfortunately you also seem to be on the verge of loving this guy. And even more regrettably, Richie loves this guy. He shrugs, and to any onlookers, his response would seem to be lacking any level of empathy. 

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

Like tidal waves, Richie and Mikey crash against either side of the walk-in freezer door. Mikey desperately trying to escape the freezer; you and Richie desperately trying to keep him in. 

Your phone rings, in the middle of this. “Ah, shit, she’s calling back, hold on—” You slide your back off the door slowly, giving Richie time to place extra weight where your body was to keep it closed as Mikey relentlessly slams. He’s pivoted to screaming like— Well, a bear, now. 

You move just a few feet away— Enough to fog up the yelling, but not enough that you couldn’t run back to Richie if his arms start to numb. 

“Yo, T.” You answer, thankful that somebody has finally returned your fucking calls. To be fair, it’s painfully early— But how is no one awake an hour before they have to clock in? C’mon.

“We’re doing this because we love you, fuckin’ numb nuts!” 

“Don’t be fuckin’ mean when he’s in a vulnerable state!” You kiss your teeth, yelling to Richie behind you, just as Tina tries to say hi. 

“I am not a fucking patient, Chip!” Another slam, another violent jiggling of the door handle. You’re pretty sure that shit is going to break off one day, if he keeps doing that. You don’t know how right you are now, but you will in a year or so. “Open the fucking door!”

You only remember you’re on the phone with Tina when she pipes up, vaguely hearing the yelling on her end. “...Two week milestone going well?”

“Just fucking peachy, T.” You grimace, rubbing the space between your brows. “You think it’s healthy to lock him in the freezer? I feel like we are fucking this up.”

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

“Guess who was—” You turn your head to Richie, when you speak into the phone. “So fucking stupid— And left his fucking xanax just out in the open with his unfinished breakfast?”

“I apologized—” “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong, Cousin! Now open the fucking door!”

“Yeah, I think freezer is the right call.” Says Tina; you’re both not sure if that’s true, but at the very least when he’s in there he can’t hurt himself or either of you. But fuck, he must be cold. Maybe that’s good for his nervous system? Every yell just mounts with guilt— But you’re his sponsor now. You are not his friend right now, you’re his mentor and you’re meant to do this. This is definitely— slam— the right thing—scream—to do.

“Yeah, probably.” You nod, to no one. “Well, basically, if you can let everyone know to just— Not fucking come in, today, or at the very least not come in for like— At least three hours. Maybe six. It’s not like you can work anyways, the freezer’s off limits until further notice.”

“You sure you don’t need us to come in?”

“Ah, T, that’s a nice thought but—” You wince, as you hear a crash from inside the walk-in. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse, for more people to witness this.”

Richie can tell what the crash is, because he himself has dropped shit an innumerable number of times in that walk-in before. “—Did you just knock over the fuckin’ stock—” “Fuck yourself! Fuck yourself! This is my fucking restaurant! Let me the fuck out, Richard!”

“Let’s just say call me back in three hours.” Is what you settle on. You don’t want to see this, and you don’t want anyone else to have to see this. And when Mikey eventually comes out of his rage state, he will be glad that the only two people that actually saw him like this, are his two closest friends. “Can you let everyone else know?”

“Yeah baby, I’ll let ‘em know.” First time Tina’s called you baby with sincerity instead of sarcasm, you wish you could savour it, but you’re so distracted with everything else that you really don’t even notice it. “Keep yourself safe too, alright?”

“Okay, Mama.” You reply with what is really only half sarcasm, and let her go. You sidle up to Richie, back on holding the door closed duty. Backs against the walk-in door, holding Mikey in, despite punch after punch after punch. He’ll wear himself out, eventually, but you’re terrified about how long that’s going to take. So is Richie.

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

You don’t need to check to know. “In six hours, he’ll be at two weeks.” You wince as one of Mikey’s hits against the door very directly targets your back, putting it in knots. “But it’s not like he’s suddenly going to go, oh well it’s been two weeks so I’m normal now, though.”

Richie just nods, pensive. “M’sorry.” 

You shake your head. “I was just bein’ a bitch, we’re all getting used to it, I gettit, just try to be safer.”

He nods again, looking down at you as the beating seems to slow down. Richie tries to imagine a world where you two aren’t here right now; for some reason, he finds that universe more miserable. “We’re so fucked.” Because here it’s you two. You’re so fucked but it’s you two. It will take more than a year for you to figure out that’s how Richie feels.

“I know.” You punch back against the door, alerting Mikey— Not that he wasn’t already alert, and speak to both of them. “Same team, though!”

One last resounding body slam into the door, with everything Mikey has— It moves, just a bit, but not at all enough to open it. And then, a long silence. To the point where you and Richie look at each other, worried if Michael has somehow just died in there. But then a quiet voice speaks, like a white flag being raised. 

“Same team.”

You look to Richie for permission, he’s just as clueless as you are here, as to what the right call is. With the most trepidation one could have, you put your hand on the handle and just start to pull on it, not even close to opening it. But Mikey notices the way the hinge moves by a hair, on the other side. 

“Don’t open it.” You know he’s up to the door, just opposite of you. Not capable of looking at you; not capable of looking at him. “Six hours. It’s just six hours.”

But you can hear each other. And maybe that’s all you really ever needed. To be able to hear each other, even when he’s not here. 

“Six hours. Same team.”

“I don’t know how.” Carmen’s nose twitches. “I don’t know how to stop being fucking—Garbage— I’ve tried—” “Have you?”

It’s a bit knife twisting, from Richie, but necessary. “Have you done the work? Cause it’s— I don’t think you have, Carm.”

“...What the fuck kinda work can I do, to fix me—?” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen, interrupting him. “That— That is the exact fuckin’ problem with you, Cousin.”

Carmen almost rolls his eyes, putting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “What, that I’m self-aware?”

“That you just fuckin’ give up.” “I don’t just give up—” “You do! You give up and you go wah, I’m a Chef with issues and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s fucking problem—” “I am asking for help—” “Are you? Because the last person that helped you just ran out crying.”

Richie exhales, eyes closed. There’s a long forced silence, as a few tables full of patrons exit The Bear, awkwardly shuffling past what is clearly a crisis between the people that have been serving them tonight.

“That was below the belt, I’ll admit.” Says Rich, once they’re out of earshot. 

Carmen just shakes his head, though he cannot look at Richie, though he can’t refute anything. 

Richie steps next to where Carmen sits, and like an olive branch, Carmen lifts up his arm to offer his cigarette. Richie accepts, thank God— Thank you, for softening him up, because if you hadn’t, again, Carmen would be going headfirst through the fucking window right now.

“Don’t yell ‘t me—” That honestly hurts more than getting thrown through a window. “But I don’t think you got Andrea, at all.”

Andrea? Oh. “Chef Terry?” The Ever’s owner, Richie means. 

“Andrea.” Richie nods, taking a puff. “Every second counts— I don’t think you got it.”

Carmen just shrugs, shaking his head, sure, he worked there for years and Richie worked there for days, but sure, he’s the one that didn’t get it. “Yeah? What’d I miss?”

“It’s not meant to make you fuckin—” He gestures to the general form of Carmen. “Tweak. It’s not about speed or— or— like firin’ off on all fuckin’ cylinders.” 

“Then what is it?”

“It counts because it counts.” Richie hands the cig back to Carmen. “It’s— The fucking—” He kisses his teeth, trying to figure out the best way to explain. “When you took like, a million goddamn years to make that fuckin’ mont— Mont— What was it?”

“Montmorency.” Your cherry sauce. Carmen spent too fucking long reducing it, yesterday. He redid it like five times. He’d redone it so many times the autopilot in his brain fucked up that fucking plate yesterday, and it threw his entire life into a spiral. No. That's not what happened. He threw his life into a spiral.

“That was worth it, cause it— Cause it took time. Does that— Am I making any fuckin’ sense? Terry did this shit better, fuck.” Richie rubs a hand over his face, you’d probably be able to explain this better too. “It’s not the thing you’re doing that makes it count, it counts because you’re doing it.”

The value is in the time, not what is delivered. It does not need to be the most special, hyper condensed, hyper focused, upper echelon second to count. It will count because it counts. Time spent is worth it, no matter what was bought. Every second you spend, will always count. All the work and the not work and the love and the not love— It all counts. It counts because it counts. You care therefore you care. Any effort made is good effort. 

Why does Carmen keep taking eons to learn what you are always trying to tell him?

The door opens, again. Instead of more patrons, Syd steps out— Wondering where the fuck her Exec and Host have gone. “Are we good?” 

“No.” Says her Exec and Host. She nods, that’s good, cause she’s not good either. 

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

“No one.” Lies Syd, Tina’s running the back, Sweeps is running the front, but she wants to freak Carmen out a little. She grabs the cigarette from Richie. “Burn the money, I say.”

“So, what you’re asking me to do— If I’m understanding, correctly, which— I might not be— You want me to take all my money, okay, and place it in a fucking furnace? Is that right?”

“So I’m sensing—” You curl your hand in the air. “A touch of hostility, which is fair.”

Bargaining with Uncle Jimmy isn’t the easiest thing in the world— Especially when this is your first time meeting him— And you’re begging him for money. Well, helping Mikey beg him for money. 

“Listen, Uncle, please.” Mikey swallows, leaning in, elbows on the table. It’s nearly the end of January. New year, fresh start. No better time to pitch a half-baked pipe dream in the middle of The Beef’s dining room. “It’s not like I’m brand new to the restaurant gig— We turn profit, here, we can fuckin’ pay people.”

“Can you pay me?” “We will—” “Or you could just let me cut my losses—” “I wanna do something real, Uncle.”

“Why’s she here, again?” You shrink, when Cicero points at you. You swallow. 

“I’m here as… Proof… That he wants to do something real.” You have to stop yourself from doing jazz hands, doubling down on the awkwardness will not make it go away, that is sadly not how that works.

Jimmy stares, for a moment, the cogs in his brain almost audibly whirring, as he stares at the space between you and Mikey, where you sit, at the other side of the booth. “Are you having a fuckin’ baby or somethin?”

The visceral reaction from your side of the booth is immediate. The worst part is he’s not even the first one to ask something like this— No, the manager at Wells Fargo was.

“What the fuck!” “Come on, Uncle…” “Do I— Do I look like a Milf, what the fuck is going on—” “She could be my daughter!” “Alright— So that is a little far, but the sentiment—”

“Alright, shut the fuck up, what is so fucking real that I’m suddenly going to hack up—”

Mikey tosses his necklace onto the table. It shouldn’t be physically possible, because it’s on a string, but it still manages to roll for a comically long time, like a coin, over to Jimmy. To thine own self be true. One Month.

“You will not be giving your money to some fucking junkie, Uncle—”

You wave a hand, interrupting Mikey. “Verbiage.” 

He swallows and nods, taking the note. A hard lesson to learn. “You will not be giving your money to— To— You— You’re gonna give your money to someone who is trying, alright?”

Uncle Jimmy hasn’t looked up from the chip since it landed; Mikey continues. “And— And I’m gonna bring Carmy on, and we’re gonna do like—Like high level shit. Like a real fuckin’ Michelin level—”

“How many times have you gotten to a month?”

“First time.”

Jimmy frowns, crossing his arms. “How many times have you tried getting to a month?”

“Five.” Michael says, “Six.” you correct. Christmas was hard. Christmas was extremely fucking hard. You weren’t with the Berzattos, upon Mikey’s request— And neither was Carmen, upon Mikey’s ignoring him completely. And that made things a little fucking hard. 

Jimmy just nods, arms still crossed. He’s forming some sort of plan, in his head, you’re just not sure what it is yet. He looks to you. “So you’re his sponsor, then?”

“Yessir.” “Do you feel qualified to do that?” “No-sir.”

Mikey kicks you under the table, your proclivity for honesty is not doing a great job selling this whole restaurant idea. You kick him back. “I don’t think it’s possible for me to feel qualified.”

“You sober?” “Not really.” “Well that’s kind of a key factor, I’ve heard.”

You sigh and lean forward, putting your hands in your lap. This is Mikey’s Uncle— Well, is he, actually? Unsure. But he gives as much of a fuck as you do, so you spill your guts, because you know he’s poking because he’s worried that some kid is taking care of Mikey and it’s the blind leading the fucking blind. 

“I’m stable. I drink, sometimes— But never more than one glass, and never multiple days in a row. I’m coming up on a year, I still attend A-A— Though not as often as I’m told I should— And I’ve told Mikey that turbulent month long benders and a full blown decade long opioid addiction are not the same thing and I really shouldn’t be his sponsor.”

Mikey leans forward as well, then, meeting your level. “And I told Chip— And our coord— That I won’t do the program without her.”

After a long moment of silence, taking his time to digest every bit of information, Jimmy nods to the folder on the table. “N’ this?”

“It’s like a… Proposal?” You look to Mikey for help, he shrugs. This motherfucker— You’re not even a stakeholder in this, why are you talking? You turn back to Jimmy. “It’s like a promise.”

You open the folder, there’s loose sketches you’ve put together of The Bear’s signage, plus Carmen’s original piece— It was fun and weird, to work off of an artist you’ve never met before. There’s also cut outs from the New York Time’s and Food and Wine magazine showing off his award winning talents. 

“We make money now.” Mikey finally chimes in, crossing his arms. “Imagine what we could do with him.”

“It would be cool!” You wingman. A little too excited for someone who’s never even breathed in a Michelin restaurant. “It’d be cool to have, like, a fine-dining establishment on North Orleans.”

“Or you’d completely cut out the audience that already likes The Beef.”

Mikey defends, “The people don’t know what they like, yet.” while you spread out some more papers across the table, showing off screenshots of food Carmen’s texted, that Mikey has never replied to. “They will like this shit— It’s— It’s art, Uncle. When they see this, they won’t give a shit about sandwiches.”

“They’ll give a shit about the price.”

“Uncle, I’m the guy.” Mikey uncrosses his arms, straightening up his posture, because now it’s serious. “I can— We can do this.”

As you continue to spread out papers, Uncle Jimmy stops you, seeing a peculiar page in the pile. He points to it, so you fish it out and hand it to him. He squints. “Joint bank account?”

You nod. “It’s so I can keep an eye on his spending and withdrawals.” Mikey tries not to wince at the fact a kid is in charge of managing his finances. You try not to wince at the fact that despite managing his finances, he's still reset six times.

“Y’know banks are a fuckin’ scam, right?”

You do not entertain Jimmy for a second, finally losing your whimsy. Your leg is shaking underneath the table— Thank God these tables are bolted. “I know that this is the first time in twenty years that my best friend is keeping savings.” 

Not just living paycheck to paycheck, anymore. Not spending every penny on painkillers, anymore. Mikey is saving up because now there is a future to spend it on. Cicero swallows, nodding, eyes looking down, thinking deeply. 

When he speaks again, it’s to say the most insane thing you’ve ever heard. “Ten grand a week.”

Your reply is in sync with Mikey, both jumping forward in your seats. “What?”

“Every week.” Jimmy pushes the chip back to your side of the table. “Every week that you keep going, that’s ten grand.”

You flail your hand under the table, grabbing for Mikey’s— He does the same, and it’s like a contest for who’s going to break who’s hand first, with how hard you’re holding each other. 

Mikey’s first to ask the question, “Is that… Starting now or starting since I—”

“I’m so glad you asked, fuck no, that’s starting now.” He points to you, now. You flinch. “You’re gonna piss test him every fuckin’ week. I’m not fucking around about this.”

“Right. Heard.” You can only nod, because if you express anything else, it might just be screaming forever and ever. He pivots back to Mikey.

“And it’s gonna be cash— It’s not going in that fuckin’ joint, aright?” “Heard.”

“...Alright. Deal.” Cicero comes forward in his seat, and shakes Mikey’s hand. And despite not being a stakeholder, he reaches for yours, too; you shake it, and after a moment, he ruins this excitement stirring in the room, moving out of the booth. “I gotta piss, now.”

When he leaves for the bathroom, Mikey leans his head to you, putting his chin on your shoulder, whispering, “Art of the deal.”

You push his face away immediately, laughing. “Shut the fuck up! Why did you make me lead that shit!?”

Tomorrow Mikey will relapse again, and you’ll reset his necklace for the seventh time, but you don’t know that yet. Carmen’s gonna be so excited, when he finally comes back to Chicago and gets a sober brother and his dream restaurant. You’re excited to meet the guy, one day. Fingers crossed he likes you. 

“That was fucking nuts.” Sydney decides that’s the best way to surmise it. “Like more than usual.”

“I’m aware.” Carmen can only nod, and despite the fact that he’s just going to lie down and take this, it does not remove the bitter feeling in her heart at all. Syd’s fucking mad, and she wants him to know. 

“I’ve— I’ve literally only ever seen her cry like, like during Pixar movies or when we graduated. Like she just— That’s not a thing she does. I, I’m so— I literally don’t know what the fuck to do, right now.” For a second, she thinks her vision is flickering. “Oh my god, am I finally having a stroke?”

The three restaurateurs look up to see their neon white logo of a bear’s head, flickering and occasionally buzzing out. Richie’s the first to speak, as they all blankly stare at it. “Who are we gonna call, f’this?”

If this was yesterday, or maybe even if this was an hour ago, it wouldn’t be a question as to who they’d call. Carmen scratches the back of his head, the flaking hair gel is getting itchy. “Ted?”

“Who’s Ted?” Asks Syd; that’s not Tony, Terry or Tommy.

“Ted Fak.” Richie and Carmen answer at once, she almost gasps. 

“They’re multiplying?”

Richie rolls back into his memory. “There’s eight— No, fuck, nine of them— I always forget Avery.”

Sydney just nods and hugs her shoulders for warmth. They all keep staring at the flickering bear, like moths.

“I don’t—I don’t have anyone, except her, y’know?” Syd sniffs. “Like after my dad, it’s— it’s literally just her. She’s my best and only friend.”

Carmen presses the palms of his hands over his eyes, “Heard.” 

“I don’t want to choose between her and my career.” Carmen thinks she’s pausing, so he waits, but she’s not talking. That was the end of the sentence.

“Heard.”

“If that’s what getting a star takes, I don’t want it.” That’s huge. That’s a big statement, from Syd of all people. That gets the men to turn their heads from the light to her.

Syd continues to stare at the flickering bear, which lights up the two single straight streams of tears perfectly. It’s silent. She’s not snivelling or anything, she just shakes her head in tight swivels, biting her inner cheek. “It’s just— it’s just not worth that.”

“How can I fix it?” Maybe Syd will have a better answer than Richie did, something a little more actionable. She finally flits her gaze from the light down to Carmen, where he sits. 

“Can you stay after close?”

“—Nobody in this motherfucking city knows transit etiquette— Why does everyone get on and go ‘wow I love standing in the walkway’— I’m so— There was so much seating just ahead of the blockage, Mikey, I’m so pressed, I’m literally—” You massage your brows, finishing up your rant from this morning’s commute. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“If you weren’t a little passenger princess, this wouldn’t be a problem, Chippy.” “I have my fucking license! I just don’t have a car!” “Then buy one!” “With who’s money!?” “Mine?”

A terrible running joke, from Mikey, is telling you to spend his money— The money he gets from staying sober. The money he’s saving for The Bear. The reason why he thinks this is funny, is because you have no fucking idea where he’s been putting it. But you know he hasn’t spent it, so that’s all that really matters.

You just huff, leaning back against the wall of his office as you watch him work, arms crossed and cringing as he futzes with the wiring. “You’re going to light us up like a Roman fucking candle.”

“It’s Jewish lightning—” “Top twenty-thousand reasons we do not say that— Number One—” “It’s gonna work! Just trust me!”

Mikey’s office looks a lot more lively, lately. He never cleans up the mugs of coffee you give him, every morning. He says it’s his way of tracking which flavour is his favourite, since you’re always switching up. It will never change from the chai spiced blend, and you both know that. It’d be more accurate of him to say he likes the sticky notes you tack on to each mug, saying you love him and saying he needs to keep going.

“I could fix it, y’know.” At that, Mikey turns away from his distressing handiwork to look at you. 

“I know. But I wanna prove I can, too.” 

That hits you right in the chest. You want to tell Mikey that he never has to prove anything, with you; never has to lift a goddamn finger. But he would hate to hear that. “Okay.”

You hear from outside the office, the back door opening. “Child incoming, no expletives please!”

“What the fuck is an expletive?” Mikey asks you, whispering.

You whisper back, leaning forward off the wall to close in on him. “It’s what you just did.”

Eva runs in, the way that kids do— The way they kinda waddle. Immediately up to you and Mikey. Uncle Mike and Aunty Chip, she calls you both. Sometimes Uncle Jack— Because she hasn’t completely grasped the concept of gender yet— Good, no one should.

“Watch!” You have yet to even say hi, before she immediately attempts to do a cartwheel in the middle of this very small office. 

“Good job, Evie!” You clap, after she just barely lands safely on her shins.

She nods, “Can you do that?”

“Honestly? I don’t think I can.” You look up from her to Mikey. “Can you?”

“Can I cartwheel?” He stumbles back, slapping his hand over his chest. Gutted. “Can I cartwheel? Eve— She doesn’t think I can cartwheel.”

“Insane, Uncle.”

“Not what I said!” You can’t hold back your laughter, what a shining this kid has taken to her dad. “I’d love to see it, I really would!”

Mikey just shakes his head, kissing his teeth. How dare you offend his honour, in this way? This forty-two year old man can absolutely cartwheel with the best of them. In five minutes he definitely isn’t gonna eat shit in the dining room of his restaurant. He pats Eva on the shoulder. “You go with your dad and clear out some tables out front, I’m gonna need space.” 

“You’re gonna break your neck, Mike.” Richie chimes in, standing in the doorway now, waiting for Eva to return to him. “I don’t wanna plan your funeral.”

“Please, you would plan a terrible funeral.” “That’s bull—”

“Expletive!” You cover Eva’s ears. She just laughs, looking up at you with that cute and bizarre blank kid stare. What a little patoot. 

Richie looks to you, forgetting the bit for a moment, “Y'need a grocery run, tonight?”

You nod, removing your hands from Eva, but then she holds them there. Goddamnit, kids are an awful idea but she's fucking cute. “Pay you gas money in the form of Wendy's?”

“Marone!” Richie exclaims, poorly, grabbing your face by the chin and top of your head to kiss your cheek just short of a million times. “The perfect woman—”

“Not Italian!” is the synchronous reply from you and Mikey.

Richie rolls his eyes, “Not Italian— Fu—”

Eva interrupts him, taking as much as a shining to you as she does her father. “Exp—Expultive!” She looks at you for approval and you nod in delight.

“Just go set up front, would ‘ya?” Mikey brushes Rich off, the man just rolls his eyes, picking up his daughter from you to fly her off like an airplane. 

“Let's set the stage for your Uncle’s neck injury, sweets. Bwwwwrrr—” Richie makes good airplane noises. Richie’s a good dad. You will never find a good time to tell him this. You watch Mikey’s back flex, as he cracks back into the hole of wires in the wall. He's been working hard on a lot of little things lately. 

You will not realize he is trying to make things clean and square, until it is too late. Right now, you’re just happy, because, “You’re already at three weeks again, and you haven’t even noticed.”

“Oh, I fucking noticed.” He doesn’t face you, when he says it, but it’s with a hearty chuckle. He’s noticed it violently, he’s just getting very good at the first month, now— Well acquainted with the burn out. “But now there’s money on the line, I can’t lose.” 

It’s not that money’s on the line. It’s that his brother is on the line now. And Mikey couldn’t do this for himself— but the guy could do it for his brother. So he’ll just be the guy, that’s what the guy’s do. Six hours, same team. Nine weeks, Mikey, come on.

“Well you’re doing good, I’m proud of you.” 

“You believe in me?” He says it like he doubts your conviction. You nearly punch him in the back of the head.

“Of course I believe in you.”

Mikey bites his inner cheek, though you can’t see his face. “...Why are we keeping the candles?”

Ah. You’ve still got the one and two candles in his drawer with a lighter, ready for the next cupcake. They’re slowly but surely melting with each reset, eventually they’ll be incomprehensible. Do you believe in me? If you do, why are you saving them? Do you think we’ll need them? That’s what Mikey’s asking. You scoff. 

“You’re so stupid.” “What the— I confide in you and I get this—”

You interrupt him, arms crossed. “One day, one week, one month, one year, fuckin— When we get to double digits? Ten months? One decade?”

He’s mum, at that. You add. “We’re getting our fucking mileage out of these candles, Mikey. I believe in you.” You think Mikey has a future, still. Mikey knows he doesn’t. He changes the subject because if he doesn’t, he’ll tell you everything and you will stop it.

“I want you to start talking to Carmen, when he comes back.” You should’ve asked Mikey why he was so certain Carmen would be coming back. But you weren’t smart enough. 

“What the fuck?” You snort. “Okay, out of literally nowhere—” “You’d like him.”

“He sounds very nice.” “He’s not. He’s a—” “Ball buster, yes, you’ve told me.” “He’d like you.” “Why?” “Cause you’re you.”

“Wow, pretty inarguable there.” You can only smile, unable to see the wheels turn in Michael’s head. “Guess we’ll be besties.”

“I meant talk like talk—” “Are you trying to hook me up right now?” “He’s a virgin, so it’s definitely not a good deal for you—” “And— And why are we talking about your brother's sex life— Did we already explode and this is hell?” “I just want you to be prepared for what you’re getting into, he gets performance anxiety so—” “Mikey!”

“You’ll talk to him?” Mikey turns away from the wall, wanting you to look him in the eyes and promise him.

You shake your head and roll your eyes, but stick a hand out for the Berzatto to shake. “Yes, Bear, I’ll talk to your virgin Michelin star ranked brother.”

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

After close, after everyone but Carmen, Sydney, and Richie leave, the three make plans to meet in Michael’s office. Carmen will go in ahead to hide your folder because he doesn’t want to see it himself and he absolutely doesn’t want anyone else to see it. Even if one of them could very well explain it, because he’s fucking in them. It’s fine. He looks at your wrapped up painting in the corner of his office. Carmen considers for what feels like a decade, whether or not he should open it. But he hasn’t earned a gift from you, so he doesn’t— Not for now, at least. He hasn’t earned your art right now. 

Underneath your ICE folder is his notepad— The one he was scribbling recipes for his Exec into, the one he scribbled your recipe into, and underneath all that torn up paper— His list, from this morning. The non-negotiable rules he wanted— Wants? To add to The Bear. There’s twenty-seven. Half of them are spelt wrong as he wrote them while absolutely losing his shit, this morning. This list did not go over well, when it was proposed during family, at two in the afternoon. Some of these could still work though, right? At least the technique and the boxes and the—

Richie comes in, not knocking, and immediately spots the list. “Oh good.” He grabs the notepad and rips off the twenty seven points. Leaving only the title, NON-NEGOTIABLES. 

“Come the fuck on—” Says Carmen. Richie rolls his eyes, tossing the list onto the desk. Richie can tear him and his stupid fucking list a new one another time— Richie and Carmen can sort out their own part of the fight in a week, when they take a twelve hour road trip. Right now though, they are both completely focused on you. 

Sydney comes in with two labelled deli containers of coke. Time codes and everything, she can't turn it off. She hands one to Rich, the other one is for herself. That’s fine, soda on Carmen’s shredded throat really wouldn’t be great right now anyways. She takes a sip, looking over Carm's shoulder. “Oh, we’re doing a real list, now?”

Carmen just sighs, letting the dig go, because he deserves it. He clicks his pen, sitting down, ready to write, without hesitation. “Go.”

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

“Lay off her,” Sydney waves her hand over her neck. “Leave her the fuck alone, for like a week, minimum.” 

“No— What? No— You should call her like now—” “Absolutely not the right move—” “Solve it hard and fast—” “Why hard—?”

“I’m just gonna wait.” Carmen decides, typically Syd is the right one, anyways. Plus if he hears your voice right now he might throw up and he doesn’t have your tums, anymore. “Next?”

“An exorcism.” Richie doesn’t laugh, when he says it. “Also read fuckin’ Runnin’ on Empty— By Doctor Webb.”

The two cooks just look at him, like Richie’s grown five thousand heads. He groans before they even say anything. “I’m fuckin’ well read, shut the fuck up— It’s—” He snaps his fingers, pointing to Carmen’s list, “It’s an audiobook, too, on fuckin’ Spotify— Listen to that shit on your commute you have no excuse.”

“Yes, Chef.” Carmen writes it down, he also writes down under things to look into, catastrophizing, while he’s at it. Richie watches over his shoulder, and adds, “Look into sublimation and behavourial dysfunction.” 

Syd’s still reeling over the sudden character growth. “You need to relax with the self-help books.”

“Yeah, well you need to read Mark Wolynn’s ‘It Didn’t Start With You.’” Richie’s got lists of books now, instead of zingers. They somehow hit harder.

She’s got no come back for that other than a surprised pout and nod, taking her own phone out to write it down. “Yes, Chef.”

Carmen pipes in, not looking up from his list of to dos “Should I also read that one—” “Yes.” “Heard, Chef. Next?”

“It cannot be on Tony to be your fucking punching bag. If you’re tweaking— Keep that shit between you and your therapist—” Syd switches from her notes app to search, “We’re finding you a fuckin’ therapist.”

“Is that covered in our contract?” Didn’t he write it? Carmen doesn’t know.

“Doesn’t matter. Also I don’t know, but doesn’t matter.” Syd hasn’t read it yet. She also doesn’t know.

You are worth a couple out of pocket fees. Well, more importantly, Carmen is worth a couple out of pocket fees— Well, alright, he’ll discuss his weaknesses of self-prioritization with the therapist. 

Before Carmen can even say next, Richie adds. “Also you smell like shit.” The hair gel is pungent in a bad way.

And before he can defend himself, Sydney adds, not looking up from her phone, “We’re going to fuckin’ Kohl’s after this and we’re getting you a skincare— And haircare— routine. You’re seconds away from breaking out, I bet you use fuckin’ Palmolive dish soap.”

“Well— I’ve been using Tony’s, actually—” “We know.” It’s a completely synchronized interruption. 

“It’s been her signature scent, since highschool.” “Who do you think took her grocery shopping when she didn’t have a car?” “I thought I was having a flashback everytime you walked by in the kitchen, this past week.” “You should go back to it.”

“I know. I will.” He’s got every intention of re-upping on your shampoo and conditioner, when he’s taken on a shopping spree to get his shit together. Hopefully you won’t mind him copying you. “No more Five in One.”

“You’ve been using fucking five in one!?”

Carmen thought, yesterday, naively, that he would do right by you on Friday. He didn’t, he did the very opposite— But even if he did, that’s weak shit. Carmen’s not gonna do right by you for just one single fucking day. Carmen’s gonna do right by you, for the rest of his life. The three get to well over twenty seven points, and he has every intention of showing up to it. He’s gonna be your man, and he’s going to fucking earn that title. He’s going to prove it.

“Okay. So can you tell me what happened on February 22nd?” She’s a shit therapist. You’re imagining both you and her dead in your head. You’ve been imagining a lot of people dead in your head, for the last two weeks. Every time your dad comes to check on you, you imagine that he’s a ghost. 

You imagine having a passing conversation with someone, maybe catching up with Syd, one day. And she’ll ask you ‘Meet any interesting people?’ and you’ll say ‘Yeah. But he killed himself.’ That’s gonna suck. You didn’t prepare for that one. So you need to prepare now. Look at all of your friends and family, and imagine they are dead— And introduce them as such. ‘That’s my friend Richie, he died.’ Make it hurt now, so it doesn’t hurt then. 

You didn’t prepare enough. Didn’t do enough. Countless little mistakes and moments you missed. The therapist is looking at you, oh right, it’s your turn to talk again. You’ve told her all these cute little stories but now she wants to hear how the sad shit went. Or maybe it was all sad shit. Maybe it’s all coated in a film of grief, now. 

You’ll tell her that Mikey was very thorough, with his plan that you didn’t know about. He waited until he thought you were out of the city— When he knew you’d be out of the city. When your sister in law delivered your nephew and you went to Oak Park to visit. 

Just days before, you celebrated three months of sobriety with him and Richie— You’ll tell the therapist, excitedly, that this was his longest streak so far, it took him a year to reach three months— It was a big fucking deal. You were beaming all day. You didn’t realize, however, that days after Uncle Jimmy had made his deal with you two, that Mikey did the math. Figured out exactly how many weeks he’d have to be sober, to get three-hundred grand. 

Thirty weeks. Roughly seven months and two weeks. He did it. Not in sequence, but he did it. You’re still not sure where that money is. Uncle isn’t either. Maybe Carmen will figure it out. It’s meant for him anyways. You’ll say that Carmen will figure it out in such a way that she asks— “And do you hold animosity? Towards his younger brother?”

You look at her like she’s a psycho, because she is. Replying incredulously, “I don’t fucking know him.”

‘My best friend Michael is dead.’ ‘My best friend, Mikey, is dead.’ Doesn’t sound right. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue. 

“Do you wish you did?”

“I really couldn’t say I give a shit, ma’am. Can I tell you about the guy I did know, though?”

She nods, you roll the fuck on. You tell her that the morning after you got to your brother’s place— February 22nd, you all decided instead of staying for the week, as you’d planned, as Mikey planned, you’d instead go home early. Because as much as you wanted to be helpful, having more people in the house was stressing the new mom the fuck out. Understandable. So you took a train back to Chicago early. 

You got home, and you found that you’d gotten some mail, waiting for you on the floor, shoved through the mail slot of your door. Bill, bill, invoice, spam, coupons, handwritten envelope— Ah. Mikey’s handwriting. A deep unsettling feeling burrowed its way into you. It just says For Chip. There’s no letter inside. No. There’s a debit card, his, of your joint bank account, there’s a key, yours, a copy of your key to this apartment, and a necklace, his— With his three month sobriety chip hanging off of it. 

You call him, immediately. He doesn’t answer the first time. You call him again. He answers on the last possible ring. 

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call with an old friend.

“Yo, Ice-y!” A classic nickname, reserved purely for phone calls with Mikey. Because in his phone, you’re 0ICEChip, so you’ll show up at the top of his contact list, if he’s ever found unresponsive. Typically a pro-tip reserved for those in hospice care.

You don’t entertain him. “Where are you?”

“I’m just out for a walk, sweetheart.” “Shut the fuck up out for a walk— Where the fuck are you?”

He hums at your snarky tone. “Nephew didn’t take a liking to you?” “I came home early.”

The silence is long, and you can hear the heavy wind coming through his phone. He’s outside. He’s somewhere outside. It’s a cold night. It’s usually not this cold at the end of February, but it really fucking came down, this morning. 

“Oh.”

“Why did you leave this shit at my door? Where are you?” You thought of 0ICE but you didn’t think to have him turn his location on? Fucking idiot. Fucking idiot. You didn’t do enough. ‘My friend, Bear, is dead.’ You didn’t prepare enough. “Bear, c’mon, what’s going on? I told you, if we need to reset, it’s two steps forward, one step back, it’s okay—”

“It’s not.” “It is! We will get there!” “I’m not. You’re gonna get there, I’m not.” “That’s not true!” “I love you but we both know this was a pipe dream.”

“Mikey—”

“Chip, I’m not going anywhere. You’re— You’re fucking going somewhere. I can’t— I can’t let— We both know where I’m going and it’s nowhere you should begin to be.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me. You don’t get to make that call. I decide what I bet on— Mikey, where are you?” You’re walking out of your place, you hadn’t even closed the door before leaving again.

Fucking idiot, you should’ve bought a car. How are you supposed to get to him on foot and train? Fucking idiot. The snow is beating down, the wind is cutting into your face. ‘My best friend died on February 22nd. On the State Street Bridge.’— Why didn’t you get a fucking car? You didn’t do enough. You can’t remember any of your training, right now. What are you supposed to say? “Are you using?”

“No. No. I’m— This is me, Chip.” “No it’s fucking not, Mikey! Shut the fuck up, where are you!?”

“I love you, I didn’t want this to be— I-I—I’m not killing myself, Chip.”

“You’re not?”

You shouldn’t have believed him. You should’ve just kept walking. You would’ve figured out where he was, eventually. You should’ve called the coast guard, or some shit. Should’ve just figured it out.

“I’m not. I’m— I’m okay, I’m really just going for a walk— I-I just— I had a… I— I don’t want you to be my sponsor anymore. That’s it.” It made sense. He didn't want you to feel hurt, so he was hesitant. It made sense.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re a kid, and I can’t make you responsible for what I do.”

“I’m not a kid.” “To me, you are.” “Then we’ll find you someone else.” “Yeah, okay.”

You pause, for a good bit, listening to the shakiness of his breath. “You’re cold, Mikey.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re just cold.” That’s all that’s wrong. He’s just cold and he doesn't want you to be his sponsor anymore. “Go inside, soon. Come home.”

“I will.”

Mikey always had that way of making you think everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn’t. “Okay.”

“I want you to start treating our joint like an advanced payment, by the way. A million things are always fucking breaking at The Beef, there’s no point in wiring all the time.”

Mikey wants this to be clean and square, too. Because he couldn’t figure out the wiring by himself— He needs to make sure his baby brother is taken care of, he needs to make sure his restaurant is taken care of, he needs to make sure that you have something to do because Michael fucking saw you. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You nod to no one. “I think your toilets fucked, speaking of.” You laugh, everything’s okay. There’s a long silence, and you think he’s hung up. 

“Good. Okay— You should— You should come fix it, sometime soon… Love you, Chip.”

“Love you, Bear.”

You will tell your therapist that after that phone call, you went back inside, cleaned yourself up, unpacked unused toiletries, changed out of your borrowed brother’s sweats into your nice pajamas, because Mikey said he would come home. He said he would come home and you believed him because he never lied to you before. You set up the things he left for you in your handmade clay dish tray; so he can take them back. Just because you’re not his sponsor, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his chips. 

You will tell your therapist that you fell asleep on the couch, waiting for Michael. You will tell her you woke up to a phone call from Richie, and all he said, wavering, was, “You should come over.” Richie doesn’t ask things. Richie will always say, come over. You don’t know why that’s the signal you get, since you seemingly must have missed so many other obvious signs, but you know then that your— Your— Your best— Fuck, the knots are fucking debilitating, fuck fuck fuck. 

You will not come over. You will walk, in the cold, to your dad’s place. You will not bring anything with you. You will stay there and rot for two weeks, as will everything in your apartment. He will force you to go to this several hour long therapy appointment because he can’t keep watching you do this, and you will resent the woman you are telling all this. 

You will continue to see her, for five more sessions, because the first six are covered under your insurance. She will help in a lot of ways, she will hurt in others.

Wells-Fargo will ask if you want to close your account. You don’t want to, but it’ll accrue monthly banking fees, so you take the money out and close it. You buy a shitty maroon 2004 Dodge Intrepid off Facebook Marketplace with the two and a half grand. It barely functions as a car. But it will drive. The next time someone needs you. You can drive. Next time you’ll think of everything, next time you won’t fail.

You stop paying the phone bill, for your business line. It goes defunct. You just don’t think you should be trusted to be helpful, for the next little while. You will blame your father for this, when people ask about it.

On the day of his funeral, you will go. You will go, and you will sit on the curb across from the church, and you will not go inside. It's just not possible. You will buy a pork chop-cheese sandwich from a bodega nearby and you will eat it on that curb and it’s only then, after shoving it down for so long, that you will scream and cry.

You will leave before anyone sees you, and you will go to State Street Bridge, and you will set up a small vigil. You will finnick with the candles and the flowers until you feel they are perfect. They will never get perfect. You just don’t want to leave. You have a tendency to do that. 

You will stare at the little stuffed bear, the roses, the picture frame of him, and you will finally say it aloud. 

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

When Carmen shows up, two hours later, not honestly that long after you finally left, he will add a bouquet and a prayer candle. He will readjust all of your work, to his preference, and then readjust it again and again and again— and he will finally say it aloud. 

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

No matter how you say it, it won’t roll off the tongue.

And about thirty-nine weeks from that day, you will be in New York, at a wedding, talking with the virgin Michelin star ranked brother, as you promised.

You will have abandoned your bar after making confessions under the counter, and have instead co-opted the single stall gender-neutral bathroom to have ample time and space to tell each other everything you’ve told your therapists. Even now, neither of you can get the words to roll off the tongue. 

But Carmen manages to make “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry— I will never be able to surmise, how sorry—” roll off well enough. Alas, he’s interrupted, by a knock on the gender-neutral bathroom door, made by the only fuckers that knows you two are in here. 

“Guys I— Guys I don’t know how to run bar, and I don’t think I should’ve been trusted, with this.”

Carmen will not look away from your bleary-eyed face, he will not break his focus even when you laugh at the sudden tension break. He will just tell the Faks to fuck off and figure it out.

“I’m gonna fix it.” Carmen will tell you, and you will nod and say, “I will too.”

Because it’s not just on one of you, anymore. It can be both. The shared burden. The shared grief. No more fucking shoes, because it's all out now.

It’s not negotiable.

I love when tumblr drafts fully start to lag and my macbook lights on fire because the post is too fucking long. I have so much to say about this chapter but I think I will just make a separate post entirely about this. Because I’m. I’m really proud tbh not to toot my own horn but I think I kind of maybe a little bit ate with this one. 

Fun fact, that you may or may not believe: The Carmen scenes? Not planned. Fully did not plan to do any of that. This was going to be entirely Mikey flashbacks, originally— There might’ve ended up being more honestly, if I didn’t add Carmen, but after Something to Do when I started writing I was like,,, these cats aren’t cooking, Carmen’s side is missing a second beat before the third. And so, here it is. 

I know everyone was expecting a depression week for Carmen— And to be fair, I also kind of was. But I then thought, nah. They’d done too much work, and I don’t think Rich/Syd would allow him to wallow. Like get your shit together, not for you, for her. Ugh. 

Speaking of Rich and Syd— FUCK man my heart. The way their scenes from the past and present meshed together in such a deeply painful way I’m sooo SICK WITH IT!!! WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!! Just fuckin— The way Tony was too scared to reach out to Syd but it’s SO FUCKING OBVIOUS that Syd was on the other side of Chicago thinking the exact same shit i’m SO SICK!!!!! I’M HACKING UP A LUNG HERE!!

Anyways it’s my birthday send me well wishes and an essay on what you thought I’d love to hear it. I know this was a tough one. Thank you for getting through it with me lmao. Tag list! Hope I didn’t forget anyone, pwease note i ownwee add pweople who swend theiw twoughts— It also may or may not hurt my feelings when people don’t read this text at the bottom. It might. It might a lot.

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

Next Part

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I've been obsessed with your writing for a while now, ur poly marauders is just perfecttt. The way you write them is just so accurate to my personal characterizations and head cannons :)

I had an idea that I thought would be cute but feel free to ignore if it doesn't inspire you ofc.

I was thinking about poly! Marauders x goth! Reader. Like reader forcing them to watch her favorite horror movies or explore abandoned places or like go to a concert or smtn

Omg and the reader dressing up to go out with them and them just dying cuz the eyeliner and fishnets and everything (who can blame them, goth girls r gorgeous 😍😍)

Thanks lovely!!

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 927 words

“Is it on me?” James hears the door open, followed by Sirius’ voice, growing shriller. “Is it on me?” 

“I don’t think so.” You sound one part amused and two parts exasperated. “Stay still, I can’t look while you’re moving around.” 

James leaves the dishes in the sink to soak, too curious to prioritize chores. He finds you both in the entryway. Remus is observing from the couch as Sirius stands rigidly still and you pick through his hair unhurriedly. You’re both covered in dust and what looks to be cobwebs, made even more apparent on you by your dark clothing. 

“I thought you were going to drop clothes off at the donation bin,” James says bemusedly. 

“We did,” you reply, at the same time as Sirius says, “It was a trap!”

Remus lifts an eyebrow. James is glad he’s not the only one who seems to be missing something. 

“There’s an old abandoned church not far from there,” you explain casually. “I wanted to check it out, and Sirius thought it could be fun to explore, too.” 

“That was before I knew it housed the world’s largest spider population,” he argues. “Fuck, can someone get this thing off me? If I feel anything crawling I’m gonna flip shit.” 

“Aren’t you already?” Remus murmurs. You grin at him, stepping back to let James take over for you. 

“I assume I’m taking out the web?” James asks, picking out a piece. 

You sigh. “Sirius thought he saw a spider in the car—” 

“I know I did, thank you.” 

“—and he’s worried it got on him. But I’ve been looking, and I haven’t seen it.” 

“I’m fairly sure it would have crawled off by now, love,” Remus says, sitting up on his knees and beckoning you to the couch so he can pull the spiderwebs out of your hair, too. 

“All I know is, if no one finds that thing on me, I’m going to take the world’s hottest shower to make sure it’s dead.” 

“You’ll have to hurry,” Remus reminds him. “Our reservation is at eight.” 

“We can be a few minutes late.” 

“We cannot.”

“Fuck!” James jumps a good few feet back, hands frozen in front of him. 

“What?” Sirius cries. His shoulders seize up. “What is it?” 

“Shit, sorry, it’s nothing. I thought I saw something move, but it was your hair.” 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Sirius puts his face in his hands, sounding less murderous than teary. “Remus, please.” 

“I’ll take care of you next,” Remus replies, dedicatedly combing his fingers through your hair. 

James mumbles an apology as he goes back to doing the same thing to Sirius. All in all, you look like you’ve actually gotten the brunt of it. You’re covered in spiderwebs, likely a result of you simply putting far less work into avoiding them than Sirius. You seem unbothered as Remus unsticks a rather large one from by your ear.  

You go off to change for dinner first, because Sirius refuses to move until both James and Remus have each checked him over for spiders twice, and even then he still insists upon his shower. James can’t say he’d feel differently in his place. 

He thinks he might need a cold shower himself when you come back out. 

“Angel,” James breathes. It’s both an endearment and an observation. His eyes stutter their way up you, continually snagging on fishnet tights and kohl-lined eyes and the little lace ruffle lining your top. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. 

“You look lovely,” Remus says, smooth where James is not, and you grin as you lean down to kiss him on the cheek. A pink tinge rises up from beneath your boyfriend’s freckles and scars. When you lift your lips, you leave a dark imprint of lipstick behind that James has absolutely no intentions of telling him about. 

“So do you,” you say, as though he’s not wearing the exact same thing he was a minute ago. (Though James is nonetheless inclined to agree. Remus always looks lovely.) Your eyes turn to James, the black liner making them look deeper and even more striking than usual. 

“You do, too,” you tell him. He feels a flock of butterflies (do butterflies have flocks?) scare into flight in his stomach. 

His grin feels wobbly, but certainly not for lack of enthusiasm. “Thanks,” he manages. 

“So, I was talking to Sirius in the bathroom,” you say, sitting on the arm of the couch. James’ eyes follow the movement of your skirt, the way it rides up with the motion. He warms in several places. “He says that if the spider’s not on him, it has to be in the car. He won’t get in it until we’ve checked.” 

Remus exhales heavily through his nose, and you nod your agreement. 

“I’m not convinced he actually saw anything,” you say. “He is so paranoid.” 

“Or maybe you,” James leans over to kiss your cheek, unable to restrain himself any longer as he reaches around you to squeeze the fat of your hip, “are just far too even-tempered from watching so many horror films.” 

“No, he’s paranoid,” Remus agrees with you, groaning as he gets up. “I’ll check the car. If I don’t find anything, we’ll just say we caught it.” 

“I’ll help.” You slip off the arm of the couch, starting after him with springy steps. 

James follows, if only so he can stand behind you and keep you from flashing the next-door neighbors when you bend over to look. It’s strictly selfless.

[lovewithmary]

Listen, and hear me out on this request, have you considered writing one where Max wants to cook for reader, to try and be a good romantic boyfriend, except he's shit at cooking, so he calls up Lando, minor minor minooor issue Lando has been buying takeout and taking credit for the food for years, he's even worse in a kitchen than Max is. But Max doesn't know that

reader finally comes home, and who doesn't love seeing a firetruck pulled up outside of your apartment complex because your boyfriend and his friend can't cook

hope you find this as funny as i do, have a good weekend :)

COOKING DISASTER — MV1

summary: In an effort to try and be a good boyfriend to you, Max tries to cook up a romantic meal for the two of you. Except, he's shit at cooking. So, he enlists the help of Lando, who has been bragging and posting about his cooking on his Close Friends Stories for a year now. There's just one problem: it's all fake. And what do you get when you have Max and Lando trying to cook? A visit from the firefighters to your house, of course.

masterlist

warnings: use of you

notes: first request WOOO. this request was so fun to write, so thank you for requesting! I tried to make it funny so I hope it's funny?? idk

"Lando, you have to do it. You agreed to help me cook,"

"But it's fish. I hate fish," he replied, pointing at the fish as if Max didn't know there was a fish in his own kitchen.

"Y/N's favorite dish has fish in it," Max told Lando, already sounding as if he was exhausted with cooking even if they hadn't even started yet.

"And you're still dating her?" Lando questioned, and Max had to resist punching him.

"Lando."

"Alright, I'll help cook the fish but I hope you know I don't like it," he informed Max.

"Really? I didn't even notice," Max said sarcastically.

Max then decides he is going to take charge of dealing with the fish since Lando's one step closer to walking out if he's the one who does it. As he is looking through the recipe on his phone, he notices that Lando is in front of the vegetables.

He was only staring at them, holding a knife in one hand and his phone in the other but nothing was happening. "Lando, I sent you the recipe," Max told him.

"I know, but you should cut the onion," Lando said, trying to hand Max the knife.

"Okay, but you have to cut the fish then—"

"Never mind, I'll cut the onion," Lando said, taking back the knife.

Max watched as Lando continued to do nothing, switching between looking at him, the onion, the knife, and his phone in his hand. Suddenly, he put the knife down and looked at Max.

"I have to tell you something, but you cannot tell anyone, including your own girlfriend," Lando said, emphasizing how serious it is by making Max swear not to tell you.

"What is it?" Max asked, skeptical.

“You don’t know how to cook?!” Max exclaimed.

“This is all your fault!” Lando shot back.

“How was I supposed to know you don’t know how to cook?!”

“Why did you even ask me? Do you not know other people who might know how to cook? You could’ve asked Yuki!”

That stumped Max. If he was being honest, he didn’t even think about who to ask to help him cook for you, considering he was panicking and called whoever he called the most recent, which just so happened to be Lando. And he figured that the McLaren helper could give him a hand considering Lando had been posting what he had been cooking on his Instagram close friend's story for a little over a year now.

Only for Lando to admit that the whole thing was fake, everything was takeout put onto a plate, and he was fooling everyone with his story. Including Max. “Why did you even say yes when I asked you to help me if you knew you didn’t know how to cook?” Max questioned, clueless as to why Lando still came over.

"It all happened so fast, Max. I posted a picture on my story of my takeout that was just put on a plate and everyone was responding to it, saying it looked good. And then it kept on happening and next thing you know, I was considered good at cooking! I thought I was going to avoid, you know, actually cooking but then you asked me to help you cook dinner for Y/N, and if I said no, you'd get suspicious—" Lando started to rant.

"Lando," Max interrupted Lando, immediately quieting the McLaren driver. 

"I'll keep your secret, no matter how weird I think it is. Just, help me cook, and don't burn down the kitchen,"

"I can do that," Lando said

Lando burnt the kitchen down. 

Well, nearly burnt the kitchen down because apparently, he didn't know you aren’t supposed to put tin foil in the microwave and he didn't know what was happening in the microwave until Max saw it and yelled. Once Lando finally saw the fire, instead of trying to do something, he ran out of the kitchen and left Max to deal with it instead.

“I could’ve died,” Max told Lando.

“You’re overreacting. It was just the microwave,” Lando said.

“I was overreacting? You didn’t even know what was happening and just ran out without even helping,” Max said.

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?”

“Call the firefighters!”

“Well, they’re here, aren’t they?!”

“BECAUSE OF ME!”

Before either one of them could bicker anymore, you rushed towards them, wearing your work clothes. “Max? Why are there firefighters— Lando? Why are you here? Were you and Max hanging out when the fire happened? Are you guys okay?” You asked, checking both of them for any injuries.

“Schat, we’re fine. We were cooking when the fire happened,” Max said, gently prying your hands away from his face and holding your hands in his own.

“Cooking? But neither of you cooks,” You pointed out, confused.

“Of course, I cook! I post whenever I cook,” Lando tried saying.

“Post? Oh, you mean when you post on your story about your take-out food on a plate?” You said, unaware of how Max was laughing and Lando looking like a kicked puppy.

“You know it’s take-out?” Lando asked.

“Lan, you can see the logo of the restaurants in some of the pictures,” You tried saying carefully, now aware of how sad Lando was.

Spotting the firefighters from afar, who were waiting for one of you to talk to them, you turned to Max and Lando, who went back to bickering about something. “How about I cook something? Lando, you can join us if you want,” you offered, but before Lando could answer, you went to talk to the firefighters.

“You can’t eat with us,” Max immediately said.

“Why not? She just said—”

“I don’t care. Tell her you’re busy or something,”

“But I like her cooking,”

“She’s my girlfriend!”

“Why can’t you be the one to tell her that you don’t want me to eat dinner with you guys?”

“And get scolded about how we should spend time with our friends? No thanks,”

“Well, I guess I’m eating with you guys,” Lando said, smug.

Max glared at him and said, “I shouldn’t have said anything and just left the kitchen,”

[callooopie]

The night, she calls me.. // Vampire!HOTD men

Come with me to the other side. Make the girl in black your bride — The Night // Aurelio Voltaire

It took all my willpower to not make this like a What We Do in the Shadows bit. No one asked for this either.. so that’s why I’m writing it. Is this gonna be a series of headcannons? No… no. No no… no no nono. I’ve started tooooo many writing projects I cannot… or can I 😏 (I actually can’t I have too many requests I need to lock in on)

Did you know what land you were walking on? Did you see the figure watching you from the top floor window? Was that a shadow you saw out the corner of your eye?

Davos Blackwood // Bloody Lord of Raventree Hall

A manor buried in the dark forests of Blackwood Vale, an urban legend surrounded the woods and the semi-ghost town beside it. Locals would talk of a figure that walked the empty streets at night, and the older residents would sometimes speak of an old estate once owned by a wealthy family that could be found in the heart of the forest. But no one has seen this place, or perhaps no one has ever returned alive to tell the tale.

The ever playful lord of Raventree Hall likes toying with his victims before they meet their bloody demise. If a fool ever gets lost on his land, Davos will follow them around in the form of a raven, acting as if he was leading them to the help they desperately called out for. Some would fall for it; the ‘guiding’ corvid that had brought them to this dusty manor. Little did they know, they wouldn’t be leaving that place.

He’s the type to make Raventree Hall look appealing and safe to the unwitting person, sometimes even playing the part of a humble boy who lives in his family���s old home. He’d learn all about a person as he feeds them food, bloody meat cooked to perfection for any human. Eat up, Davos would say, it’s a good cut of meat.. he’d hate for it to go to waste. Oh? The red wine tastes metallic? Strange.. perhaps a bottle gone bad?

He’d keep his lover human, not out of admiration of their humanity—but as more of a ‘pet’. The only reason Davos would turn a human into a vampire would be for his own entertainment purposes. It’s more fun when you can handle him and not pass out every time he does something. Plus, he wants the security of knowing you won’t be leaving him anytime soon. Forever stuck by his side, living forever in a world of night and pleasure by his doing and his doing alone.

Before you become his lovely lady, perhaps you’re one of those lost souls who stumble upon the estate. Either by poor luck or poorer fortunes, you catch the attention of Davos. He scares you from the shadows, setting candles alight with just a gust of wind, slamming doors and sending phantasms to spook you with howls and haunting steps, sending ravens and crows to caw and peck at you. It’s only when you get to the main atrium of the manor does he strike. A sinister smile on his pale face as he lunges at you from out of nowhere, teeth sinking into the skin of your neck as hands travel up and down your torso.

A master of shadows and tricks, Davos isn’t one to meet his adversaries head on. He doesn’t think they deserve his attention. He can deal with vampire hunters and celebrity ghost hunters with a wave of his hand from his bed chambers at the very top of the manor. He can make it as if ghouls are chasing around those idiots, birds seemingly attacking them on sight, if he’s feeling funny he might summon a demon or two. Why does he have the title of bloody lord? Well, he’s just a messy eater, and the corpses he leaves behind are unrecognizable from what they once were.

Jacaerys Velaryon // Draconic Prince of the Night

The picturesque village that the castle of Dragonstone sits next to has gained a plethora of tourists. However, no one has ever been allowed inside. From a mixture of local superstition, and simply because the wooden gates and doors will not open. Nothing can break, or even burn, the wood. Cursed or blessed, many have stayed away from that castle said to have been forged by dragon fire.. if local legends are to be believed.

Local legends also speak of how beautiful women are kidnapped from their homes and beds, never to be seen ever again. As a tourist, you believe you’re safe.. and you don’t really believe in those tales.. at least you don’t believe them until you awaken in a bed that’s not the hostel’s.

Jacaerys is a vampire who is easily bored. He wants someone who’ll keep up with him. A pretty princess to take care of and to simply sit like a doll, but also one who has a bit of wit and brain to them. Someone to go hunting with, or to fly around in the dead of night together. Someone to chase, someone to have intellectual conversation with.

A little more serious than a certain bloodthirsty lord, Jacaerys will turn his lover almost immediately. What’s the use in keeping you human and mortal? There is no use! Now you’re just like him, and you two can bond and be merry together in that lonesome stone castle. All the others he had spirited away were awfully dull, perhaps you will be different?

Like a dragon, he hoards his treasures. He’ll keep you close, too close almost. Jacaerys will hand feed you blood, lifting someone’s arm up to your mouth and praising you for dining on the thick liquid and flesh. He’ll hover near you, you two are royalty after all. It’s good for a prince like him to check up on his princess. He’ll dress you in gold and red fabrics, or maybe nothing at all! Jacaerys does like it when you’re only clad in gold and gems, sit yourself down on his mountains of treasure and make your nest; he’ll show he’s a good dragon who takes care of his mate.

A scholar of dragon magic, the only thing that can destroy his castle is what made it in the first place. Dragon fire. And dragons died out long long ago sweet thing (or never existed at all…). He’s perhaps the only one that remains! Believe whatever you will, Jacaerys will happily prove to you that dragons are real. And you believe it as you watch him transform into one to deal with trespassers who had somehow broken into the castle. Sure there’s ways in if your crafty enough, but what people don’t say is that there’s no way out once you’re in. The charred piles of bones that litter the treasure room are a testament to that.

Cregan Stark // Vampiric King in the North

Perhaps the only one out of the trio to be semi-normal. An urban legend surrounds the snowy mountains of a large wolf that leads lost wanderers to an empty yet warm and alive stone keep. It’s said if you stay for one night and leave the next day, you’ll find your way back to civilization. However, overstay your welcome and you won’t be heard from ever again…

Your car had broke down, and you hadn’t expected such a large snowstorm to sweep through. You’re on the brink of hypothermia, however you spot something in the distance. The howl of a wolf reaching your ears as the wild beast walks toward you. It almost seems to gesture toward you with its head, beckoning for you to follow. You’ve heard this legend, and so when you find yourself in the safety and warmth of a stone fortress you do your best to remain courteous and respectful. The plan was to leave in the morning, however when you try to open the large wooden door to leave—it slams shut on you before locking tightly.

Cregan likes your humanity, wishing only to learn from you. He would not covet you like a prize, nor would he treat you like a pet. To turn you without your consent? Unfathomable. If you wish to be turned, he would gladly do so at your request. Although he would tell you what you’ll miss, what you will be letting go of in exchange for this eternal life of coldness and blood. Perhaps it’ll all be worth it in the face of his love and companionship?

Teach him everything about you, and he’ll teach you all he knows. Cregan’s an old soul who’s lived more lifetimes than he can remember. He’s powerful, ancient; that uppity prince and cocky lord answer to him! He’s their overlord, they are his mere sons subordinates. All that aside, Cregan has vast collections of knowledge from throughout the ages. Although do remember, he scratches your back, and you will scratch his. Or he’ll show you what happens to those who’ve forgotten such an important lesson.

Unlike his underlings, Cregan can control his appetite for blood. He’s learned, and so he keeps a stockpile of it. Some of it ages like wine in a cellar, other bottles he keeps near and close. A special cabinet is reserved for special blood of course. What? You’ve never tried the blood of a priest? It’s heavenly.

Unlike the other two, Cregan lives more on red meats. Which he can get from almost anything. Although due to the coldness of the region, not many animals venture out. For a special occasion, you’ll find your plate full of fresh organs and fatty raw meat. A glass of thick red liquid right next to your plate. Cheers and eat your fill, it’s fresher than fresh. And who knows when an unsuspecting person will come up these mountains again?

[vanesycho]

The chenle one has woken up smth in me so idk...Can you write smth w older Jisung where the reader cannot find her peace w boys her age until she meets jisung which is the "wattpad" kind of older man (ifykwim) caring and basically knows how to give reader the comfort that she needs

hi hii🤍 I would like to thank the person who wrote the request, I am not very satisfied with what I wrote, but I hope I was able to write something as you wanted<3

wc: 1,8k

You left the bar crying, your girlfriend was trying to catch up to you, you ignored her even when she called your name.

"Y/n stop! Stop!"

She caught up to you and grabbed your arm, turning you towards her, you didn't let her when she tried to hug you.

"You called me here even though you knew that boy had bad intentions."

"I swear I didn't know, would I have called you here if I knew he would touch you without your permission?"

You laughed hysterically through your tears.

"Really? Fuck it, I'm going home."

You couldn't stand listening to her anymore.You quickly left there and started walking home. Continued walking down the deserted street while crying, cursing everything, your friend, that boy, yourself. While you thought he was a different person again, he turned out to be no different from the other boys, they were all the same, each and every one of them.They would use you for their body, and if you didn't let them, they would throw you in the corner.

You were falling onto the pavement, tripping as you could barely see through your tears, until someone grabbed you by the arms. You looked up and saw a tall figure, the streetlight illuminating his face.

"Are you okay?"

You nodded, you didn't feel okay but did it matter? You freed yourself from his arms and regained your balance.

"I am good, thanks."

You were about to walk past him when you heard his voice again and stopped in your tracks.

"It might not be a good idea to pass through that street at this time of night."

You turned around, he was watching you with his hands in his pockets, you laughed hysterically.

"Anyway, what worse could happen to me today?"

He bowed his head slightly and walked a few steps towards you. You didn't back away, you were with a stranger on this street but you didn't have the strength to care.

"I was just warning you, you seem to be in a bad situation already, we wouldn't want them to take advantage of that, would we?"

You laughed, not because it was funny, you were tired, and this guy you didn't know cared about you?

"So? Like I said, I can't be in a worse situation, I can't trust your word either, who knows, maybe after you gain my trust, you'll try to take me to bed too."

He frowned, looking at a tear that was streaming down your cheek. You were definitely not in a good state, and he wasn't planning on leaving you like that.

"I don't know how you've gotten men into your life, but I suggest you don't lump everyone together.You're here all alone, you look weak and tired, if I wanted to take you to bed I'd do it now."

You kept quiet, you had nothing to say, you sat on the pavement, your high heels were starting to hurt your feet. You turned to him as he sat down next to you.

"I'm Y/n."

He looked at your outstretched hand and laughed, he reached out his hand which was bigger than yours and shook it, you just realized how cold your hands were at that moment.He had a warm hand unlike yours.

"Park Jisung."

'Jisung' you repeated that name in your head.

"Are you planning on sitting here quietly?"

You grinned and glanced at him.

"You expect me to tell you? I don't have anything else to do though, do I?"

You took a deep breath, watching the couple pass in front of you, smiling as they walked hand in hand.

"I don't know if it's my bad luck or my fate, but all the men in my life have tried to use me. They're all the same, stupid teenagers, all they think about is sex."

He put his hands behind his back and tilted his head up in thought. You watched him, his adam's apple moving as he swallowed. He caught your gaze and spoke.

"Aren't you young? Don't expect anything else from boys your age, we men mature late, unlike you girls.Either don't take anyone in your life for a long time, or forget about men your age and try people a few years older."

You thought about it, you hadn't thought about being with someone older than your age. You watched the man next to you, he was obviously older than you. He stood out with his suit and face. He smiled when he realized she was watching him.

"Like what you see?"

You turned your head away in embarrassment.

"No. You're just standing here in a suit. Where do you come from?"

Now he was the one who took a deep breath.

"I was at a party with my friends but I got bored quickly, it seems like those kinds of places are not for me, I prefer to stay here quietly and alone, until you come."

You rolled your eyes laughing when he said the last sentence with a laugh, he grabbed your wrist as you were about to stand up, you looked at where he was holding you, he wasn't harsh, but when he noticed your look he quickly pulled his hand away.

"Oh sorry. I was just kidding, it's nice to have someone to talk to."

You sat down.You looked at each other, an awkward silence taking over you. The wind caressed your hair,he brushed the few strands that had fallen into your face.You flinched when you felt his fingertips on your cheek, he quickly pulled his hand away.You were letting a guy you just met get close to you like that, maybe that's why you always experience the same things, but this guy named Jisung... He had awakened different things in you.

"You might as well go home now."

"What is it? You don't want me with you?"

He paused, trying to find the right words, you laughed and standing up.

"Just kidding, I know what you mean."

He stood up with you, you looked at him, noticing the difference in his gaze. You looked away as his eyes looked into yours without fear, what was happening to you?

"Well...See you then?"

"Wait!"

You stopped as you turned around, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"It might be unsafe there, don't go alone, do you want me to come with you?"

You didn't know what to say, you didn't want to say no, you liked talking to him even a little, After some thought you nodded your head.

──────────────────────

A few minutes had passed, you were walking towards your house, talking about your own lives.

"So you don't have anyone in your life? Really?"

You looked at him in disbelief, well he was handsome, you didn't know him but from what you knew he seemed like a kind person. How could someone like him live alone?

"Yes, it was my choice, but you never know who fate will bring to me. Just like it brought you."

You turned your head to the road when he said this with a smile, looking into your eyes. Damn, you shouldn't have been fooled so easily, but every sentence he said sounded so real and beautiful. When you finally arrived in front of your house, you turned to him.

"Thank you for coming with me."

"It's not even worth mentioning. I'd feel bad if I didn't do this, just take care of yourself, okay?"

You pressed your lips together and nodded in affirmation, talking before walking in.

"Good night."

"Good night Y/n"

Hearing your name on his lips made you shiver and soon you were inside your house.

──────────────────────

The rest of the week went by normally, you hadn't even left the house. You tried not to think about Jisung when your mind thought about him most of the time.It happened and it was over, there was no point in thinking about it anymore. But your mind was playing tricks on you and you cursed when you thought his face.

You threw yourself out of the house, you obviously needed to clear your head. You went into the cafe near your house, ordered your coffee and sat down. While you were busy with your phone and waiting for your coffee, the tall figure standing in front of you caught your attention

"Was this place empty, little lady?"

The voice you heard sent shivers down your spine. You laughed at the encounter with him at the cafe you came to not think about him, you wet your dry lips and nodded your head.

"Yes, it's empty."

He came across from you and sat down. When your coffee arrived, you took a sip and tried to calm down. Seeing him again made your heart beat faster, and you hated this feeling already.

"I hope you're...okay now?"

He placed his arms on the table and leaned towards you slightly, you swallowed nervously and turned your head away.

"I'm fine, thanks for your concern."

He smiled at your shyness, damn even his smile was pretty.

"Why did you come?"

"What do you mean?"

He frowned at your sudden reaction, well that was the last reaction he expected but he could understand.

"I was worried about you, you seemed really sad that day, and you...well, you've been on my mind for a while. I was wondering if you were okay now. And when I saw you here I wanted to come and make sure."

You listened to him as your eyes widened in surprise, meaning you weren’t the only one thinking about him. The thought of someone caring about you brought up strange feelings inside you.

"I see. I'm fine, I guess I shouldn't let anyone into my life for a long time like you said."

He coughed as he drank his drink, pulling himself together and looking at you as you looked at him curiously.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah yeah I just-"

He took a sip of his drink and took a deep breath before speaking.

"I mean, I didn't think you would make a decision like that."

"Well? You're the one who told me that."

He was the one who avoided your gaze, you frowned, was he embarrassed of you? You couldn't help but giggle at how cute he looked, he turned to you when he heard your laugh.

"Okay Jisung, maybe I should try the other thing you suggested to me."

You couldn't help but smile as you saw a small expression of happiness on his face. He hid his smile and tried to remain serious.

"I didn't say that, but it's your decision."

You continued to smile as you took a sip from your drink.

"Hmm...Yeah, definitely."

You looked at him when the silence intervened, you bit your lip involuntarily when you realized he was watching you, his eyes fell on your lips and he tried to collect himself by looking away.

"So...now, would you like to come somewhere else with me?"

"So...A date?"

He smiled as he looked away from you.

"Yes, yes, a date. I mean if you want?"

You stood up, he watched you, you turned to him and pointed to the exit.

"Let's go then, there's no point in waiting."

[melodic-haze]

Can I ask for a sub Jade x fem reader? Jade is so cocky and self-confident thinking that she will dominate the relationship, but reader puts her in her place by taking her to the extreme Thank you in advance and have a nice day!💕

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Jade x dom!afab!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: None? A lot of biting?? Does that count???? Rough sex in general

☆ — NOTES: To celebrate getting Jade I am writing about scissoring her she CANNOT escape me. As per usual I wrote this at the dead of night so if nothing makes sense then 🤷‍♀️

It's so funny, dating Jade, bc she's so self-assured of anything and everything—no matter how risky a deal may be, it's as if she has it all figured out.. and really, she probably does. That confidence transfers over to her general personality ofc which. Aha 💀 goodness

She's definitely convinced herself that she was going to take the lead for every single thing, taking care of you and punishing you if you deserve such treatment. She already does so in her daily life, what's a relationship with someone so precious as you make a difference?

A lot, she goes on to realise sooner or later when you have your first time together LOL

"So eager, aren't you," she practically coos at you as she steps further into the secluded room, taking off her hat and placing it carefully on the vanity.

"What, you rather I wasn't?"

"Now, I didn't say that." The pink-haired woman let out a soft laugh, "I would like to give you credit where credit is due, however, for waiting to get inside the bedroom rather than pulling me into the next available alley you find."

A huff slipped past your upturned lips, your eyes scanning every inch of your lover—who you once thought was unattainable without a hefty price, much like such precious gems are, is now standing in front of you at the foot of the bed with a not-so-innocent twinkle in her slitted eyes.

"I wouldn't dare have our first time together in some random setting," you simply say, "a lady should be treated as such.. and I wouldn't want to break you where everyone could see. Not yet, anyway."

That gained Jade's attention, her hand halting to a stop before she could slowly remove her singular glove. "Oh? I was under the assumption that I would have to take care of you, sweetheart. Unless you think that I can't leave you more than satisfied?" She walks up to you as she speaks, tracing your skin with a manicured nail before gently grasping onto your hand, "Because I assure you that I never leave my clients with the feeling of.. incompletion."

"One problem with that statement."

"Mm?"

"I'm not a client of yours, am I? I'm much more than that."

She raises an eyebrow, its shape perfectly sculpted and arched and perfect, "Confident in where you stand, aren't you? Such arrogance can often lead to one's downfall, you know."

You walk forward, prompting her to follow your motions like an intimate dance, "Are you saying that because you believe you're the exception to the rule?"

"Not that I'm the exception, no.. but challenging such things is something I am required to have expertise on, considering my line of work."

You hummed in response, "You've yet to prove that to me beyond professional transactions."

"Haven't I?"

You don't speak in turn, though instead you draw your hand back from hers before swiping it under her intricate blazer that hangs on her shoulder, letting it slip down.. and then pressing the same hand on the centre of her chest to push.

Your lover gently falls onto the mattress with a soft sound of surprise, with her long hair fanning out under her like some sort of pink halo. That momentary surprise is easily replaced with a pleased smirk, however, as her hands roam around her body to caress every inch of herself like a tantalising temptress, simultaneously opening up her outfit and fully revealing the lacy underwear underneath.

"So you caught me off-guard. That's a first."

You moved to straddle her, stripping off your topmost clothing and discarding them to the side, "Is it, though? No point lying through your teeth there."

"Ha. I suppose you do have a penchant for surprising me on the occasion." She puts her hands on your hips, gripping you and gently digging her nails into your form, "And I also suppose that that was you taking advantage of the situation, which.. bravo. I hadn't even noticed I let you take the lead."

You leaned down, capturing her lips with your own and cutting off whatever words she had planned to form after—if she ever even planned to, which you sincerely doubt it considering how her arms tugged you closer to her—before drawing back and leaving her wanting more. Her beautiful blue eyes, formerly slits, had seemingly expanded as she laid there in a silent daze.

"And you can continue. Letting me take the lead, I mean." You breathed out as you took one of her breasts into your hand and groped her idly, "Let me take care of your needs and desires this time, yeah?"

"Unfortunately that isn't in my job description," she jests with a slight rasp to her voice.

"Too bad you're not working right now," you quipped back.

And without any more to say, you lean back in as the two of you let your desires take over completely.

She definitely absolutely challenges your authority HAHAHAHA oh my god. She's SUCH a brat actually, teasingly trying to grab the reigns back and dominate you but somefuckinghow you're looking at her and acting a certain way that it actually sends a shiver down her spine once she realises you mean to consume her wholly like a snake with its prey

She isn't used to being on the receiving end, to being the one being taken care of, to being the one overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure you're giving her. And the foreign experience fucking thrills her bc almost nothing scares this woman in bed

I say "almost nothing" bc if your buttons are pushed enough bc she makes it a point to make it INSUFFERABLE for you bc you could just hand her control and she'd take care of you :((( and take the easy route like everyone else :((((( and you snap, there's no telling what'll happen to her 🥰

ROUGH HER THE FUCK UP and that's when she starts getting concerned for her wellbeing (in the fun way), though the thrill is still there and has never been this amusing and overstimulating since.. god knows when. It has her wanting for MORE

She wouldn't beg though. She refuses to do so—something something she still has some modicum of dignity in her—but that's fine.. you can just have her struggle in desperation 😋!!

Such a bestial, carnal act was unbefitting of such a classy lady.. and that debauched expression on Jade's face was even less so.

Her nails dug into your skin, though this time her grip was a far cry from its gentle yet possessive force. Instead, it was harsh and desperate, perhaps even enough to draw blood. Your neck and the line of your collarbone was in a worse state as your lower back was, though, with the multiple bite marks that littered your skin (and some of them were even the slightest bit punctured, not necessarily all that dissimilar to a snake bite).

Not like she was any better either, with how throwing her head back meant that you were able to see the myriad of marks all across her body—her skin was painted like a canvas, signed repeatedly by you and only you through some sort of binding contract.

You bucked your hips into hers with a crooked smirk to your lips that easily broke off as a groan escaped your lips. Your clit had rubbed onto hers in a certain way that had the both of you stumbling, if the time spent repeatedly switching from making her hold off from cumming, continuously pushing her off the edge and having her please you as a form of gratitude rather than her initial service didn't exhaust you two enough already.

Whenever you look at her, she always seems to be on the cusp of truly letting go and pleading for you to finally give her the release she needs from your constant minstrations throughout the night, always seems to be on the edge of admitting that you hold the power over her, that you were more than some random client like she joked about.. but she seems to have some extra willpower within her that prevents such sudden declarations.

Doesn't matter, though, because you have the power to simply draw back and leave her on the tipping point.

And when you look at her again, when you see her mouth smudged with lipstick move as she voices out her thoughts, when you see her reach out for her, when you feel just how embarrassingly wet she is...

When you see the Stoneheart at her rawest, without any sort of modification to suit whoever she deigns to interact with, you just can't help but give her a bit more.

Guys I'm a firm believer in Jade having fangs but anyway

Be mean enough to her and eventually she'll crack 🥰🥰🥰 and it'd be RUDE to leave her hanging..........or yk. Leave her hanging 😜 as a way for her to remember exactly how easily you can put her in her place

Either way now she knows FULL well not to get all cocky again unless she wants that hot-and-cold rough treatment again ☺️ and she also knows not to underestimate you ANYMORE what a way to learn not to underestimate someone

[liliewrites]

Hii! Do you still take requests? If so, could you please write some fluff with soft Arlecchino x fem!Reader, who has big sleeping problems and stuff like that. And maybe Arle humming a quiet little lullaby/tune, to help calm us or stuff 👀

Or! 'Cchino with Fem!Reader, who's afraid of thunderstorms

If you have an idea on a way to combine both that would be so so cool and amazing! Sorry if there is something wrong about it. You ofc dont have to write it, if you dont want to

HELLOOOO ANONNNN!!:) it is i, kylie, here to make ur wishes come true and lemme tell u because i actually do struggle with sleep sometimes and to have arlecchino comfort you.. what a dream.. (funnily enough i have a plushiecchino and i have it next to me when i sleep she's so skrunklydoo) anyw here's ur request! hope u like itttttttt!!

-warning/s ; none! just tooth rotting fluff with soft arle:))

(men pls dni utc!)

it was a cold, stormy night.

your lover lay beside you, sound asleep with her arms loosely wrapped around you. you let out a sigh, this was one of the many nights that you were just hit with the inability to sleep and the thunderstorm was not helping either. it frustrated you greatly as lacking adequate sleep extremely made you feel more tired during the day when taking care of the children. however, your efforts were futile, completely giving up as what you've estimated to have wasted at least half an hour on trying to force yourself to sleep, you carefully slip away from your lover's hold, being wary of not waking her up. as soon as you were able to get out of bed without issue, you stretched a little before grabbing the silk robe on the nearby armchair. you put it on and messily tied your hair into a bun, slipping your feet into those fluffy slippers to further silence your footsteps.

you then headed for the door so you could leave for the study room down the hall as you decided to just read instead yet not even a few steps away from the armchair near your bed, your wife had started to shuffle around making you halt your movements. you were startled when she immediately sat straight up, eyes darting everywhere as she looked for you. "beloved??" she exclaimed, unable to see you as her eyes adjusted to the dark.

you looked at her, finding her adorable as she sat there with an alarmed expression, but the sleepiness was evident on her face. "darling, hello.." you greeted her with a sheepish smile, and you could see the look of relief that was then replaced with worry. "is there something the matter, my love? it's in the middle of the night.." she mumbled, getting off the bed to approach you. clad only in her pajamas and a loose tank top, you couldn't help but blush a little, your wife looked handsome and gorgeous as she walked towards you.

"is it because you cannot fall asleep again, love?"

she asked as strong, firm arms had found it's way around your waist. arlecchino was taller than you, no doubt, and she placed her chin on your shoulder. her bigger figure that slightly engulfed yours always provided you a sense of safety and comfort, so you were able to let out a sigh of relief as she tucked herself in the crook of your neck, pressing her lips on your skin.

"unfortunately, that is the case, my beloved. i was just going to head to the study room to read, you can go back to sleep.."

at your words, arlecchino separated from your shoulder to look at you. she's noticed that you've been having trouble sleeping more often lately, and it worries her greatly. "are you ill, beloved? perhaps any issues or problems that plague your mind?" she asks, and your hands find it's way to her face. your touch a soothing balm to her troubled soul, but her worries remained nonetheless and you knew that.

"nothing much, really. i just cannot fall back asleep, and the thunderstorm isn't helping. it's.. scaring me a little." you told her truthfully, and it assured her at least a little to know that you were unharmed and safe from any sort of illness, but the issue of you losing sleep while being frightened of the ongoing thunderstorm stays nagging her mind. she lets out a sigh and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, before whispering in your ear. "then lay with me, my love. let me put you back to sleep."

with no objections, you nodded, deciding to put your faith into arlecchino's capabilities of putting someone to sleep. after all, you guessed that before you, it was her who took tucked the children in bed. she grabbed your hand and led you back to bed, tucking you under the sheets before climbing in beside you. she leaned on the headboard, pulling your head to lay on her chest as she held you close. "i wonder, will i be experiencing what you do to the kids when they cannot sleep?" you jest, and she pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "no, do you want to? usually they end up crying when i use my preferred method." she answers with her usual deadpan tone, making you look at her with a slightly upset gaze. "arlecchino! what did you do to the kids?" you asked, with a scolding tone, causing the harbinger's heart swoon a little with your concern for the kids. her lips break into a small smile, patting your head. "kidding, my dear. i do not harm them but also do not "tuck" them. when they tell me that they cannot sleep i just tell them that i will make them fall asleep, and they usually scurry off." she confesses, and you sigh, now you know why the kids ask you to tuck them in bed. before you could speak a word, she cuts you off.

"- but that is besides the point, love. for now, we should focus on getting you back to sleep."

you nod, settling back into her chest, deciding to let it go for tonight and talk about it in the morning instead. the moment you close your eyes though, a roaring thunder crackled, making you flinch. arlecchino says nothing, but she wraps an arm around your shoulder, holding you in a tight and protective embrace.

"beloved, i.. want to hear your voice. could you perhaps sing me a lullaby?"

arlecchino was a harbinger-- and one known to be a bringer of death. she was not a singer. she was a trained soldier, one among the highest ranks. she wouldn't agree with your request.

but..

"very well, but i will not sing. humming a melody is the best i can do."

"fair enough."

you couldn't help but smile, knowing your wife couldn't outright and completely say no to you, so much for being feared across teyvat, you think. arlecchino notices the smile on your face, and she may not have shown much of a reaction, but she feels her heart flutter-- and really, even if it means looking like a fool, then she would. she'd be true to her name and act like a harlequin if it meant seeing you smile.

you close your eyes to the sound of her heartbeat, accompanied with her soft humming. her hand caressing your shoulder in a comforting manner, before wrapping two arms around you to hold you much much more closer. the thunderstorm was loud and it persisted, but as of the moment, all you could focus on was your wife, and it was helping. a lot.

and by a lot, it meant that you were able to close your eyes without flinching, despite the roaring thunder. all you could hear was your wife's humming. oh, how she sounded so beautiful along with her gentle heartbeat, and that was what you focused your mind on.

not more than 5 minutes, you felt yourself slowly succumb to sleep. her humming, her heartbeats, her warm embrace, all of it were the missing factors to the perfect solution for your lack of sleep.

she noticed that you had leaned in and pressed more weight into on, so she brushed a strand of hair from your face and tucked it into your ear. beautiful, was all that she thought as she stared at you for a while before concluding that you had already fallen back to sleep.

slowly, she leaned back down so both of you could now lay on the pillows instead of the headboard, but she still held you close to her chest to ensure that you felt safe and protected even while asleep.

it was indeed, a cold, stormy night.

but your wife held you through it, comforting you and thankfully, you had finally drifted back to sleep. "goodnight, beloved. i hope you have good dreams." she whispers lovingly into your ear, then pressing a kiss to your forehead. she closes her eyes, finding it easy to fall asleep almost immediately. the love of her life was beside her after all, and your presence alone was enough to lull her back to sleep.

the next morning you ask the kids what arlecchino usually does when they can't fall asleep, and you find out that having them be tucked in bed by her is something that rarely happens. often times, she does actually tell them that she'd make them fall asleep by force, but when they r sick, scared or troubled then arlecchino takes them back to their room and once they get climb in bed and get snug, she pats them on the head, says goodnight and leaves. when they are really freightened though, she stays for awhile and waits them to fall asleep, before leaving. arle good dad just not affectionate--

[eqt-95]

💙 for supercorp , pretty please!

oh brilliant! yes of course!! i was hoping for this one so i'd finally be motivated to write the scene that was inspired by this post. i have literally had it saved in my tumblr drafts since february. and yes i just scrolled through half of my 784 drafts to find it.

- - - - - -

“Actually no, we're not ‘dating’. We're bound together for infinity. Like the stars. So, fuck you, actually-”

Alex clicked the remote, freezing the screen to perfectly capture a very outspoken, very drunk Lena Luthor doing an uncanny impression of Taylor Armstrong in front of a throng of paparazzi.

“Can we watch it again?”

“No,” Alex answered tersely, setting the remote next to three overflowing folders, a coffee mug that needed to be filled with something a little stronger, and a cellphone she had to silence after the hundredth social media notification sent it rattling off the table.

Nia slouched in her chair with a ‘hmph’ and muttered something that sounded like garbled nothing to normal ears but very much like ‘never any fun,’ to Kryptonian ears.

“Right,” Alex continued, her attention directed across the table. She’d spent the majority of the recording with her face downturn and fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in what could only be described as ‘resignation’ mixed with the ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ strategy she had been trying with Esme.. “Care to explain what compelled you to proclaim you... infinite, cosmic link with Supergirl?”

“Not really, no,” a much more subdued, much less drunk Lena answered.

“Seems pretty self-explanatory,” Nia chimed in, spinning in the chair next to Alex. “Luthor can’t hold her liquor.” She bounced a clicky pen on the table-surface to accentuate the point. Alex gritted her teeth.

“I most certainly can-”

“Channel 7 says otherwise,” Nia grinned. The clicky pen was pointed accusingly.

“That,” J’onn began, and then pen clicked in offense, “is the least of our concerns-”

“Exactly,” Alex interrupted while blindly swiping the pen from Nia's hand and slamming it onto the table. “Do you have any idea how many conspiracy theories have started because of this? This has gone national-”

“International, actually,” Brainy added. “Canada and Australia have both picked it up.”

“Which means it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world is needling around about- about…” Alex’s face plunged closer to a shade of raspberry.

“About what, Alex?” Lena asked. She leaned forward, arms crossed with her super sexy calm, cool, and ceo-collected face. It was almost working too, except for the mischievous glint and flicker of her eyebrow that revealed she was not taking this remotely serious enough for the eldest Danvers sister. “About my throuple with Kara Danvers and Supergirl?”

Alex’s face found her hands. Nia sputtered laughter from behind her own. J’onn stared longingly toward the closed door. Brainy scowled in confusion.

“It cannot be a throuple if two members are the same person,” Brainy said, glancing quickly toward Nia who nodded in confirmation.

“CNN doesn't know that. But fine, call it infidelity, stepping out on-” Lena offered lazily.

“Still not the point. You’ve jeopardized Kara’s secret identity,” Alex interrupted crossly. “And now you've put her in danger of-”

“I thought it was sort of sweet.”

Five pairs of eyes turned toward Kara who, until now, had remained silently observed. She sat at the head of the table wearing her suit and a recent bout of puppy love. Two pairs of eyes were gobsmacked, the third was failing to hide the glee over the entire exchange, and the fourth included a quick wink that made Kara’s cheeks flush even redder and bat her figurative tail even harder.

“Sweet. Right, well,” Alex began again, “‘Sweet’ doesn’t exactly handle the problem, does it?”

“It’ll blow over; these things always do,” Lena added. “We can have Andrea run a boring fluff piece about my night on the town being a slew of misguided comments. Say I said the earth was flat and that I challenged the Second Law of Motion or something. Make it dry. Everyone will chalk it up to part of that.”

“Fine.”

“And we can put this whole thing to-”

“Don't you dare-” Alex warned.

“-bed.”

Alex sighed, J’onn climbed to his feet like a tired high school teacher, Nia bounced giddily in her chair, and Lena was already glancing over at Kara and giving her a look that suggested they were not going to make it through the day without a trip to the broom closet. 

Kara's cheeks flushed even redder if that were remotely possible.

•••••••

And so a fluff piece was written, the tabloids took a few lazy swipes at another Luthor edging toward instability, and then the story deflated entirely into obsolescence. The news cycle moved on, Alex's blood pressure returned to normal, and Kara was permanently living on cloud nine.

Everything was fine.

Everything was great.

Everything was going swimmingly.

Until the second video was discovered.

From the same night.

Nia brought popcorn. J’onn brought a heavy sigh. Alex brought a decade of instantaneous aging. 

“Care to explain?” Nia asked with her best angry-Alex impression. 

Meanwhile Alex was struggling to unclench her jaw.

“Deep fake?” Lena offered lamely.

“Deep fake,” Alex parroted. “You think someone somewhere invested the time to deep fake Lena Luthor and Supergirl making out? For what? Fun? Kicks? Laughs?”

“They already spend hours writing steamy fanfiction,” Lena shrugged. 

“They what-?” Alex choked.

“Hot, steamy, inspired sex, really-”

“No-”

“Kara, darling, do you remember the one with my desk and the full-length windows?”

Kara flushed but nodded. Nia squealed with delight. Alex had had it.

“Enough-”

“Or the one where we lived in an alternate universe and you were a cowboy and was your-”

“Stop. Stop it.” 

Lena leaned back into her chair, a smile of victory spreading across her face.

“I’m just saying, stands to reason someone might show us in the throws of deep, passionate-”

“I don't want to know. I don't. Want. To know,” Alex interrupted, hands cupped around her ears.

“Cosplay?”

Again five pairs of eyes turned to Kara. 

“Could've been cosplay.”

“I can't believe… J’onn can you… handle… this,” Alex waved between the two.

“Should we watch it again?” Nia suggested. “Just to check Kara's theory.”

And without preamble, she clicked play again. It was far fuzzier, far more amateur, and far less deniable than the first.

“Charlie, Charlie, baby look here,” the phone holder shouted over a group of laughing, tipsy NCU students. “Do the impression again, please? I want it for-”

“Yo, yo, check it out.” 

“Is that-?”

The camera pivoted from the ginger-haired Charlie to a dark alley between 

“Oh damn, is that Supergirl?”

“And… Lena Luthor?”

“I knew it. I told you!”

The stage whispers were doing far more for Alex’s discomfort than the shaky camera zooming 2x onto what was very clearly Supergirl pressing Lena Luthor into a wall and doing a very good job of ripping Lena’s $1,200 blouse open. 

“Ooph, Mrs. Fischer is not going to be happy about that,” Nia commented.

A glitter of buttons bounced off the sidewalk, and Supergirl’s mouth was moving hungrily and decidedly across the exposed skin.

“We’ve seen enough,” Alex chimed in and reached, some might say ‘desperately’, for the remote in Nia’s hands. “Once already scarred me for life-”

“But we won’t know until we see drunk, cosplay-Lena’s face. It’s for science, Alex,” Nia answered, clutching the remote like the lifeline to a sinking ship and climbing onto and over the conference table just as ‘cosplay’-Lena pulled ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s mouth back to her.

“Bullshit,” Alex hissed, making quick work of scattering across the same table. 

Meanwhile ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s hands were no longer visible and the gang of NCU students were actively chanting them on. “Nia Nal, if you do not turn that off right now-”

The chase continued under the table, over three chairs, and around a trash bin Nia knocked over in a valiant attempt to slow her assailant. And while Nia and Alex made a mess of the conference room, ‘cosplay’-Supergirl was making an absolute mess of ‘cosplay’-Lena’s bun-

“Never!” Nia huffed and side-spun before making a poor calculation and tripping over an empty chair. Alex saw her window and lunged, tackling Nia, gripping the remote free and slamming pause just as ‘cosplay’-Lena found the zipper to ‘cosplay’-Supergirl’s suit.

“Do you have any idea the-” Alex’s vitriol stopped in its tracks. Why? Because they were totally and completely alone. No Brainy or J’onn and worse, no Lena or Kara. “What… where’d they go?”

“Probably the broom closet,” Nia mused.

- - - -

ask game

[bombuni]

first off I love your writing sm!! secondly, I've been thinking of this wooyoung and this picture from the acolyte and just cannot stop merging the two into one in my head, thinking about what master manipulator wooyo (qimir) would be like

contains: manipulative wooyoung (for the plot guys), dark side ? wooyoung, nothing bad but i fear potentially triggering for some ppl, pls be safe babies :)

bom note: i know next to nothing about sw or this show save for my poe phase in 2017 so pls excuse if this is inaccurate. i tried to do some research (watching manny jacinto edits on tiktok) but pls lmk if u want me to rewrite hehe!! i kinda rolled w this evil woo idea!!

You’re scolding yourself again.

As you watch him rise out of the clear, crisp water with droplets rolling off of his succulent skin, the voice in your head telling you to run quiets down. It all but turns silent when he smiles at you, canines on display. Your heart picks up speed because you’re reminded that he’s a predator through and through.

“You came,”

He acts surprised, but he knows you’d follow him anywhere. It took all but a glance to get you to fall for him the first time. Now, all he has to do is whisper your name and he’s sure you’ll come running.

You don’t say anything. Wooyoung’s lips twitch, “Thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I’m not.” You spit these words out with a practiced venom, Wooyoung smiling at the betrayal in your voice. He can see through your lies from a mile away, trained until he could spot every little tic your sweet face gives.

He lets out a sharp, mocking laugh. Your body is confused on whether it’s infuriated or totally enraptured.

Wooyoung steps closer, but you take a step backwards. He looks you up and down, “Why not?”

You shake your head and back away even further, “Stop contacting me. It’s unseemly.”

He keeps stepping towards you, droplets of water rolling down his toned stomach, “You said that last time.”

Your back hits the rocky wall. You realize now how stupid it was to follow him out here to such a remote location. He’s probably done toying with you now, tired of the games you play and the chase you give. Your lungs try desperately to catch air now, with Wooyoung’s menacing stare and vicious smile all directed towards you.

He feels it. The quickening of your heartbeat and the pulse of your body. He walks to you again, pulling on the abandoned wool shirt he’d thrown haphazardly towards a rock earlier.

His hands land on either side of your head. He’s caging you in, “This’d be a lot easier if you just did what I asked,”

You can’t hear yourself think over the sound of the waves crashing. Or maybe it’s just Wooyoung who has that effect on you. He’s cold where his torso touches your revealed skin, eyes boring into yours as every second passes. You start to think he’s even stealing your air with his attempts to be as close to you as possible.

You start to feel claustrophobic, “What do you want from me, Wooyoung?”

The smile he gives you makes you sick with butterflies, pulling you in until you’re an inch away from his lips, “I just want you.”

His lips are still wet from the ocean. It’s salty and breathtaking. He’s breathtaking, like a jump from the highest cliff. He takes you over with just his mouth, exploring the inside of you with his tongue. You can feel his hands on your hips, possessively pulling you in as if you’re already his. The voice in your head is back now, shouting and pleading for you to ignore this giant ball of desire that’s imploding inside of you.

Wooyoung’s quiet whine into your mouth shuts that voice down again. He squeezes your hips, smirking into you as your entire body melts and dissolves into the entirety of him. You don’t even realize he’s won.

[bengiyo]

We Are Sucks, and BL Will Be Worse When This Succeeds

We Are the series, the latest empty drivel from New Siwaj, has crossed a line for me that I cannot abide. This show is nothing more than loosely connected setups for BL moments that are easy to gif or clip for maximum virality, designed to fulfill a financial obligation to iQIYI and otherwise keep the B- and C-tier BL pairs occupied with work. This show is saying nothing about the human condition with any verve, and there is no queer subtext or text to pull from any of these characters that the viewer isn’t already bringing to the table. 

I had stopped writing Stray Thoughts for this show because it doesn’t really have much of a plot or story to tell, but I am not going to be able to continue this show past episode 5. This show is the BL equivalent of a cumshot compilation. It is designed exclusively as fap material to coo over known BL pairs smiling at each other. I was chatting with @twig-tea yesterday about how after five episodes we still don’t really have anything resembling an arc for these characters and how it’s just a bunch of BL dudes hanging out. Twig described it as “disingenuous to [even] call it a show” and “...a bunch of compatibility workshops strung together.”

I hate this so much. There is no story being told here. This is like watching actor reels on IG or TikTok. There is nothing here to hold onto other than your baseline fondness for the cast. There was a moment in episode 5 that felt completely unscripted between Aou and Boom that felt like Boom reacting to being teased by Aou and not a moment between their characters. They didn’t even let Aou’s character confess the specificity of his feelings because they don’t matter to this show! It doesn’t matter why he likes Boom’s character! Just that he does! Why does Boom’s character respond so positively to these feelings? Why didn’t he take initiative on his own before? What changed at all? What’s the goddamn story here? There’s nothing! We just make it up and enjoy the smiles.

I usually don’t want to bitch about shows I don’t like extensively on here, and I especially don’t like spamming tags with negative commentary or musing on shows. However, there are 11 more episodes of this empty nothing, and 30 more episodes of New Siwaj trash on the horizon. He has become the GMMTV BL Babysitter, and I am horrified by what this means for the genre. I try to stay patient with New because usually he captures some form of gay melancholy or angst in his shows, but there is none of that here in We Are. All of these characters know each other and are basically just hanging out for about an hour of TV. 

I worry about stuff like this being good enough to monetize. There’s nothing interesting for me in this experience with a queer lens. There is no real story being told, and caring about any details as if they matter leads to questioning the integrity of the characters (are we really doing a slave narrative in a college BL again?). It feels like the end product of giving up on chasing ratings and only chasing virality to monetize the talent for ad spots, concerts, fan meets, and merch. No longer do we even need to make stories about compelling romances between men. We just need to get passably attractive boys on screen together and just ask them to smile. 

What does it mean for the genre if GMMTV goes another step forward with this and no longer brings any robust writing to the BL table. Are we satisfied with BL as glorified slideshows of shippable actors? What happens when GMMTV is able to easily milk this over other robust productions? Is this just the filler fluff to keep people engaged with the network between their solid projects to prove their bonafides? BL has always struggled with depictions of queerness, but are we at the point where we don't even try to tell stories that even feel queer? Is just simply putting boys next to each other enough? I don’t like this at all, and it unsettled me as I watched five episodes of We Are only to feel nothing. 

I am always half-joking about being over New Siwaj, but I really am at this point. 

[deandoesthingstome]

Gothic Fantasy

Pairing: Vampire!August x Reader

Summary: Are you in over your head, little girl?

Word Count: 6.1K

Warnings: 18+, NO MINORS, exhibitionism, oral sex (m and f receiving), spanking, p in v (doggy style), anal toy/anal sex, dom!August, Sir and princess, monster fucking (which involves at least one bite, right?).

Fantasy Hotel Masterlist

You took your time with a little extra research, but the ancient myth vibe of the story you created out of your experience with Sy was a hit and your werewolf!boyfriend tale had been picking up steam thanks to the upcoming holiday. Subscriptions were rolling in which left you both excited and anxious. 

sendmeanangel: i have enough to cover at least two more stays even if nothing more comes in at this point MNstrluvr: how could nothing more come in?  sendmeanangel: look, i’m having a great time, but at some point in my life i should probably stop paying for monster sex and get a boyfriend, right? darkgothnightengale: that time doesn’t have to be right now. Besides, how will you ever go back to some regular guy? sendmeanangel: very funny. This can’t be a sustainable way to go through life. I just worry people will start feeling like they are owed new monster fucking tales every week because they subscribed to read the ones already out there. I don’t want to let people down or make them think they got played somehow MNstrluvr: what if when you get to the point where you think you're through, you make that clear to any new subscribers? And just because you aren’t fucking a new monster at the hotel every week doesn’t mean you can’t keep writing amazing stories that your followers will love darkgothnightengale: you can write whatever you want when you want. There’s nothing on the site that promises content on any kind of consistent basis and people can always stop subscribing if they feel cheated, which is stupid because they are still getting quality content. you have a voice that people like to read. It doesn’t have to be about shapeshifters or vampires sendmeanangel: speaking of which MNstrluvr: YES!!! I’m so glad you decided to try him next. I cannot wait. He looks so fucking hot sendmeanangel: yeah, well walter continues to be completely booked. besides, they all look fucking hot lol MNstrluvr: there’s just something even more dangerous in his eyes. He looks totally unhinged. In a good way. darkgothnightengale: the best way sendmeanangel: you guys are crazy

“It's lovely to see you again. Thank you for signing the T&C online this time. I hope you had a chance to look through the extra restrictions on this room. It's very important that they are adhered to.”

Were you being called out? Did the hotel somehow know your two previous hosts had broken rules for you? Hopefully no one was getting into trouble.

“We simply don't want any mishaps,” as if in answer to the questions swirling in your mind. Though it still didn't tell you if they knew.

The desk clerk handed you another heavy iron key. Where the mechanism to open the forest room last month had been fairly plain and rustic, this one was filled with intricate lacy patterns. You wanted to snap a picture of the antique gothic skeleton key and send it to your online friends but decided it might be too much like bragging. After all, this would be the third fantasy visit they'd talked you into. Not that you needed much prodding anymore. That they couldn't partake in reality was making you feel bad, no matter how happy for you your friends said they were.

You made your way down the hall after exiting the elevator and stopped before the heavy wooden arched door full of intricately carved details that matched the key in your hand. The room was dark when you stepped in, but before you could reach for a light switch, a deep voice spoke from across the room, sending a cold shiver down your spine.

"You're late."

"I only just checked in."

"And no apology, I see. It's five after. We were to start on the hour. I assumed that was clear, but maybe I'll need to remind you of the importance of punctuality during our time together."

A finger snap sounded from the place in the dark where you heard the voice and flames lit up a fireplace nearby. Your eyes were drawn there, hoping the glow of the flame would illuminate your host, but no one appeared. All you saw was the carved stone of the mantle and wrought iron candelabras filled with fat pillars that were lighting one by one as if by magic as well.

As the warm light began to bathe the room, you felt a rush of air behind you and heard the door to the room slam shut. You turned to see nothing again, though you heard the click of a lock.

"Did you at least come prepared?" the voice sounded near your ear, though again, no one was to be seen as you spun once more to face into the room.

"I did," you answered into the space in front of you, even as you peered left and right. Where the fuck was he?

“Right here,” he spoke from behind you again, and this time you could see as well as feel the hands that gripped your upper arms and held you tight against the solid form behind you. You glanced at the fingers curled around your biceps and licked your lips, thinking of where you’d rather have them. Caressing your face. Around your throat. Thrust deep inside…”Before we get there, I believe you owe me an apology.”

And now you had a choice. How would that apology go? Remain standing like an insolent brat or kneel to the man you wanted to dominate you this evening? Not that he wouldn’t dominate the brat as well, but maybe you didn’t need it to be so demanding this first time. His fingers loosened as you began to turn toward him but you sunk to your knees before you saw his face, so it wasn’t until you lifted your chin to plead forgiveness that you had the opportunity to drink him in.

He was dressed in sharp black pants with a crisp crease down the front of each leg. A neatly pressed black button up shirt with french cuffs and mother of pearl links sat behind a black silk brocade vest with mother of pearl buttons. In the light, you couldn’t tell for sure, but the pattern in the vest seemed to match the key as well. A blood-red silk tie paired with a handkerchief peeking from the front of his jet black jacket that set off his broad shoulders nicely and was buttoned at the right height to taper his waist.

But his face. You inhaled to keep yourself steady before you spoke the words requesting his forgiveness. The calming breath helped you take in more of his visage without fainting on the spot. 

His jawline was strong. And unlike the fuller beards of Walter or Sy, this man’s facial hair consisted of a five o’clock shadow and a neatly trimmed mustache. His dark hair was swept back to the side, though you could tell if he hadn’t styled it perfectly, the curl would take over. You’d love to see it sometime. Maybe even tonight.

What caught your breath in your throat was his piercing blue eyes and it took you a few moments to realize he was laughing at you. You had to fight to gain control from his mesmerizing gaze, but before you could ask him to repeat himself, he already was.

“I said," Apology accepted” and you can stand now, princess. Show me what you came with.” He helped you to stand, then drew his hand down your arm as he took a step back. He dropped your hand and motioned toward you before he crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head as if to say “go ahead now.”

You took a deep breath, suddenly unsure if you’d made the right ensemble choice. Though it matched his outfit perfectly somehow, you were hesitant to bare so much to him so soon. But there was no turning back now. Well, of course there was, but you didn’t want to. At best, you could imagine excusing yourself to use the restroom and changing into a different outfit.

You undid the belt on your long, black trench coat, then popped the buttons one by one until you could open the flaps and shrug the coat off your shoulders and down your arms. You were about to let it drop to the floor, but something made you stop and hold the fabric in your hands at your sides.

“May I take your coat?” he asked like the gentleman he was portraying, holding out a hand and you reached it over to him, before smoothing your hands down the body of your black strapless gown, worrying away the non-existent wrinkles. A few blood-red rose embellishments nestled strategically into the delicate embroidery woven along the sheer black lace bodice of the dress, your bare skin visible only in the spots where no design was found. You released the clasps attaching the hem of the dress to the waist and allowed the full length of the black silk skirt to flow to the ground. It sported a trail of matching but larger floral adornments cascading in spiral from one hip across the front and down the other side. With the matching red silk pumps, you were a vision. You felt a rush of air and as you lifted your gaze from your dress back to him, your coat seemed to have disappeared, because it was no longer in his hands. And the look on his face told you you’d made the right choice.

“You look ravishing.” At his words of praise you forgot all about where your coat might have gotten off to.

“Is this okay?”

“If this is the attire you wished to begin in, then it’s perfect. We’ve already lost so much precious time with your late arrival.”

You stood silent, unsure if he was asking for another apology. It seemed like a bad idea to let him actually ask before you offered another, but your voice was stuck in your throat, so taken were you by his demeanor. It turned out you were wrong to wait.

“I don’t like to ask for apologies, but trust that I will whenever they are warranted. Hopefully, you’ll begin to know when you’ve crossed a line. I suppose technically, you have already apologized, so I won’t ask for another. This time.” At the admonishment, you dropped your gaze to the floor with embarrassment. “I also ask your forgiveness for my rudeness. So many lessons you’re learning already and you don’t even know my name yet. Allow me to correct that. My name is August Walker and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance finally.”

What did he mean by finally? Here, now, in this room when he finally shared his name and lifted your arm to kiss the back of your hand? Or had he heard stories about you too? 

“May I add something to your ensemble?” You could practically hear the subtle tilt of his head in question.

“Of course,” you replied, willing your nerves to allow you to look up at him again.

“It's only, well, you look so delicious. I'm afraid I'll need a reminder, or rather, a deterrent.” His hands raised, something appearing between his fingers as if from nowhere. You noticed a wide band of heavy black embroidered ribbon with metal clasps at each end. Your chin tilted almost involuntarily to allow him room to place the choker around your neck.

“You don’t want to…?” Was he not going to bite you? Did you make a mistake by not actually reading the T&C when you signed, scrolling quickly to the end of the form and checking the box as fast as you could to make sure the room wasn’t swiped from under you before you’d had a chance to complete the online booking.

“I never said that,” he replied, stepping in closer as he traced a finger around one side of your neck, down over your collarbone, and stopping just at the valley between your breasts.

“Is there a rule you’re afraid of breaking with me?” you asked, craning to bring your lips closer to his.

“I don't break the rules darling, I make them.” August returned his hand to your neck, stilling your advancement with the smallest effort.

“Well then, are you unable to actually bite me?” you asked, not sure whether you wanted him to consider this a question that crossed the line.

“Oh, I'm free to bite when and where you want. Many foolishly ask for the neck. In those moments, I usually oblige.”

“But…” you began.

“But there is a sweeter spot, more delicate, most delicious. This,” he let his finger run along the material around your throat, ”will help me make the better choice for both of us.”

You drew in a quick breath through your nose, causing a shudder in your shoulders as you realized you’d been holding your breath while he hinted at where he’d prefer to bite you. You’d chosen the dress specifically because it bared so much of your body near your neck that you’d hoped he couldn’t help but want to taste you. You foolishly never considered how much more bare you’d need to be before he was able to see the spot he wanted.

His dark chuckle unnerved you, but he quelled your apprehension with an invitation to join him at the dinner table. You’d completely forgotten that this experience had promised an evening meal, but honestly you assumed that was just some clever play on words. That you were to be the meal. He escorted you to a corner of the room near the fireplace, where a sumptuous feast had been set, and deposited you on one side of the table before taking a seat across from you.

“Would you care for some wine this evening?”

“Wine sounds lovely,” you answered, suddenly curious if he’d be drinking and eating with you. You watched as he lifted a decanted red and filled your glass, only to replace the crystal container onto the table before pouring a glass of his own from a dark brown glass bottle. He lifted his glass to toast your evening.

You watched carefully as he brought the goblet to his lips and drank, noticing that no obvious fangs appeared as he opened his mouth, though his canines did seem a little longer than you were used to. At least until recently that was. The men at this hotel all seemed to have been genetically gifted with glorious canine teeth and you weren’t complaining in the least.

“Now, what can I offer you to eat?” Cut fruit sat in open bowls alongside a tray of sliced meats and cheeses. He began to lift the covers off several porcelain serving dishes, revealing chicken and beef dishes, as well as vegetables and roasted potatoes. At your hesitancy, he smiled, as if extremely pleased, and continued. “Or would you prefer I choose for you?”

“I’d like it very much if you would recommend something. It all looks so wonderful.”

“Would you pass me your plate?” You obliged and he ladled servings of a few of the dishes. You noted with curiosity that he was choosing everything you would have chosen for yourself and none of the items you’d already determined you didn’t want to try, though you hadn’t said a word.

You thanked him as he handed your plate back and he invited you to begin, which you did. Because he’d asked you to. As you took your first bite, you moaned at the taste in your mouth and you thought you saw him lick his lips. What you didn’t see him do was serve himself.

“Is it to your liking then?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s delicious, thank you August…may I call you August?”

“For now. Now, what shall we talk about at this very civilized dinner we’re having together?” he asked, as he leaned back in his chair, goblet in one hand, as the fingers of the other drew lazy circles on the tablecloth. 

“Can we talk about how it doesn’t appear you're actually going to be eating with me?” You knew it was a bold question, but you still wanted to needle him a little, see where the line was.

“You see, it’s the insolence I mind. Not the question. There is a way to go about asking what you want to know without making it seem like you are trying to anger me. Or are you? Hmm?”

“I’m sorry, August,” you spoke as you placed your fork down. You had a sudden, unfortunate thought. What if you weren’t the only one who could call the whole thing off? What if your hosts had just as much right to pull out a safeword and end the liaison? You supposed, even though you were paying for the pleasure, they had to have a say in things as well. Otherwise, they were just…the thought made you shudder and not in a good way. “I am truly sorry. That was rude of me. Are you able to eat with me?”

“I am not. But I’m more than happy to enjoy your company and a more pleasant conversation while you dine. If you agree, of course.”

“Of course. Please, can we start over?”

“Pick up your fork and take a bite,” he commanded. “Continue your meal. And consider what you would like to talk about.” He took another drink and watched you with deeply penetrating eyes.

The meal was delicious and you finally figured out a topic of conversation that was neither too personal nor banal. When you made him laugh, you felt a small weight lift off your shoulders, as if his heavy and dark demeanor had made you nervous that this choice of hotel hosts was a mistake.

You had always been a bit enthralled with vampires. Loved reading Dracula both as published and in chronological order, as you’d heard about on Tumblr. Enjoyed the myriad of cinematic adaptations of the tale, especially the ones that played up the sensuality of the character. You really never imagined them to be real, but then again, you didn’t think werewolves or minotaurs were real either. For a brief moment, you thought back to your previous visits, letting your fork trail down with a slow descent.

“Finished?” he asked when your utensil hit the plate, eyebrow raised in question as he leaned forward preparing to scoot his chair back from the table. Before you’d even finished your nod, he was at your chair, easing it away from the table and offering you a hand to help you up.

“I think it’s quite time to get started on the rest of your lessons. Would you step to the window please?”

You turned and noticed the thick, black velvet curtains and assumed they must cover a window. You were commanded to open them, and you did, peering out into practical darkness only to see your reflection in place of any scenery. You glanced to the side of your image when you felt the fingertips at the top of your zipper, but though you knew they were attached to arms, attached to a body that was pressed right against you, adding more drag to his knuckles against your skin as he pulled the zipper down, you saw nothing in the mirrored window that would tell you another being was in the room with you.

You gasped, but he mistook it for shyness.

“I like to show off my conquests to whomever may be passing by below. We’re far enough up that no one could make out a face, but the body they’ll see,” he finished unzipping your dress and pushed it down your sides, letting it drop to a puddle of fabric at your feet. “The hint of red from these barely there panties, the silhouette of these curves.” You could feel but still not see his hands running up and down the sides of your body, his hands gripping your thighs before traveling up to cup your breasts. You watched as they bounced lightly in the reflection and smirked back at where you assumed his face would be before licking your matte red lips.

Your concentration was broken for a brief moment at the far off sound of a melancholy howl, but August didn’t let you linger on the thought. He spun you around to him and pressed you back toward the window, where you hissed when your ass came into contact with the chilly pane. How he missed the clink against the window, you’ll never know.

Then he caught your attention and you lost all concern for how exposed or cold your body might be at the moment. The change was practically imperceptible. One moment, he held your gaze with his dark and stormy eyes. In the next blink, his eyes burned red and held you rapt as he began to grin. Slowly, as his lips drew back, the fangs descended and you could swear you heard a faint click.

You probably let out a whimper when you saw him run his tongue along the sharp points and you definitely tilted your head on impulse, forgetting for a moment that he had already refused to take you there.

“I’d like you on your knees, please,” he asked, a little nicer than you imagined he had reason to be. Once you had obliged, he returned to commands. “Take me out.”

You did so gladly and without delay. Every assumption you made turned out to be right. He was just as well endowed as your other hosts, at least in human form. Which was nothing to sneeze at and you certainly weren’t kicking it out of bed.

You feasted on him as if you hadn’t just already eaten and you were happy to hear the sounds from him that told you he was enjoying it. And then he spoke to you.

“You like sucking on this cock, where everyone can see you, don’t you?” 

Truth be told, it had never occurred to you before. But there was an exhibitionism option on the registration form and you clicked it in a moment of audacity. He was simply giving you what you had asked for, right? It would feel this way for any guest he had in this room, right? That feeling of being out of control while technically being in the most control? You wanted him to take it.

“Yes,” you gasped as you pulled your head back for air before diving forward to take him down your throat again.

“I knew that you would. You like being naughty, don’t you?”

You bobbed your head up and down as you looked up at him, praying he didn’t make you take him out of your mouth just so he could hear you answer verbally. Your prayers were not answered.

“I asked you a question. Would you care to answer? Now? You know how I feel about punctuality, I trust.”

“Yes. Yes August, I’m sorry. I do. I really do like being naughty with you.” 

Another howl sounded, closer this time and you thought you detected the slightest of eye rolls before August got stern again, reaching down to take hold of your upper arm and lifting you to your feet with ease.

“You’re going to call me Sir from here on out and you’re going to be naughty another way now. First, close the curtains.” He spun you around so you could grab hold of the panels and draw them towards one another. You thought you glimpsed a pair of eyes, a deep glowing amber flame in the night before you shut out the world for good for the moment.

August pulled you close and whispered in your ear, “I’ll open them again if you want, if you didn’t get enough of a taste of that. I’ll take that as far as you want to go. But you should know,... he’ll see.”

It both excited you and made you afraid. Afraid of the feelings you knew had been stirring for weeks now. And yet, you were here. In this room. With this man. As much as you thought about what might be, you also knew you wanted to experience what you could. So you’d never have to doubt or question, because you knew you’d be getting the best in the end. Could it really ever be that way? Could he ever feel the same?

“I’m good. Thank you. That’s really kind of you,” you blinked, bringing yourself back to this moment. To August. “Sir.”

“That might be the last time tonight I will be. Are you ready for that?”

“Yes, Sir” you answered, with no more doubt.

August took you in his arms and kissed you deep and hard, one time, before he turned you by your shoulders and gave you a firm slap on the ass. “Into the bedroom.” The ‘now” at your hesitation was punctuated with another sharp crack and you were wet, there was no doubt about it. 

The hotel suite was bathed in sheer red curtains, over the window, over the ornate gothic canopy bed, draped down the black walls. Tall black metal candelabras held glowing candles to light the room. Hooks and straps and rings attached to the walls in various spots held your attention for a brief moment. You hadn’t checked that box, and now you wondered why not. 

You could only see yourself trying a few new things at once.

These things tonight would be a vampire. And you’d already exposed yourself. Only one more to go, and the bondage wasn’t going to be it.

August turned you back towards him when you reached the foot of the bed, then proceeded to undress. You watched enthralled as he unbuttoned his jacket, the vest, his shirtsleeves, his shirt. You watched as it all came off, one piece at a time, designed to torture you, you were sure of it. He was fucking with you. Keeping you from seeing everything all at once.

You bit your lip, but all you wanted to say was ‘i’ve seen your dick already it’s been in my mouth please give it back.’

He finally did, ordering you to the bed on your hands and knees as he stepped his fully naked body toward you, halting at the foot of the bed to grab your head and stuff his cock right down your throat. Like he’d heard what you thought.

You moaned around him, squeezing your thighs together for friction as you gyrated your hips and bobbed your head back and forth along his length. It would take barely nothing, just the slightest touch, if he would just, yeah, just…

“Oh, you did come prepared, didn’t you?”

You moaned again when you felt his fingers slide over your ass and pause to rub against the handle of the largest teardrop plug you owned. It came in a set of three, black silicone with a shiny red crystal in each handle. Up until this week, you'd only ever used the smallest while alone, but decided you needed to be ready and so had worked your way up to the largest just last night. 

“Yes, Sir,” you pulled off and answered quickly, eager to get back to sucking his large member.

“What are you prepared for?” He wiggled the handle a little when he asked.

“For you to fuck my ass, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he slapped a cheek again, then smoothed his hand over the sting and down in the dip to find your aching pussy and just like you knew it would, his touch lit you on fire. He had the wherewithal to slide your thong to the side and angle two fingers so you could press back into them on your withdrawal from his dick and pull away from them, though he’d chase, on your approach. You fucked back into his hand like you were possessed and you came once more because you definitely were.

This man owned you. For tonight anyway. He could do whatever he wanted to you and you wouldn’t say no. No way in hell.

He pulled away and turned you to face the other direction, ass waving in the space directly in front of him as you imagined and wished and hoped he’d just fuck you, please very much. He chuckled and you blinked, imagining you’d seen him now standing at the nightstand, now right behind you again. You felt him pull your underwear all the way off. And you heard the crinkle of the wrapper and you felt him slide two fingers back inside you, felt him rub the pads of his fingers along your inner walls and you felt him find the right spot, the one that released more lubrication which he gladly gathered on his finger and smeared all over his sheathed cock before he pressed himself into you.

He fucked you for a bit before he spoke again.

“I’m going to give you what you want me to give you, and then you’re going to give me what you want to give me.” With a slap on your ass, he pulled out, grabbed your hips and flipped you to your back. You watched him discard the condom before he climbed on to the bed and stepped his knees between your legs, nudging you further up the bed so that he could lay his body on the mattress, his head on your thigh, peering at your puffy pussy.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” he murmured, dipping his head down to take a taste. His tongue trailed through your folds and as his lips closed you felt a hint of the scrape of his teeth against your delicate skin. He sucked at your clit for a moment before he drew back and looked up at you.

“You still want to feel this?” he asked, and you paused for one moment to consider, that yes, yes you absolutely still wanted to know what his bite would feel like. There was really no doubt in your mind. It’s what you came here for. And you knew you needed to answer him directly or it would all be over.

“Yes, Sir. Yes. Please. I want to feel it. I want to feel your bite.”

It was all he needed. In a flash he was at the crease in your thigh, just outside your cunt. You felt his mouth open, felt him drag his teeth back and forth before he finally settled on a spot to sink them. Your pussy pulsed around nothing but the brief rhythmic flow of your blood drawn into his mouth. 

You felt a rush of euphoria, a warmth like never before. A million stars lit up in your eyes and you could feel every molecule in your body and every one of them was in a state of bliss. You felt him take one more pull, a wave rushing across the shore of your imagination. When he stopped, it was almost as torturous as before he had begun. At least now you knew what that bliss could feel like.

It scared you a little. It felt like a drug you didn't want to mess around with. As good as it felt, you could imagine never wanting to let the feeling go. Begging for more. Offering up your body and soul to get one more taste, one more drifting orgasm.

Suddenly you were aware of the softest lick. The smallest peck of the lips. When you looked up at you, a stain of blood still remained on his lips and he saw you moan, saw you begin to writhe and strain up, even against the voice in your head that told you it was wrong, and it was all he could do to turn away. 

“Please August,” you begged, forgetting what role you were in.

“Princess, not for a million dollars. Not for ten million. There is literally nothing you could offer me that would make me break that rule.”

“What rule, August? What can’t you do for me?” you pleaded for an answer, pressing yourself up to your knees, unaware that the rush you were experiencing had nothing to do with the way you thought you felt about August in the moment, and everything to do with the essence he used to ease the pain of the skin break, numb the feeling of loss, and reseal the wound in the aftermath.

“I get the feeling you really didn’t read the T&C, darling. If you had you would know, in this room, this suite,” he emphasized, as if he’d had to make that clarification before, “I cannot feed you. Even if what you’ve scented is your own blood. It’s too dangerous for you to taste it. Full of my saliva. Mixed together, it’s too potent for you.”

You were distraught and he was … was he amused?

“But I’ve given you what you asked for. Are you still ready to give me what you want?” He waited a few moments, allowing you to come to grips with the reality of the situation. You had slipped over a line, though it didn’t sound like this was something he hadn’t experienced before. A naive young thing, determined to play out a school girl fantasy, relive the stories she made up about being ravished and taken by the Count, made to be his bride. 

With a small shake of your head, something cleared its way to the forefront of your mind. Of course he couldn’t feed you and of course you didn’t really want him to. It was a fantasy. That’s it. That’s all. You could only take this so far.

Once he saw you understood where the line was, August's chuckle was sinister. “You can still have something new. I’m more than happy to accommodate that request. As a matter of fact, I think that’s really the only reason you came here tonight, isn’t that right?”

Oh, he was good. That’s for sure. The way he was subtly shifting the priority of the night. Technically speaking, the only thing you’d really wanted was the bite. And he’d already given that to you. So if you were up for one more game…

“That’s right.”

He grabbed your chin and stared directly into your eyes. “That’s right, what?”

“That’s right, SIr.”

“Good girl. Lay back down. I’ll be right back.”

You wanted to kiss him goodbye as he let go of your face and appeared to float away from you. When he returned from the bathroom, his face was fresh and free of any temptation.

“Alright, princess. Hands and knees again, darling. Bring that ass right on over here,” he directed you back to the edge of the bed, ass once again in the air while you rested on your forearms. 

August took his time. Warmed you up with a few more light taps that grew to harsh stings that you couldn’t stop squirming for. And you squirmed again when he tugged and twisted and pulled on the handle, teasing the plug almost all the way out before pushing it back in and then repeating the exquisite torture. You couldn’t hold still until he’d finally pulled it all the way out and pressed two lubed fingers into your puckered hole, and it was only because you needed a moment. Needed to let the sensation settle. Needed to relax to let him in deeper. Let another finger in. It wasn’t long before you were fucking yourself back on his hand again. ‘Same but different’ was all your mind could cobble together.

“Please, Sir,” you managed to gasp out in a moment of clarity. If you never asked, would he have just kept you dangling like this all night? “Please fuck my ass.”

“There you go, princess. You’ve found your manners finally.” He pulled his fingers out and you heard the familiar tear of another wrapper. Felt more lube. And finally, finally had the tip of what you knew was his extremely large cock pressed against your entrance. 

It was easy to relax. He’d been prepping you for this for what felt like hours. It took nothing more than for you to release the deep breath you’d taken and he was past the now-less-tight ring and moving further inside you, slowly and with purpose. That purpose was to get you comfortable with the feeling, loosen you up further, and get you begging for more of him. Faster. Harder. Please, Sir. Please! More!

He obliged and it was not much longer before you felt the familiar coil tightening in a brand new way. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. You were breaking protocol and screaming his name instead of Sir, but as he came himself, he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Bonus Edit: Absolutely GORGEOUS headers made for me by my wonderful friend in fic @geralts-yenn:

Everything HC Taglist: (as always, let me know if you want on or off)

@sillyrabbit81 @mayloma @geralts-yenn @raccoon-eyed-rebel @fvckinghenrycavill @kebabgirl67 @beck07990 @itsrubberbisquit @sweetdreamsofgelato @liveoncoffeeandflowersss @alexakeyloveloki @marantha @aireraume @angelmather1 @lizzystuffsthings @enchantedbytomandhenry @omgkatinka @littlefreya @avengersfan25 @just-chirpin @thesaucynomad @valacirca @henryownsme @summersong69 @foxyjwls007 @peyton-warren @irishavengersassemble

Special tag: @kittenofdoomage (cause sometimes you love my stuff and this one's another monster fucker lol!)

Tags from Werewolf!walter (if you commented):

@ellethespaceunicorn @juliaorpll78 @martha-oi @cardierreh15 @cinnamoroll-things @caramariehurst @zombicupcake3 @openup-yourmind @shellyshellshell @nickfowlerrr @greensleeves888 @misshinson @thelastsock @princessaxoo @augustsprincess @justjulie1105 @minimin1993 if you asked and aren't here, Tumblr won’t let me tag you. Sorry!

[libraryofloveletters]

Daddy’s Biggest Fan

Lance Stroll x Fem!Reader

Warnings: surprise baby!, babygirl is the star of the show and the gem of the stroll family, grandpa Lawrence is besties with his granddaughter, mentions of labour and giving birth (nothing graphic!), the vettel family is the cutest, soft uncle mick, uncle estie and auntie elena, some cheesy comments from lance, auntie chloe and uncle scotty for the win! 

Word Count: 6,210

Author’s Note: prompted by this video and this photo :)) enjoy soft dad lance! // also y’all know I cannot write lance without some mention of Canada lmaoooo forgive me please 

--- 

Weekend of the Canadian Grand Prix, 2022. 

The hallways were empty considering it was nearly midnight. Lance’s bag hung off of his shoulder, hitting his back as he ran towards the desk. “Y/n l/n, where is she?” He asks, fingers drumming against the counter as he waits for the nurse to tell him. 

“Who are you?” She asks and he huffs a sigh. “Her boyfriend.” 

“Oh, yeah okay. Uh, one sec,” she checked the charts to her left, “room 209.” She tells him and with that he’s off again, scanning all the door numbers before he finds the room. 

He walks in quietly, silently hoping he hasn't missed it. “Did I miss it?” Lance asks.

He finds you still very much pregnant on the bed. “You didn’t,” you smiled, your hand stretched out for him. 

The Canadian Grand Prix was this weekend which meant Lance was home in Montreal so the baby picked the perfect time to make their appearance into the world. The fact that you two were expecting was a bit of a secret, no one except your families, the Vettels along with Esteban, Elena and Mick knew. 

Seb only found out because Lance went shopping with him to pick up a few things for his kids and Seb was curious as to why he was so interested in baby clothes all of a sudden. As for Esteban, Elena and Mick, the 3 drivers were close and Esteban is bad at keeping secrets so that was that. 

Sunday was rolling into Monday and your contractions were closer together. Your sister in law was asleep on the chair next to your bed, Lance didn’t wake her but your groans did. 

“When’d you get here?” She yawns, looking at her brother. 

“An hour ago. Can you get the doctor though? Her contractions are closer together now.” Lance asked his sister, you and Chloe share a glance before laughing. Chloe squeezes her brother’s shoulder, “yeah, I'll go.” 

It was a few moments before Chloe returned, your sister in law beside your boyfriend as the doctor checked how far along you were dilated. “Alright, you’re just about ready to push.” The doctor gets up, letting the sheet back down. “We’ll get you prepped, who’s staying?” 

“I am.” “He is.” Chloe and Lance answer at the same time. 

You smile at the Stroll siblings, Chloe comes over to kiss your forehead. “I’ll be waiting outside. You've got this,” she tells you, and you nod. “I’ll see you after.” 

Chloe gives her brother a hug before stepping out.  

The doctor and nurses come in, it’s an overwhelming scene to anyone on the outside but you were relaxed, surprisingly. 

The room door was shut, the drape up between your lower half and you with Lance standing by your side, holding your hand the whole time. Your boyfriend whispered sweet nothings to you, praising you on what a good job you were doing. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “Doing so good, baby. Just a few more pushes.” 

“Almost here,” Your doctor calls up to you, “few more.” She confirms your boyfriend’s theory.

Within the next few minutes, you had given birth. You looked a mess, hair matted to your forehead from sweat, your eyes teary and you were beyond exhausted and yet, he looked at you like you held the sun and the stars.

“So proud of you,” Lance whispers, pushing your hair away from your face as he kisses your forehead. The doctor was right next to you two, cleaning up the baby and doing her initial tests before wrapping the little baby in a white and pink blanket.

“Congratulations,” She smiles, placing the baby in Lance’s arms. “It’s a girl.” She tells you both, giving you a moment to coo over her.

The floodgates have broken, Lance’s face covered in tears as he sits by your bedside, resting the baby on your chest gently. This was probably the first time you’ve seen Lance cry this much, it’s quite sweet to see his daughter reduce him to a puddle to tears. His arm over the top of the pillow, the two of you looking at the baby you created.

Both of you crying, the little thing on your chest had her eyes shut. “She’s got your eyes,” Lance whispers, as if he would be disturbing the baby’s rest by being any louder.

“Her eyes are barely open.” You chuckled, looking over at your boyfriend. 

It was a little while with just the 3 of you. Lance already has a million and one pictures of his baby girl on the phone, changing the home screen from you to one of you and her. 

There’s a knock on the door, the nurse sticking her head in to let you know that you have visitors. Lance tells her to let them in, you were sitting on the bed, a baby wrapped up in a blanket being cradled to your chest with Lance sitting on the edge of the tiny hospital bed. 

Chloe held the first bag, a little stuffed lion and blanket in it and Scotty followed behind, some outfits for the baby in the bag. “When’d you get here?” you asked Scotty, the two of them coming over to see the newest addition to the Stroll family. 

“Chloe called me as soon as it was time for you to push.” He asks, watching as you hand the baby over to your sister in law. 

“You guys,” Chloe whispers, holding the baby like she was the most precious thing in the world. “She’s so beautiful.” 

Scotty and Chloe sat on the bench next to the window, the two of them cooing over their niece. 

“We didn’t tell you her name,” you look over at them, Lance snuggled in next to you on the bed. The older couple looks over, waiting for you to tell them. 

“Meet Elizabeth Chloe Stroll.” You tell them, glancing between Chloe and Lance. 

“Chloe?” The blonde asks, looking down at the baby in her arms. 

“Mhm hm, after the best auntie in the world,” you hold Lance's hand, the woman smiles. Scotty grins at his fiancé, you and Lance chuckling at her reaction.  

“Lizzie for short,” Lance says, a smile on his face. 

The two of you had wanted to name her with a name that started with L but you couldn't settle on any so you went with Elizabeth, Lizzie for short. Also because Lance wanted her to have L. Stroll like him. 

“She’s beautiful,” Chloe says once more, “like her mom.” 

“Wow, no credit for me?” Lance asks his sister, she shrugs. “Don’t worry, mate. I think you’re handsome.” Scotty says to his brother in law, earning a few laughs. 

--- 

The next few days had been a whirlwind of emotions. Lizzie was born on Tuesday just past midnight and you were released on the Thursday. Lance refused to leave you two, telling the team that he’d be missing media day and decided to opt out of practice on Friday as well. 

Perks of your dad owning the team you drive for I suppose. 

Lizzie was laying against her father’s chest, her little hand wrapped around his finger as he rubbed her back softly. You had gone to take a shower before Lance had to leave but the man was still on the couch, dressed for the track but he’s yet to move from his spot. 

“Lance.” You called, your hands on your hips. “C’mon, you can’t miss qualifying.” 

“Do I really have to go?” There’s a pout playing on his lips when you come over to take Lizzie from him. 

You’ve got the little girl in your arms when you stand between his legs. “Yes, you have to go.” 

Lance gets up, a pout on his face and you reach up to give him a kiss. You can feel his hand over yours, the one resting under Lizzie, holding her up in her little roots onesie. 

“Go on,” you nudge him towards the door. Lance begrudgingly makes his way to the door, picking up his keys and his phone before turning back to face his girls once more.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” 

“One hundred percent,” you smile at your boyfriend. You’ve got Lizzie tucked into your chest, an arm under her as your other hand rests on your boyfriend’s jaw. “We love you, now go.” 

“I love you,” he smiles before giving you a kiss. Lance leans down a bit more, kissing Lizzie’s head, “I love you the most.” 

You smiled at the man and his daughter, rushing him out the door before he missed the session. 

Lizzie was but a few days old, much too little for you to be taking her to a race. You’re certain there were rumours floating around that you and Lance had split after you not being there for a few months. Once you hit your 5th month of pregnancy, it was hard to find the bump under clothes and your doctor suggested staying in one place or only go to races that are much shorter flights. 

It was killing you to miss his home race this weekend but there was nothing you wouldn’t do for this little girl. 

You two sort of lay around for a bit. You take a million and one photos of her; new parents and not wanting to miss a moment. You had the tv on, watching as the sky sports crew made their way through the paddock, asking around while they set up for qualifying. 

Lizzie stretches in your arms and you decide to change her into the little outfit her grandfather had gifted her. 

The day after you two told Lawrence you were expecting, you received a basket of baby things; onesies, hats, shirts, little jackets and hoodies, a blanket and even a little car stuffie all in Aston Martin green with the little logo on it. 

The little girl was now in a onesie, the Aston logo across her tummy and the back had a number 18 on it. 

You put her to lay on the couch so you can take a photo of her. You send that on to Lawrence with a message attached; future aston driver ? 

Your father in law replied with a yes and a million emojis that he’s newly discovered and had come to love. 

“Your grandad is so cheesy,” you tell her quietly, picking her back up. You held her in your arm carefully, watching as they were doing last minute checks before the cars would be pulling out for quali. 

The two of you take a selfie, both you and Lizzie have on Aston Martin shirts with the matching 18 on the back. 

To Lance: good luck!! <3 *1 Image Attachment* 

From Lance: miss my biggest fan. 

To Lance: awh you miss me? how sweet. 

From Lance: you’re funny, you got booted. Lizzie is daddy’s biggest fan. 

To Lance: it’s not cute when you refer to yourself as daddy. 

From Lance: you love it mommy. 

To Lance: you’re sooooo gross. go race, we love you. 

Setting the phone down, you rocked the sleepy baby softly. The volume was low but the sound of the zooming cars and the rumbling engines lulled her back to sleep. 

You managed to stay awake through qualifying; Sebastian and Lance were starting one after another with the German in P17 and the Canadian in P18. 

Not the best but hopefully tomorrow will be better. 

Lizzie woke up at some point after qualifying. You changed her diaper, fed her, rocked her and sang to her until you two found your way back to the couch. It had been a repeat of the same thing for the last few days; sleep, eat, sing to her, take a million photos, change her and repeat. 

You tried to get a few minutes of sleep when she did which is what you were doing when your boyfriend walked into the apartment. The door shuts quietly, the man setting the keys down on the entry table softly before making his way over to his girls on the couch. 

Despite changing his clothes, you could still smell the burnt rubber and gasoline on his skin. “Hey,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss Lizzie’s head before sitting next to you. 

The girl in your arms and your head back against the couch cushions. Your eyes were shut but you open them when you feel him take her from you, giving you a break. 

“Weren’t you sleeping?” He asks, Lizzie’s little hand wrapping around his finger when he gently rubs over her hand. 

“Resting my eyes,” you hum, snuggling into his side. 

The man smiles, there’s nothing better than having his two girls with him. He rocks the girl in his arms back and forth ever so softly, calming her when she stirs. “Shh, go back to sleep angel. Daddy’s here.” 

You looked up from his shoulder at him, “what did I tell you about that daddy thing?” 

“I was talking to Lizzie, you freak.” He chuckles, kissing your head. 

---- 

Weekend of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, 2022. 

You and Lance have finally decided to take Elizabeth to her first Grand Prix. It only made sense to take her to Abu Dhabi, seeing that it was the final race of the season, and that you would get there early enough to give her time to acclimate to the environment.

Also, you had sweet talk Lance into thinking it was a good idea because you wanted to be there for Sebastian's final weekend.

Lawrence had been asking when he was going to see his granddaughter at a race and all the things just aligned, it made the most sense to go then rather than wait for the start of next season. 

Lizzie was now six months old, and she was starting to hit a few milestones. She can roll over and sit up on her own, starting to pull herself up and make efforts to crawl. She's starting to babble and make funny faces at you. She also is starting to recognize people and she loves when her auntie Chloe and uncle Scotty come over because Scotty spends 98% of the time making funny faces at her, and it causes the sweetest little giggles you’ve ever heard in your life. 

You had given her a shower, getting her dressed for the day and you were about to get dressed yourself, thinking you’d be leaving her with her dad but the man was knocked out in the arm chair, the baby bottle sat on his lap and dripping on his shirt. 

It was too funny to ignore so you set Lizzie in her playpen, taking a photo of Lance before posting it to your Instagram story. 

It’s the first post of him you've made since you suddenly vanished from the paddock. Of course you cover the baby bottle with a little heart emoji and tagged him before setting your phone down.

“Sweetheart,” you nudged him softly. Lance stirred a bit but didn’t open his eyes. You take the baby bottle off of his lap and sit on him. “Lance, c’mon.” 

The man finally opens his eyes, a scowl on his face. “Why’d you wake me?” He groans.

“You have dinner with the guys tonight.” 

“Noooo,” he whines, his arms wrapped around you. “Let me stay.” 

“I’ll give you Lizzie and have her drool on you if you don’t get up.” You give him a look and his brows raise, “you wouldn’t.” 

You get off his lap, going to get the girl out of her playpen. “Fine!” He shouts, grabbing you by the waist when he rushes over you, his arms around you once again as he hugs you from behind. Lance's chin rests on your shoulder, “I love her but she drools soooo much.” He sighs, earning a laugh from you. 

“Go change,” you wiggle him off of you. Lance nods, leaving you two to go change for dinner. 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” He yells from the bedroom and you roll your eyes; you know he means well but sometimes you swear he forgets it’s just the two of you when he was away racing. 

“Chloe is coming over, we’re gonna catch up on our gossip.” You tell him, picking up Lizzie and swinging her around. The little girl giggled, her big brown eyes wide and her gummy smile on display. 

Lance comes out of the room, “and what do we plan to do with little missy when you two are catching up on your gossip?” 

There’s a knock on the hotel door and you walk over to open it, Chloe and Scotty arriving together. Lizzie babbles when her uncle reaches for her, smothering her cheeks with kisses when you hand her over. 

“Voila!” You show your boyfriend, his sister and her fiancé enamoured with their niece. 

Lance shook his head, “you’re something else, babe.” 

“It's called delegating, Lance.” 

“Whatever,” the man nods, giving you a thumbs up with a look of fake disappointment. He gives you a kiss goodbye before saying hello to his sister and Scotty. He takes Lizzie from Scotty for a minute to say goodnight to her, knowing she'd be sleeping by the time he got back from dinner. 

“I love you, sugarplum.” He whispers to his daughter, “sleep well.” He kissed her temple gently before handing her back over to her uncle. 

----

The final qualifying of the season and you two had just returned to the paddock after almost an entire year of you not being there. 

This time with a special guest. 

Lizzie was in her dad’s arms, pulling on his sunglasses every other second as he walked through the paddock. 

The little girl looked out into the swarming photographers then back to her dad who was whispering something to her. His other hand was holding yours, the obvious fact was that this was why you had vanished from the paddock. 

You make it to the garage and while you two settle in, Lizzie is going from hand to hand, basking in all the attention she was getting; she gets that from you, her father wasn’t the most sociable with people he didn’t know, while you were a social butterfly. 

Lizzie’s got a pair of clunky green headphones over her ears, protecting her little ears from the loud noises. She was currently on Seb’s side of the garage, Britta holding the little girl as Seb showed her something he had in his hands. 

“I think Hanna’s gotta prepare herself for the ‘I think we should have one more’ talk,” you joked with Lance, nodding towards Seb who was clearly enthralled by the little girl. 

Lance laughed, “Seb just loves kids, babe. He’s been asking me to bring her around.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” You smacked his arm lightly, “I would have brought her.” 

“Sometimes I think you like Sebastian more than you like me,” he gives you a pointed look and you smile, “I do.” You walked off to get Lizzie before the session started.

“Hey,” you wiggled your fingers at the girl, getting her attention.  Seb turns to see you, pulling you into a side hug, his arm over your shoulders. “She’s so cute, y/n.” He tells you, Britta had bent down so Seb’s daughters could talk to her. 

“Thank you, Seb.” You smiled, “I think she looks like her dad.” 

“No way, she's your carbon copy. She just has his eyes.” He says, “that’s why she’s cute, if she looked like him... well..” 

“Sebastian!” You laughed, taking Lizzie back from Britta. 

The German laughs, “I'm kidding. Hanna’s upstairs and that’s where you two are going, right?” He looks over at his daughters, the little blonde girls nod and hug their father before turning to you. 

“Can we play with her later?” The oldest asks and you nod, “of course. I’ll bring her upstairs in a few minutes.” 

The girls ran down the hallway hand in hand, back upstairs to their mother and little brother. 

“Good luck,” you tell Seb, “say good luck to uncle Seb,” you tell Lizzie, lifting her chubby hand to wave to the man before returning to Lance’s side of the garage. 

Lance takes the girl from you the moment you walk back over, sneaking in as many cuddles he can before he was needed in the car. You took a few photos of the two; Lizzie’s little green dress matches the colour of her father’s race suit and her chunky hands rested on her daddy’s cheeks, smacking his face softly as he pretended to bite her chubby cheeks. 

One of his engineers gives him the signal, time for him to get in the car. “I love you sugarplum,” he whispers to the girl, handing her back over to you. 

The moment Elizabeth is back in your arms, she starts crying. It was safe to say she was a daddy’s girl through and through, she had that man wrapped around her finger; Lance had a pout on his face like you had ripped his heart out and stomped on it the moment she started crying. 

“Don’t,” you warn him, your hand on his cheek when you kiss him. 

Neither of you seemed to notice the cameras flashing or the fact that they had gotten the whole sweet moment before Lance and his girls in camera. 

“Go before she wants you again.” You tell him, shooing him off while Elizabeth was looking over your shoulder, away from her father. He blows his girls a kiss once more, walking off to get his helmet and get in the car. You bounce Lizzie in your arms until the car pulls out of the garage and then you head upstairs to find Hanna and the kids. 

-- 

Quali had finished faster than expected but neither you nor Hanna were really paying attention; the woman was letting you in on the secrets of motherhood while the children played. 

The little boy was laying on his mum’s lap, his eyes shut and his blonde curls all over the place. You were sitting on the floor, Elizabeth on your lap while the girls showed her their toys, putting on a show for her. Lizzie had no idea what they were on about but the expressions on their faces along with the colourful toys captured her attention enough to get her to babble along, swinging her hands happily.  

Sebastian and Lance found their way upstairs to see their kids before having to go off to press. 

If you had asked Sebastian if he thought both he and Lance would be going up to see their children by the time he retired when he first started at Aston, the man would have laughed in your face. 

But it’s funny how life works and children change you for the better. Sebastian told his teammate as much. 

Lance find his way to sit behind you and you lean back on his legs. Sebastian is next to Hanna, sinking into the couch when he lets out a big breath. 

“How’d we do, boys?” You asked and Seb shrugs. “Could be better.” 

“Says the man in P9,” Lance laughed, his hands coming down to rest on your shoulders. “And you?” You leaned back, your head on his knee as you looked up at him. 

“P14.” 

“Tomorrow will be better.” Your hand comes up to rest on his, giving it a soft squeeze. 

“Ah young love,” Seb sighs, nudging Hanna. “Remember when we were like that?” 

“You’re still like that, Sebastian.” The woman gives him an exasperated look, earning a few laughs. 

Elizabeth was looking around now, instantly wiggling from your grasp and trying to turn when she heard Lance’s voice. You lean to the side, letting Lance hunch over and pick her up. She’s standing on his lap, hands on his face to keep her balance as she looks around. She sees Sebastian to her left who was making faces at her. 

The little girl babbles, her father’s hands being the only thing keeping her up when she reaches for Sebastian. Lance hands her over to Seb, Elizabeth sitting comfortably on his lap when you lean back to take a photo of her, Seb and Hanna. 

“Can’t believe both of my girls prefer Sebastian over me.” Lance grumbles, making you laugh. 

“He has 4 championships, how many do you have?” You asked your boyfriend, the man rolling his eyes at your comment. 

Sebastian looks down at the little girl, her hands tugging on the bracelet on his wrist. “Remember when the kids were this little?” He asked his wife and she smiled. 

“You could always have one more,” Lance suggests to the older couple. 

“No.” Hanna says, while Seb had a whole other answer; “yes.” 

You and Lance exchange a look, laughing at them. 

“Feel free to babysit Liz anytime you want another kid, she’ll change your mind.” You tell them and Seb shakes his head, lifting the girl when he looks up at her. 

“Mum says you’re naughty,” he gives her a look and she giggles. “Yeah, you’re not bad, you're a good girl.” He smiles at her, “I know you are, sweetheart.” He sets her back on his lap, facing him. 

At some point, Britta comes looking for Seb, both of the drivers having to up and leave for press. There’s lots of smooches, the kids wanting their fathers to stay and promises of sweets upon return. 

----

P8 for Lance and P10 for Sebastian. 

The Astons finishing off the season in the points and almost beating Alfa Romeo for 6th in the constructors was a good position to be in. 

You had joined the mechanics on the pit wall for the final lap, watching the cars cross the finish line. Lizzie was a few feet away, her chunky green headphones over her ears as her grandfather held her. 

Sebastian was currently doing his final donuts of his F1 career and you could see Hanna and the kids to your left, watching with the proudest looks on their faces. You smiled at them, a hand on your back pulling your attention away from the family. 

Lance stood beside you, his arm over your shoulders and his race suit rolled down to his waist. “Back so soon?” You asked, assuming he would have still been in parc fermé and yet he was here. “Wanted to see my girls.” He smiled, letting you lean in to kiss him. 

“I’m so proud of you,” you whispered against his lips and he kissed you once more. 

“Where’s sugar plum?” He looked around when he realized you didn't have her. 

You nod towards the pit wall; Elizabeth was banging on all the buttons on the table, Lawrence laughing as he watched the little girl. 

The chaos on the track died down, everyone returning to their respective garages or off to watch the podium. The paddock was still packed; fans, crew, drivers, families, celebrities despite the fact that it was nearly 10pm. 

The two drivers were in the garage, the Vettel children running circles around their grandparents as Seb and Hanna made the rounds, Sebastian getting into a conversation with everyone he stopped to talk too. You and Lance were soaking in the last few moments of the season on track. Elizabeth was with her granddad, the little girl being carried around the paddock as he said his goodbyes and small talk with the other team principals. 

“Can I get a picture?” The photographer asks when he sees Sebastian and Hanna with you two. 

The 4 of you manage to find yourselves together after the few drinks you’ve had, all adorning dopey, happy grins on your faces.

It was a bittersweet moment; the start of a new adventure for both drivers.

Sebastian navigates retired life while Lance figures out how to be a father - something he knows he’ll be turning to Seb for when he’s at a loss. 

You two say your goodbyes to Sebastian, Hanna and the kids, as well as Seb’s parents and his brother. Lawrence catches the Vettels on the way out, letting Lizzie say bye to her new friends before they head out for the night. 

“Can I have my baby back?” Lance asked his father and the older man shook his head, “no. She’s my granddaughter.” 

“But she’s my daughter.” He bickered with his father. 

You let them bicker, quietly taking Lizzie from Lawrence without either of them noticing. When they finally stop fighting and notice you’re holding the girl, you smile. “You forget she’s still my girl before either of yours.” 

Lance packs up the rest of his things shortly after saying goodbye to everyone else in the garage. You three were on your way out when you got stopped by Elena shouting for you. 

“Y/N!” She starts running to you three. 

“ELENA!” you shout back, rushing over to give the woman a hug. Lizzie was squished between you two, Elena taking her from you. “Mon amour,” she fixed the bow on the little girl’s dress, “you’ve gotten so big.” She kisses her cheek. 

Esteban and Mick weren’t far behind. The Frenchman coos over the little girl with his girlfriend and Mick joins in. 

The 3 of them had come to meet Elizabeth post Canadian Grand Prix along with Sebastian. The 4 of them and Hanna, were the only ones aside from your families that knew you two had a baby hence her instant connection when she saw them again. 

Once again, Elizabeth is the star of the show. Esteban is forced to take a million pictures of her and Elena. One thing with Lizzie was that she loved the attention, she always found the camera in the room. Mick was passed the phone next, taking one of Esteban with the girls. You and Lance joined the couple, all of you smiling for the camera. Elizabeth was getting fussy so you took her back but she started wiggling, her little arms stretched out for her uncle Mick. 

Mick was holding the girl now and you asked one of the Alfa Romeo crew members passing by to take the photo for the 6 of you. 

You smiled, watching as Mick spun around with the girl in his arms. He was telling her something, tickling her side as he did. 

“We’re headed to the club, you guys want to come?” Elena asks, her fingers interlocking with her boyfriend’s. 

“Uhh,” Lance looked at you and you shrugged. “We’d have to get someone to watch Liz first.” He tells his friends. 

Esteban nods, “the joys of being parents.” He jokes. 

“Well, I'll text you where we end up, text me if you’re coming!” Elena tells you, saying goodbye as they head out. Mick joined them once he passed Elizabeth back to Lance, giving the girl a kiss on the cheek before leaving.

“Do you want to go?” He asks you, the three of you heading out. “It’d be nice but who’s gonna look after Lizzie?” You looked over at him and he paused, literally stopped in the middle of the parking lot. 

“I know exactly who.” 

It’s a short walk back to the hotel, you two pack up whatever you think Elizabeth would need for the night, putting her in the stroller before heading back to the elevator. Lance hit the button for the 16th floor and you know exactly what he’s thinking. Once you got off, you followed the man to the door. 

He knocks and Chloe opens the door. “Hey,” she smiles, leaning on the door frame. “Everything okay?” 

“I was wondering..” Lance starts. “Since you’re my favourite sister and all-” “Your only sister but go on,” she folds her arms, waving him on. 

“Can you watch sugar plum tonight? I know you two don’t have plans and we wanted to go out.” 

Chloe gives her brother an obviously look but she nods, “of course we’ll watch her. Do you have her stuff?” 

“Everything’s in her baby bag, thank you guys.” You tell her when Lance pushes the stroller into the suite. “No need to thank me, I know you two needed a night to relax. Go have your fun, we’ll see you in the morning.” She gives you a shove out of the room. 

“You’re sure you’ll be okay ?” Lance asked his sister and she smacks his shoulder, “duh, I used to look after you. We’ll be fine, I'll call if anything but I won’t need to, so go.” 

The two of you were a little hesitant to leave Elizabeth without either of you  for the night, seeing that it was the first time that you've actually done that but you knew she’d be in good hands with her auntie Chloe and uncle Scotty. 

You two ended up meeting Elena, Esteban and Mick at the club and had the time of your lives; dancing, doing shots, singing along to the horribly loud music that was playing.

It was the type of night that you wanted to remember forever that won’t be fully remembered. The best kind of night. 

It was nearly 8am when you found yourselves back in the elevator and on your way to get your daughter. Lance wanted to go back to the hotel room and sleep off the hangover he knew was incoming but you at least wanted to see Elizabeth first.

You knocked on the door quietly, Scotty opened it with a wide awake Lizzie in his arms. 

“You two look like hell,” he laughed, bouncing the girl in his arms. “Sorry we’re late,” you tell him, smiling at the girl who was still sleepy and drooling all over his shirt. 

He steps aside. “It’s okay, c’mon in.”

Chloe was knocked out on the couch, the baby bottle in her hand. “Lizzie put her to sleep?” You chuckled and Scotty nodded. “It’s hard work but it's worth it, isn’t it?” 

“So worth it.” You smiled. 

Lance has found himself to the spot next to his sister, dropping down and his eyes already shut. 

“You should stay for breakfast.” He says, sitting on the couch across from the one Lance and Chloe were on. “I doubt we’ll be having breakfast anytime soon,” You nod towards the sleeping siblings. 

“That's okay,” he smiles, “you should get some rest too. I can watch her.” 

“Are you sure? You guys had her all night.” 

Scotty waves you off, nodding towards the bedroom. “She slept through the night like a champ, woke up like 30 minutes ago. Go get some rest.” He sends you off. 

It was maybe 3 or 4 hours later when you felt the little hands on your side. Lance in bed with you and Lizzie between you two. “Hi sugar,” you picked her up, kissing her temple. 

“Sleep well?” Your boyfriend asks and you nod, “good enough.” 

“We ordered lunch, should be here by time Chloe gets out of the shower.” He rubs your leg, “she left some clothes for you.” He nods towards the t-shirt and pants at the end of the bed. 

After a few minutes, you got out of bed and changed, making sure to wash your face and brush your teeth before joining Lance, Elizabeth and Scotty in the living room. Chloe joined a few minutes after you just in time for lunch to arrive. 

All of you settled in around the table and started having breakfast, chatting away and you took a moment to make a post on Instagram for the first time in a long time. 

It’s a couple photos from the last few days in Abu Dhabi. 

The first one from race day, you and Lance leaning on his car with Lizzie peeking out from under the halo of the car while she sat in his seat. 

The next one is Chloe, Scotty and Lizzie. The three of them laying on the floor from the night they came over while Lance was at Seb’s retirement dinner. 

The next 3 are from post race before you went out; one of Elena, Esteban and Elizabeth, one of Mick and Elizabeth and finally one with all 6 of you in front of the Aston Martin garage. 

Lawrence had sent you a photo of Lizzie and him sitting on the pit wall that one of the engineers took, her big chunky headphones being tugged on while her granddad tried to fix them. 

The last group photo was on you, Lance, Seb and Hanna in the Aston garage before you all headed out for the night; arms wrapped around each other and big goofy grins on your faces. 

There were the final two pictures; One of you and Lizzie, she’s on your lap while you do your makeup and one of her and Lance in the pool, he’s holding her while they’re laughing at each other. 

The set was captioned with a perfect end to the season <3. 

You set the phone down, looking back at the people sitting around the table. Your boyfriend, your daughter, your sister in law and your brother in law.

The little unit made some of the best memories and had some of the most important people in your life there. 

It truly was the perfect end to the season. 

----- 

taglist: @timetoracewrites @diorleclerc @lickmeleclerc @dragon-of-winterfell @benedictscanvas @elisaa-shelby @hnmaga-blog @czechoslovakiandisco @dr3lover @troybolton14 @Lovingroscoee @compulsiveshit @somanyfandomsbruh  @damnyoulifee @barzysreputation @vickyofalltrades @yeolsbubbles @barzysreputation @thybulleric @valkyrie418 @ricsaigaslec @idkiwantchocolatee  @sessgjarg @molliemoo3 @bisexual-desi @sunf1owerrq @alwaysclassyeagle @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ + @lovelytsunoda​ because i know i love lance <3

[lbxbx]

Cockpit 8 | knj

Pair: Namjoon x reader

Summary: Namjoon goes through a rough time while getting a divorce, meeting you at the club two weeks in a row when attraction becomes unreal.

Rating: +18 mature content, Smut, divorce, fatherhood, mentions of panic attacks and anxiety attacks

taglist: @wecanpretendit | @whoisbts | @yoonjinsrkive | @my-current-mood-is | @joonzseoulmate | @parkinglot-nights | @missbangtangirl | @m00njinnie

a/n: to say i struggled with this part is an understatement, i had the hardest time ever writing it and i can't say i'm convinced with it, but i promise it's a key to many events coming up, ps. i may or may not post next week because i'm renovating my bedroom wish me luck yall i love you and i'm sorry &lt;3 pss. the valentine oneshot of cockpit will be posted on friday ^^

Previous | Next

Namjoon is getting ready for your so called date, nothing too casual, a pair of jeans and a button up t-shirt, he’s showering himself in his cologne that he knows you enjoy the scent of, before collecting his phone, keys  and wallet to head outside his room.

He takes a quick scan around the house, it’s weirdly quiet, Jay usually eats his dinner by this time but he’s not. The lights are slightly dimmed and the only thing that’s lighting up the house is the sun setting outside, the house even smells… scented? He’s not sure, something is suspicious.

Of course he’s not going to ask where she is, as long as Jay is taken care of, he can leave. So he walks towards the shoe closet to grab out his pair of converse only to see his wife standing in the end of the aisle, she’s in a short silk robe that he’s not sure he’s  seen before, her hand is leaned against the door frame and the other one on her hips. “Are you going somewhere?”

As if she’s forbidden for him to see, he quickly turns his face away and cringes on the inside a little, he used to think she was.. okay to look at? But not anymore, since you showed up, it’s only you he sees in his dreams. “Yes.” He solidly answers, of course not telling her where.

He slightly panics when she walks towards him slowly and runs her hand on his back, her touch totally half assed since she cannot and will not stand the man, but she’s trying to save her family from being doomed. “Are you going out with your friends?”

Namjoon’s brain functions for a quick second, and then realizes, she must know about the divorce, and that’s why she’s acting weird all of a sudden, he never saw her wearing anything like this, even her voice tone was never this quiet, she always spoke with a tone full of spite and utter hate.

He takes a  step away from her hand, it felt weird and so out of place.

He puts on his shoes and starts unlocking the door, she walks closer to him and his fingers start working faster on the door. She tip toes and prints a kiss on his cheek that makes him nearly vomit, he pushes her with one hand and shakes his head. “No, it’s over.”

She feigns innocence and pouts, the crosses her arms on her chest. “Of course it’s not over Namjoon, I’ll be waiting for you tonight, please come back home.”

As if there’s no more oxygen in the room, Namjoon feels suffocated and his chest feels heavy, the door is finally unlocked and he leaves the apartment, slamming the door behind him, he rushes to his car and gets inside.

His chest rises dramatically with every breath he’s trying to take, his chest burns and he even feels his heart fluttering, his fingers feel numb and he feels sweaty, it’s been so long since he’s had a panic attack this strong.

He never saw a doctor about it but he knows it’s a panic attack.

He unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt and leans his head back into his seat, his fingers are shaking when he clicks the air conditioning on.

He tries so hard to regulate his breaths or even sort out his thoughts so he could calm down.

His head immediately rushes to the first thought, that he cannot forget everything she made him or his son go through, he never felt loved and wanted by her, and he cannot deny that she turned his life into a nightmare. She made him give up on so many dreams and she rejected everything he offered her and always let him down, he can never forgive her and he knows that nothing will ever be the same.

He takes a long breath and he squeezes his hand into a fist repeatedly to try and get the blood flowing to his numb fingers before his head rushes to the second thought.

Namjoon has  always been passionate about his life and goals, he was so thrilled to see what his future looked like, but not anymore, he’s nothing like the young Namjoon, she made him age way earlier than he should’ve, and he’s hurt deeply, and he knows that no matter what she does, she can’t repair the damage the already made.

His rapid breaths calm down as he finally puts out the last thought that makes his anxiety wash away in seconds. It’s when he thinks about you, and the world suddenly feels like a better place.

You simply were able to heal his inner wounds, when he’s around you he feels like the young and youthful Namjoon  that he misses so much, he’s suddenly passionate about his life and job, he’s performing better on every aspect of his life ever since he met you. He finally feels like there’s a purpose of his existence, you made him feel desired and wanted.

His fingers move to turn off the air conditioning as he finally feels air in his lungs, his heartbeat calms down and he can feel his fingers again, he turns on his car and steps on the gas pedal, wanting to see you more than ever.

-

You’re  a little surprised when he pulls you into a tight hug when you opened the door for him, his arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you closer against his body and even carrying you up a  little, you hug back softly and rub his back, “Are you okay?”

He prints a few soft kisses on your shoulder before he puts you down and leans his forehead against yours. “I’m a whole lot better now.” A smile creeping on his face as he pecks your cheek.

You can’t help but mirror his smile, you press a soft kiss onto his jaw and inhale his cologne, “Come on in.”

He makes his way inside your place and puts his phone down. “You look absolutely stunning.” His eyes never left your figure as you bend to the mini fridge to grab him a bottle of water.

You took the effort to put on the lightest makeup ever, you wore a dark slim fit dress that you weren’t really sure of, it was an old dress hanging at the back of your closet that you were going to throw away once but then you decided to hoard it, so you finally put it on even when you don’t like the dress that much. “Thank you, do you think the dress is okay?”

He sits onto the couch and leans his arm on the back of it, shrugging one shoulder. “Of course.”

You scrunch your nose and turn your back to him. “I don’t like my ass in it.” Which  makes him smirk and tilt his head, taking a few seconds to think. “If anything, I think it highlights your lovely ass, that’s all.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course  you would say that” You head towards your bedroom to grab your purse and phone, taking one last look at the mirror to check out the dress, you like it a little better now.

-

Your tour took place on the outskirts, a private minibus picked you two up from your place since there’s going to be drinking involved, so no one was allowed to drive there from the guests.

The entire way there Namjoon’s hands were never laid off of you, on your way there his hands stayed put on your inner thigh and your hand was on top of his, small strokes on your skin already drove you crazy and the night is still young, you could feel your body reacting upon his touches, and you’re not even complaining.

When you got to the farm, the tour guide showcased so many things that you never knew before that you found quite interesting, and still Namjoon’s hands were never off of you, if his hand wasn’t on your lower back or locked with yours, he’d be picking up grapes and feeding you them, and who are you to judge? You loved the attention, and he loved giving it to you too.

You got into the wine cellar and they showed you the aged wine from long ago and you finally got into wine tasting, a glass after a glass, you started getting tipsy and your cheeks are now flushing red as the alcohol is starting to affect your body, Namjoon could tolerate his drinks well so he wasn’t even near as tipsy as you were.

“Mm.”  You take a sip of your wine glass and tilt your head, focusing on the taste of the wine. “I kind of like the taste of this one better, here, try.” You offer him to take a sip from your glass with it still being in your hands, you press it against his lips and lift it up a little so he could taste the wine, your eyes fixated on his plump lips on the rim of your  glass, and you’re not sure if it’s the wine or not, but you would kill to feel his mouth on yours.

“Mmm.” He hums as the drink sits on his tongue, he nods. “It’s a little too sweet for my liking.”

“Oh yeah?” You whisper as your eyes are piercing towards his lips, your wild thoughts cramming inside your head as you lightly press your body against his, totally ignoring the fact that you’re surrounded by a bunch of people. He wraps his arms around your hips and smirks. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?” You innocently look up into his eyes, batting your eyelashes while you’re licking your bottom lip. “Stop looking at me like that.” His eyes now fall onto your lips, he secretly wishes they’re wrapped around his dick while you’re choking on him.

The two of you were enjoying your evening, it was a new experience for you and you’re glad you got to have it with Namjoon out of all people. He’s having the time of his life too, he’s been wanting  to go on this tour for a few days but now he kind of wants it to end so he can take you home and be alone with you.

However the group you joined had approximately 14 people mostly couples. One of them never took his eyes off of you two, focusing a little on you and wondering if you’re Namjoon’s sister or not.

He’s related to Namjoon’s wife, and he has no idea that they were going through a divorce.

He’s even taking a few steps closer to try and catch your features, but you look nothing like Namjoon’s sister at all, he wanted to convince himself that you could probably be a coworker but you two are now hugging and clearly flirting with each other, so you can’t be.

He takes his phone out and subtly opens his camera, before he tries to snap a picture, his camera flash exposes him which makes him quickly cover it with his hand and put it down, everyone paid attention so they all look at him as the tour guide reminds everyone, that it’s not allowed to take pictures inside the cellar.

He earned a few looks from you and Namjoon, but you shrugged it off, and Namjoon doesn’t even recognize the man, he’s one of his wife’s second cousins so of course he won’t identify him.

You two were so lucky, because if anything, this could affect Namjoon’s divorce negatively..

“Can we go home?” You scratch the back of his head with your nails, he bites on his bottom lip and closes his eyes a little. “I’m not sure I can wait for us to get there.” He whispers.

The tour guide starts talking again, blabbering things that you honestly don’t care about anymore. Your panties are sticking onto your throbbing wet cunt, and your thighs are killing you from all the rubbing that you thought would calm your heat down.

You turn to face the guide, and Namjoon wraps his arms around your hips from behind, you can feel his erection rubbing against your ass which makes you smirk and side eye him, but that only makes him pull you tighter against his clothed cock.

-

You kick off your sneakers once you get inside your apartment, Namjoon walks behind you and locks the door after him. “Finally.” You rush to unzip your dress, at least now you’re positive that this dress can’t go back to your closet. It’s extremely tight and you were barely able to breathe.

Namjoon is watching  attentively when you unhook your bra and slip it off while you’re still in dress, he’s a little surprised on how you were able to do that. You glance up at him, still standing near the door  with his eyes not blinking and his jaw slightly down. “I’m sorry, but that dress was killing me.” You throw your bra at him as you’re making your way to your bedroom and he follows you, your bra still in his hand as he’s admiring the little piece of fabric.

You fall onto your bed face down and hug onto your blanket, your tour was a little exhausting and the way there was a little far, and you hate going on long trips. “I’m so glad we’re home.”

“Are you tired?” He asks, his voice softer than ever, as he makes his way to lay next to you on the bed, leaning on one elbow as his other hand runs through your hair. “A little, yeah.” Your voice is muffled through the bed sheets.

Of course he can’t force you to do anything, and you’re a little tipsy, so he gets up on his feet and claps his hands once. “Come on, let’s go wash you up and get you ready for bed.”

You cuddle into the blanket and close your eyes. “Just help me with the dress, I already showered this morning.”

And he obediently slides the dress off of your shoulders and pulls it off of you before he helps you get comfortable in bed. “Thank you.” Your voice so sleepy and your eyelids feel heavy, you’re already falling asleep.

“Good night, beautiful.” He kisses the top of your head which you’re totally not aware of, he lays beside you again and you cuddle closer to him, your breath coming out of your nose hovering over his now bare chest.

-

It’s finally the weekend, and the weather outside is on fire, it was practically impossible to sit without air conditioning, and you could easily get dehydrated. It’s also impossible to cover your skin anymore.

It was the last heat wave this summer in Seoul, and it was the perfect time to finally go on  your swimming trip to Namjoon’s family beach house, you had planned to go Friday noon in one car, since the only flaw that this house had was the parking space, and the guys voted for your car, since it was the biggest out of all of them.

BMW SUV, and you love to brag about it in front of your friends, they all have luxurious cars but yours was the biggest and the most convenient for this kind of trips.

You wore a short yellow summer dress and put on a straw hat to shield your face from the sun, of course you wouldn’t be able to open your eyes without a pair of sunglasses, and you matched the whole outfit with a pair of sandals.

“Jimin brought someone with him.” Seokjin puts his phone back in his pocket. “We’re totally not going to fit in one car.”

“We’re not taking two cars.” Yoongi shrugs. “We need the parking space to play soccer later tonight.”

The guys were standing  right in front  of your apartment building, of course having their first debate of the day, that will soon lead into an argument, you’re positive.

“We can just cram on top of each other.” Namjoon suggest, the guys look at him totally intrigued by the idea, why did no one suggest that before?

Seokjin pauses for a  second before using his cap to fan his face. “But it’s for 3 hours. No one is cramming on top of me, I’m already melting.”

“You can’t just say that, that’s unfair.” You frown at seokjin. “We’ll get in the car, whoever we pick up last is going to cram on top of someone. And I personally think since this is my car, I myself cannot cram on top of anyone.”

You earn a glare from Seokjin and Yoongi, the only one who seems to agree is Namjoon, who adjusts the strap of your  dress that slipped on your shoulder. “I think so too, I think I should drive.”

You roll your eyes at him and nudge his chest. “That’s cheating too.” Namjoon pouts and wraps his arm around your shoulder. “Just let me drive, so the rest of you can sleep or drink or whatever.”

“No way in hell, I’m driving.” Seokjin already has your car remote in his hand. “I’m passing on the drinks anyway, so I’ll drive.”

“Let’s just get going.” Mia snaps as she holds the battery operated fan near her face. “If we’re going to argue we might as well cancel the whole thing.”

“Shotgun!” You and Yoongi yell at the same time, only he’s a split second ahead of you. “No!” You whine in frustration. Yoongi grunts in celebration before he walks towards the car.

Seokjin sits in the driver seat, and Yoongi next to him in the passenger seat, leaving you, Namjoon and Mia in the back seat. You’re sitting in the middle and leaning forward on the middle console while shuffling your playlist to start music and turning on the air conditioning on the highest setting.

“Doesn’t shutgun usually get to choose the music?” Yoongi teases you. You scoff and pinch his arm. “How many times do I have to remind you that I own this car.” And he rolls his eyes, totally regretting the moment he voted to take your car for this trip.

-

“Come on let us in.” Jimin whines, you’re already crammed in the back seats when Jungkook joined, Yoongi ended up switching to the back seat so Mia can cram onto his lap, and there’s no way Jimin is going to fit in unless you sit in Namjoon’s lap.

You look over at Namjoon who has his arm around you, he nods immediately and grabs your hand to help you sit on his legs. “Can you at least push your seat forward?” You huff at Seokjin. “I can’t spread my legs if I do.” He whines, but he ends up pushing his seat forward.

Jimin finally gets into the car and Luna, the girl he brought with him sits onto his legs. “We still have to pick up Taehyung and Hobi. They can cram in the rear seats too.” Jungkook starts a song.

“You wanna go to the rear seats?” Namjoon whispers and brushes your hair behind your ear, you realize you’re really close to him when you turn to look at him, your noses nudge against each other. “I wouldn’t mind.” You shrug, his hand slowly creeps onto your inner thigh, rubbing circles on your skin with his warm fingers, moving up underneath your dress. You giggle and nod. “I want the rear seats now.”

“We’ll take the rear seats.” Namjoon speaks clear enough for the rest to hear, his eyes staring into yours. “You’re going to have sex in the back seat aren’t you?” Jungkook turned to look at you, you look back at the youngest and spit back sarcastically. “How did you know? This is my car and—“

“We’re never taking your car again.” Yoongi snaps at you. “I bet you two already had sex here and we’re just sitting on dried cum aren’t we?”

“Yeah how’d you know.” You tease Yoongi. “Hey, stop the car we’re switching to the back seat.”  You nudge Seokjin’s shoulder, he stops the car, you and Namjoon climb into the back seats, way more spacious and a little darker than the seats before since you have your windows tinted.

Seokjin finally steps on the gas pedal and drives to pick up the rest of the guys, music loud enough and everyone singing along, but the two of you in the rear seats are totally unaware of what’s going on around you.

You’re on his lap straddling him, his head in your hands and your  lips are locked into each other, his tongue roaming inside your mouth and even humming into the kiss, nothing too harsh, just a soft make out session that even when your body is already heated up, his lips heat you up even more, his hands sit on your thighs and run up to your ass squeezing it subtly making you giggle and pull back. “Easy there big boy.”

His nose nudges yours as he laughs too. “I honestly wouldn’t mind giving them something to watch.” And you hit his chest lightly with a pout forming on your lips, his eyes quickly shifting there and he visibly clears his throat. “But I would, there are girls watching.”

“So?” He steals a quick kiss and pulls your hips closer to his, you feel every inch of his boner that’s covered in shorts.  “They will wish it was them getting fucked.” You trace your finger on his bottom lip before you lick it once.

“Then you can show them how lucky you are.” He holds eye contact which makes you clench around nothing, your body instantly pumping blood to your cunt and your breath hitches. “Oh fuck you.” You grit on your teeth, shaking your head left and right, your eyes moving down to his lips before you grab his face into one hand and pull him in a kiss, grazing your tongue against his and sucking on it, your other hand moving down his arm, squeezing gently on the muscle.

The car stops which makes you pull back from the kiss, their voices are loud again when Taehyung argues that he gets car sick from the rear seats, but he ends up getting scolded by Yoongi and takes the rear seats right next to Namjoon, and Jade gets up onto his lap.

“How did you let them put you in the rear seat?” Taehyung asks Namjoon as he shakes hands with him. “You’re supposed to help them get to your beach house, don’t you have to be shot gun?”

And Namjoon laughs before shaking his head. “I really don’t mind the rear seats, plus, it’s Y/N’s car and they put her in the rear seats too, so I won’t mind.”

Your eyes don’t get off of Namjoon as he gets into the topic of how his parents bought the house for their anniversary with Taehyung. And your mind just drifts off.

This man would’ve never forced himself to handle your annoying friends if he didn’t feel anything for you, but at the same time, he handled his wife for three years and gave up so much for her even when he didn’t love her.

You adjust your seat on his legs and turn to give him your back, finally facing the road, you lean your chin on the seat in front of you and take a deep breath. “Are we going to get Hobi?”

“Yeah.” Jimin answers you, running his fingers through his hair and adjusting the air conditioning towards him. “Did he tell you he’s bringing a plus one with him?” And you gasp. “He never mentioned that.”

And again, you’re glad you asked Namjoon to join you, well practically he’s taking you and your friends to his parents house.

Hoseok finally joins and the car can no longer fit an extra person, the air conditioning is on the highest setting and it’s barely enough, Seokjin could barely drive the uphill when there’s too many people and luggage crammed in the car.

It’s less than an hour drive outside Seoul when you finally get there and finally unload the car.

And you’re in shock when you see this beach house that looks like  it came out of a movie, surrounded by palm trees and bushes, a large court yard just for sports and even equipped with everything, footballs, basketballs, even volleyball rackets.

You walk further inside and open the door leading inside the actual house, marbled floor and a giant lounge with a karaoke machine and a large TV screen that’s settled in front of a set of recline couches, and when you take a few extra steps inside you see the giant kitchen island and the kitchen is also equipped with everything. And you secretly wonder on the inside, how rich are they?

Namjoon knew his  parents would do all his when he asked them earlier that week if he can borrow the keys and invite his friends over to the beach house, and of course they didn’t mind, and they were more than glad that he’s at least enjoying his time with his friends even when he’s going through a divorce.

Of course he never mentioned you or anything, it’s just him and his friends.

And his parents of course didn’t disappoint, they had everything prepared for Namjoon and his ‘friends’, the fridge is refilled with everything they might need, drinks, food, and snacks. The pool had pool rings and floaties already inflated and ready to be used, with towels and extra slippers right next to it.

“Namjoon, this place is incredible!” Mia shouts from outside, you jump in your place when Namjoon yells. “I call the master bedroom.” And as if he was the missing piece to your group of friends, they all monotonously start the loud arguments and fights on who gets to choose their room and who doesn’t.

He must feel really comfortable around your friends to be able to do that, you laugh on the inside.

-

You’re rubbing sunscreen on Jungkook’s shoulders and back while singing to the loud summer playlist they had blasting in the background, everyone settled in, some are tanning and the others are grabbing drinks, Namjoon earns a few looks from Hoseok’s plus one Hana when he reaches for the back of his tank top to yank it off, his tanned sculpted body giving everyone a pleasant show.

“I would kill to workout with your boyfriend.” Jungkook whispers to you, but Namjoon actually hears him and laughs, you deliver a subtle smack to the younger’s back and curse at him under your breath. “Shut up Kook.”

“Can I have her now please?” Namjoon walks closer and stands behind you, his hands sit on your hips and he kisses your covered shoulder softly. You chose to wear a one piece white bathing suit that highlighted your waistline with a white see through cover up on top.

“You’re good to go.” You close the bottle of sunscreen and return it back to Jungkook before he dives into the pool.

“You look incredible.” Namjoon whispers before he turns you to face him, you scrunch your face and scratch the back of your head. “Please ignore what he just said.”

He shrugs and stifles a grin. “I heard nothing.” And you roll your eyes. “So I’m your boyfriend now?”

You whine and hit chest before you pull back and take off your cover up, “I’m getting into the water, are you joining?” He nods and takes off his sunglasses. “You can go inside, I’ll join you in a second.”

He expects you to get into the pool slowly, but he’s a little shocked when he sees you actually running towards the water and diving in a cannonball near Seokjin to splash him on purpose. You’ve always enjoyed swimming, it was your favorite activity during the summer, so of course you weren’t going to waste the chance and dive in ordinarily.

The water is warm since the sun is directly hitting it, just the perfect temperature for you and you feel your body instantly cooling down, you float back to the top and run your fingers through your hair, “The water is incredible.”

Hoseok and Seokjin ended up getting into the water too and joining you and Jungkook, you were having the time of your life teasing them and spraying them in water, hell you even climbed on Jungkook’s back and started attacking the others with your water gun, your stomach starting to hurt you from all the laughing.

You turn your head towards Namjoon and you’re about to ask him, but he seems to be occupied having a chat with Hana, he’s moving his hands while speaking and it looks like a catchy topic, she’s standing way too close to him and her eyes are piercing all over his exposed upper body. “Joon?” You swim towards the edge of the pool and lean your arms there. “Yeah?” He immediately answers and walks towards you with a towel in his hand for you in case you wanted to get out.

“Aren’t you joining us?” You ask, “Oh yeah, in a second.” He smiles before tugging your hair behind your ear. “I just need to put sun block on.”

You tried to stifle a smirk, but it ends up showing clearly on your face when you tease him. “You can go ask your girlfriend for help.” You cock an eyebrow at him.

His eyes widen a little before he looks back at Hana, her eyes never got off of him, he looks back at you and tilts his head. “Are you jealous?” He teases you back and you roll your eyes before scoffing. “I am not.”

Of course you’re not, you know the man has a wife, and of course if there was any reason for you to be jealous it would be her, even though you two aren’t exclusive.

“I might as well ask her for help.” He tilts his head, and you shrug and look him into the eyes, you wouldn’t like the idea to begin with, so you’re hoping he’s actually joking.

“Mia? Can you please help me with the sun block?” Namjoon turns his head towards Mia, who’s standing right behind Hana with a couple drinks in her hand, and you’re a little relieved.

Namjoon wouldn’t do anything to make you feel uncomfortable or upset, he could’ve teased you and actually called the girl for help just to make you jealous, but he’s smart and mature enough to not to.

“Y/n, your boyfriend is asking me to feel him up.” Mia shouts, because girl code comes first.

And of course your face flushes red, it’s the second time today that Namjoon gets called your boyfriend, he laughs and hands her the bottle of sunscreen. The poor woman has to step onto one of the chairs to actually reach for his shoulders, Namjoon notices when your eyes drift off to Hana when she still has her eyes on him, even he gets a little uncomfortable from her stares.

“Chief, what’s up?” Hoseok sprays you with water and swims towards you, his eyesight follows yours and he notices how Hana is staring. “Hana, could you get me a towel please?” He snaps her out of her thoughts before she nods and grabs a towel to hand over to Hoseok, he’s not that far from you so you hear him asking Hana. “Are you okay?”

And she answers immediately. “Yeah, I’m just enjoying my time.”

“Will you stop staring at the man?” He’s clearly judging her for her looks, she was being too obvious. “We were talking, that’s all.”

Seconds after, Namjoon dives in head first and joins you in, you spend the entire afternoon swimming and playing volleyball, while the others were in the kitchen occupied with preparing for the barbeque.

“I told you we’d win.” Jungkook rubs it in your face after his team won, you roll your eyes and swim towards the corner of the pool a little tired after the game, Namjoon swims towards you and presses his body against yours under the water, lifting up your legs to wrap them around his waist. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod and wrap your arms around his shoulder pulling him in for a kiss on the cheek. “You?”

“Yeah, do you wanna go upstairs?” One of his hands hold onto yours and guides it towards his covered boner. “I kinda need help.”

You giggle and squeeze on his length subtly making him flinch, his other hand under your thighs hold tighter to your bare skin. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re not making any better.” He presses his mouth against your ear, his breath quickening. “I can’t walk out of the pool looking like this.”

You look around to spot your towels, before you get out of the pool and wrap a towel around your body, before giving Namjoon his and covering his lower part when he gets out too.

“Where to? We’re about to play another round.” Seokjin asks right you two turn your heads and about to get inside the house. “I need to shower, maybe we’ll take another dip after dinner.” Namjoon answers him and the older just nods, you two get to your room and once the door is locked, he takes off his towel and pins your arms above your head and pushes you against the door, every single part of his body in contact with yours, and his swimming shorts still wet and sticking to his throbbing erection.

He pulls you in for a kiss, his tongue roams inside your mouth as his hips grind against yours, one of your hands manages to slip out of his and move down to palm his cock through the damp shorts, and this time you squeeze a little harder than before.

He pulls back from the kiss  and collects your hair into his hand, he presses his forehead against yours with his jaw down. “Y/N..”

You got down on your knees and wrap your fingers around the elastic band of his swimming shorts before pulling them down to his ankles and he kicks it off, his angry cock craving for attention as it slaps against his lower stomach.

Not hesitating for a second as you grab it into your hand and stroking the head to smear his pre cum, then finally wrap your lips the head, his entire body relaxes and his eyes roll to the back of his head, every time is like the first time for him when it’s with you. You bob your head back and forth while still maintaining eye contact with him, he gasps and tugs onto your hair, bucking his hips towards your mouth while throwing his head back. “Fuck, just like that baby, just like—Ah… shit.” Your eyes collect tears as his cock hits the back of your throat, a loud audible gag escaping your mouth, sloppy sinful sounds from your throat echo through the walls of the entire bedroom, he’s so close but he cannot cum now.

You cough with his cock still in your mouth and you pull back, your saliva mixed with pre cum leaking on your face messily, you stroke his cock and look up into his eyes. “You wanna cum down my throat?”

His grip tightens around your hair and he pulls you up, stealing a quick kiss from your lips before leaning his forehead against yours. “Not before you let me stretch that beautiful little cunt of yours.”

Your stomach dropping at the pure excitement mixes with the knot that can snap in any second if he touches you, it’s been so long that you two had proper sex and you got really impatient.

Namjoon pushes you down on the bed and helps you kick off your bathing suit, you struggle a little because it’s still damp and a little tight on your body, but you two manage. He sits down on the floor near the edge of the bed before wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer to him. “Would you look at that.” He smirks, blowing a little air on your throbbing bean, then using his index and middle finger to spread open your pussy.

And he prints the softest kiss onto your clit, his eyes locked with yours, before he whispers. “Just tell me what you want baby and I’ll do it.” You use your elbows for support before run your fingers through his hair and pull him closer to your already wet and numb pussy, his hungry mouth devours your cunt, licking your entrance up to your clit, before sucking on it for his dear life and moving his head to add friction.

Your back arches and your hands tug onto your own hair, every single cell in your body is drugged with pleasure and ecstasy, your stomach tightens and your eyelids feel heavy. “Fuck.” You manage to let out breathlessly.

He slowly inserts two fingers, barely moving inside you as your walls hug onto his fingers repeatedly, your jaw drops and your breath hitches, as hard as you tried to keep your legs open, you end up closing your thighs around his head and pulling him even closer against your bare sex. “Namjoon, please, please..”

He grabs onto your thighs and turns you so you’re sitting on his face, and the angle change is a whole new different experience, your eyes finally shut close and your chest heaves up and down dramatically, “Please don’t stop.” You look him in the eye lazily, your hand holding his hair tightly before you grind your hips on his face while he’s still moving his fingers inside your clenching pussy.

“I’m gonna cum.”

You didn’t mean for it to come out this loud, your free hand moves to your mouth to cover it, and that’s his cue to curl his fingers against your spot and slide in another finger, your cumming is finally undone and you resist the urge to scream his name off of the top of your lungs, and he still doesn’t stop.

Still moving his fingers inside you and sucking onto your clit while you’re creaming onto his face. “Holy shit.” You drop on the bed face down and bury your head in the sheets, you feel lightheaded and you realize that you’ve been holding your breath the entire time.

Namjoon is seconds away from busting a nut, his face is glistening with your cum and he wipes it with the back of his hand before smearing it onto the bed sheets, he kisses your inner thighs softly, moving up to the curve of your ass, kissing and grazing there with his teeth lightly, before hovering on top of you and kissing your back. “Are you okay?”

You nod, a lazy smile curves your lips slowly, before you reach your arm behind you and scratch the back of his head with your nails. “Yeah, just give me a minute.”

He kisses your bare shoulder once, twice, thrice, before you turn to face him, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him on the lips softly, “Do you have a condom?”

“No, you?” He pulls back, you blink twice before tilting your head. “Why would I carry a condom?”

“I don’t know, you had condoms in your place.” He shrugs. “Should we ask one of the guys for a condom?”

“Of course not.” You exclaim, “Look, I’ll just suck you off or something, but we’re not asking no one for a condom.”

“We can go without one.”

You had multiple sexual experiences throughout your life and you were safe with all of them, even when they wore condoms you were still on birth control, and even when you hooked up with Namjoon, you never skipped a pill. Better safe than sorry, kids are not an option for now.

“I don’t know, should we?” You ask unsurely, biting your nails anxiously, he grins and grabs your hand away from your mouth to deliver another soft kiss to your lips. “I think we should.”

You already feel his card cock pressed against your thigh when you kiss him back, your finger nails run through his back before he pulls away from the kiss. “What do you say?”

It takes you a second to think one last time before you answer him. “Alright I guess.”

He moves down your naked tits and licks your nipple once before wrapping his lips around it and sucking it. Your bottom lip sits between your teeth as you’re pushing his dark hair out of his face, his teeth biting softly on your nipple before he moves to your other breast, printing a dark purple mark right near your nipple, and you can feel your lower body heat up when he breathes against your erect nipple. “Mmm.”

He lifts himself up before grabbing the back of your thighs to push them up towards your torso, pressing soft kisses on the back of your thighs and your calves, moving up to the back of your foot slowly, his eyes piercing through yours, filled with fire and lust.

His bare cock is pressed against your bare cunt as he grinds slowly against your folds, your slickness making him glide against your clit with minimum effort, before he positions the head to your entrance and spitting directly onto it before pushing it in slowly.

And holy shit, you hold your breath at the extreme stretch, every single curve of his cock is felt inside you with no barrier and it feels fucking insane, you’re clenching repeatedly against him which makes him struggle to push further inside, he  grits on his own teeth and throws his head back. “Fuck baby, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that.” He even pulls out and you breathe again. “Relax for me baby.”

He leans forward to brush his nose against yours and kiss you on the lips softly, and you kiss back while cupping his cheeks, your arms moving to his shoulder and scratching him softly with your nails. “Should I try again?” He whispers against your lips and you nod, he’s already pressing the head against your entrance, this time using his thumb to rub your clit, trying to make you relax while he’s slowly pushing inside you. Pleasure is too overwhelming and you feel yourself seconds away from cumming.

He’s finally balls deep inside you, he leans his palms on the bed behind you and bends in to kiss you again, his tongue roaming inside your mouth and his teeth biting onto your bottom lip, tugging it back gently before moving down to your ear, licking the outside of it before pressing a kiss behind it.

You’ve grown to love the way he pays attention to your ears and neck, he knows you like it when you’re clenching around him with every kiss he prints onto your skin which makes his lips curve into a satisfied smirk.

He pulls out from you slowly, the head still inside your throbbing cunt before he thrusts back inside you, the tightness around his cock makes him lose his mind, he’s less than inch away to pound you senseless but he can’t.

You gasp when you feel the head digging deep inside you, your eyes drift down to your own stomach and you’re sure if you squint your eyes a little you may see it bulging. He pulls back again and slams a little faster than before, to which you press your hand on his lower stomach, you throw your head back and breathe fast. “Namjoon.” He holds onto your legs to prop himself up, pulling out and pushing back inside you.

You look down to see his cock disappearing slowly back into you and you look him up in the eyes, your jaw falling down slowly when he picks up his speed, fucking your brain and breath out of you, your head falls back and your own hands pull onto your own hair. Your body tenses and your toes curl, your entire spine heats up and you feel yourself about to cum.

“I know baby, I know.” He presses your thighs further into your torso and pulls his angry cock out of you before going down to lick your entrance once and kiss your clit, you hold onto the sheets behind you and remember to breathe again, he doesn’t give you much time to catch enough oxygen as he props himself back up and re enters you with full force,  finally pounding into your pussy senseless, your eyes roll to the back of your head and you breathe out. “I’m cumming.”

He doesn’t stop, drops of sweat mixed with water fall onto his face and body that were already glistening with sweat, his upper body is tensed as he’s gripping onto your legs, his fingers digging into your skin, and his stomach tightened ready to relax any second when he shoots out his load. He starts doubting himself if he can pull out at the right time or not.

As for you, your knuckles turned white long time ago, your body finally snaps and you finally cum all over his cock, clenching repeatedly around his cock making it hard to fuck you through your orgasm as he pulls back fast, his angry cock shooting his load on your clit and lower body as he throws his head back. “Mmm.. Fuck-“ You two pant for a breath, your eyes close and your grip around the sheets finally loosening as you feel your ears buzzing, you feel yourself split seconds away from going unconscious.

He falls on top of you, his lips near your ear but you can’t hear anything as the buzzing doesn’t stop, he caresses your cheeks and kisses it softly. “Y/N?”

You barely get to open your eyes and look at him, letting out a forced lazy laugh, he brushes your hair off of your face and whispers. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head and slur when speak trying to form a sentence. “I’m a little sore that’s all.”

A little? You were a mess, your cunt is swollen and red, your thighs have his finger prints all over it, your breasts had several purple spots on them and even his teeth marked onto your own neck.

He gets up onto his feet to grab a few paper towels. “Let me clean you up.” He cleans his own cum off of your body ever so gently, not forgetting to press a bunch of soft kisses onto your stomach and hips.

-

Finally it was time for dinner, Taehyung and Jimin finally set up the table and the food is looking good and ready to be devoured, you haven’t eaten anything the entire day and you’re starting to get grumpy when your stomach growls continuously.

Everyone is seated around the table in the back yard, the sound of the beach waves is like the perfect music to accommodate your dinner, the weather was fantastic, the slightly warm summer breeze blows through your hair ( and thankfully through your dress, you were overheated the entire day.). And since the house is a little far from the city and there are barely any city lights to be seen, you can see the stars in the sky quite clearly.

Namjoon was seated next to Jungkook and you were seated on the end of the table next to Hoseok. “So how’s it going so far?” He leans his back on his chair and whispers, everyone around the table too occupied eating and chatting. You swallow your bite and answer unsurely. “I guess we’re really good friends, that’s all.”

Of course you can’t address him as more than a friend for now.

“What do you mean?” Hoseok’s eyes widen as he swallows, leaning a little closer to whisper again. “Did he friend zone you?” And of course you roll your eyes. “No, and neither did I, but I just feel like something is holding me back you know?”

“You do know he’s getting a divorce right?” He hesitates a little. “I was handed over his case.”

“Yeah, I know, why didn’t you tell me?” You weren’t going to ask, but you just feel the need to know why he hid it in the first place.

“I thought you would feel guilty or something, or maybe you’d think you’re the reason he got the divorce. I just held back to see how you were doing with him. I also didn’t want to tell you this but uhm.. I overheard Jungkook earlier today speaking with him, and to be real chief, I think he actually has something for you. I’m hoping you do not reciprocate anything until he gets his divorce, because things will get too complicated for you two, so please slow down.”

You take a sip of your wine and let his words sink in for a second. “Don’t worry Hobi, as I said, for now we’re just friends hooking up and getting to know each other well. I will take my time to think, and maybe by then he would’ve probably be done with his divorce.”

He nods before taking a sip from his beer, you could feel his eyes back on you as he asks softly. “Are you happy?”

You know you can be totally honest with Hoseok, talking to him is like talking to your own reflection in the mirror, you know he can never make you feel bad about yourself.

So you finally blurt out the thought that you never even discussed to your own self. “Nothing feels different until now, but sometimes I miss the fact that I was alone alone, you know?”

“Do you not enjoy his company?”

You immediately shake your head. “No, it’s the exact opposite actually, I do, really. He’s sweet and caring, and he’s emotionally mature if that makes sense.”

And Hoseok nods. “It does.”

“Not to be mean or selfish, but I think his marriage experience befits me somehow, don’t you think?” You seek for his opinion and he shrugs. “You know what you want better than I do, and it’s not selfish at all, after all this experience made him what he is now, and he’s a good man I have to say.”

You agree. “He is, really. He’s really smart and fun to be around. Wanting to be alone is a me problem I guess.”

Hoseok’s arm wraps around your shoulder to pull you closer and kiss you on the cheek. “You know I always got you, and if he ever does you wrong, trust me, I will fuck up this man’s life and you have my word.”

You hit his chest and smile. “I know, you don’t have to remind me.”

“Can we set the bonfire near the beach after dinner?” Jimin asks Namjoon and the man nods. “Absolutely, you guys do everything you want.” Before he gets back to his interesting topic with Jungkook and Seokjin.

“He’s doing great isn’t he?” You whisper to Hoseok and he nods before laughing. “Comparing to your past partners, yeah, he’s doing good.”

You roll your eyes and look at him. “You can never compare those to him.”

-

“Jungkook, you’re cheating.” Of course it’s you bickering with him, you were drawing something on a paper and they had to guess it, Jungkook even when he’s on your team, he was giving away the answer to the other team.

You hate to say you’re very competitive but you truly are, and you easily got mad at him even when it’s just a game.

“They would’ve never guessed.” He exclaims while laughing, thinking that this is some type of a joke, but you were dead serious. “That’s the point of the game you idiot.”

“Y/n, calm down, he tried to give away the answer but I couldn’t understand.” Seokjin whines. “Jungkook shut up will you?”

“Yeah Jungkook, shut up will you?” You cross your arms, he walks towards you and wraps his arms around your body to carry you up and walks towards the pool, threatening to throw you in. “Yah, I think you forgot who’s the older one here.”

“Jungkook put me down.” You finally crack and laugh when your toes touch the water, holding onto Jungkook tightly so that if he pushed you in, he’d go down with you.

Of course Namjoon is watching carefully, deep inside a little worried over you even when you and your friend are just messing around, he gets up to grab himself a bottle of water before whining. “Jungkook put her down.”

“Beg.” Jungkook looks at you in the eyes and you laugh. “Fuck you, I’m not begging.”

And he without any hesitation throws you into the water, Namjoon who’s standing near Jungkook pushes him into the water while laughing, and everyone laughs at Namjoon’s genuine reaction and they make fun of Jungkook.

You two swim to the surface and you brush your hair off of your face, totally unaware that Jungkook was pushed by Namjoon, you swim towards Jungkook and climb on his back, jokingly drowning his head into the water and fighting him.

It was a very warm night, everyone enjoyed their time, no exceptions.