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carmenized-onions · 6 months ago

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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

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #mikey berzatto #michael berzatto #carmen x oc #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx

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zyhkoo · 19 days ago

Text

🦢 flaws and all

fluff, f!civilian, suggestive in second part, 1 + 2

( spending your days with him. )

Jason had just finished up patrol, he had been satisfied with his work but when he was about to head back the rain began to pour. Jason stood in the dim alleyway, the rain pouring down around him. He let out a frustrated sigh, knowing that he was in for a long, wet walk back to your apartment.

He cursed under his breath, his gaze flickering over the rooftops that seemed more slippery than usual with the rain.

Jason stood by the window your, the soaked bottoms of his boots leaving a damp trail on the floor as he shut the window behind him. Shaking off the excess water from his clothing, he took a moment to catch his breath.

Once the initial wave of cold and shivers had passed, he sighed and scanned the apartment for any possible damage. He noticed the drops of water that had leaked onto the floor, so he grabbed the mop that was leaning on a corner and began mopping the wet spots.

Jason walked toward your bedroom as quietly as possible, trying not to wake you up. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and began to strip off his damp and now heavy clothes, letting them drop to the floor with a soft thud.

He reached into the bottom drawer of your dresser, where he had stashed a change of clothes for nights like this. He rummaged through and found some comfortable sweats and a t-shirt, quickly putting them on.

Jason heard the loud thunder rumble outside, the sound cutting through the silence of the night. He winced, his heightened senses making the sound even more pronounced in his ears.

He paused for a moment, his eyes drifting towards the window. The rain continued to pour, the raindrops tapping against the glass in an almost rhythmic pattern.

He could hear shifting in the sheets, Jason turned his attention back into the room, his eyes locking onto the bed. He hadn't expected you to be awake, "You awake?" he asked.

“Yeah.” you softly answered, pulling the sheets closer. Jason felt a pang of guilt as you spoke, realizing that he must have disturbed your sleep. He stepped closer to the bed, his feet not making a sound on the floorboards.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "I didn't mean to wake you." you shook your head, “It’s not you.” you replied.

Jason frowned, not quite believing your words.

"Then what is it?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to you. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, but he tried not to disturb you. Jason was silent for a moment, listening to the sound of the thunder outside. Then it clicked in his mind. He knew that you had some issues with storms, and he was mentally berating himself for not thinking of it sooner

He sighed, his hand hesitantly reaching for your shoulder under the covers. He moved closer to you, his touch gentle as he squeezed your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"It's just a storm," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "It'll pass soon."

“I know..” you said, Jason was aware that you knew that the storm would pass. He knew you were probably just trying to convince yourself of that. But he also knew that it didn't make it any less frightening. He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "You want company?" he asked.

Jason felt a small sense of relief when you nodded, with a small sigh, he moved to the other side of the bed and slowly laid down next to you. As Jason settled onto the bed, he turned his gaze onto you. Your body was concealed under the blankets, revealing only your face and a portion of your hair.

Your eyes met his, and his attention was drawn to the pillow you were clutching. He remained silent for a moment, then spoke in a soft yet steady voice.

"Come here," he murmured, his hand motioning for you to move closer to him. Jason patted the spot on the mattress next to him, silently inviting you to move closer. He knew that sometimes, being held could help provide a sense of comfort and security during a storm.

Jason felt your arm wrap around his waist, pulling yourself against his body. He let out a soft exhale, welcoming your touch. He moved his own arm to drape around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer as he tried to provide some comfort through his presence.

You sighed against him as you laid your head on his chest, “Thanks Jay.” you murmured. A storm with him around made it more tolerable. He could feel your breath, against his skin. He swallowed, his throat feeling unusually dry as he responded, "Mhm."

Your word of thanks resonated with him. He knew you found comfort in his presence, and it made him feel relieved. He tightened his hold on you slightly, his fingers unconsciously tracing patterns on your back as he spoke in a hushed tone.

"You don't need to thank me," he muttered, "Just... let me do this for you." he paused for a moment, his voice soft yet firm as he continued, "Just let me be here for you, okay?" you nodded, “Okay.” you whispered back.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary. He found it ironic, really, how the most dangerous and feared vigilante in Gotham could be reduced to a soft person in the presence of one person.

“You make me feel stuff.” he said. Jason's gaze met yours as you looked up at him. “Is it bad?” you asked. "No, it's not bad." He reached up to gently cup your face, his calloused fingers caressing your skin. "It's just... new." he admitted, his voice a deep and gruff whisper.

"I've never... felt like this before." he continued, his fingers tracing your jawline. "With anyone." He paused for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if trying to convey the depth of what he was feeling. You softly scoffed, “It can’t be just me, there must be someone else.” you replied.

Jason let out a low huff, shaking his head slightly. "Trust me." he said, his fingers still gently tracing your skin. "There's nobody else." He paused again, his gaze not wavering from yours. "It's just you, and the things you do to me." You looked down, doubting him “Are you sure it’s me?” you asked.

Jason frowned at your question, his grip on your face firm but gentle.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, as he tilted your head up, wanting you to look at him. “Just..” your eyes darted away, “I’m usually just second choice you know?”

He shook his head, his grip on your face tightening just a fraction. "No." he said firmly, his voice low and fierce. "Not with me."

He paused for a moment before continuing, his tone softening but still firm. "You are not a second choice. Not to me." you flushed as your eyes softened, “You really mean it don’t you?” Jason leaned in, his face just a few inches away from yours. He held your gaze, his eyes boring into yours.

"Yes." he said firmly, no trace of doubt or hesitation in his voice. "I mean it. You are not second choice. You are the only choice." He let go of your face, but instead of pulling away, his hand moved down to take yours under the covers, his fingers intertwined with yours.

Your hands shook a bit as you felt a lump in your throat, “I..” Jason noticed the slight tremble in your hand and the way your voice cracked. He could see the emotion in your eyes and wanted nothing more than to reassure you.

He brought your intertwined hands up, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand before lowering them again. "You don't have to say anything." he murmured. He shifted his body slightly, pulling you closer to his chest as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. With his free hand, he reached down and pulled the covers back up to your shoulders, cocooning the two of you in warmth and comfort.

The storm continued to rage outside, the rain still beating mercilessly against the roof and windows. But trapped in Jason's embrace, wrapped in the coziness of the covers, you felt a newfound sense of safety and reassurance.

“I love you.” you murmured. Jason felt his heart skip a beat as the words left your lips. He held you a bit tighter in response, his arms wrapping around you like a protective shield. His gruff voice was softer than usual as he murmured, "I love you too."

Jason slowly stirred awake, his eyes blinking open as he felt the warmth of your bare back against his chest. He let out a low sigh, still half-asleep but slowly becoming aware of his surroundings.

He felt your legs intertwined with his and the familiar scent of your skin filling his senses. The morning light streamed in through the window, casting a soft glow into the room. Still drowsy, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you a little closer to him and nuzzling his face into your neck.

The feeling of your soft skin against his chest was comforting, and the warmth of your body against his brought a sense of peace. Jason let out a low, contented sigh as he gently nuzzled your neck again, his lips brushing against your skin in a light, affectionate kiss.

You hummed, “I’m awake you know.” you murmured with a little chuckle

Jason felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him as he heard you speak. He pulled his face away from your neck, slightly flustered at being caught. He mumbled into your ear, "Thought you were sleepin'."

Jason shifted slightly behind you, pressing his body a bit closer. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before mumbling again, his voice slightly muffled against your skin, "Why you up so early?"

“The light woke me up.” you yawned, scratching your eye. Jason hummed in understanding, his cheek resting against your shoulder as he held you close. "Guess the sun had to ruin it." he grumbled, his arm giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

You then faced him, “Last night was nice.” Jason met your gaze as you turned to face him. He nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, it was." he replied, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your hip.

Jason's eyes searched yours for a moment before he leaned in and gave you a slow, lingering kiss. The touch was soft and affectionate, his lips moving against yours with a gentle pressure.

He pulled away after a few moments, his gaze remaining on your face as he studied your expression. His thumb traced small circles on the bare skin of your waist, the gesture comforting and subtle.

You chuckled, “You’ve gotten sappy.” Jason rolled his eyes, a hint of embarrassment showing on his face. "Whatever." he muttered. Jason was still not used to waking up next to someone else, the warmth of your body and the softness of your skin a new and slightly unfamiliar sensation.

Your eyes trail to the numerous scars from his body, all from his past battles and patrols. You knew that he was self-conscious every time you looked at them. Jason tensed ever so slightly as he noticed your gaze on his scars. Despite his tough exterior and stoic demeanor, he was still self-conscious of his body and the scars that marked his skin.

He shifted slightly, a subtle movement intended to distract you from the imperfections on his body. Jason's eyes searched your face, trying to gauge your reaction. He knew you had seen the scars on his body, and he had no doubt you'd seen his visible discomfort with them. But he also knew you never asked about them, never pressed for explanations of how he got them.

Jason felt your touch on the small scar on his shoulder, your fingers tracing it gently. He let out a soft sigh, his eyes fixed on yours as he allowed you to caress the mark.

His body relaxed, though he still felt a bit uneasy with the attention on his scars. Your hand continued to explore his scars, there were long and small ones, some stitched and some burnt, Though you never flinched or reacted in disgust.

You then looked back at his face, searching for his eyes “Are you okay?” you asked, in case he Jason met your gaze, his features softened by the concern in your eyes. He took a moment before answering, his voice low and gruff.

"I'm fine." he said, his arm around your waist tightening its grip ever so slightly, as if reassuring himself of your presence.

He swallowed and shifted a bit, his eyes flickering down to your hand, still tracing his scars. was uncomfortable. “Should I stop?” you continued to ask. Jason sighed, his gaze darting between your face and your hand tracing his scars. A part of him didn't want you to stop, your touch was comforting and reassuring, but another part feared the memories that could be stirred by it.

"Do what you want," he murmured, “Well I want what you want.” you replied. He swallowed, his throat feeling dry as he struggled to find the right words.

"I want your touch." he admitted, his voice husky. "But sometimes it brings back bad memories." Your hand moved away, “So should I stop?” Jason felt a pang of disappointment as your hand moved away from his scars, the absence of your touch leaving a cold, empty feeling on his chest.

He shook his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours again.

"No." he said gruffly. "I don't want you to stop." He paused before continuing, "Just don't... don't pity me." You shook your head, “I won’t.” your hand then trails to the scars on his chest.

As you saw a particularly large one, you moved down and placed a kiss. He swallowed, his chest rising and falling slowly as he felt the weight of your gesture, the way you accepted and accepted his scars without a second thought.

His hand moved to your hair, gently brushing through the soft strands, a silent thank you for your understanding. “Let’s dress up and eat breakfast.” you murmured in his chest.

Jason chuckled softly, a hint of relief in his voice. He knew you were changing the subject on purpose, giving him a chance to compose himself. "Yeah, sounds good." he agreed, his hand gently rubbing your back before pulling away from your embrace.

He started to sit up, grabbing the discarded clothes from the night before.

You sat on the floor, surrounded by your record collection, scanning through the albums with a growing sense of boredom. You had listened to all of them repeatedly, and the thought of playing them again was no longer appealing.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the boredom settling over you. Just as your eyes lingered on a record you had played a dozen times, the sound of a deep throat being cleared, made your head turn towards Jason.

He watched you for a moment, his eyes trailing over the record collection spread out around you. "You're gonna pick one already? It’s been a while." he asked, his eyebrow raised slightly.

You huffed to yourself as you placed a hand on your cheek, “I’m pretty bored of these, they’re good but I’m tired of listening to it repeatedly.” Jason’s expression softened slightly, seeing the boredom etched on your face. He walked over, standing over you as you sat on the floor.

He looked at the spread of records, then back at you.

"Didn’t know you could even get tired of music," he said with a hint of a smirk. You smiled up at him, “Well, it happens to me too.”

You sighed, shaking your head “More than 30 bucks for a vinyl? I don’t have the money for that..” you frowned as you picked up your records. Jason knew you loved physical media, but you were right. New records were expensive, especially ones you liked.

Jason studied the records you were holding, taking in the names and artists. He paused for a moment, thinking before speaking again. "I’ll get you albums.” You only scoffed in reply, “Where do you even get your money?”

Jason raised an eyebrow at your scoff, a playful smirk forming on his face. "Where do you think I get it?" he asked, his voice tinted with a hint of amusement.

You darted your eyes away pondering, if he was a vigilante… does he get his money from the government? “GCPD…?” you answered cautiously.

"GCPD?" he repeated, snorting. "You think I get money from the *GCPD?"* You looked away embarrassingly as you stocked your records on the shelves. Jason’s smirk widened at your embarrassed expression, enjoying the way you avoided his gaze.

He leaned against the shelf, his arms crossed as he watched you organize the records. "C’mon," he teased, his voice filled with playful mockery. "Guess again." You huffed, “I don’t know, tell me.” Jason pushed himself off the shelf, standing upright as he spoke.

"I spend Bruce’s bank account, or I steal a few stuff from thieves I caught.” Jason gave a shrug, as if the thought of swiping money from a billionaire was the most normal thing in the world.

You raised your brow, “Money from Bruce?”

"Yeah, Bruce has a lot more money than one person could spend in a lifetime. He won’t even notice if I grab a few bucks."

You thought for a moment, “Well, I mean.. that is true.” Jason nodded in agreement, his smirk returning slightly.

"See? It’s a no-brainer. Why not use it when it’s there for the taking?" his hand touches your shoulder “Come on, why don’t I buy those record albums for you tomorrow?” You raised an eyebrow in surprise. Jason was actually offering to buy you records, and you had to admit, the idea did sound appealing.

"Really? You would do that?" you asked, your curiosity piqued. Jason shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “Why not? They make you happy, don’t they?” You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. The idea that Jason was willing to spend money on something that simply brought you joy was oddly comforting.

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. "They do, yeah.” Jason saw the smile on your face, and his expression softened. He gave your shoulder a slight squeeze with his hand, his grip gentle. “Then I’ll take you record shopping tomorrow."

When Jason took you to the record store, you looked like a kid getting its gift for Christmas. He was amused by the look of excitement on your face as you scanned the records, your eyes scanning each album with childlike wonder.

He followed you around, watching as you picked up records of your favorite artists, and sometimes stopping to show him one that particularly caught your interest.

He couldn't help but smile at your enthusiasm. You looked like a kid at Christmas, and the way you handled each album with such care and reverence was almost endearing.

After that, you and Jason finally made it back to your apartment, clutching several bags filled with your newly purchased records. You wasted no time in setting them down on the coffee table in the living room, eager to go through each one and see which one you wanted to listen to first.

“This is what I call mid-year christmas.” you mused with a smile. Jason scoffs, "Mid-year Christmas, huh?" he said. "I guess that’s one way to put it." Jason rested his hand on his chin, watching as you flipped through your new albums, a small smile on his lips.

For a brief moment, he could forget about the world around them, the troubles and dangers that loomed in the background. For a little while, he could simply enjoy the sight of you being happy, with the music you so adored.

You stood up and carefully placed one of the vinyl records onto the turntable, the soft click as it settled into place filling the air. Jason leaned back on the couch, his eyes still fixed on you, as you gently lifted the needle and placed it on the record, starting the music.

Jason stood up alongside you, his hand reaching out to take yours.

He looked down at your face for a moment before pulling you closer, his other hand finding your waist. He began to move with the rhythm of the music, slowly dancing with you in the living room. The room felt warm and intimate as you swayed to the music in Jason’s arms. He held you close, his hand resting on your waist as he led you in a slow, gentle dance.

The music played on in the background, the notes and lyrics filling the silence between you as you moved in each other’s embrace. “Did you agree to buy me records just to dance?” you chuckled.

“Maybe. You’re not complaining, are you?” he replied as he held your hand tighter, “But no.” he said. You tilted your head in response as Jason leaned closer to you, "Maybe I just like seeing you happy," he admitted.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin as he spoke, his words making you feel tingly all over. You hadn't expected such a sincere answer from him, and it filled you with a sense of warmth.

"That's sweet." you murmured, a smile playing across your lips. "Just a little." he grumbled, his eyes locked on your face. “Sure.” you said, leaning your cheek on his chest.

He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you just a little closer as he continued to dance with you.

🐇 Merry Christmas!

#౨ৎ blythe’s fics #dc x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader oneshots #jason todd #jason todd oneshots #jason todd fluff #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagines #jason todd x oc #jason todd headcanons #jason todd dc #red hood x reader oneshots #red hood x oc #red hood x reader #red hood dc #red hood

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mmogurl · 3 months ago

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Last to Fall Chapter 1 - My Demons

18+ | 10k | Aegon II Targaryen X Female Maid / Dragonseed Reader | miserable, alcoholic, often dissociative, needs comfort Aegon | virgin reader, maiden, emotional abuse, first time sex, P in V, smut, wholesome, fluff, this whole thing is actually kind of sweet compared to what I usually write.

This fic is heavily inspired by the infamous 'Nothing' scene with Aegon and Alicent. Her cold words and the way she lashes out really bothered me and I felt a strong need to stand up for him, protect, and console him. So that's really what this whole fic is about. Enjoy! Also went with a lot of musical vibing for this story. I started off listening to Collective Soul's Heavy, because I imagine it as Aegon's state of mind in the opening scene towards everyone and everything happening. And by the end we transition into Starset's Last to Fall - and the title of the fic. I know, I'm a sappy mf.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 On AO3

Retroactive update 10/29/24: I've also decided that I'm going to try my best to fit every chapter to a Starset song because the whole Series is based off the title of one (Last to Fall) which was originally going to be a oneshot and got extended. I'm enjoying the challenge of finding one that suits each theme/ story! They're not all going to be perfectly aligned, but I'll try my best. This one is Starset - My Demons adding onto the two songs I already referenced here - but this one just felt so perfect!

Complicate this world you wrapped for me I'm acquainted with your suffering

All your weight it falls on me It brings me down All your weight it falls on me It falls on me

~Collective Soul - Heavy

—You

You have worked in the castle for as long as you can remember, always hearing the whisperings of the chamberlain, the laundress, and any other keep staff prone to gossip, that you were the late king’s bastard. There were always underhanded comments of jealousy uttered in your direction, like ‘It must be nice to have a king’s blood runnin’ through yer veins... To have yer needs met for life.’ In truth, you were worried that the Queen Dowager might see fit to dispose of you now that her husband had passed.

So far, it seems your fair looks, expertise, and agreeable demeanor has secured your position, at least for the time being, but you are not so naive as to think that will last forever.

You tended to King Viserys for six summers, and with his death you’ve been reassigned to serve the new Protector of the Realm, Aegon II Targaryen. You are mildly concerned about this development considering the rumors you’ve heard about the young prince over the years. Drinking and philandering to excess, he was rumored to be a true hedonist, only taking satisfaction when drowning himself in pleasure. It is for this very reason, that you’re surprised by your observations of your new lord within the first weeks of your employ as his chambermaid and general attendant.

You find he spends a lot of time sitting in near darkness with barely a couple candles lit in his room at night, kept company only by a carafe of wine and wearing a disassociated look on his face that could be taken for misery if it didn’t appear so apathetic in nature. It was as though he were actively trying to force himself into a mold that he would never fit into. This became even more apparent as you witnessed more of his interactions with his family, especially his mother and grand-sire. It seemed they were constantly trying to orchestrate the ruling of the Seven Kingdoms, nitpicking at every little decision Aegon made, pulling his strings just like a puppet.

You had listened from the sidelines of the Great Hall as the Hand second-guessed the king’s rulings. Even when the Aegon tried to embrace his seat upon the Iron Throne, he was made impotent by those not fit to govern. You could do nothing but stand by helplessly in saddened silence when he suffered the loss of his eldest son to assassins, while Otto Hightower forced him to parade young Jaehaerys’ corpse to the public along with his grief-stricken sister-wife, Helaena.

Day by day, your heart was beginning to ache for the emptiness you saw growing behind his amethyst eyes. And yet still he tried on most days to put a positive foot forward, even if by nightfall he usually turned back to engulfing his sorrows in drink. You couldn’t even blame him really given the complete lack of moral and emotional support the king had to endure.

This feeling of compassion built within you, until one day it peaked to a head as you made your way to Aegon’s chambers with fresh linens in hand, ready to fulfill your afternoon chores. You passed several Kingsguard as you made your way down the hall and paused outside the king’s rooms as you heard voices coming from within. The two white cloaks standing watch at the open threshold glanced at you in warning, so you simply waited with folded bedsheets in hand for the opportunity to complete your duties.

You knew you should not listen, but it was hard to ignore the distressed voice of the king from within, met by the indifferent attitude of the Queen Dowager. Oh no, you think to yourself sympathetically, she is at it again. It really did seem that tearing Aegon down piece by piece was not only a habit for his mother, but something she relished in.

“Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom,” Alicent’s voice echoed out against the vaulted ceiling of the room, her voice patronizing and condescending. “Those men at your council table earned their seats. It was my hope that once enthroned you would honor the burden of your new duties, be silent, and strive to learn from the more studied minds around you. In the hope that you might be half the king your father was…”

You tried to swallow the lump forming in your throat at hearing such baleful words. The king was not responding, and you could just imagine the pained look of agony that Aegon was sure to be wearing under the constant criticisms he faced as of late.

“Tread carefully,” you heard him say, barely carrying enough volume to hear from where you stood. You found yourself holding back a smile at that, happy that he was standing up to her for once. But, that only incensed the Queen Dowager more, her thirst to harm not yet quenched.

“Or what?” she says with venom coating her tongue. “You’ll hang me, as you did your rat catchers? Or have me banished as you did your Hand? I ruled in your father’s absence throughout his long illness, and Otto Hightower was as cunning a statesman as ever lived. You should humbly be seeking our opinions and counsel. You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne.”

You shook your head, unsure how any mother could ever speak to her child in such a manner, let alone to the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps it bothered you so because you had never known the tenderness of a mother’s love, but had spent many a daydream imagining what it might be like. With your idealistic and sometimes naive mind, you wanted to think that there was more love out there in the world than this, especially within the royal family. You wanted better for the young king you had grown to feel so protective of in such a short amount of time.

Aegon’s next words break your train of thought, “Wha-“ he started with an exasperated tone, “What would you have me do, Mother?”

“Do simply what is needed of you,” she replied and the frosty chill of her cold voice was evident even from the corridor. “Nothing.”

You feel tears well up in the corners of your eyes and try your best to ignore them. It was important as part of the castle staff to never appear to be listening, to always remain professional, but it wasn’t always possible when one was witness to such cruelty.

Quickly, you wipe the errant tears away as the Queen Dowager exits her son’s apartment, walking swiftly with a scowl on her face. With the king now alone in his chambers, you nod to the guards and head inside, pausing to close the doors behind you lest Aegon had wont of some privacy.

As you turned to face the room, the king sat off to the side of his table, leaning against the back of a chair, his head resting upon his hands in defeat. He did not stir as you entered and so you cleared your throat to let yourself be known. Aegon still made no move and so this time you spoke up.

“Your Grace, might I change the linens? Or should I come back later?” you ask, your voice hesitant, but filled with understanding.

He finally lifts his head, glancing at you for a moment before returning his attention to the nearly empty decanter of wine on the table.

“Fetch me some more wine instead,” he demands sullenly, and to this you nod and hurry off to fulfill his request. After what you’d heard him endure, you’d do just about anything to cheer him up now.

With a speed you did not think yourself capable, you retrieved, not just one, but two pitchers of strongwine for the king and prepared a small platter of snacks for him as well, consisting of cheese, crackers, figs, and grapes. You hoped he’d be pleased with your thoughtfulness, and sure enough, he did perk up a little at the sight of the tray you presented on the table before him.

Aegon got to his feet, walking around the chair he’d been leaning against and sitting in it instead. You filled his chalice and placed it before him, wearing an exaggerated smile upon your face, anything to lighten the onerous mood. The king surprises you when he actually notices, his composure faltering as he looks upon your benevolent countenance.

“Did you hear all of that then?” he asks, his jaw clenching slightly as he peers down at the crimson fluid within the cup before him.

“It is not my business, Your Grace,” you answer softly, not wanting to sound cold, but knowing it is not your place to comment on such things. “But, if I can do anything, or get anything more for you. Please just ask.”

“I never wanted to be be king, you know,” Aegon says abruptly, picking up the chalice and swirling the wine around inside it. “They hunted me down, forced me to be crowned… And yet, Mother tells me I do not deserve it, even though she has placed me upon the throne herself.”

You flounder with your words, uncertain of how to reply. Should you even say anything at all? Perhaps he just wants someone to listen who won’t respond with a scathing rebuke.

“She spoke of the rat catchers, bringing up the death of my eldest son as though it were nothing to me,” he continues without your input, staring into the contents of his chalice as though it might hold some insight. “She treats me as though I am nothing.”

He finally takes a long swig of the cup, emptying most of it in one gulp. Aegon sets it down on the table with a clatter of metal and wood, an almost despondent look on his face as he adds, “Perhaps I am nothing.”

“Your Grace, no! That is not true!” the words slip out, unable to hold back your feelings at his self-denigration. You immediately cover your mouth with startled surprise, knowing that you’ve overstepped.

Aegon halts, his shoulders tensing as his eyes drift up to you and his brow furls downwards in confusion. He regards you in earnest for what feels like the first time ever, his discerning gaze sweeping from your face, down to your skirts and back up again, sizing you up. “What would you know of it?”

You bite your lip anxiously, unsure of how to proceed, even though it seems by now that you’ve already gone past the point of returning to obscurity. Ultimately, you decide that if you’re going to lose your position within the Red Keep, that you’d prefer to let the king know how you feel first.

“I have seen how determined you are,” you say quietly, a lack of confidence in your voice as you address the king. “Even though it is obvious how much hardship you must abide.”

“I am the king. I do not abide anything,” he replies gruffly, but there’s no tooth in the words.

“Of course, Your Grace,” you reply as you cast your eyes downward, your posture stiffening as you stand more upright, waiting for the hammer of discipline to fall.

There is a pervasive silence that hangs heavy in the expansive chamber as you wait for the king to cast his verdict. Does he intend to overlook your impertinence or will he punish you severely?

You hear the trickle of liquid pouring and then the glass carafe clattering against the wood of the table. The sound of swallowing is audible, followed by Aegon’s lips smacking softly as he puts the chalice back down.

“Come here, girl,” he says suddenly in a low monotone.

You look up once more, hesitating; your eyes questioning as you try to understand his intentions, his expression inscrutable.

“Do I have to repeat myself?” he reiterates, his tone a little more firm, yet without the sound of malicious intent. “Come here.”

You gulp and step gingerly towards Aegon, standing before him as he sits in the high-back chair. “Yes, Your Grace?” you ask with an uncertain look on your face.

The king startles you when he turns his chair to face you, his hands wrapping around your waist as he pulls you towards him in one fluid motion. Before you even realize what is happening, Aegon has his face buried against your stomach while his fingers dig into the fabric of your dress at the small of your back.

For a moment you stand there frozen in shock, your arms out as if in surrender, unsure of how to respond or interpret this intimate gesture. But then, you feel his shoulders shake quietly, and it's that movement that clues you in to the nature of the king's actions. He is crying, albeit in his own restrained way.

Slowly, you lower your hands down, one resting on his back as the other smooths his white locks back against his scalp. You can feel him melt into your affectionate touch, his entire body slumping forward even as he continues to whimper quietly into your apron.

“Shh,” you say softly, trying to comfort him in a way that feels somehow natural to you despite the gap in caste. “It will be alright.” You are not fully convinced that it will be, but the young king needs some reassurance and you know you are the only one likely to give it to him.

You have secretly longed for a moment such as this to occur for awhile now, wishing you had the opportunity to provide the king with some semblance of reprieve. When you served Viserys, he never seemed very troubled, and was almost willfully ignorant to the problems that plagued his family. Aegon on the other hand, was tormented not only by his mother, but by the pressure he put on himself to please everyone, which was an impossible feat.

To soothe Aegon now and hold him in your arms, felt like putting one of the many wrongs he’d endured right, even if it was only a small fraction of what the man was owed.

Your fingers rake through his wavy tresses and you feel a surge of raw emotion as you tend to the king’s needs in a way you never imagined you would. Soon, his shaky breaths and silent tears begin to cease, replaced by sniffles as you continue to soothe him in the way his mother should have been for all of these years. You can sense his reluctance to leave your embrace, but there’s also a shame weighing heavy in the air for confiding such weakness in a simple chambermaid.

He nuzzles his eyes against the fabric of your dress, wiping his tears on the brown cloth before he abruptly pulls away and clears his throat. Aegon avoids looking directly at you, embarrassment evident in his now red and puffy eyes. He lets out a heavy sigh and you’re left feeling quite dumbfounded as he turns back to his wine.

For a long moment there is a tense and overwhelming silence, the only sounds present in the room are the soft pouring of wine into Aegon’s chalice and the glass clinking as he sets the carafe down.

You stare at the side of his face, feeling a knot form in your stomach at the growing distance. It’s as if he’s punishing you for witnessing his vulnerability, desperate to maintain the barrier between king and servant. Despite his aversion, you can’t help but feel the significance of what you shared, the way he pulled you in and how good it felt to hold him close.

The quiet stretches on, Aegon now occupied with emptying his cup as if trying to fill the void with drink. He speaks up once more, his tone now devoid of any traces of the exposed emotion you just viewed.

"That will be all," his words are devoid of any warmth or familiarity. "I don't need anything more from you tonight." Aegon’s fingers tremble subtly as he brings his glass to his lips, betraying his cold facade.

“Your Grace,” you say in acceptance of his decision, bowing your head to show deference. You turn and glance at the linens still stacked on top of the king’s bed and fret for a moment that you will get in trouble for not fulfilling your duties and changing the sheets. “Should I change the bedsheets before I leave?”

Aegon doesn’t even turn to face you, his eyes fixed on his chalice. His expression is closed off, distant, as he responds with a simple grunt of confirmation.

“Yes, yes. Do whatever it is you usually do,” he mutters dismissively, his voice lacking any real feeling. He lifts his cup to his mouth once more, drowning himself in the bitter taste of the wine.

You nod with the typical words of respectful assent and begin making the bed as you always do, except this time it feels different. Today you flew so very close to the sun and felt your skin bask in its heat. The absence of that warmth now leaves you feeling chilly, an overwhelming nothing replacing the typical humdrum of your chores. You can feel his presence in the room like a beacon calling you to shore, but you dare not approach him again.

When you finish your task, you leave the king’s chambers without saying a word, closing the door behind you as silently as you can.

For the next few days, the typical royal indifference that Aegon shows you is substituted for complete and utter disregard. He at least showed you a degree of quiet appreciation before, but now it seems he’s going out of his way to make it known that you do not exist to him. Aegon always keeps his eyes turned from you and makes no acknowledgment of your proximity, giving the impression that you are little more than a ghost.

Gone is the care-free spirit that the king usually possesses, always trying to pretend that he is happier than he actually is, at least when you are around him. It seems that Aegon erects a wall of guarded apathy the moment he becomes aware of you, sometimes so severe that you can actually see him transition into a frown at your approach.

You find yourself slinking around quietly whenever you must occupy his room at the same time that he is present. The mornings are especially tense, when you must bring breakfast and fresh wash water for his basin. Sometimes, you feel his eyes on you when you’re preoccupied with adding wood to and stoking the fire, but you try your best to ignore it since you can’t make heads or tails of his behavior.

For the most part, you attempt to finish the majority of your duties once the king has left for the day and not before that point. You hope that in time, the king will forget about what transpired between the two of you, and that everything will revert back to how it was.

—Aegon

Aegon has made a concerted effort to maintain his frosty disposition towards you. It’s a constant battle between his heart, which secretly admires and yearns for you, and his head, which refuses to acknowledge the vulnerability he allowed you to witness. Even still, he can’t help but feel a slight pang of sadness whenever you try to slip in and out of his chambers undetected, nor can he control the surge of resentment when he feels that he might need you in any way.

The king simply doesn’t know what to make of the tangle of emotions that twist inside of him whenever he sees your face. It’s as if the memory of his shortcomings and your comforting embrace is a fresh wound that refuses to heal. He wants to shove you from his mind, but your image is permanently branded on the backs of his eyelids.

Even his nights have become restless, with no amount of drink or pleasure helping to ease his troubled heart. In fact, he’d already tried visiting one of his favorite brothels, dragging along his drunken friends for the chance to brag at how loud he could make the women scream. He was so distracted by thoughts of you that he couldn’t even stay hard and had to call it a night without release, defeated even by the the carefree abandon of a whore’s cunt.

The only thing that helps him drift off to sleep lately is recalling the moment he shared with you, and imagining how it might have gone differently if he had not pulled away from you. His hand enveloping his rigid cock, stroking it eagerly as he envisions what it would be like to reach under your skirts and feel the heat at the apex of your thighs. The resulting climax is strong, but it always leaves him feeling ashamed and guilty afterwards, as though he’s given into an urge worse than the crudest of debaucheries.

It’s becoming more and more obvious, that no matter how much he denies himself, he wants you in an unbearable way. He wants to reach out to you, wants to apologize and thank you for your soothing care. He wants those arms wrapped around him once again, that gentle hand running through his hair. He wants to confess all of his troubles to you. How he is tired of being treated like a child, of being scolded and slapped around by his mother, and never being taken seriously by his own small council. Aegon wants to hear the solutions you might propose to his growing list of problems, instead of relying on the wine that he drinks to excess more often as the days pass, an answer that he knows is mere avoidance.

And so, the king finds himself at a crossroad, facing a decision that can’t simply remain unsettled. He can either choose to embrace his feelings for you and allow himself the chance of experiencing the compassion he so badly craves, or he can continue to repress those feelings and bury them under the weight of his own self loathing and fear.

At the end of another long and monotonous day, he finds himself sitting at the end of his table in the very same chair where he had shared a moment of weakness with you. He sighs as he pours himself another cup of wine, the burgundy liquid not doing much to take the edge off tonight.

He shivers slightly as gooseflesh erupts over his pale skin. Glancing out the window, he can see that the skies are grayer than usual and that autumn is settling in over King’s Landing. Aegon begins to worry as he considers the already dwindling food supply and the civil war that is ravaging what little they have left. His grand-sire and mother both seem to be ignoring the constant plight of the commonfolk, but he’s spent enough time amongst them to know that revolt might loom on the horizon.

The large wooden doors to his chamber suddenly open and his attention is drawn from the window, snapped to the form now entering the room. It is you, his chambermaid, carrying a bundle of blankets. You stop dead in your tracks as you notice him sitting in the dwindling light of the gloaming hour.

“Sorry to disturb, Your Grace,” you offer sheepishly. “I didn’t know you had already retired for the day.”

Aegon turns his chair outwards, sitting sideways as he leans an elbow against the table and lifts his cup to his lips, taking a sip of his favorite sweet Arbor red. He doesn’t acknowledge your apology, and instead regards you with a steadfast gaze as he tries to hide his conflicting feelings.

“What is it?” he asks, his tone tinged with disinterest.

“It’s supposed to be chilly tonight,” you answer with a soft voice. “I wanted to bring you some extra blankets and build the fire up so that you are comfortable.”

“Hm,” he grunts, taking another swig of his wine. He doesn’t respond more than that and simply watches as you begin to lay two massive quilts upon his bed, then approach the fireplace to add more wood and stoke the flames. Even now you were doing your best to take good care of him, doting on him as though he were your very own husband.

He can’t help but discreetly study the shape of your body as you kneel before the mantle, appreciating the way the firelight projects shadows over your kneeling figure. The flickering orange light bounces off your face and he can’t help but notice the softness of your features, the curve of your cheek and lips. As you rise back to your feet and turn to face him, he’s finally made his decision.

Perhaps it is time to lay these fears to rest.

He sighs softly, his shoulders slumping somewhat with the release of breath, as he gestures to the chair across from him.

“Sit,” his word is quiet, almost a whisper.

You look at him perplexed as though you did not hear him properly, an apprehension soon settling in as you hesitate to respond.

There is an air of determination in his eyes as he nods once more, encouraging you to sit. His voice now holds a trace of insistence as he shifts in his seat, sitting upright as he repeats himself. “I said sit.” Aegon points at the empty chair once more, his gesture sharper this time.

You oblige him swiftly at that, taking a seat in the ornately carved high-back chair, your legs are pressed together and your hands fidget awkwardly on your lap. Aegon reaches forward and grabs an empty chalice from the silver tray before him, pouring you a glass of wine.

“Here,” he says, his voice strangely calm in your presence now that he has finally given in to his wishes. He hands you the cup across the table, his fingers brushing against yours for just the briefest of moments. He relishes in the heat of your touch, no matter how fleeting, and offers a clumsy smile. “Have a drink with me.”

You take the chalice reluctantly, the anxiety of such taboo evident in your expression. Aegon knew it was unheard of for the staff to share a drink with members of the royal family, but it was also not typical for the king to be denied anything he desired either.

“T-thank you, Your Grace,” you offer appreciatively.

Aegon settles back into his chair, his posture becoming more relaxed as he spreads his legs. He takes comfort in the fact that no matter how much he has tried to avoid you, that you still humbly show him gratitude. That small act of polite civility has him convinced that what he is attempting will not end in rejection.

He raises his cup and toasts to you, a courtesy which seems so simple and yet holds so much significance when coming from a king. “To your service.” His eyes gleam in the fading light of day, bright with unspoken promise.

“I don’t even know what to say, Your Grace,” you squeak out in embarrassment, your face impossibly red as you direct your gaze away from him.

He can feel his confidence returning as he sees the flush of color bloom on your cheeks. It’s a sign that his attention is not entirely unwelcome, and that thought alone is enough to make his heart beat steadily in his chest.

Aegon leans forward, trying to capture your attention once more, his eyes pleading for you to look at him again. After so much time evading this very situation, he now feels hungry for it.

“You don’t have to say anything at all,” he reassures you, his tone softened but with a hint of authority as he motions for you to drink your wine.

Without wavering, you grasp the heavy brass chalice in your hands and with courage etched in your features, take a long draught of the Arbor red.

As you drink, Aegon raises an eyebrow in mild surprse, watching as you take a rather ambitious swig of strongwine. He finds he’s actually impressed with your ability, and his expression soon transforms into a smirk of amusement.

He takes a sip from his own chalice before setting it back down on the table. “You drink deeper than many of my knights, I can tell you that,” he jests with a good-humored ease, testing the boundaries of this fledgling dynamic.

Your cheeks blush once more although this time it is likely due to the wine as well as your timidity. “This is much better than the swill the staff typically has access to,” you offer almost apologetically, as though it were not proper for you to imbibe in your spare time.

The admission has the corners of his mouth curling into a grin once more, and a breathy laugh escapes his lips. It’s clear now that the two of you are finally making progress, the barrier of propriety quickly falling away as it typically did with drink.

“So you mean to say you enjoy good wine, yes?” he teases lightly, tapping his fingertips against the edge of his cup, his gaze focused on you, eager to see your reaction.

“I am enjoying it, yes,” you say with bright eyes, your guilt beginning to fade away with each sip of sweet wine you take.

Aegon can sense the increased ease in your demeanor, and is delighted by the sight of it. He knows that the alcohol has broken through the tension that’s been building between the two of you for days now and he plans to take full advantage of it, feeling even bolder in his pursuit of you.

“Good,” he replies gladly, feeling content with the newfound freedom he’s allowed himself. “Then have some more,” Aegon adds, his tone light and playful as he pushes the decanter of wine closer to you, encouraging you to fill your own cup. He can feel a pleasant buzzing in his head from the strongwine, and can tell that you aren’t far behind him.

“Is Your Grace trying to get me drunk?” you ask, a surprising riposte that he didn’t expect from you.

The question has Aegon laughing aloud, the sound hearty and full of mirth. He leans closer, sliding his elbow further along the table as he offers you a grin. That little spark of humor you show only heightens his own sense of urgency to be in your arms once more.

The king rests his chin on his fist, and raises a brow at you with a mischievous grin. “And what if I was?” he replies playfully.

“Then I’d have to ask to what aim?” you say holding onto your cup, your finger tracing the circular rim of it.

Aegon’s gaze is drawn to your fingers, following the movement as his pulse quickens. He can hear your question, but it fails to register fully as he’s momentarily lost in a daydream of those same fingers running across his skin. His mouth goes dry and his skin feels hot. He finds he must take another large draught of wine to calm the sudden surge of longing that courses through him.

“Well,” he says, his tone feigning seriousness. “Perhaps I intend to get you drunk so I might take advantage of you.”

Aegon is surprised when you chuckle in response to his daring assertion, having expected more of a demure reaction instead. “You would not have to ply me with wine for that,” you admit, lowering your head slightly as though realizing how direct your words had been a little too late.

His eyes go temporarily wide as he registers your brazen honesty, wondering if he’d even heard you correctly. “Do you jest with your king, girl?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” she offers adamantly, with all the defiance of a loyal hound. “I’m afraid I’d be quite willing.”

“Is that so?” Aegon says more for his own confirmation than to communicate it, his eyebrow raising with dubious intent.

His stiffening cock was becoming uncomfortable in his taut breeches and he couldn’t help but consider the irony that such an innocent encounter had taken on an incredibly sexual nature. The comfort you had offered him becoming like an intoxicating fuel to his loins, making you far more attractive than any other woman could ever possibly be in his eyes.

“And what would you be willing to do in order to satisfy your king?” he prods further, feeling confident that he has the upper hand now. His desire to claim everything you have to offer now undeniable.

“I-I,” you begin to stutter nervously, clearly not expecting such a blunt response from him. “What is it you wish of me?”

Aegon let’s out a sharp huff of delight at the question you pose. To his great joy it seems you truly don’t realize the effect you have over him right now. He stands from his chair, sending it backwards with the backs of his thighs. His legs then carry him around the corner of the table until he’s towering above you, looking down upon your trembling form with a burning hunger.

“The real question is.. What don’t I desire of you?” he poses the question with a lurid tone as he thumbs the neckline of your bodice. “I believe you’ll find me quite insatiable in my needs.”

You’re frozen in his sights, appraising him with frightened doe-eyes, but there is no mistaking the undercurrent of lust also hidden right below the surface. Likely, the only true trepidation you have is the thought of performing such acts out of wedlock, but it seems obvious to Aegon at least, that you should have no concerns when offering your virtue up to a king. And given the poorly state of mind he’s been in as of late and desperate weakness he has for you, it’s possible you might even be assisting in the betterment of the realms.

“You’re speechless,” he hums softly, running the back of his knuckles over your bare collarbone. “Don’t worry, I will do the talking,” he says with a smirk, delighted to hear that he sounds every bit the authoritative ruler he should. “Take my hands,” he commands softly, reaching down as he grasps you and encourages you to rise from your chair.

When you obligingly follow his orders and rise before him, Aegon then guides you, leading you towards the bed. He stops once the backs of your knees hit the wooden frame, which is now padded by many layers of newly laid quilts, and turns you away from him. His hands carefully unfasten your apron, tossing it over the footboard before he starts to work at untying the laces of your dress. He loosens them swiftly until your bodice hangs slack.

He’s very well practiced in the art of removing a woman’s clothing, whether they be a whore, a noblewoman, or even a servant as is your case. Still, he holds a certain fondness for you, a consideration that he does not offer readily to most of his conquests. You have given him something so valuable, a treasure that no other has even thought to bestow upon him, and he means to reward you well for it.

Aegon finally removes your dress, pulling it over your head and placing it on top of the apron. All that remains now is a long sleeved undershirt, a slightly more drab version of the sort all women wore under their dresses. He’d like to rip it from your body, but you’ve stirred up such tenderness within his empty heart that he is loathe to treat you in such a way.

Instead, he turns you to face him once more and takes a step back to regard you. “You truly are beautiful,” he states with a sort of quiet awe. He had never really noticed you before and he most definitely should have. What with your cornsilk blond hair and bright blue eyes. Was he really so oblivious to the people and the world around him that he couldn’t even notice such a stunning, caring maiden working directly under his nose? Had he always been avoiding any state of mental clarity and missed so much in the process of hiding from himself?

You look at him nervously, your body antsy as you shift uneasily, precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

“Sit,” he tells you in a hushed tone, not quite wanting to sound as bossy as he does, but trying to relieve you of your discomfort. He takes another step back once you have complied, his gaze now roaming your body, taking in the sight of you, or at least what he can see in that loose potato sack of a frock you’re wearing. Aegon can definitely make out some of your feminine curves though, the slope of your shoulder incredibly pleasing as is the way your breasts protrude noticeably through the fabric, and so too do your wide hips.

He smiles warmly at you, his eyes taking their time to appreciate the woman before him. He can’t help but ponder in this moment, how he’s never felt this way before, a lust that isn’t just physical in nature, but somehow more genuine. Aegon is no stranger to carnal pleasures and strongly desires to claim you in every way possible. But there is something more present in his heart as well, the wish to hold you close and protect you from the entire world, and to in turn be sheltered by you from the chaos of the Iron Throne.

Aegon decides then that he wants your first time together to be gentle, just as it was when you first came together. He closes the distance between the two of you and reaches out with both hands, grabbing softly on either side of your shoulders. Your soft, supple flesh gives pleasingly beneath his fingers as he guides you to lay down on top of the blankets. As you scoot backwards across the width of the bed, he can’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction that you were finally in his bed and no longer a fantasy inside his mind.

Once you’ve nestled into the plushness beneath you, he steps back again, his fingers making quick work of removing his woolen doublet. A flush of excitement blooms across his alabaster skin as he makes a show of the action, enjoying the way you watch him with such focused anticipation. He casts the garment to the floor, now removing his boots as swiftly as he can.

With his breeches already half undone and his chest exposed beneath a simple linen shirt, he is gifted with the sight of you lying in his bed in wait. The image is far more pleasant, far more intimate, than any other woman he has ever taken to bed. Your warmth radiates outward like a blazing fire and by now he is desperate to feel your heat directly. He practically rips his undershirt off, flinging it sideways across the covers.

Aegon makes his way back to you, lifting one knee up onto the mattress and crawling over the entire length of your body until he is face to face with you. His hand cradles your jaw tenderly, caressing up and down until his fingers slip up into your long, flowing tresses.

His intense, violet eyes fix upon yours, looking for any hesitation, but he sees none. It was as though you had been given to him as a gift from the gods, you who always gave and never took from him. There is a vulnerability in his expression that is rarely visible, replacing his usual display of smugness.

He maneuvers his breeches down without much effort, kicking them off once they’re low enough. Now fully settled into the valley of your spread legs, Aegon then grips the hem of your shift, lifting it up your thighs until he feels your body tense. He glances up at you and sees a pang of worry present that is perfectly normal, especially for a maiden.

The king asks the question he’s sure he already knows the answer to. “Have you done this before?”

You shake your head no as a blush of pink covers your cheeks and you bite your lip with pent up longing. Even with your inexperience and worry, he can tell how eager you are regardless. Much like he had been warring with his own thoughts about pursuing more with his chambermaid, you seem torn between your fears and your desires as well.

Aegon smiles sincerely, brushing his thumb gently along your lower lip, before leaning down to give you a chaste kiss. It was a bit of a selfish wish of his that you were untainted by any other man, and a part of him was happy to hear that you were indeed a virgin. It made him revel in delight; knowing you were his alone, that he’d be your first and your last if he had any say in it.

“Relax,” he whispered parting from your lips. “I’ll go slowly.” Aegon gazes at you again, wondering if this is perhaps too much for you, too soon. “That is if you still wish to.”

A look of panic crosses your face, as though you’re worried he might stop. “N-No! I still want to!” you affirm urgently. Your hands wrap around his back, pulling him closer to you, seemingly unwilling to let him go.

The king can barely contain his elation as he presses his forehead to yours, chuckling slightly at your eagerness. His hand slips beneath your undershirt and he slowly strokes the soft skin of your stomach, his fingers grazing over the warm plains of your flesh. Aegon’s breath hitches as he travels higher up your abdomen, finding the pliant curve of your breast.

You moan softly beneath his greedy touch, your body writhing with fervor, and your hips rising impatiently to meet him. Any question he had that you might not be fully keen about this joining was now all but diffused by your enthusiasm.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he teases playfully, feeling a sense of satisfaction at how responsive you are to his touch. He gives your breast a firm squeeze, then teases over the sensitive areola before cupping the whole mound again. His cock throbs painfully against the mattress, still bound by his smallclothes and yearning to sink into your heat.

His pulse pounds with expectation, finally feeling a sense of relief from the pent up desire he’s held for you all of this time. Aegon removes his hand from under your shift, propping himself up on the bed as he reaches down to unlace his braie. His hand brushes against your core in the process and he shivers at the feel of how wet you already are for him.

With his stiff length finally freed, he ventures a finger along your folds, growling at the silky slickness of your center. “Gods,” he utters with a groan. His cock twitches with need as he tests the tightness of your cunny, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he imagines thrusting into you with his thick member instead of his digit.

“Are you ready for me, girl?” he asks eagerly, the question a soft inquiry as well as a warning of the impending pain his intrusion is likely to cause. At this point, he feels more like a lovesick boy than the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, his suspense heavy as he drapes your leg around his his hip, opening you more to him. He positions his head at your entrance and presses himself closer to you.

You nod, never taking your eyes off of him as you wrap your hands around his back. Aegon rests his weight on his elbows, covering you completely as he kisses you with tenderness. He tries to express everything he feels for you with actions instead of words, his lips hungrily devouring yours with passion. Without breaking the kiss, he begins to ease into you slowly, immediately feeling the resistance of your still in tact virtue.

His arms slide down, gripping your hips on each side tightly as his chest presses into yours. You let out a whimper into his mouth as he breaches your depths, your thighs clenching against his body at the sharp pain of his invasion. It doesn’t take long for you to relax again, your walls suddenly more welcoming as the sting subsides.

Aegon parts from your lips, pulling back slightly so he can look down at you. A smirk forms on his face as he sees your lurid expression and he begins to move, his hips rolling against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm. His hands slide down to your thighs, spreading them further apart as he thrusts himself deeper inside you. He groans with overwhelming pleasure at the feel of you, his head falling forward as he picks up the pace.

He kisses you again, forcing his tongue into your mouth as he continues to move inside of you. His tongue dances with yours as he begins to lose control, his hips snapping against you with intensity. Aegon can feel his release approaching quickly, unable to hold back for much longer, he tries to hasten you along to satisfaction. His hand slides up your shift once more, squeezing your breast and tweaking your delicate nipple until it pebbles between his fingers.

You squirm under him, incapable of holding still as he drives into you with increased enthusiasm. The king grinds his hips into you relentlessly, grimacing at the way your walls tighten around his cock like a vice. Aegon’s grip on your tit becomes harder, flipping between gripping and tweaking your sensitive nipple. His lips withdraw abruptly, his mouth searching out your other breast and nipping it through your undershirt.

He grins against the cloth as you cry out loudly, your body rigid as your climax rolls over you and soon he can feel it wash over his length as well. But, he can’t take it anymore, not how tight you are or how creamy your release feels on his tender cockhead. It’s all too much and within a moment he is gripping hard to your flesh and burying himself deep within you, his spend erupting in spurts from his pulsing member.

“Fuuuccck,” he growls out, his hands finding their way beneath your back and pulling you towards him securely, trying to get even closer if that was at all possible.

You pant below him, trying to catch your breath as little spasms continue to twitch throughout your back and your thighs tremble against his hips. A warm, blissful calm settles over him as he nestles his face into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply of your scent. He feels pleasantly dizzy, his heartbeat finally slowing as the haze of lust subsides.

Aegon sighs into your ear, the tone content and relaxed. “That was incredible,” he murmured softly, his voice low as he gently runs his hand along the side of your cheek.

“It was,” is all you can manage to say, your breath still a bit ragged as you try to come down from the high.

Your hand finds its way into his white hair again, brushing up against the nape of his neck and causing him to shiver. He’s once again reminded of the shared encounter that started all of this and he’s overcome with a fondness that makes his chest ache.

Aegon feels closer to you in every possible way now and isn’t keen on the idea of parting from you, but he can feel his cock softening and the mess beginning to pool on the sheets. So he slowly pulls out of you, collapsing onto the bed at your side. He grabs one of his stray garments without looking, probably his smallclothes or maybe his shirt, and cleans up his seed from you first and then himself.

He adjusts towards the head of the bed, resting on his side against the pillows and reaching out for you to join him as he scuttles under the covers. “Come here,” he says softly, pained by the loss of her warmth.

As you get up and crawl towards him, he scoops you up into his arms. Aegon holds you close, his chin resting against the top of your head as he wraps the quilts around your form and presses himself tighter against your back. The king can no longer deny the depth and the power of his feelings for you as you cuddle in his arms. There’s a sense of deep security and comfort welling up within him, but any words seem inadequate in this moment.

Aegon kisses your temple, the doting gesture unlike anything he’s bestowed upon a lover before. “I think I’m going to sleep quite well tonight,” he muses into your hair, still cradling you in his arms.

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to stay with you? In your chambers?” you ask quietly with seemingly no clue how ridiculous he thinks you sound for asking such a thing.

His mouth twitches into a small smile and he lifts his chin to press another kiss into your hair.

“Of course. I’m the king. I can do whatever I want,” he quips playfully, his voice sounding drowsy and relaxed as he settles into the plushness of the bed. “Now, come. Get your rest. You’re going to need it.” There is a gentle warning present in his tone that you do not seem to catch, that he intends to have more of you in the morning.

You nod, twisting your back towards the mattress until you’re facing him. The expression you give him is enough to make his heart melt, those big, blue eyes like deep pools filled with bottomless love and devotion. You wrap your hand behind his neck and pull him close for a kiss, a request he’s more than happy to oblige.

Your mouth is sweet and hot against his and he can’t help but to lick the line of your lower lip before parting from you. Aegon settles you back into place, his chest enveloping your smaller frame as he holds you possessively. He feels such solace in the close proximity of your body, his limbs toasty warm as he falls into a deep state of relaxation. He’s not even aware of when the moment he falls asleep, it happens so quickly.

—Aegon

When the first light of day streams through the window, Aegon finds his eyes drifting open and then closing again, not sure of what time it is, but too comfortable to want to move. His back feels incredibly warm with the slight dampness of sweat and he opens his lids once more to see your arm wrapped over his chest. He can feel your hot breath at his neck now that he’s paying attention fully and your leg slotted between his.

Aegon’s lips curl into a satisfied smile, basking in the near domestic feel of waking up like this with someone he actually cares for. He takes your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours as he rests his own arm on top of yours.

He tries to settle into his pillow once more, nuzzling his backside into you further and bending his knees more deeply. The peace is short lived though as the doors to his chamber fling open and he hears the startled gasp of a woman. It couldn’t be just any woman, like perhaps another maid come to clean his room in place of the one that never showed up for work. No, it had to be his mother, of all the people he did not wish to see this morning.

The king whips his head over his shoulder and squints in the direction of the door. His mother stands there with a hand over her mouth, frozen in horrified disbelief as though she’d just seen a ghost. Aegon grits his teeth, sitting up with a jolt, forced to realize just how compromising this situation must look with the way he was tangled in bed naked with you.

“No, no, no, no, no, Aegon!!” she practically screams at him and the sound jars you from your slumber. He wishes you could have stayed asleep, to have escaped the madness of his family for just a little longer.

Alicent picks up her skirts so she can walk swiftly around the bed and to his side, standing there with a judgmental sneer. “This is just like Diana, isn’t it!?” she cries hysterically. “Isn’t it!?” his mother prods him further.

Aegon looks back, catching your shifting uneasiness from his peripheral vision, then turns to his mother again, suddenly feeling very protective of you. You are innocent in all of this and should be afforded the ability to wake up from your first time making love in some semblance of calm, not to one of his mother’s outbursts. And of course the first thought she would have of him was that he had raped yet another servant girl. His mother was blissfully ignorant of everything he had done as a young man, except for the acts she felt the need to berate him for, even though she had never been around to offer any kind of proper guidance.

He lets out a groan of exasperation, running his fingers through his mussed hair and tries to think of an answer that might satisfy his fuming mother, but he knows this is a lost cause.

“No,” he denies, shaking his head as he avoids eye contact with her. There is no conviction in his tone, but it’s not like she would ever believe a thing he said on the matter.

“So it was consensual then?” the Dowager Queen asks glaring past Aegon and looking straight at you.

He glances to his side and sees you nod, but interrupts before you can say anything more. “You do not have to explain yourself to her,” he says in a much softer voice, trying to shield you from his mother.

“So, she’s just another one of your tramps then!” Alicent hisses with disgust. “Is it so hard for you to keep your hands off the staff? Can’t be bothered to go into the city anymore, you need to make sure you find your pleasure within the walls of the Red Keep?” Her words are vitriolic and hateful without any attempt to understand the situation.

“I should have gotten rid of your father’s little bastard when I had the chance. I should have known better that she would be too pretty for you to resist, but I was assured that the girl’s skills were tantamount to any risk,” she continued on her tirade, barking out every spiteful dagger she could think of.

“What of your wife!? How can you carry on like this!? Oblivious to the people you hurt!?” the Queen Dowager prattled on, not waiting for an answer, but seemingly wanting to preach her conclusions endlessly.

“You know Helaena’s fallen deep into sadness ever since Jaehaerys died. Ever since you forced her to endure that disgusting funeral procession through the streets of the city.. And it’s not like we ever had a deep connection even before that, Mother.” Aegon’s voice was bitter, resentful. He was sick and tired of this farce of familial love when she barely ever showed him any hint of it.

He’s incredibly shocked when he hears you speak up, your voice quiet, but accusing, even defensive, “You’re one to talk, Queen Dowager. You hurt Aegon more than any other.”

“How dare you! You insolent wretch!” his mother didn’t hesitate to bite back, her acrimony potent in the air. “You can consider your employ here ended. Gather your belongings and leave!” she looked at you impatiently, as though expecting you to stand immediately and go. “Now!” she snarled, her nose crinkled with anger.

“No,” the king interceded on your behalf, stilling you with his hand on your hip. “You will not go anywhere.”

“She absolutely will go! This is not acceptable behavior for any chambermaid in the employ of the royal family!” Alicent was insistent, with no sign of backing down, but Aegon had enough of this contest of wills.

“Mother!” he bellowed at her furiously, finally snapping back at her with conviction. “I am the king and you will obey me!”

That finally got her attention, for the first time in his entire life he saw a flash of fear in his mother’s eyes and it only emboldened him to continue.

“You will not do a thing to this girl. She is under my protection,” he added, his ruling absolute. “And if I find that you have touched her, hurt her in any way, then I will have you hung. Just like the rat catchers.”

Aegon’s lips curl upwards in smug satisfaction, finally realizing a fraction of the true power he held as sovereign of the realms. His mother did not respond, regarding him with silent malice, her glare ever testing the limits to see if he truly meant it. When she saw that he did, his mother backed down, her shoulder slumping slightly as she relented, but not before getting one last dig in.

“Very well, My King,” she mocked with false sincerity, giving him a sarcastic curtsy. “I will leave you to your dalliances. I should know better than to interrupt a man having his fun.” She left in a flurry of resentment, slamming the door behind her with a loud thud.

No matter how furious he was with his mother, she still remained his parent, the woman who gave him life, whom he loved and had once revered above all else. Even this victory he had over her felt hollow, and he realized that even when he won, he still lost in one way or another.

He turned to you, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness. Aegon stroked gently at the side of your cheek, wanting to make you feel safe again after you’d been forced to tolerate the full brunt of his mother’s wrath. He found you to be more resilient than he’d ever expected, already sitting up and staring at him with a knowing look upon your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say softly and almost instantly he feels something within his chest fracture.

It might have been the facade he always wore cracking, how he always projected an image of indifferent merriment so none would know how truly miserable he was. It might even have been the very fact that you had suffered insults by associating with him and yet you were still concerned about his well being.

Aegon can feel tears welling in his eyes and when you spread your arms out towards him, he doesn’t hesitate to crash into you. He buries his face in your comforting bosom and finally allows himself to fall apart in your embrace without shame. It’s probably the safest and most accepted he’s ever felt in his entire life and he knows now that he won’t ever be able to exist without you.

As you rake your fingers through his silvery locks, his tears dwindle until he is left relaxed, sated by your validation that his life is not as easy as everyone might think it is. He listens to your heartbeat as his fingers dig firmly into your back, making sure you can never leave his side. It’s a mercy, that you don’t seem to mind how clingy and needy he is. If anything, you seem born to mend his wounds, a soothing balm to his troubled soul.

You lean back against the pillows and soon Aegon finds himself drifting asleep against you. As his aching eyes begin to close, he can’t help but hope that he never disappoints you. He’s so convinced that he is a failure from the constant disparagements he’s endured throughout his life, that he can’t even fully enjoy you without worrying that he isn’t worthy of you - that you might leave him.

As if reading his mind, your hand massages gently along his scalp, cradling his head closer to your breast. “Don’t worry,” you say reassuringly. “It’s going to be alright. I promise.”

Aegon didn’t know how you could possibly promise him such a thing, but somehow hearing you say it aloud makes him actually want to believe it.

Read Chapter 2

And will you be bold Will you lose control? I could never desert you I could never let go If you fall in line And the zenith calls I'm standing waiting The last to fall

~Starset - Last to Fall

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octopus-punching-union · 7 months ago

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Tokyo Debunker characters + MC who talks to cats

(specifically, praising the campus cats for being cute hard workers)

Jin: Obviously he's not giving you enough work if you have time to waste with the cats. (But secretly, he's cranky that you're too nervous to be like that with him. He doesn't get much genuine praise and has been telling himself that he doesn't need it... but hearing you so freely praising the cats makes him feel things that aren't entirely pleasant.)

Tohma: "They have jobs, you know." If you're so bored that you're distracting others from their work, he has plenty for you to do. (He actually finds it really amusing.)

Luca: "You're right, they really do work hard." He's not the type to fawn over animals, but he doesn't find it at all unusual when you do. He very earnestly thanks them for all their hard work.

Kaito: Sits down and joins you petting and praising the cats. It's a rare moment in which he's not feeling self-conscious or worrying about impressing you, until you accidentally bump hands and he starts freaking out.

Alan: He backs off as soon as he notices what's going on — he doesn't want to ruin the moment. Later, he makes sure to tell you that you're doing a good job (but without context, it feels like it's coming out of nowhere).

Leo: "It's just a cat. You know it doesn't understand what you're saying, right?" He starts to say something rude in a sugary-sweet tone. "Don't listen to him," you say, covering the cat's ears so that it won't hear. (The cat, disgruntled by all the movement, hops out of your lap and trots away.)

Sho: "You're so weird, senpai," he says, not even trying to hide his smirk, but you can tell he's not serious. He pretends to be reluctant to join you, but he really just wants to hear you ask for him again.

Haru: He stops briefly to say hi, but doesn't have much time to spare. He'll take care of some of your tasks, though, so that you can have a peaceful moment without worrying about anything. (If you want him to take a break with you, you'll have to sit on him or something.)

Towa: A sudden burst of rain scares the cat away. Towa appears moments later with flowers for you, and the weather has turned sunny and warm — perfect to dry out your damp clothes. He lies down in the grass next to you as you relax.

Ren: "Gross. You don't know where that's been." He grumbles about how people lose their minds over cats just because they're cute (he definitely doesn't want to hear you say that he's cute) and makes you wash your hands after the cat leaves.

Taiga: He either wants to eat it or wants to chase it out of his room with gunfire — you have to distract him while the cat makes a hasty escape. He pins you to the wall, musing about how he'll punish you... He runs a finger down your cheek just to feel you tremble. You're his favorite toy.

Romeo: He hasn't given the cats a second thought until this exact moment. They do their jobs competently and he can't exploit them, so what else is there to care about? He has never in his life praised someone for doing a good job, and he thinks you're excessively soft for doing so... but that's not the real reason it bothers him. You've always refused to call him Fico or stroke his ego, yet you're heaping praise on a cat? Ludicrous.

Ritsu: Initially not interested, as cats aren't subject to labor laws and standards. When you wonder out loud if Sinostra could get in trouble for animal abuse, he immediately goes off to investigate.

Subaru: He enjoys the moment with a smile. You're sweet and encouraging and way cuter than any cat, and he counts himself lucky that he gets to spend time with you.

Haku: He ruffles your hair and, mimicking your tone, says that you're cute and hardworking and doing a great job. "Don't make fun of me," you protest, pouting. "I'm not," he replies.

Zenji: Joins you, far more eloquently. After the cat leaves, it's your turn to be praised! He makes sure that you know exactly how important and admired you are.

Rui: Feels really silly for being so envious of a cat. (He's cute, too! He works hard and has great hair, and he wants to cuddle up to you while you praise him and run your fingers through his hair...) But, as long as he's cursed, he can't have what he wants. It's better to keep things lighthearted so that he can see you smile. (Maybe someday, when both of your curses are broken...)

Lyca: Growls. The cat is not intimidated; it escaped Sinostra unscathed, after all. Lyca's not sure what to make of it, but he settles next to you, wary. If it makes a move, he'll be ready.

Yuri: He's so busy and deals with so much weird stuff that it doesn't even register. If he needs you for something, he'll just grab you regardless of what you're doing. You protest as the cat tumbles out of your lap, but he's already three steps ahead.

Jiro: Observes carefully, as he would with any experiment. Are Darkwick's cats smarter than normal cats? You're making it sound like they are, but he doesn't have any other memories of cats as a comparison. Later, he watches some cat videos. For science.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker headcanons

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worriedvision · 1 month ago

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You finally leave a toxic workplace - multiple characters

Gender neutral reader, going to do this with Wriothesley and Kinich. More of a comfort fic for myself than anything tbh lol! The jobs are more genshin related than irl tbh lmao!

Wriothesley:

You finally had enough of the mind-games you'd be subject to by your peers in the dress shop you worked in. Whenever you were trying to work yourself, nobody would trust you with their materials they'd bring for special commissions - your boyfriend being Wriothesley and all!

Your coworkers weren't much better, but they were different. They got worse after seeing your boyfriend come along with a packed lunch for you, which led to jealousy. How did you get such a hunk of a boyfriend that was also a doting lover? They weren't happy your romantic life was going well, but they'd put emphasis on you not being doting back - a statement they wouldn't know to be fake.

When more customers came in and everyone had to stay back, they'd hand it to you to cover for them all. Chiori, someone who ran a rival shop, walked in one day after seeing you clearly not doing well.

"Darling, you do know you don't sell bags right?" Chiori chastises, you tilting your head in confusion before gasping at the mirror Chiori holds up.

"You're worth more than your coworkers - unfortunately, the only one not seeing that is you." Chiori states. "For your sake, I'd leave this job of yours. While I don't have any openings, I'm sure there are other shops you can work in that will respect your time."

"...Thank you, Chiori." You smile weakly, feeling strangely empowered to have someone that wasn't your boyfriend telling you your own worth. "can I ask why you...?"

"Oh, your boyfriend told me he was thinking of threatening your boss with a criminal record. I figured this would get you out of a sticky mess."

"Ah, that makes sense." You chuckle. "... You're right. I'm exhausted after work, and I don't have the energy to indulge in anything. I don't get paid for overtime, and I cover for people with no thanks in return."

"Walk out with me, make a statement." Chiori nods, you agreeing as you leave your badge and apron behind, hearing the gasps from the few customers still waiting.

"...You finally left?" Wriothesley smiles, you nodding as you snuggle into his chest and inhale softly. He sighs, massaging the back of your head as he sits back in his chair. "Glad to hear it. You're practically working yourself to death there."

"I didn't even realise how big my eye bags were!" You laugh, Wriothesley tutting before wrapping his arms around you.

"You better enjoy some time away from work. You really ought to look after yourself, my love." Wriothesley chastises, waiting for a response before realising you were now softly snoring on his chest.

---

Kinich:

You worked as a collector of materials for people who weren't familiar with Natlan and its layout. You emphasised focus on quality and less pay, as you were new to that line of work and you had to sell yourself somehow. People knew you'd be the cheaper option, but they'd pressure you to spend excessive time and resources to get their materials collected.

Your boyfriend had given you lectures about this, but at first you thought he didn't know better than what worked for him. You knew from growing up you were to take every job you possibly could, not for your own good but rather for the good of your reputation. If you didn't grow a good reputation, you couldn't work with the decent clients.

Unfortunately, you got the horrible people that everyone else would ignore if they got the commission. They'd track your progress on the commission, keeping a close eye to make sure you weren't just getting the cheap stuff. And god forbid they caught you taking a lunch break in progress of their commission!

You actually got injured one time, and the person who commissioned you jumped out from a nearby bush.

"You aren't doing your job well enough! I specifically commissioned you out of pity, and you can't even collect this one. Simple. Request?" They tut, you trying to get your leg wedged out from between two rocks.

"The request isn't- ow - simple." You growl out.

"It really is! How else would you have accepted it with such a low reward?" The man laughs, still making no move to help you. "I won't be helping you out, it will be deducted from your paycheck otherwise!"

"...Fuck you." You grumble. "My leg is stuck between two rocks, and being the sociopath you are you're talking down to me. You specifically asked for this commissions spot." You keep going, the adrenaline from the accident leaving leading to you getting both a surge of pain and exhaustion.

"Oh, you have some balls talking to me like that. Do you know who I am?" The man laughs, pinching you to keep you awake.

Before he can continue, however, he gets yanked back with a grapple your boyfriend made. The man is shocked, and he goes to open his mouth only to see a very angry Kinich.

"We've had this problem before." He states, eyes cold as they drill into his soul. "I warned you before, but you never listen. I alerted the commissions guild of this in advance knowing something would go wrong. My partner is in agony because of you."

"I-I- can-"

"You were spying on them as well. I'm fairly certain that is also a crime - in addition to you physically abusing them." Kinich coldly continues. "Traveler, please take this man away."

The traveler does so, seemingly entirely clued in, as Kinich goes along to you.

"I'm exhausted. I want to go home." You cry, Kinich nodding before examining your leg. He grabs your leg, advising you this was going to hurt, before lifting your leg up so your ankle was at the gap before getting you free.

"This is a pretty nasty wound, you're incredibly lucky you didn't break anything." Kinich sighs, grabbing his kit to clean the wound.

"I want to sleep, is that okay?" You whimper. "You were right, people are taking advantage of me."

"Of course." Kinich nods. "I'll carry you to the tent after I patch you up. I'll stay by your side." Kinich smiles.

"Yeah, so will I!" Ajaw cackles. "Even I would take better care of you than that guy! The audacity, not even killing you to end your suffering." Ajaw ends, you and Kinich looking over confused.

"... That was surprisingly nice of you." Kinich nods. "I appreciate the sentiment, and I'm sure _ does as well."

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact imagines #kinich x gender neutral reader #kinich x reader #kinich #wriothesley x gender neutral reader #wriothesley #wriothesley x reader

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russellsppttemplates · 11 months ago

Text

Part-time driver, part-time nurse (Charles Leclerc)

Charles spends his off season nursing you back to health

Note: english is not my first language. This is the opportunity to showcase all of my Grey's Anatomy knowledge 😅 jokes aside, this really is knowledge that I have from medical shows and a little research, so the accuracy might not be on point! It was inspired by this blurb!

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm taking requests so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to do so as I'll try to get to them the best I can!

my masterlist

Cw: reader has a surgery (cholecystectomy), hospitals, medications, mild mention of sex

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog

"It's really painful, Charles", you groaned, finding a position in bed where you'd be a little bit more comfortable. You had a good pain tolerance and hated hospitals, so when he heard you say those words, he knew well enough that your pain had to be through the roof.

"Let's put this on and then we go to the hospital, okay amour?", he suggested soflty, prepared to gently force you in case you resisted. This was not an okay situation and even though you didn't like the setting, they would be the ones able to help you

"I need your help", you admitted, allowing Charles to lift your torso and dress you with one of his zip up hoodies, "Good, that's good, amour", he cooed, supporting your body on his as you walked out of the flat and into the garage.

"Am I hurting you?", he asked as he lowered your body into the passenger seat, "no, it comes and goes in waves, but it's still at the same place, right here", you winced as you showed him, pointing to your upper abdomen and then your back.

Charles drove to the hospital, his hand holding yours so you could squeeze anytime you needed, "you can park there already, I can walk to the door", you mumbled, "are you sure?", he checked, "yes, handsome", you smiled faintly.

The hospital wasn't too busy since visiting hours had ended a while ago, so Charles parked fairly close to the door, "up, gently, good", he helped you out and locked the car, looking at your face when he heard you laugh.

"We were so busy that I didn't even notice I have my slippers on still", you showed him the fluffy beige footwear, "I think it's trendy, you are going to set a new fashion", he said as you walked to the door of the emergency room.

After being escorted to a bed, a doctor came up to meet you, "Hi, I'm Dr. Richard and I'll be your doctor this evening", he said, greeting you and Charles, "Ms. Y/L/N, it says here you have pain in your abdomen", he stated as waited for your clarification.

"Yes, especially around here", you pointed to the upper right section, "at first it was just here, but then it spread to my back. I wouldn't have come in if it wasn't really impossible to go about my day with it", you sighed as the doctor typed away on his tablet.

"I'm going to do an ultrasound on you", he said as he pulled the kart with the machine closer to the bed, the nurse adjusting the drip he put in your arm with pain medication, "you seem to have cholecystitis, which is when your gallbladder is very inflamed and it causes pain. This ultrasound should let us know quickly if this is the case", he said as you lifted your top, wincing at the cold gel as the doctor moved the wand around.

"See this right here?", Dr. Richard pointed to the screen, "it's your gallbladder, and it is definitely inflamed. The course of treatment is surgically removing it", he explained, grabbing a towell to clean off the excess product from your skin.

"Surgery?", Charles questioned, worry sketched in his eyes, "yes, we do it laparascopically, just a few small incisions on your abdomen. It's very simple, you'll be able to go home tomorrow afternoon if we do the surgery in the morning", he said

"Okay, then. Sounds good", you spoke, "anything to take this pain away", you said, holding Charles' hand in your own.

"This is Dr. Pavard, she's one of my surgical interns", he said as a young woman approached your bed, greeting you, "she'll be the one to take you up to your room, she'll take some samples to make sure everything else is good for surgery and we'll do it tomorrow morning", he smiled, excusing himself as he was being paged to another case.

"Can I go with her?", Charles wondered, as the intern looked a little uneasy on her answer, "I'll have to talk to my superiors about it, but you can go up to the room until I figure it out. How does that sound?", she stated and you both nodded, your boyfriend grabbing your bag and walking behind her as she wheeled you along the corridor into the elevator, not missing the double checks some patients and hospital staff gave him.

After drawing the samples she needed, the intern left you and Charles in the room, "how are you feeling, amour?", he asked, holding your hand between his and kissing your fingertips, "I'm fine, the pain meds are working wonders", you sighed, "not my plans for the next few days to have surgery, but it's for the best", you reasoned.

"Do you think they'll let me stay with you?", Charles wondered, "I'm not sure, Charles. They have very strict rules. Joris said one of his cousins couldn't have anyone with her when she was admitted", you shrugged, "it would be nice having you here, but let's not get our hopes up", you attempted.

After telling you all your labs checked out and you'd be having surgery in the morning, Dr. Richard excused himself and spoke to the nurses outside of the room, "I'm going to the bathroom, and I don't need help", you looked at your boyfriend who looked like a puppy you had kicked out in the street.

When you came out, Charles was closing the door behind him, a smile on his lips as he looked at you, "where did you go? I didn't even take that long in there", you quirked an eyebrow at him, "Oh, they told you you have to leave?".

"I spoke to Dr. Richard", he said with a smirk on his lips, "I'm staying!".

"Charles!", you sterned, "you know you shouldn't pull the card at these things!", you reasoned despite feeling a little bit more at ease that you'd have him with you the whole time.

"I didn't pull any card or any strings!", Charles defended himself, "I went up to him and asked if there was a chance, because I'd be here first thing in the morning anyway, and he said he had already asked one of the nurses to get me a pillow and a blanket for that sofa, that apparently turns into a bed if I want it to", he shrugged his shoulders, "I wasn't going to say no".

Despite shaking your head at him, you were grateful that he also wanted to stay with you, "sometimes I forget that I'm dating the principality's pride child", you teased him, making room for him in your bed so he could envelop you in your arms, "thank you, though", you kissed his jaw.

"They also assured me that everyone that saw us wouldn't mention this to anyone, so you're safe", he mumbled, kissing your forehead, "now rest, amour, you'll need it before your surgery".

Early in the morning, the surgical team came to the room to take you, not before Charles kissed your lips, "I love you so much, Charles, I'll see you in a bit", you smiled, nodding to the interns who would be wheeling you to the operating room.

About halfway through the procedure, one of the interns came into the room to assure Charles everything was going as it was supposed to, "thank you for letting me know", he said, watching him leave before his phone rang, Pierre's contact name showing on the screen.

"Hey, man! How are you? Me and Francisca are in Monaco for a few days, do you and Y/N want to plan something?", the French man asked over the phone.

"Hey! Y/N's is actually having surgery right now - her gallbladder was giving her trouble so they're taking it out", Charles explained, "we should be going home this afternoon, hopefully, so if you guys don't mind hanging out at our place, it's fine".

"Oh, I hope everything goes well", Pierre said, saying something to who Charles assumed was his girlfriend, "let us know how it goes and we'll go from there, okay? We don't want to bother you even more".

After wishing everything would go well and requesting that Charles let's him know when you were awake, Pierre ended the call and your boyfriend took the opportunity to update your families.

"She's out of the operating room and she's starting to wake up, they will bring her up soon", one of the nurses smiled as Charles nodded, taking a sip from his coffee as he waited for you.

When they wheeled you back into the room, your eyes looked tired but you smiled when you saw him, "everything went as planned, there were no complications, so it should be a smooth recovery. They'll bring your breakfast in a bit and if you can tolerate that and walk just fine, we'll be able to discharge you when your labs come back good!", your surgeon said before excusing himself.

"Hey, bébé", he smiled, kissing your forehead, "how are you feeling?", he asked.

"I'm good, loopy from the meds, but I'm also quite hungry", you giggled, "I'm sorry I caused you to worry", you began.

"It's part of it", he shrugged his shoulders, kissing your hands, "all that matters is that it went well and you're feeling good. My mother says she dropped by our flat and arranged the place a little bit - it wasn't too messy, don't worry - and she also left a pasta bake; your parents are very happy and relieved it went well. Pierre and Kika are in town as well and I told them that if you weren't too tired, they could spend tomorrow with us, but only of you feel up to it!", he was quick to mention.

"That sounds nice!", you nodded, "I haven't seen them in a while", you recalled.

After eating breakfast and walking along the corridor a few times during the day, the doctors discharged you, prescribing the medications you would need and listing the signs you should look out for.

"Here, amour, careful", Charles said as he helped you up the small step to get into your flat, guiding you to the living room where the sofa was packed with blankets and pillows, "Careful, you don't want to hurt your tummy", he ushered as you sat down, kissing the top of your head.

"Charles, love, the incisions are very small, I have to be careful, yes, but if they said that I could come home, it's because I can move still", you giggled, appreciating his attention even though he was being a little over the top, not letting you get up to grab snacks from the kitchen.

"I have grapes for you", he smiled, coming back with a plate for you, "they're full of the good things you have to eat, so your body heals nicely and you feel better", he said, sitting next to you carefully as you took some to eat.

Later, when you wanted to get up, his hand carefully stopped you, "my love, I need to pee, and I'm not even going to let you think of a way to help. I'm just going to the bathroom and I'll be right back", you added.

"I carry you to the bathroom sometimes after we have sex and you can't do it on your own, I can do it now!", he suggested, almost getting up when you threateningly pointed your finger at him, "I'll be quick, Charles!", you smiled.

When you opened the door to get out, Charles was there, "did you wait outside for me?", you quirked your eyebrow, "I did! I didn't want something to happen to you!", he reasoned, "now you have to drink some water to make sure everything is functioning well, and your meds, too!".

Shaking your head at his worry and dedication, you couldn't help but smile, "I love you, Charles, and as much as I'm a little annoyed at the fact that you're my shadow, I must admit I love having you here with me everyday", you smiled, kissing his cheek and then his lips, "I love you, amour, I just want you to be well".

When the next morning came around, Charles guided you to the living room again, making breakfast for you as you sent a few work e-mails explaining what was happening and why you had to take a few days off when a text from Francisca popped up in your phone, saying they were at the door.

Texting her the code to enter the building, you got up to open the door, figuring you would take the same amount of time until they knocked.

"Hi! Quick, quick, quick, before Charles sees I'm up from the sofa", you ushered them to the living room right as Charles was coming out of the kitchen with your breakfast.

"I saw you, Y/N", he sterned as he shook his head, "you cannot stay still, can you, woman?", he teased, setting the tray on the coffee table and chasing you as you hid beside Pierre, "we've been friends for nearly as long a time as I've been Charles' friend, Gasly, don't gang up on me now!", you attempted as Charles picked you up gently, "hey!".

"You had surgery, Y/N", Pierre began, "if he didn't do it, I would do it myself", he snickered as you showed him the middle finger.

"How are you feeling, though?", Francisca asked once you were all sat on the big sofa, "comparing to the pain I had, I'm great, I swear I never felt pain like it", you answered, taking a sip from your tea and cutting the toast Charles made for you.

"You have a full on breakfast here", Pierre pointed out, "of course we have! Y/N needs to replenish and eat so she can heal", Charles stated.

"Anyone who hears him thinks I've had a whole things done to me and what I had it's pretty common", you giggled, "still, I don't mind the attention", you said as you kissed his cheek while Pierre pretend to barf on the side of your sofa.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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ghostf4cesbitch · 2 years ago

Text

all mine // ethan landry

heyy this is the first time i'm writing fanfic in a while so pls be nice :0 open to requests :]

warnings: 18+ minors dni, slightly jealous!ethan, corn with plot, degregation, light praise, not proofread word count: 2.7k

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・

"havin' a good time?" some blond mama's boy says to you.

"could be better," you say.

ethan dragged you to this stupid party with stupid frat boys who reek of bud light. he'd said chad was really excited about it and that he had to be there to hype him up before he tries to kiss tara for the first time. the tension between the two of them was starting to get unbearable for everyone else so of course you said you'd come, but that was before you knew your boyfriend would be spending all of his time with his boyfriend.

you're not super clingy, and you love that ethan has a friend that helps him break out of his comfort zone, but jesus christ he's barely said five words to you since you got here. they've been nose deep in beer pong since they spotted the table.

"any way i can help with that?" the blond boy says.

you look at him and contemplate for a moment. ever since you and ethan started dating you hadn't stricken up a conversation with a boy unless you needed to. not because he got jealous or anything, you just simply didn't want to. why even speak a word to anyone else when he's all you could ever ask for?

"do you know if there's a secret stash anywhere?" you tap your hand on the keg in front of you. "it's kicked."

although ethan didn't get jealous easily, he was extremely possessive. you recognized this early on in your relationship, how his grip on your hand would tighten a little if another guy started talking to you, the way he'd pull you in closer if he noticed some creep's eyes on you walking down the street. it sent a shiver straight through your spine every time. you're his, and he makes sure everybody knows it.

which is the only reason you're giving this frat bro your time. you know there's a cooler hidden in the corner of the room your boyfriend just so happens to be playing beer pong in.

blond boy leans down and says, "follow me," into your ear, at which you try not to grimace. you let him take your hand and guide you through the crowd of sweaty teenagers, the cheers from the room you're walking towards somehow still audible over the booming speakers playing trademark usa.

as soon as you enter the room your eyes scan for a mop of curly hair. sure enough, he's standing at the table with chad, giving him a high five and saying something you couldn't quite make out. blond boy tugs on your arm a little harder to pull you down to the cooler. he opens it and does a voila motion with his hands.

"take your pick," he says, watching you as he grabs one himself.

you grab a Mike's and shut the cooler, looking back at him. "thanks," you say. "i think i was starting to sober up."

he smiles at you. "no time for that."

he cracks open his drink and motions for you to do the same, so you do. you take a long drink, thankful for the fruity flavors after basically drinking hard liquor all night.

blond boy is watching you as you come back up for air, then he licks his lips and you know what's coming.

"hey wanna go chill in my room for a bit? it's quieter in there." it's so typical you almost laugh out loud. frat boys put out like rabbits.

"i think i'm gonna go find my boyfriend actually," you say, pretending not to see him roll his eyes. "thanks for the drink."

you take another sip, then make your way to the ping pong table on the opposite side of the room. when you look to ethan, his eyes are already locked on you, his party boy exterior temporarily gone before he notices you walking towards him and that pretty smile falls right back onto his face.

"hey, baby," he says, kissing your forehead and immediately pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulders.

there's no sign of malice on his face, no twitch of his lip or excessive strength in his grip.

"hey," you say back with a smile. "you winning?"

"up by two," he says, gesturing to the table.

then he's just staring at you. his eyes are fluttering from one spot on your face to another. you know you're starting to blush because goddamn his gaze is intense.

"oh shit, y/n! where you been?" chad says from next to ethan.

you lean forward across ethan's chest a bit to make eye contact with your boyfriend's roommate. "around," you say. "found another cooler."

you point to the spot you came from. blond boy seems to have found his friends, dancing with a group of boys you couldn't tell the difference between in a lineup. when you look back, ethan's eyes are locked on the corner. or rather, the blond boy in the corner.

somebody else at the table grabs his attention, it's his turn to shoot. he does, and as he turns back around to do so the arm that's around your shoulders slips down to your waist, his fingers running under your shirt and digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. it doesn't hurt by any means, in fact, it feels good enough that there's a familiar flutter in your stomach.

ethan and chad win their game with a shot your boyfriend throws, kissing you on the head and calling you his lucky charm while everyone celebrates.

"i think you're just that good, babe," you say back, patting his chest. he chuckles, then turns to chad and says something in his ear.

chad's face falls as he says, "but we're on a four-time winning streak," in response.

"i know i know i'll be back later just don't lose it," you hear ethan say. they do a bro fist bump before ethan is motioning his head towards another room saying, "follow me," in your ear.

this time, instead of trying not to grimace, you're trying not to soak through your fucking underwear.

he pulls you through multiple rooms until you're standing in a dimly lit hallway where the music isn't quite so overbearing and there aren't as many people.

as soon as he can he's cornering you into a wall, pressing his soft lips against your own almost hungrily.

"i haven't seen you all night," he says, and he's still so close you can feel his lips brush against yours with every word.

"whose fault is that?" you ask teasingly, looking up at him.

"mine," he nearly whispers, seemingly so focused on your pretty face he can barely get the words out. he brushes your hair behind your ear before his hand comes to rest on your collarbone, slowly pushing up to your throat. "all mine."

he's looking at you in that way you love. when his eyes cloud over and you can basically see your name running on a loop in his mind in the reflection of his dark orbs. he's so fucking crazy for you, and it's intoxicating you more than anything you could've drank tonight.

"all yours," you say while staring into his eyes like you know he loves.

his grip around your throat tightens as he kisses you again. you couldn't focus on anything else if you wanted to. your hearing becomes clouded from your arousal because his hand feels so good there and his teeth start tugging at your bottom lip and oh my god he's pressing a knee up your skirt.

"e," you whine against his lips, running a hand down his arm. almost immediately he's grabbing it and muttering a fuck under his breath, pulling you through the nearest open door and shutting it behind you.

it's barely a second before his lips are back on yours and he's picking you up to set you on the sink of the bathroom you wandered into. your legs are spread open on either side of his and you can feel his bulge pressing into your underwear.

you moan into his mouth, apparently prompting him to pull you even closer. the friction nearly kills you.

one thing about ethan - he understands the necessity of foreplay. the man is a god at giving you just the right amount of attention throughout the day to make you lose your fucking mind when his hands finally have free reign.

which is why with just a little friction you're bucking your hips and whining, needing more. ethan just chuckles darkly, he knows what a mess he makes you and loves watching you fall apart because of him.

"ask nicely," he taunts, looking down at you.

you roll your eyes, an action he mocks. he heaves a big sigh as he does so, cramming two fingers under your panties and into your soaking cunt.

"such a fucking brat," he growls as you open your mouth to moan. his other hand makes its swift way up to cover your mouth before any sound can escape.

a deep moan vibrates on his palm and his eyes damn near start sparkling.

you mumble something against his hand, which he then moves, giving you a quiet, "hm?"

"please," you say.

it's light work, you know he won't accept it. but god you just love when he has to drag it out of you.

"please what, bitch?"

you swear you can feel yourself clench around his fingers when he says that. a lot of the sex you guys have is pretty vanilla and lovey-dovey. ethan loves going slow and deep inside you while making you look at him as he tells you everything he loves about you. but every once in a while, usually when you're both so needy you're practically drooling, this dominance flows out of him that you eat the fuck up.

he tilts your chin up to look at him and perks his eyebrows up ever so slightly. "more, e, please," you say, wrapping a hand around his wrist and trying to get him to move.

he just laughs at you.

"so desperate," he says as he curls his fingers inside you, the bare minimum amount of movement making you writhe with need. "and yet you can't even ask for it."

he pulls his fingers out, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing. as you're opening your mouth to whine he shoves his damp fingers in, making you taste yourself as he locks eyes with you.

he slaps your clit once, twice, then his fingers are back inside you, pumping hard as he rubs back and forth on your clit with his thumb. you're moaning to no avail as his fingers stop any sound from escaping.

you can truly never get enough of him.

and he knows this. he feels the same way. which is how he knows when he pulls his fingers out of your mouth that you're gonna give him what he wants.

"please fuck me, ethan, please," you whine, giving him a pleading stare. "need your cock inside me so bad."

he pulls his other fingers out of you, making you whimper.

"need you to ruin me," you say breathlessly.

ethan pecks your lips. "was that so hard?" he asks, a smirk growing on his face as he kisses you again, this time deeply as your hands make their way to his belt that your fingers make quick work of. his pants are coming down and then one of his arms is snaking around your back as your grip finds its way around his shaft.

he lets out a breath of release as you work your wrist the way he likes it.

"i want it in my mouth," you say in his ear.

he whimpers (fucking whimpers) and looks at you, his pupils dilated so much so they may as well cover his whole iris.

"next time, baby," he says as he steps closer, lining himself up at your entrance. you're gasping just at the feeling of his tip. "need your tight little pussy right now."

god he has a filthy mouth for such an innocent-looking boy. the contrast of his sweet voice saying such lewd things is enough to make you cum all on its own.

and you swear you might as he pushes into you, tightening his grip around your back when it starts to arch slightly. he's watching you the whole time, he loves studying every little reaction you have to what he does.

It’s why he knows how to make you feel so good.

he shoves himself into you, not caring about how much noise you make now. and fuck do you make noise.

your moans are filling the bathroom because immediately he’s fucking you like he hasn’t been touched in weeks. it’s almost desperate, the speed at which his hips are moving to stretch you out.

“nobody else will ever be able to make you feel like I do, y/n,” he says, grabbing your face and forcing you to make eye contact with him.

then he stops, and suddenly he’s pulling you off the sink and turning your around to bend you over it. he grabs your hair, pulling your head up a little so he can’t taunt in your ear, “I just want you remember that next time you ask anybody but me to get you another drink.”

then he’s fucking you again, deeper this time. your legs are shaking from how badly you want him because even though he’s inside you it can just never be enough. he really does fuck you the best out of anyone you’ve met. he’s so attentive to what you like, something you’re not used to.

you’re a mess, to say the least. there’s no use in trying to keep your mouth shut or be more quiet. you never can contain yourself around him.

“pussy’s so pretty swallowing my dick, baby.”

especially when he says shit like that jesus christ.

“so fucking pretty,” he says, letting go of your hair and leaning back to slap your ass.

His hands grip your hips, helping him fuck you even harder. you look back and see ethan biting his lip, then letting it go and moaning as he watches himself slide in and out of you.

he glances up and meets your gaze, your desperate little gaze with your mouth gaping open as you moan just waiting for something to fill it up. ethan leans forward and frees a hand to grab your throat, positioning himself above you. he spits in your mouth and lightly slaps your throat, indicating for you to swallow it.

you do, and then you stick your tongue out for him to see. he groans and hits your face, muttering, “such a fucking whore.”

you look back up at him, smiling as you say, “just for you.”

something flickers in his eyes and he gives you a slight smile back.

“that’s my girl,” he says as his hand once again leaves your throat and slips into your hair, pulling you back so you’re nearly standing with him. his other hand moves to your clit where he starts rubbing back and forth.

“fuck, e,” you whine, the over stimulation tightening the knot in your stomach to nearly explode. “fuck ‘m gonna cum.”

“yes, baby, cum all over my cock like the dirty little slut you are.”

that’s all it takes to tip you over the edge. your orgasm shoots through you in waves as ethan mutters “good girl” in your ear and you feel your cunt tighten around his throbbing cock that starts leaking from the feeling not even seconds later.

then he's groaning in your ear as he shoots his load into you and oh my god you could listen to him make these slutty noises forever.

you’re both sweaty and writhing riding out your highs, pulling each other close to feel as much of each other possible. ethan starts leaving a trail of kisses on your neck as your legs begin to slow down on the shaking.

You know if you were home right now he’d be pulling you into him on a bed, wrapping his arms around you and giving you kisses everywhere he can reach while he tells you how much he loves you. you’re a sucker for aftercare and he’s become a pro at it.

for now though, in a dirty frat bathroom, he settles for turning you around to kiss you on every inch of your face, muttering a soft "i love you" between each one.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry smut #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry fanfiction #scream 2023 #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry x reader smut

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03jyh23 · 7 months ago

Text

🌃⌇night, interrupted┆jung wooyoung

neighbor!non-idol!wooyoung x reader ft. non-idol!yeosang

│synopsis: you owe a favor to your annoying neighbor

│genre: enemies to lovers

│trigger warnings: wooyoung and yeosang are bisexual, party-themed, alcohol consumption, mature language, excessive use of ''princess''

│words: 10.4 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

│requested prompts are bold

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! i'm ashamed to confess that this request has been sitting in my inbox since april :( i'm so sorry it took me so long to get to it, but i had so many different ideas about where this story should go. i'm thinking about re-opening my requests soon. as always i hope you will enjoy it!

love, monika ♡

i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

"What are you even doing here?" you asked, your voice laced with surprise and a hint of annoyance. You had opened the door expecting to see anyone but him. But there he was, Wooyoung, the last person on earth you wanted to see on a Saturday night, or whenever to be honest. He stood there, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned casually against the door frame. His eyes held a playful glint that contrasted with the seriousness of your tone.

"It’s nice to see you too, Y/N" he greeted, his voice light and cheerful. He smiled brightly at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, completely unfazed by your cold tone and unamused expression. His nonchalance in the face of your clear displeasure made the situation all the more irritating for you.

"What on earth are you doing here, Wooyoung?" You demanded, your voice was stern and serious. You crossed your arms over your chest, your gaze never leaving his face.

"Oh, as lovely as ever, aren't you?" Wooyoung quipped, rolling his eyes theatrically. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned against the door frame with a nonchalant air. His gaze, however, held an undeniable intensity. "Get ready, we've got places to be," he added, his tone light but laced with an underlying seriousness.

"Wait, what?" You spluttered, taken aback by his unexpected command. "Wooyoung, you can't just barge in here and..." He pushed past you slightly to enter your apartment, his confident demeanor not wavering in the slightest.

"Oh, but I can, and I just did," he replied, brushing past you with a smirk. His audacity left you momentarily speechless as you watched him stroll into your apartment as if he owned the place.

"Excuse me?" you managed to stutter out, turning around to face him. Wooyoung had already made himself comfortable on your couch, his long legs on your coffee table.

"Hey, don't look at me like that," he finally said, "I just thought it'd be nice to spend some time together." You were left speechless once again, your mind trying to process his words. Spend time together? You weren't sure if he was being serious or just messing with you. Wooyoung looked at you from head to toe, judging your old leggings and oversized hoodie, not to mention your messy hair. You had planned to stay in, enjoy some wine, and watch a cringe-worthy romance movie, but he had interrupted your plans. "Are you planning to get ready or are you intending to leave looking like that?" he asked, his voice ringing with a clear note of dislike for your current attire.

"Don’t you have like, you know�� friends?" you blurted out, your voice barely masking the irritation that had been simmering within you. As the words escaped your lips, you could feel a rush of heat flooding your body. You were certain your ears were all red by now, the heat of your annoyance manifesting physically. "Actually, I was enjoying my solitude until you showed up." You snapped, your hands on your hips as you glared at him.

Wooyoung simply responded, "Well, you'll have to put that on hold, we have plans."

"Why in the world, among all the people I could possibly have plans with, would you think that I have any intention to spend my time with you?" You retorted, your voice thick with frustration and disbelief. The absurdity of the situation was growing by the minute and the disbelief in your voice reflected your incredulity.

Wooyoung simply shrugged his shoulders, his eyes twinkling with amusement at your evident irritation. A smirk played on his lips as he casually replied, "Because you owe me one." His nonchalant response left you momentarily speechless.

Your mind momentarily went back to the night two weeks ago. Your classes had ended late in the evening, and the rain was pouring heavily. You couldn't believe how, in the span of a few hours, a lovely summer day had transformed into a raging rainstorm. You were wearing light, summer-appropriate clothing, and, of course, you hadn't brought an umbrella. In fact, you didn't even own one. As you stood at the entrance of the university building, the rain came down in torrents, drenching everything in sight. The prospect of walking home in such weather was daunting, and you sighed in frustration, knowing you'd be soaked to the skin by the time you reached your apartment. Just then, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Turning around, you saw Wooyoung, holding a large umbrella that provided a stark contrast to the stormy night. He approached you with a smirk, his usual playful glint in his eyes.

"Need a ride home?" he asked, raising his voice above the sound of the rain. You wanted to reject his offer, wanted to tell him to go away and leave you alone. But as he turned to leave, a teasing grin on his face, you found yourself chasing after him.

"Wait!" you called out, your voice barely heard over the sound of the rain. He stopped and turned back to look at you, an amused smile on his face. You hesitated for a moment before stepping under the umbrella, your body instinctively moving closer to his for warmth.

Wooyoung chuckled softly as you stepped under the umbrella, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I knew you couldn't resist," he teased, holding the umbrella a little higher to shield both of you from the downpour.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't suppress a smile. "You're lucky it's raining," you muttered, though your tone lacked any real annoyance. As you walked to his car, the rain continued to fall relentlessly, the streets quickly becoming rivers of water. Wooyoung's presence, however, provided a surprising comfort, the proximity of his body heat a welcome relief from the chill in the air. Once you reached the car, Wooyoung quickly unlocked it and held the umbrella for you as you climbed into the passenger seat. He folded the umbrella and slid into the driver's seat, shaking the water from his hair before starting the engine. The warmth of the car's interior enveloped you, and you sighed in contentment, grateful for the reprieve from the storm outside.

Wooyoung glanced at you as he pulled out of the parking lot. "You look like a drowned rat," he remarked with a grin, his tone lighthearted.

You shot him a mock glare. "Thanks for the compliment," you replied sarcastically, but the corners of your mouth twitched upwards.

The drive home was mostly quiet, save for the sound of rain pattering against the windows. When Wooyoung finally pulled up in front of your apartment building, you unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle.

"Thanks for the ride," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you stepped out of the car and into the rain, you heard Wooyoung call after you. "You owe me one now!" His voice was playful, but there was an underlying note of sincerity.

"Right, I owe you a favor," you muttered, your annoyance momentarily replaced by resignation. Despite your irritation, you couldn't deny that he was correct. "You could at least have the decency to call ahead."

Wooyoung laughed at that, a genuine, hearty laugh that echoed throughout your apartment. "Where's the fun in that, Y/N?" he retorted, his smile never faltering as he met your gaze.

You sighed, realizing that arguing with Wooyoung was akin to talking to a brick wall. "Fine," you said, throwing your hands up in surrender. "But if we're going out, I need to change. And you," you pointed at him, "need to get your feet off my coffee table."

Wooyoung chuckled but complied, swinging his legs off the table with a dramatic flourish. "Take your time, princess," he said, smirking at your annoyed expression. You rolled your eyes at his comment but nonetheless retreated to your bedroom to change into something more suitable for a night out.

Just as you were closing the door behind you, Wooyoung called after you, "And no leggings!" You groaned, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. As you moved towards the mirror, you took a moment to look at your reflection. Your hair was a mess from the day, and you knew it would take some time to style it into something presentable. You sighed, looking at the makeup products scattered across your dressing table. Getting ready for a party that you knew nothing about was indeed a challenge.

"How much time do I have?" you shouted from your bedroom.

Wooyoung glanced at his watch, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let's say twenty minutes. Can you manage that?" he called out, his voice filled with amusement.

"How the fuck am I supposed to get ready for a party in twenty minutes?" you shouted back, a hint of panic creeping into your voice.

"Well, I can make it fifteen just for you, princess," Wooyoung laughed, his amusement clear in his voice. Even though he couldn't see you, you rolled your eyes at his comment. The audacity of this man. Despite the irritation bubbling within you, you knew you had to hurry. You started rummaging through your wardrobe for a suitable outfit, cursing under your breath. Meanwhile, Wooyoung lounged comfortably on your couch, scrolling through his phone while occasionally glancing towards your bedroom door.

After what seemed like an eternity, you finally emerged from your bedroom. You had managed to throw together a decent outfit, and even though you had rushed your makeup, it didn't look half bad. Wooyoung looked up from his phone as you entered the room, his eyes raking over your figure. He let out a low whistle, a grin spreading across his face. "Not bad, Y/N. Didn't know you could clean up so well."

You rolled your eyes at his comment but couldn't help the blush that crept up your cheeks. "Whatever, Wooyoung. Let's just get this over with." With a chuckle, Wooyoung rose from the couch, offering you his arm. You looked at him, disbelief and irritation evident in your gaze. His casual demeanor and the playful smirk on his face only added to the absurdity of the situation. You found yourself stuck between wanting to laugh it off and wanting to kick him out. But, swallowing down the lump of frustration in your throat, you pushed his extended arm back. You then reached for the door handle yourself, pulling it open with more force than was necessary. Without a backward glance, you stepped out into the hallway, leaving a rather surprised Wooyoung behind in your apartment.

Wooyoung finally caught up with you, a surprised yet amused expression on his face. "Well, aren't we eager?" he said, chuckling at your obvious irritation. Despite your annoyance, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at him, a small smile playing on your lips. With a huff, you began to march towards the parking lot, your steps quick and purposeful with Wooyoung following close behind. The glimmer of satisfaction you felt when you heard him struggling to keep up with your pace was short-lived as he effortlessly caught up, a grin playing on his lips.

"Slow down, Y/N. It's not a race," he called out, his voice filled with amusement. You ignored him, continuing your steady pace towards his car. The parking lot was dimly lit, the only source of light being the faint glow from the streetlights. Wooyoung's car stood out against the mostly empty lot. You stopped abruptly in front of it, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited for him to unlock the doors. Wooyoung, still wearing that annoying smirk, took his time in reaching the driver's side. He pulled out his keys, twirling them around his finger in a show of nonchalance before finally pressing the unlock button. The car beeped in response, the headlights flashing briefly.

"Your chariot awaits, princess," Wooyoung said, his voice filled with laughter as he gestured for you to enter. Despite your annoyance, you couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at his behavior, shaking your head in disbelief as you got into the car. Wooyoung followed suit, sliding into the driver's seat. His smirk still in place, Wooyoung started the car, the engine purring to life.

"We have places to be!" you mocked him, the sound of your high heel echoing in the car as you tapped your foot impatiently. Wooyoung simply laughed, his eyes twinkling with mirth as he drove off into the night. As he drove, the soft glow from the dashboard illuminated his face, casting a warm light on his features. Your eyes drifted to his hands on the steering wheel, fingers deftly maneuvering the vehicle through the night. The veins on the back of his hands were prominent, adding a sense of raw masculinity that you found yourself inexplicably drawn to. Your gaze then moved up to his chiseled jawline, the faint stubble that lined it giving him a rugged charm. You watched as the muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched, a subtle sign of his concentration on the road ahead. His eyes, though, were what captivated you the most. Looking at them through the rearview mirror, you noticed how they were intensely focused on the road, reflecting the faint glimmer of the streetlights. The seriousness on his face was a stark contrast to his usual playful demeanor. Despite yourself, you felt a pang of appreciation for this side of him. It was a silent moment of admiration that you allowed yourself. You quickly averted your gaze when he caught your reflection in the rearview mirror, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Wooyoung couldn't resist asking, "Like what you see, princess?"

His comment snapped you out of your reverie. "Keep your eyes on the road, Wooyoung," you retorted, your cheeks heating up at his insinuation. His soft chuckle filled the car, but he didn't push it any further.

After a few minutes of a silent ride, you finally broke the silence. "Can you tell me now where we are going?" you asked, your voice filled with curiosity and a hint of annoyance. You could see him smirking from the corner of your eye, clearly finding amusement in your impatience.

Wooyoung glanced at you, his smirk widening. "You'll see when we get there," he replied cryptically. His evasive answer only fueled your curiosity and irritation.

"Wooyoung, I swear if you're taking me to some shady place..." you threatened, but he simply laughed, cutting you off.

"Relax, Y/N. It's nothing like that," he reassured, his tone light but his gaze serious when he looked at you.

After a short ride, Wooyoung finally pulled up at your destination, you were even more confused than before.

"Whose house is this?" you asked, taking a glance around the unfamiliar neighborhood. Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle before unbuckling his seatbelt. He turned to look at you, his usual smirk replaced with a gentle smile.

"Do you remember Mingi?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he watched your reaction closely. "He shared a class with us last year. He's quite tall, with short-cropped blonde hair." He let the words hang in the air, watching as you tried to recall this Mingi he was referring to.

You blinked, trying to recall someone fitting the description Wooyoung gave. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but you struggled to place him among the many faces you encountered during your classes last year. "Um, Mingi?" you repeated uncertainly, furrowing your brows as you searched your memory. "I think I remember someone like that, but I didn't really know him well."

"Then it's high time you get to know him. It's his birthday party," Wooyoung stated with a broad smile as he stepped out of the car. He left you momentarily, walked around to open your door, and offered his hand.

You looked at his outstretched hand and then up at his expectant face. A sigh escaped your lips before you finally gave in, placing your hand in his. "Alright, let's get this over with," you muttered, allowing Wooyoung to lead the way.

As you entered the house, you were immediately hit with the loud music and chatter of what seemed like a hundred people. Wooyoung instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist, presumably to prevent you from getting lost in the crowd. However, you weren't in the mood for his overbearing actions, so you pushed him away with your elbow, giving him a stern look.

"I can handle myself, Wooyoung," you said, pulling away from him. His smirk remained unfazed as he raised his hands in a sign of surrender.

"As you wish, princess," he replied, his tone laced with amusement. You rolled your eyes at his nickname for you but didn't comment on it. The party was in full swing, with people dancing and chatting. The atmosphere was electric, the house filled with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses. Wooyoung guided you through the crowd, introducing you to a few people along the way. You greeted them politely, but your mind was elsewhere. "There's Mingi," Wooyoung pointed out, nodding towards a tall guy who was surrounded by a group of people. He had short blonde hair, just like Wooyoung described. When he saw you both, his face lit up and he excused himself from the group to come greet you.

"Wooyoung, Y/N, glad you guys could make it," Mingi greeted, his voice loud over the music. He had a warm smile, and his eyes were bright with excitement. You exchanged pleasantries with Mingi and wished him a happy birthday. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself gradually warming up to the atmosphere. "I'll get you guys some drinks." Before you could protest, he was already up and heading towards the makeshift bar at the far end of the room. This left you with Wooyoung and a bunch of Mingi's friends, all of whom seemed to know each other well. You took a deep breath and introduced yourself, trying your best to engage in the conversation. Despite your initial hesitation, they were all friendly and welcoming, which eased your mind slightly.

Before you knew it, Mingi returned with a tray of drinks. He handed you a glass filled with a brightly colored cocktail, the ice clinking against the glass. "Try this," he suggested, his eyes twinkling with excitement. You took a cautious sip, the taste of the alcohol strong but not unpleasant. The cocktail was fruity and sweet, the alcohol nicely masked by the flavors. It warmed your throat and seemed to seep into your veins, easing your tension and allowing you to relax slightly. You smiled and thanked Mingi, who returned the gesture with a broad grin.

As the night continued, you found yourself engrossed in conversation, drinking more colorful cocktails, laughing, and exchanging stories with Mingi and other of his friends. Mingi was particularly charming, his pleasant demeanor making it easy for you to feel at ease around him. Yet, occasionally, your gaze would shift to Wooyoung, and you couldn't help but notice how effortlessly he navigated through the conversation. His laughter, rich and contagious, echoed through the room, drawing people towards him like a magnet. The way he mingled and engaged with everyone, his energy infectious and his charisma undeniable, was truly a sight to behold. Whether it was his quick wit that left people laughing or his intriguing stories that captivated everyone's attention, Wooyoung was undeniably the life of the party. You found yourself watching him, your heart begrudgingly admitting the undeniable truth - Wooyoung was not only charming but also incredibly hard to resist.

At one point, Mingi turned to you with a genuine smile on his face, saying, "You know, I really wish I had gotten to know you better during our class. You're quite interesting." His compliment caught you off guard, but you managed to smile back, just as you were about to respond, you felt a sudden warmth around you. Startled, you turned to find Wooyoung, his arm comfortably resting on your waist. The unexpected contact surprised you, and you found yourself looking at him, an eyebrow raised in question. His eyes met yours, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

"What are you doing, Wooyoung?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the surprise coursing through you. Wooyoung simply shrugged, the smirk on his face not wavering in the slightest. He seemed to be enjoying your reaction, his eyes twinkling with an unspoken amusement. Deciding to ignore him, you turned back to the rest of the group, engaging in conversation about plans for the upcoming summer. Mingi eagerly shared his excitement about an upcoming trip, and you found yourself genuinely interested in hearing more. As you chatted, Wooyoung's grip around your waist tightened slightly, his body language conveying a subtle sense of protectiveness. Despite your initial irritation, you couldn't deny the warmth that spread through you at his touch. Mingi was still talking, his voice pleasant against the backdrop of the party music. Just as you were about to chime in with a comment, you felt Wooyoung lean in closer. His breath fanned across your ear as he whispered, "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

His words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, leaving you momentarily speechless. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with shock. Wooyoung simply looked back at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. His bold statement left you feeling flustered. But despite your surprise, you couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Wooyoung, are you drunk?" you asked, your voice laced with concern and a hint of annoyance. His behavior tonight had been erratic at best, and you couldn't quite put a finger on what was causing it. Was it the party, the alcohol, or something else entirely? You weren't sure, and it was beginning to frustrate you. Wooyoung simply chuckled at your question, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Not at all, Y/N," he replied, his voice steady and his gaze unwavering. "But you can't deny that you do look beautiful tonight." His words, though unexpected, were sincere and you found yourself blushing under his intense gaze. You stared at him, trying to gauge his sincerity. His usual playful demeanor was still there, but there was something different in his eyes tonight. A depth that you hadn't noticed before.

"Is this another one of your tricks?" you asked, though your tone was more playful than accusatory.

"No tricks, Y/N. Just the truth," Wooyoung said, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that took you by surprise. His confident demeanor and the intensity of his gaze left you speechless.

"You're acting weird," you muttered, feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity. "What's gotten into you?"

Wooyoung shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. "Maybe I'm just tired of pretending," he said cryptically, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

"Pretending what?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. You weren't sure you wanted to hear the answer, but you couldn't stop yourself from asking.

"That I don't care," he replied simply, his gaze unwavering. "That I don't think about you all the damn time. That I don't want to be more than just your annoying neighbor."

"Oh, shut up, won't you?" you found yourself saying, a mix of emotions flooding through you. His words had caught you off guard, causing your heart to race. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, and you had to fight the urge to look away from his intense gaze.

In response, Wooyoung simply smirked. "Make me," he retorted, his voice low and taunting. He held your gaze, his eyes sparkling with an unreadable emotion. Then, slowly, his gaze drifted down from your eyes to your lips. For a moment, all you could do was stare back at him, your breath hitching as you realized what he was insinuating. The unexpected intensity of the moment left you breathless, your mind racing as you tried to process what was happening. His confession left you stunned. You had always thought Wooyoung's teasing was just part of his playful nature, never imagining that there might be something more behind it. The realization made your heart flutter and your mind race with questions.

"Wooyoung, I..." you started, but your words trailed off as you struggled to find the right thing to say. "I'm going to get myself a drink," you said, excusing yourself before Wooyoung could respond. You needed a moment to process everything he had just said. You quickly moved away, weaving through the crowd. As you navigated through the sea of people, you accidentally bumped into someone. As you prepared to apologize, you looked up. Your heart skipped a beat when you found yourself staring into familiar eyes – Yeosang's eyes. You caught your breath, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. It had been months since you last saw him.

From the moment you first saw Yeosang in your university class, something clicked inside you. He had an effortless grace about him, a quiet confidence that drew you in immediately. His smile was warm, his mannerisms gentle yet assured. You found yourself stealing glances at him during lectures, captivated by the way he listened intently, his eyes occasionally flickering up to meet yours. As the weeks passed, your admiration for Yeosang deepened. You began to look forward to seeing him, cherishing every opportunity to exchange a few words or share a laugh. However, your feelings remained unspoken. You didn't dare to confess your feelings to Yeosang, fearing that it might jeopardize the friendship you had cultivated or worse, make things awkward between you.

And then came Wooyoung, who joined one of your classes midway through the semester. He was charismatic, confident, and effortlessly charming. You didn't pay much attention to him beyond acknowledging his presence in class. But as weeks passed, you noticed a change in Yeosang. He seemed more distracted, often engaging in conversations with Wooyoung during breaks or after class. At first, you tried to brush it off but as weeks turned into months, it became increasingly clear that Yeosang was falling for Wooyoung. You watched from the sidelines as their friendship blossomed into something deeper, and it stung to realize that the person you liked was now enamored with someone else. You couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy whenever you saw them together. It was the way Yeosang's eyes lit up when Wooyoung walked into the room, the way he laughed a little harder at Wooyoung's jokes, the way he seemed to gravitate towards him. It was these little things that made you realize just how much Yeosang liked Wooyoung. And it's not like you could blame him. Wooyoung was outgoing, charismatic, and undeniably attractive. But for you, it was difficult to see past the fact that he was the one who had swept your crush off his feet. And so, your dislike for Wooyoung was born more out of a sense of hurt and jealousy than anything else. You couldn't help but see him as the one who had taken away your chance with Yeosang. To make matters worse, Wooyoung seemed oblivious to the impact his presence had on your dynamics with Yeosang. Once Wooyoung and Yeosang made their relationship official, your friendship with Yeosang dwindled to non-existence. You were left alone to deal with your heartbreak, the sting of rejection, and the loss of friendship compounding your sorrow.

The sight of Wooyoung and Yeosang together became a bitter pill to swallow, a cruel reminder of your unfulfilled feelings for Yeosang. You missed the comforting presence of Yeosang. But more than anything, you missed the hope, the hope of maybe being something more than just friends with him. After your first year, you decided to switch groups to avoid seeing the boys together, and since then you haven’t seen Yeosang at all.

But as much as you wanted to avoid Wooyoung as well, it was harder than you imagined since he was your neighbor. Living so close to him meant that you often crossed paths, whether in the apartment lobby, the parking lot, or the local grocery store. Despite your best efforts to keep your distance, Wooyoung always seemed to find a way back into your life, you couldn't seem to escape him.

"Y/N?" Yeosang asked, his eyes wide as he scanned your face. "I haven't seen you in forever!" With one swift motion, he pulled you into a hug, leaving you utterly surprised. ''What are you doing here?'' Your mind raced with a mix of emotions – surprise, nostalgia, and a tinge of unresolved feelings. His warm embrace felt both familiar and foreign after months of absence, stirring memories of the friendship you had once shared before Wooyoung came into the picture.

"I could ask you the same thing," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, pulling away from the hug, your heart pounding at the close contact.

Yeosang's smile was warm and genuine as he offered, "Would you mind grabbing a drink with me?" he extended his arm towards you and despite all the confusion swirling in your mind, you found yourself unable to resist the offer.

"Yeah, sure!" you agreed, smiling weakly at him. "But I think you need to know that Wooyoung is here as well." A few months ago, a mutual friend informed you that Yeosang and Wooyoung had broken up that’s why you said the last part with hesitation, watching for Yeosang’s reaction, unsure how he might feel given their history.

He blinked in surprise at your words, his face going slightly pale. "Wooyoung is here?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, biting your lip nervously. Yeosang took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. After what felt like an eternity, he finally looked up at you, a small smile on his face. "It's okay, Y/N," he said, his voice steady. "We ended things on good terms. It won't be awkward, I promise." Despite his reassurances, you could see the flash of pain in his eyes, a hint of the heartbreak he must have gone through.

You felt a pang of sympathy for him but didn't know what to say. Instead, you gave him a small smile, "Let's get that drink," you suggested, offering him a comforting smile. He nodded, his smile returning as he led you towards the makeshift bar.

As you navigated through the crowd, your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Seeing Yeosang again stirred up old feelings, and Wooyoung's confession left you in a state of shock. Wooyoung's sudden confession surprised you. The two of you hardly spent time together after your feelings of jealousy took over, leading you to switch classes in an attempt to distance yourself. You lived in the same building so you'd sometimes meet him in the lobby, the parking lot, or the grocery store, but that was all. Any talks you had were short and you were often annoyed with him. It was clear you didn't like being around Wooyoung.

As you reached the makeshift bar, Yeosang took two glasses in his hands. "What do you feel like drinking?" he asked, his gaze turning to the drinks lined up on the counter.

"To be honest, a strong cocktail would be nice." you amended, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

"Alright, one strong cocktail coming right up." He said, his voice filled with amusement as he began to mix your drink. You watched him work, feeling a mix of nostalgia and nervousness. It was surreal being here with him after everything that had happened. Yeosang prepared two cocktails, handing one to you with a warm smile. You took a sip, the fruity tang of the drink temporarily distracting you from your thoughts.

"So, how's life treating you?" Yeosang asked, his tone was casual, but there was a genuine interest in his eyes.

"Busy," you replied with a small smile. "Classes are demanding, but I'm managing. How about you? How's everything been?"

"Pretty much the same. Classes, projects, the usual. I've been keeping myself occupied." There was a comfortable silence as you both took a moment to enjoy your drinks. The strong cocktail did wonders to calm your nerves, and you found yourself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of conversation with Yeosang.

"You know," Yeosang began, his voice softer, "I really missed our talks. It's been too long."

You looked at him, surprised by the honesty in his words. "I missed them too," you admitted, feeling a pang of regret for the time lost. "When I first heard that you and Wooyoung had broken up, I was secretly hoping you would reach out," you confessed, your gaze meeting his. There was a moment of silence as your words hung in the air. Yeosang blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by your confession. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to struggle to find the right words. You watched as a range of emotions flitted across his face - surprise, confusion, and then, slowly, understanding.

"I...I had no idea," he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze dropped to his drink, his fingers absently tracing the rim of the glass. "I was so absorbed in my relationship with Wooyoung, that I didn't notice I was neglecting our friendship," Yeosang confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't see you the whole summer, and then I found out you switched classes. I should have reached out, I know. But I was too caught up in my own feelings. I'm sorry, Y/N," Yeosang said, looking up at you with a sincere expression, his eyes filled with regret.

You were taken aback by his sudden apology, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice. "It's okay, Yeosang," you reassured him, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. "We were both dealing with our own stuff. But I'm glad we're talking now."

He looked up at you, his gaze soft. "I missed you, Y/N," he admitted, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "I'm sorry I didn't reach out sooner." Yeosang smiled, and for a moment, it felt like old times. "I'm glad we ran into each other tonight," he said sincerely.

You returned his smile, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "Me too, Sangie. Me too," you replied.

Little did you both know, a pair of eyes were watching your interaction from across the room.

As you continued to engage in conversation with Yeosang, you finally felt the alcohol hit. Your senses began to blur slightly, the room spinning a little. Yeosang's cheeks and ears had turned a shade of red, the alcohol clearly taking effect on him too. You couldn't help but admire his handsome face, his brown, styled hair adding to his charm. He looked like an angel under the soft glow of the lights, and you found yourself staring at him, losing focus on what he was saying. Your head was getting dizzy from the alcohol, and you found your body swaying slightly. Without thinking, you rested your head on Yeosang's shoulder, your arms linked as you continued talking. The warmth from his body was comforting, easing the spinning sensation in your head. As he spoke, you found yourself staring at his lips. They moved with each word, captivating you completely. You could see the faint stubble on his upper lip, the slight curve of his lower lip, the way they moved when he pronounced certain words. His voice was a soothing hum in your ears, the words gradually losing meaning as you got lost in your thoughts. You couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to close the distance, to taste the sweet alcohol on his lips. Your gaze flickered up to meet his, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade into the background. Yeosang noticed the direction of your gaze and a faint blush colored his cheeks. He paused mid-sentence, his eyes meeting yours. His eyes held a softness that you hadn't seen in a long time, stirring a familiar warmth within you. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the alcohol loosening the tight grip of restraint. Slowly, you leaned in closer, your eyes fluttering shut, the anticipation built up, a sweet tension hanging in the air. But just as your lips were about to meet, you were pulled up by your arm.

Startled, you opened your eyes to find Wooyoung standing beside you, his gaze burning into yours. "I think you've had enough to drink, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. His grip on your arm was firm yet gentle, pulling you away from Yeosang and towards him.

"What the hell, Wooyoung?" you slurred, struggling to maintain your balance. His sudden intrusion left you disoriented, your head spinning from the abrupt movement. His eyes held a strange intensity, an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

Yeosang looked at the two of you, his expression mixed with confusion and a hint of disappointment. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Wooyoung couldn't help but gaze at Yeosang as well. His eyes held a strange mix of emotions that were hard to decipher. He watched as Yeosang looked back at him, a hint of confusion and disappointment in his gaze. This interaction was one Wooyoung had not anticipated, but he couldn't deny the protective instinct that had surged within him.

Wooyoung’s voice softened as he turned to Yeosang, "Are you alright?" he asked with concern. Yeosang simply nodded, his eyes still locked on Wooyoung and you, a lingering sadness evident in his gaze. Wooyoung tightened his hold around you, his voice barely above a whisper as he scolded Yeosang gently, "You shouldn't drink so much, you know you can't handle your alcohol well."

Yeosang ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that you recognized instantly. "Yeah, I know" he replied, his voice low and slightly shaky, "But I don't think it's your place to remind me, Wooyoung." His words carried a hint of bitterness that you hadn't heard from him before. Wooyoung flinched slightly, clear surprise flashing across his face. He nodded, falling silent as he tightened his hold on you once more.

"Can't I worry about you anymore?" Wooyoung asked, his voice clearly annoyed with the way this conversation was going.

Yeosang looked away, his expression hard to read. "You stopped having that right when we broke up, Wooyoung," he replied, his voice steady but filled with unspoken emotions. Wooyoung was taken aback, his grip on your arm loosening slightly.

His words carried a sting that caused Wooyoung to recoil slightly. "So, I loved you once and now I have to pretend we are strangers?" Wooyoung retorted, his voice tight with frustration. The tension between them was palpable, a stark reminder of the complex web of emotions and history that tied them together.

"No, Wooyoung. We're not strangers, but we're not lovers either. We're just two people who used to know each other very well," Yeosang replied, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness. His gaze was steady, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. Wooyoung fell silent, his grip on your arm slackening as he digested Yeosang's words. "I better get going," Yeosang said, getting up from the couch. He tripped on his feet, momentarily losing his balance. He quickly steadied himself, giving you and Wooyoung one last glance before disappearing into the crowd.

After a while of uncomfortable silence, Wooyoung asked you, "Are you alright?" his voice filled with concern.

You turned to him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I should be asking you this question," you replied, your gaze meeting his.

Wooyoung seemed taken aback by your response, but he quickly regained his composure. "I'm fine Y/N," he said, avoiding your gaze. "But are you?"

"I'm okay," you managed to say, the words coming out as a slur. You swayed slightly, your vision blurring as you tried to focus on Wooyoung's face. He sighed, his grip tightening around your waist.

"Let's get you some water," he suggested, his voice steady despite the concern on his face. He began to lead you away from the crowd, his hold on you firm yet gentle. You didn't protest, too dazed to argue.

Wooyoung led you outside, the cool night air hitting your face. It was a welcome relief from the heat of the party, the sounds of music and chatter fading into the background. He guided you to a nearby bench, helping you sit down before he sat beside you. You leaned back, closing your eyes as you tried to clear your head. The world was spinning around you, the effects of the alcohol more potent than you had anticipated. A moment of silence passed, the only sound being the distant hum of the party and your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"You shouldn't have drunk so much," Wooyoung finally broke the silence, his tone soft. You opened your eyes, turning to look at him. He was staring at you, his gaze filled with concern.

"Well, you shouldn't have dragged me to this party," you retorted, your voice coming out stronger than you intended.

"You're right, I shouldn't have," he agreed, his tone suddenly angry. He reached for the water bottle he had brought with him, handing it to you. You took it gratefully, taking small sips as you tried to sober up.

"What was that supposed to mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to comprehend his sudden change in tone. There was a distinct edge to his voice that you had never heard before - a hint of anger, perhaps even frustration.

His words hung in the air, their implications slowly sinking in as you tried to make sense of the situation. "I mean, I pour my heart out, confessing my fucking feelings to you, and then you just disappear. And when I find you, you're kissing my ex?" Wooyoung ruffled his hair in frustration, his words laced with a potent mix of anger and hurt.

"I did not kiss your ex," you managed to slur out, pausing to take a gulp of water in an attempt to clear your head.

Wooyoung's sudden shout startled you, causing you to nearly choke on your drink. "Fuck! Is that really the only thing you caught from everything I just said?" He was clearly frustrated, he took you by your arms, making you face him to make sure you were paying attention. "I'm confessing to you here, for fuck's sake. Do you understand?"

"Confessing?" you echoed, your mind struggling to process his words. "Wait, are you saying..." you trailed off, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. "You...you like me?" His confession left you reeling, a mix of shock and disbelief coursing through you.

Wooyoung simply stared at you for a moment, as if he was trying to read your thoughts. "Yes, Y/N," he finally replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "I like you. I have for a while now." His words hung in the air, a confession that left you stunned "But here you are, chasing after my ex," Wooyoung's words had a bitter edge to them, his frustration evident in his voice. His confession was still ringing in your ears, adding to the surrealness of the situation. You stared at him, your mind racing to process his words. His confession was unexpected, but it started to make sense, explaining his unusual behavior throughout the night. Your heart pounded in your chest as you attempted to articulate a response. "It's funny," he said, a dry smile playing on his lips. "I always thought you hated me, and I could never figure out why." Wooyoung sighed, a soft chuckle escaping his lips despite the sadness clouding his eyes. "Now I know why," he admitted, his voice carrying a weight that was impossible to ignore. The words hung in the air, heavy with regret and understanding. His eyes held yours, a silent plea for understanding shimmering within their depths. "A fucking love triangle, for fuck's sake," Wooyoung chuckled, biting his lower lip in a mix of amusement and frustration. His heart pounded in his chest as the gravity of the situation sank in. Here he was, caught in a twisted love triangle with his ex and the girl he was falling for. The irony was not lost on him.

"Wooyoung, it's not what you think," you finally managed to say, your voice shaky. "I didn't mean to... I mean, I didn't plan on... with Yeosang... I was just... I don't know." You trailed off, your words failing to accurately convey the whirlwind of emotions within you. "I'm sorry, Wooyoung," you added, your voice barely above a whisper. The apology hung heavy in the air, a sincere admittance of your conflicted feelings. This was not how you imagined the night unfolding. The realization that you had been blind to his feelings all this time left you feeling more disoriented than the alcohol ever could. "Wooyoung," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I didn't know. I swear I didn't know." The look in his eyes softened a fraction, but the hurt was still there, raw and unfiltered.

He let out a heavy sigh, releasing his grip on your arms and stepping back. "How could you have known?" he muttered, more to himself than to you. "I never had the guts to tell you until now. And when I finally do, it's at the worst possible moment." His words were filled with a raw honesty that took you by surprise, leaving you speechless. There was a heavy silence as you both sat there, his confession still lingering in the air. The cool night breeze rustled through the trees, the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. You looked at Wooyoung, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the nearby streetlights. His eyes were downcast, a stark contrast to his usual lively demeanor. "Let's get us home," Wooyoung finally said, breaking the silence. He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. The contact was unexpected, but it felt comforting He guided you up from the bench, his hand securely wrapped around yours. The world swayed slightly as you stood, the alcohol still coursing through your veins.

"What about the car?" you suddenly asked, remembering you had driven to the party.

"Mingi's going to drive it back tomorrow," after he said that, you walked in silence, the quiet night air a stark contrast to the loud music and chatter you left behind. The soft glow of the streetlights guided your path, casting long shadows on the empty sidewalk. The only sounds were the distant hum of the city and the soft rustle of leaves under your feet. Wooyoung's grip on your hand was firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance that he was there for you.

"Wooyoung, my feet hurt," you finally voiced out, glancing down at your feet which were now visibly swollen from the uncomfortable heels you had been wearing all night. A pained expression crossed your face as you tried to flex your aching feet.

"Your feet hurt?" Wooyoung stopped in his tracks, his gaze dropping to the heels you had been wearing all night. He could see the discomfort on your face and he felt a pang of sympathy.

"Mhm," you whispered softly, your pout deepening. Wooyoung stopped, looking down at your feet in the high heels that had been giving you trouble all evening. His eyes softened upon seeing your discomfort.

"Alright, take them off, princess," Wooyoung said, his voice gentle yet firm. He let go of your hand and crouched down, reaching for the straps of your heels. You watched in surprise as he helped you out of the torturous shoes. His actions were so unexpected, yet they felt so natural, causing a smile to tug at your lips. The nickname he had just used hung in the air between you, igniting a familiar warmth in your chest. You felt a small chuckle escape your lips, the tension from earlier starting to dissipate a bit. This was a side of Wooyoung you hadn't seen before, a softer, caring side that warmed your heart.

Once he had helped you out of your shoes, Wooyoung started to untie his own shoes, "What are you doing?" you chuckled, watching as he removed his own shoes. He looked up at you with a grin, his eyes sparkling in the dim lighting.

"I'm giving you my shoes so you don't have to walk barefoot," he simply replied, handing you his shoes with a gentle smile. You took them from him, a soft laugh escaping your lips at his unexpected gesture.

"Seriously?" you asked, your voice filled with amusement. Wooyoung simply shrugged, a playful grin on his lips. You hesitated for a moment before slipping your feet into his shoes. They were slightly big for you, but significantly more comfortable than your heels.

With a satisfied nod, Wooyoung stood up and offered his arm. "Shall we continue?" he asked, his tone light. You nodded, taking his arm as you both continued walking.

The rest of the walk home was quiet, punctuated only by the occasional sound of passing cars and the soft rustling of leaves under your feet. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, you found comfort in Wooyoung's steady presence beside you. His silence was not oppressive, rather it was comforting, allowing you the space to process the night's events. Your senses gradually began to clear as you walked, the cool night breeze helping to dissipate the effects of the alcohol. The world slowly stopped spinning, and your thoughts were no longer a jumbled mess. The reality of the night's events began to sink in, causing a pang of regret to shoot through your heart. You took a deep breath, resolving to deal with the consequences of your actions once you were completely sober. For now, you were just grateful for Wooyoung's silent support and the comforting familiarity of the route back home.

You barely noticed when you reached your apartment complex, the towering building standing tall against the night sky. Wooyoung guided you to your door, his hand still securely wrapped around yours.

"Thank you, Wooyoung," you said softly, your heart pounding as you turned to face him. His gaze met yours, his eyes holding a gentleness that made your heart flutter. His silence was comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos of your thoughts.

"You're welcome, Y/N," Wooyoung replied, his voice soft. His gaze lingered on your face, drinking in your features. He squeezed your hand gently, offering you a small smile.

"I...I need to go," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, releasing his hand. He turned to leave, his figure slowly disappearing. You watched him go, a mix of emotions washing over you. You sighed, turning to unlock your door. Once inside, you kicked off Wooyoung's shoes and collapsed onto your bed. The events of the night replayed in your mind, each detail more confusing than the last. You closed your eyes, the image of Wooyoung's hurt expression etched into your memory. A wave of guilt washed over you. Wooyoung's confession had been unexpected, but your reaction had been even more so. You pulled your blanket over your head, the guilt gnawing at your conscience. You took a deep breath, forcing your mind to clear. You needed to sort out your feelings, to figure out what you truly wanted. You decided to take a shower. The warm water cascading down your body provided a momentary relief, but it didn't really help to calm your thoughts. You kept thinking about Wooyoung, his confession kept echoing in your mind. Yeosang, who had been at the forefront of your mind earlier, now seemed like a distant memory. Each time you closed your eyes, you saw Wooyoung's face, his gaze filled with a mix of hurt and hope, his words echoing in your mind. You mindlessly brushed your teeth and changed into a pair of comfortable shorts and a T-shirt. Getting into bed, you couldn't fall asleep. You were feeling too many things, each stronger than the last. You moved around in bed, with the quiet night making your thoughts louder. Suddenly, you felt a strong need to act. You couldn't stand your confusing thoughts anymore, so you decided to face them. You jumped from the bed and ran to your apartment door, your heart beating fast. Forgetting to lock the door, you quickly climbed the stairs to the next floor, your heart beating loudly. You stopped at Wooyoung's door, worried he might be asleep and your late visit would be pointless. But you decided to go ahead. You took a deep breath to calm down and knocked on Wooyoung's door.

After a few moments, the door creaked open. Wooyoung stood there, looking surprised to see you. "Y/N? What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

His surprised expression made your heart race even more, "Can I come in?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wooyoung blinked in surprise before stepping aside to let you in. "Of course, come in." He led you to his living room, the space dimly lit by a single standing lamp. You walked in, your heart pounding in your chest. Wooyoung closed the door behind you and turned to face you, his expression one of concern. "Is everything alright, Y/N?"

But instead of answering, you slowly reached out, placing your hand on his. He looked at you, surprise flickering across his eyes. "Wooyoung...," you started, unsure of what to say. You squeezed his hand gently, ''Kiss me," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Wooyoung's eyes widened at your words, a mix of surprise and disbelief flashing across his face. For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to determine if he had heard you correctly. "I just need to check something, so kiss me, please?" you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. The request hung heavy in the air, a question that held the potential to change everything. Wooyoung's eyes widened in shock, and he searched your face for any hint of hesitation or insincerity. His gaze softened as he saw the earnest plea in your eyes. "I brushed my teeth," you told him, a small smile playing on your lips. This caused him to chuckle, his laugh broke the tension, a small ray of light in an otherwise heavy situation.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Wooyoung responded, a playful smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Wouldn't want to kiss a mouth full of party snacks and alcohol, now would we?" At that, your smile widened a bit, the humor in his comment easing some of your nervousness. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his eyes locked on yours. His gaze was intense, filled with a mix of emotions that set your heart racing. It was as if he was silently pleading for you to understand, to accept his feelings. In that moment, you felt a connection, a spark that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Are you going to just keep looking at me like that, or are you actually going to kiss me?" you teased, an amused quirk of his lips was his initial response, the corners of his mouth curling into a small, but warm, smile. Your playful tone seemed to have done the trick, Wooyoung’s gaze softened, his gaze flickering momentarily to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. The playful challenge in your words hung in the air, a silent invitation awaiting his response. For a moment, all you could hear was your own heart pounding in anticipation. You found yourself holding your breath, eagerly waiting for his next move. "What are you afraid of?" you whispered, his eyes reflecting a hint of surprise at your question.

"Afraid?" he echoed, a playful spark in his eyes as he leaned in closer. "Not even a bit." Without another word, he closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, gentle kiss. The world seemed to pause as his lips met yours, the soft pressure sending a jolt of surprise through you. It was a gentle kiss, yet filled with a raw intensity that took your breath away. His lips moved against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the intoxicating taste of him making your head spin even more. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and deepening the kiss. You responded instinctively, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back. The world around you seemed to fade into insignificance, the only thing that mattered was the feel of his lips against yours, the warmth of his body against yours. It was a while before you both pulled away, the need for air becoming too great. You looked at him, his eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed. His lips were slightly swollen from the kiss and for a moment, you wondered if yours looked the same.

"Well..." he started, his voice slightly hoarse. "Did you...check what you needed to check?" His words were light, but his eyes held a seriousness that suggested he was waiting for your answer with bated breath.

You nodded, your mind still reeling from the kiss. "Yeah..." you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I did." You weren't quite sure what you had expected to feel but whatever it was, it felt right. His confession, his kiss, it was unexpected, but it felt...right. Your heart raced as you looked into Wooyoung's eyes, feeling the warmth of his hand still on the back of your neck. You took a moment to gather your thoughts, still reeling from the intensity of the kiss. Slowly, a smile spread across your face, mirroring his own playful demeanor. "I think I got my answer," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "But just to be sure..." You leaned in again, closing the distance between you, capturing his lips with yours in another kiss. This time, the kiss was deeper, more passionate, as if confirming what both of you had been silently longing for. His response was immediate, his lips moving with a renewed fervor against yours. The gentle pressure, the taste of him, the way his fingers lightly traced your jawline sent shivers down your spine. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, staring into each other's eyes with a mixture of disbelief and desire.

Wooyoung chuckled softly, his forehead resting on yours, as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "So, did that clear things up for you?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah," you murmured, "It definitely did."

"Good," he said, his eyes lighting up at your smile. "Because I...I really like you, Y/N," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I hope that...maybe...you might feel the same way."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a warmth spreading through you. You looked at him, your eyes meeting his in a silent understanding. "I...I think I might," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

His eyes widened in surprise, a hopeful smile spreading across his face. "Really?" he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and hope.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "Really," you confirmed, your heart pounding in your chest. His smile widened, his eyes lighting up with a joy that made your heart flutter. You felt a warmth spread through you, a sense of rightness that you hadn't felt in a long time. You felt a surge of embarrassment rush through you as Wooyoung’s gaze continued to rake over your attire. A flush crept up your neck and you instinctively brought a hand up to hide your reddening face. Wooyoung let out a hearty laugh at your reaction, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Go away, Wooyoung," you muttered from behind your hand, your voice muffled yet audibly flustered.

Wooyoung, however, seemed to find your blush endearing. He raised an eyebrow at your retort, a smirk playing on his lips. "Go away? Where am I supposed to go, princess?" he replied, his tone teasing. His words only served to deepen your blush, but you couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your lips at his ridiculousness. Without a word, you pushed him playfully, trying to hide the smile that tugged at your lips. Wooyoung only laughed, his eyes twinkling as he caught your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You rolled your eyes, yet the warmth in your chest didn’t dissipate. "You're insufferable, Wooyoung," you said, but your fond tone contradicted your words.

He simply grinned in response, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "And you wouldn't have it any other way," he retorted, his voice full of affection.

"Maybe I wouldn't," you admitted, a soft smile on your lips.

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