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13uswntimagines · 3 months ago

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Eras of Us- Era 3: Ugh Oh, I'm Falling in Love (Taylor Swift X Morgan!Reader)

Eras of Us master list

This is the Era where they're falling in love, learning more about each other, and how to navigate their relationships with their friends and families.

warning- Sexual content in this chapter.

Author's note: Hey everyone, i'm so sorry this took so long. theres just a lot of stuff in this chapter that i really wanted to get right. I hope you enjoy it! let me know what you think. comments are literally my favorite thing.

February 2017 'Cause you could be the one that I love I could be the one that you dream of

As it turned out, being Taylor’s girlfriend was far easier than you imagined it would be. It wasn’t all that much different than when the two of you were just friends, actually.

You two still texted continuously, now each message was dotted with a heart or a little kiss. You two still talked on the phone all of the time, though you had developed a bad habit of falling asleep on late-night calls with her.

The only thing that had really changed was that now the photos you sent her were slightly more… suggestive on purpose.

And now you actually got to kiss her, which was fun, except you had barely seen her since you two started dating.

Between the holidays and dealing with your shitty agent about yet another fucked up trade, you hadn’t had time to fly to her, and she had been tied up with her family and recording her new album to fly to you. But the two of you made due (ie falling asleep on the phone with her nearly every night).

It still sucked you wouldn’t get to see her until after January camp. At least you only had 1 more game to play in.

“Hurry up you two,” Rose called over her shoulder, idly swinging Emily’s hand next to her.

You groaned, adjusting your grip on Mal’s legs as her arms squeezed more tightly around your neck. “It’s not my fault this koala demanded a piggyback ride,”

Mal had been insanely clingy since the start of camp, draping herself all over you at every opportunity. It wasn’t something you noticed at first, but it had become so constant, that it was beginning to grate on your patience.

Especially after she interrupted you every time you tried to talk to Taylor. The only moment you had gotten alone was at 3 am, and you had been too drowsy to do more than stare at her.

“I’m not that heavy ducky,” Mal hugged, pinching your ear.

“No, but it’s been like 2 miles,” You huffed, tilting your head away from her, and picking up your pace so you were even with Rose and Emily.

Emily rolled her eyes at you. “And whose fault is that?”

You shrugged as much as you could with Mal on your back. “Cheney said they have the best mochas,”

“And it’ll make it very hard for Alex to beat you this week,” Rose snorted, gesturing towards the shiny watch on your wrist. “If you’re gonna make us take a hike to a coffee shop, you should at least be honest with why we’re taking it,”

“She should be more active in her rest time,” You said, earning another eye roll as the four of you finally made it to the cafe Cheney had mentioned when you talked to her over the holidays.

It was just a bonus that Alex would need to find 4 extra exercise miles to match you in her stupid little app. It’s what she had done to you with Kelley’s family’s stupid 10 mile Christmas morning hike after all. You had to go on a beach run to make up for it.

“Or maybe you should be less competitive,” Emily grumbled, holding the door open for you and Mal to walk through. Her gaze stayed glued out the door even after you stepped through.

You rolled your eyes. “And what fun would that be?”

You dropped Mal’s legs as you got in line next to Rose, and she landed on her feet, but she didn’t let go of your neck like you had hoped she would.

“We would be behind in the practice scrimmages against the vets too,” You added as you turned your attention to the menu above the cashier.

There weren’t any… normal drinks. They all had fancy names, so you had to read the description to figure out what the fuck it was. You sighed internally, deciding that you absolutely shouldn’t have listened to Cheney, because long complicated descriptions like delectable dark roast, mixed with Dutch hand-made chocolate ganache, and essence of citrus aurantium topped with creamy dreamy whipped cream and powdered orange blossoms: written out in small, tight together cursive was going to take you forever to decipher.

Especially with the way all the L’s and E’s kept flipping places, and how Mal kept shifting your entire body each time she moved.

You were going to have a headache by the time you actually made it through the menu.

“Ok, those guys are totally following us,”

You blinked in the direction of Emily’s voice, and away from the migraine-inducing menu. You followed her hand to where she was pointing at two men wearing aviators sitting at a stable near the back of the café.

The one facing you was older, with dark salt and pepper hair, wearing a leather jacket, while the other was younger and blonde with his back to you.

It made you roll your eyes again.

Tony and Zach had been your shadows since you and Taylor started dating. You saw them outside your apartment building in Chicago, and ran into them everywhere you went, even when you attended a Bears game against the Chiefs.

You could tell that they were trying to be discrete since you had brought up the issue with Taylor the first week you noticed them, but it was still annoying that she wouldn’t budge on her stance.

“I’ll take care of it,” You grumbled, carefully untangling yourself from Mal’s grasp, ignoring the high-pitched whine she let out at being displaced. “Just order me the closest thing to a mocha please,”

At least now you didn’t have to read the menu.

You ignored the feeling of their eyes on your back as you walked up to the table your two bodyguards were sitting at, knocking on the wood when you were close enough. “I thought I made it clear that I don’t need a babysitter,”

“I prefer the term watchman,” Tony hummed, barely even looking at you.

Zach nodded. “Watchmen is a much better term,”

You glared at the blonde man, before turning back to Tony. “I prefer that you don’t follow me around and creep out my friends,”

Tony paused, lifting a finger to shift his aviators down to the end of his nose so he could peer at you over the rim of them. “We’ll try to be more discreet,”

You shook your head. “No. You will stop following me,”

“Can’t. Bosses orders,” Tony shrugged, readjusting his aviators back over his eyes. “And frankly, the team doesn’t have enough security,”

Your glare deepened. “Because no one knows who the fuck we are,”

“Still, I shouldn’t have been able to get your room number from the front desk receptionist,” He countered. “or have Zach get into the changing room at the practice field,”

“Normal people don’t do that shit,” You grit back.

His point proved nothing.

No fan was trying to sneak into your locker room to leave notes in your cubby and no other people had interest in your room number.

Sure, the note and the peanut butter cookies Taylor had delivered to your room were cool, but two men staking out every place you went certainly was not. Not when Emily wouldn’t shut up about your mysterious friend being in the mob because now you had people following you.

She couldn’t give up on the angle, going so far that even Mal was annoyed with her.

You had been annoyed 5 weeks ago when she brought the idea up for the first time during New Year's when she spotted them after you came out of a fried chicken place in Atlanta.

Tony sighed, fixing his leather jacket.“If you're really insistent about this, you know who you need to take it up with. Otherwise, I think Ms. Sonnett, Ms. Pugh, and Ms. Lavelle have finished ordering,”

It irritated you that he always referred to your friends so formally, even if he had never met them.

“I will,” You grit out, already pulling your phone out of your pocket. “Because you two are ridiculous,”

Tony made a face, dipping his aviators to peer at you again. “And Taylor is ridiculous for caring about your safety?”

You opened and closed your mouth several times. That wasn’t fair.

Tony slid his glasses back into place as a waitress brought them 2 coffees.

Your jaw clenched and you didn’t your best not to glare at the smug way he sipped the steaming glass. You hadn’t even seen them order.

“Your friends have chosen a table,” He hummed, tilting his head to where Emily, Mal, and Rose were all staring at you with wide eyes.

“This isn’t the end of this conversation,” You muttered, grabbing one of the 3 chocolate chip cookies that had been delivered with their coffee.

“We will try to be more discreet,” Zach said, passing you a napkin.

You took a bite of your cookie. “You better,”

“We’ll do our best,” Tony chuckled, gesturing towards your friends with his chin again. “Go enjoy your overly fancy coffee,”

You made a low noise, turning on your heel and heading back over to your friends, who were overtly staring at the men now.

“You’re in the mob right?” Emily asked before you were even fully seated in the chair next to Mal.

You didn’t reply, instead breaking the cookie into 3 and passing the larger part to Rose for her and Emily to share and the other to Mal, who was already wrapping herself around you again.

“Emily stop,” The forward whined loudly in your ear as she took the cookie.

“Oh come on, just answer the question,” Emily said, her lips pulling into a teasing grin. “it’s totally obvious,”

“I’m not in the mob,” You grumbled, taking a sip of your coffee and frowning.

You liked mochas, they were your go-to order, but this one had caramel in it, and was far too sweet. You would drink it anyway though, because one of your friends had paid for it.

Rose leaned forward in her chair, resting crossed arms on the table in front of her conspiratorially. “Then why was our coffee already paid for?”

You frowned, your cup hitting the table with a low thud. “What?”

“I gave them my name and she said someone had already paid for us,” Rose said, her voice low.

Your eyebrows pulled more tightly together. “Who?”

“Someone named Athena,” Rose wiggled her eyebrows at you, and you rolled your eyes.

It had been Taylor. Of course, it was her, she had even sent the goons she had following you coffees and an extra cookie.

Of course that was the name Taylor used.

She had been making fun of her nickname since she found out that it was her contact name in her phone, and you blushed through your explanation that she was a goddess and the smartest person you knew.

“See, totally a mob boss name,” Emily said accusingly, gesturing wildly with her hands. “who else would call themselves Athena,”

You were afraid that if you rolled your eyes again they would fall out of your head, so you refrained.

No matter how good it would have felt.

You pulled away from Mal and wrestled your phone out of your pocket. You flipped to your messages, ignoring the one aptly named Athena for now, opening the thread you shared with Alex to get it to stop buzzing.

Alexandria🐬: Did you have to walk to a coffee shop across the city? Haven’t you ever heard of an Uber?

MiniMorgs: Wanted to get some fresh air, and Cheney recommended it

Alexandria🐬: More like you wanted to win this week’s challenge. Was it worth the walk?

MiniMorgs: I didn’t have to read the overly complicated menu, so yes. #dyslexic problems

Alexandria🐬: LoL. Maybe we should get you yellow-tinted glasses to help with that

MiniMorgs: Whatever. Good luck catching up on miles

Alexandria🐬:🖕🏻

Another coffee cup landed in front of you with a clink, and you blinked up from your phone at the waitress.

You frowned up at her. “Ugh, thanks?”

You hadn’t ordered another coffee.

“The person who paid for your order also asked us to make an extra mocha, no caramel, no whipped cream, and no sweetening syrup,” The young girl explained quickly, her hands fidgeting in front of her. “it also comes with a heart and a little winky face,”

“Oh, thanks,” You sent her a genuine smile, the dimple on your left cheek poking out just a bit.

She blushed.

“No problem,” she said, turning away from you and your friends very quickly before practically running back to the counter.

You didn’t watch her as she left, instead sipping your new coffee and sighing in content.

It was exactly what you wanted. The perfect cup of coffee if you did say so yourself.

You glanced back down at your phone, flipping through your messages to the one labeled Athena👸🏼

Thanks for the coffee. It’s much better than the sugary shit Emily ordered.

“Do you have to flirt with every woman you see?” Mal scoffed, placing more of her weight on you as she draped her arms over your shoulders.

You grunted, slipping your phone in your pocket and adjusting in your seat so she didn’t knock you over. “I wasn’t flirting, I was just being nice,”

You practically felt her roll her eyes as Emily snorted across from you.

“What? I was!” You bit out, your voice dripping in incredulity.

“You used the smile you use when you’re trying to get into someone’s pants,” Mal hummed, her lips caressing the shell of your ear as her hand dipped its way under the hem of your Alexia Putellas Barça jersey. “I would know,”

You jerked away from her, nearly spilling your coffee. Your chair squeaked as you pushed away, creating space between the two of you.

You didn’t want her touching you.

Not like you had in the past.

There was a time when you craved her touch. Where you twisted yourself into knots to be worthy of her affection.

You allowed yourself to get closer to her than you had to anyone else, and in the end she had decided that you still weren’t good enough.

She decided that you would never be good enough for her. Not like Dansby was. But even after that you had pined after every little scrap of care she sent you, and you allowed yourself to believe that it was all you deserved.

That it was real.

Even in your short time with Taylor, you knew that real was something very different.�� She didn’t make you feel like you were always making up for something. Like you had to earn her care.

She made you feel worthy and had butterflies flapping in your chest. She made you feel seen, even before you were together, and you wouldn’t do anything to put that in jeopardy.

“Whoa, easy there,” Emily chuckled. “Didn't think you were so sensitive to the mention of your history,”

You shifted uncomfortably, fixing the edge of your jersey.

“Just tickled me,” You muttered, taking another sip of your coffee as Mal didn’t even hesitate to wrapped herself around you again.

You ignored the knowing look Rose sent you, and cleared your throat. “We should probably head back though. Think you can walk on your own this time?”

You gently elbowed Mal, sending Emily a cheeky grin when she wiggled her eyebrows.

Mal sighed heavily, her lips returning to near your ear. “I don’t think so. I think I still need a piggyback,”

You huffed at her pouted words, shoving your extra coffee cup into her hands as you stood. “You have to carry the cups though,”

“Deal!” She cheered, already trying to climb on your back.

You didn’t have the heart (or the stomach) to tell her that you didn’t want to carry her back. You couldn’t when it made her light up so much.

“You’re such a pushover,” Rose muttered as she held the café door open for you.

You shrugged as much as you could with Mal on your back.

You were a people pleaser to your core, and you couldn’t help that. Mal was your friend and you liked to make her happy.

Taylor would understand.

*****

You were sweating your ass off by the time you made it back to the team hotel, and your legs felt like you had just played 90 minutes.

You supposed walking 4 miles with a fully grown forward on your back would do that to you, and the detours Emily kept taking because of the “Mob Guys” following you made the journey more like 6. Dawn was not going to be pleased, and you felt like you needed a recovery day to recover from your recovery day.

You dropped Mal’s legs as you stepped into the welcome AC of the lobby, ignoring her yelp at the move.

“I’m done being your pack Mule,” You muttered, breathing hard. “Use your own damn legs,”

“Not a mule. A graceful stallion,” Mal hummed, leaning in and placing a kiss on your cheek before she skipped off. “Thanks for the ride,”

She missed your eye roll. But Kelley didn’t. “Coming on a bit strong, isn't she?”

You blinked at Kelley, pulling your sunglasses up to rest in your wavy curls, taking in the way she was shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Don’t they always?”

“You didn't have a friends-with-benefits relationship with most of the people who hit on you,” Kelley shrugged.

You made a sound low in your throat, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m not interested in continuing that,”

You didn’t know she knew about that.

“I know,” Kelley nodded, her hand landing warm and grounding on your shoulder. “You’re interested in burrito girl,”

You hummed.

You were more than just interested in Taylor, and Kelley knew that. She had been getting regular updates after she talked you off the ledge the morning after, and it was kinda nice to get to share with someone.

Kelley shifted again, and you scratched harder at the back of your neck as a very uncomfortable silence settled over you.

“I didn’t bring you coffee,” You said, finally looking at her.

Your eyebrows pulled tightly together. She was spinning the ring on her forefinger more rapidly than you had ever seen, and shifting like she was… nervous.

“I know,” She said, her eyes flicking up to meet your blue before rapidly looking away. “Can we chat though?”

You frowned. “What’s up?”

Kelley bit her lip and led you over to an isolated meeting room, closing the door behind you.

She took a steadying breath like she was stealing herself as she turned to look at you. “I’m going to ask your sister to marry me,”

You stared at her, your mouth dropping open at her words.

She was going to ask your sister to marry her.

Her and Alex were going to get married.

But weren’t they practically married already? They had been together since you were 10. They lived together, had 2 dogs and were actively looking for a team to transfer to together.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, but you were. So you did what you always did when you were caught off guard.

You painted a playful smirk on your face, wiggling your eyebrows. “Alex right? Because I don’t think Jen or Jerry will react well,”

Kelley sighed. “I’m being serious. We’ve been together for almost 7 years. I love her,”

You raised an eyebrow at her, your smirk melting a little. “Ok, and?”

She spun her ring a little faster. “I’m not asking your permission, but-“

“You want my blessing or some shit?” You cut her off, your eyebrows furrowing impossibly deeper. “Jesus Kell, her and I haven’t had a proper conversation since I was like 12. My opinion doesn’t matter,”

You actively avoided conversations with your sister. She barely knew anything about the adult version of yourself.

There was no way she could care what you thought about her marrying Kelley.

Kelley shook her head, closing the distance between you and catching your hand. “I think your opinion is one of the only ones she cares about,”

Her voice went very soft, and you swallowed hard. You weren’t at a place to consider what she meant. You couldn't deal with all of the baggage that came with the implications.

Yes, you were fairly content to interact with her through the stupid app the two of you competed on, but that was nothing deeper than just that. A competition.

It didn’t mean anything. Not like Kelley was assuming it meant.

You shook your head, swallowing down your feelings and locking them into a little box in the center of your chest.

“She might be my sister, but I’ll kick her ass if she hurts you. Or says no, even though she’s not going to say no. She loves you. I guess I’ll kick your ass too if you hurt her so don’t,” You said softly, drawing up the courage to meet Kelley’s eyes again.

A brilliant smile broke across her face, and her eyes lit up like the two of you had just won the World Cup. “I promise I won’t kid,”

“Good,” You ran a hand through your hair, sucking in a long breath through your nose. “Is there anything else?”

“Don’t you want to know how I’m going to do it?” Kelley asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

Your shoulders lifted and fell.

Maybe a part of you cared about whatever romantic thing Kelley had planned for her, but the larger part just… wasn’t interested. It wasn’t like you were involved in Alex’s life. You didn’t get to see the ins and outs of her relationship with Kelley, and that was your own choice. If you got too close, you knew you would get hurt.

You had before anyway.

“As long as it’s not during or directly after sex, I think it’ll be fine,” You huffed out, covering your wavering curiosity.

Kelley rolled her eyes. “I’m going to do it when we go to New York. I have a reservation for the top of the Empire State Building,”

“That’ll be pretty,” You hummed, your voice going soft.

You knew how much your older sister loved city lights. It was nearly as much as she loved to look at the stars.

When the two of you were young, you would sit on the roof outside of her window for hours staring at the sky, naming the constellations. It was what got you so into Greek mythology after all. You wondered if she still remembered all of the stories.

“She loves the lights,” Kelley agreed, watching you carefully. “We’re going to have dinner after. Jen and Jerrie will be there,”

You nodded. “I’ll be there too,”

“Excellent,” Kelley’s smile just got wider.

“Yeah,” You said, trailing off and looking towards the door. “I told Alyssa I’d watch film with her before the game tomorrow, so are we done?”

Kelley chuckled, not at all surprised that you wanted to escape this conversation. “Wouldn’t want to keep the head of the Department of Defense waiting,”

You always pulled away when your family was mentioned, and that habit was only magnified when emotions were also involved.

“Nope,” You muttered, practically running towards the door.

She wished things were different.

Alex was making the steps to bridge the gap in your relationship, and for the first time in a long time, you seemed willing to meet her halfway. Neither of them were sure exactly what had caused the rift, or why you had always been so… reluctant to let her fix it. Or to talk about it in general.

She hoped that the little steps would actually lead to something this time. She hoped that you would let your walls down. She hoped that you would actually let yourself be happy.

*****

Rain pounded down around you as you tracked the ball across midfield.

Games like this were your favorite.

The USWNT was up by 4 and there was only 30 seconds of stoppage time left. You had a goal and 2 assists and you had played incredibly well. It was 75 degrees so the rain was like the mist from a shower, warm and comfortable.

It let you take your mind off of the stupid phone call that had come just before you loaded up the bus to head to the stadium. It drowned out Roary Dame’s voice explaining that you were a great play, just not what they needed.

Explaining that he had put your name in the trading block for the highest draft pick they could get. So they could finally have their star striker because you were the wrong Morgan for that.

This game made you feel… good. It made you feel powerful.

You smiled at Sam as she came to a stop beside you.

Alex and Mal were getting ready to take a time-wasting corner to end the game, and you and Sam were just there in case Jamaica got a counter opportunity.

“Emily says you’re in the mob now,” She said conversationally. “And that you have two huge dudes following you around,”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not in the mob,”

“But you do have 2 dudes following you,” She asked, tilting her head to the mouth of the tunnel where Zach and Tony were huddled under an umbrella.

They were right, it was kinda scary how far they could get without any real security clearance. They shouldn’t have been able to get into the stadium, much less on the field, but here they were.

“I have a very overprotective friend,” You muttered as the ref blew the signature three whistles to signal the end of the game. You paused before you ran off.

Taylor wasn’t your friend, she was something much much more. You didn’t feel right calling her a friend.

You turned back to Sam, scratching the wet hairs off the back of your neck. “Well, a very protective more than a friend,”

A smile broke across her features, and you couldn’t help but match it. “Don’t mention that to anyone though,” You added, suddenly nervous that she would tell the team, and then the rumor mill would start.

You weren’t ready to answer questions about Taylor yet. Or to listen to your teammates tease you. You also didn’t want to share her yet.

Sam winked at you. “Your secret is safe with me,”

“Thanks,” You said, heading towards the tunnel, pausing at a young girl waving a soaked-through Morgan sign a few feet away from the tunnel.

You could see a big 13 painted on the sign, so you knew it wasn’t meant for you, but still it was your name too.

“Hey, I like your sign,” You hummed, flashing the girl a million-dollar smile, ignoring the phones pointed in your direction. “Even if it has the wrong number on it,”

The girl blushed deeply. “I like you too. I just wasn’t sure what number you would be wearing,”

It was a good excuse, you thought. Or it would have been over a year ago before you made the switch to number 12.

You hated when they pretended to give a shit about you just because you were the one standing in front of them. You knew the only Morgan they really cared about was your sister, and you wished they would just own it.

“Well thank ya,” You winked, ignoring her little lie. “I know it’s just because she’s a striker. Everyone loves a good goal scorer,”

The red in the girl's cheeks got even more pronounced, and your grin turned slightly wolfish. She didn’t hear the bitter note in your voice.

Everyone wanted the star striker, something you would never be.

“Do you have something you want me to sign?”

The girl shook her head, looking at her friend who also shook her head. The girl looked back at you, biting her lip.

“Can I get your jersey?” She asked hesitantly, and your smirk only got wider.

“I think I can do one better,” You said, turning back towards the field. Your eyes roved over the players until you found the one you were looking for.

“Hey Al,” You called out, cupping your hands over your face to amplify the sound.

Her head snapped in your direction, and you waved her over. You tried not to let it bother you that the girl's squeals got so much louder as she jogged over, a questioning smile on her face.

“What’s up?” She asked as soon as she was close enough, and you could hear the slight surprise in her voice. It was one of the first times you had actually spoken to her since last camp.

You tilted your head towards the fans beside you. “You’ve got a fan and you owe me because I beat you 5 weeks in a row,”

“And?” She raised an eyebrow at you.

“I’m cashing in,” You said, again tilting your head towards the fans. “She would like your jersey,”

Alex never took her eyes off of you as she stripped off her soaked-through jersey, and passed it to the girl. It was like she was trying to figure out what you were thinking. But she had lost the ability to read your mind years ago.

“Thanks,” You said, flashing her a grin and turning back towards the girl. “Now you’ve got the jersey you actually want,”

Alex’s lips pulled downward at the sarcasm in your tone, hidden by false cheeriness. It was the same tone you used when something was annoying you, but you didn’t know how (or have the courage) to vocalize it.

“Oh my god, thank you!” The girl cheered, looking at Alex instead of at you.

“Both of you,” She added quickly when Alex raised an eyebrow at her.

You waved her off, throwing a “No worries,” over your shoulder as you headed towards the tunnel to get out of the rain.

Alex waved at the girls too, sending them a smile before jogging off after you. There was something so… off about that interaction, and she wasn’t willing to let it go anymore.

Her and Kelley had discussed it, and while she understood the defender's advice to not push you. To let you come to her, she was tired of waiting.

The texting was nice, but it didn’t carry over to your real-life interactions and that was… frustrating. It wasn’t getting her anywhere.

She caught your arm as you rounded the corner to the locker room, spinning you on the spot and stepping into your space so you were pinned against the cold concrete wall of the tunnel, unable to run away this time.

“What the fuck was that all about?” She asked, keeping her voice level, even though the two of you were nose to nose.

Your eyes flashed up to meet hers, identical blue boring into yours. It made you feel like she could see into your soul. Like you were naked in front of her. You so badly wanted to look away but you couldn’t.

“She had a Morgan sign with a huge 13 on it, so I went to say hello,” You shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant, but Alex saw through it. “And they asked for a jersey, but I knew it wasn’t mine they wanted,”

There was something in your voice, in your posture that she couldn’t place.

“But they asked you for it?” She pressed, and your eyes flicked away from her as you gave her a barely perceptible nod.

“It would have been a consolation prize. They wanted yours,” You said, twisting your arm free and finally squeezing out from where you were trapped. “Everyone always wants yours,”

You muttered the last part under your breath as you tried to make your way down the hallway, but Alex heard you anyway.

She again caught your arm before you could walk away, again spinning you around to face her. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing Alex,” You grumbled, shaking your head and again breaking her hold on you. “Just drop it,”

“No. I will not drop it,” She bit back, not letting you walk away from her. “I’ve been dropping it since you were 10 and look where it’s gotten us. I can’t fix something if I don’t understand what’s wrong,”

It was as if she let you leave. If she let you go before she understood you would be gone for good. You would lose the progress you had made.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Fix it?”

What did Alex mean that she wanted to fix it? She didn’t have a Time Machine.

“Yes. Fix it,” She said, fighting to keep her volume low and her tone even. You didn’t respond well to exasperation. “We were so close and now it’s like we can’t even stand each other. I don’t want us to be this tense for the rest of our lives,”

You stared at her like she had 3 heads. There was nothing that she could do. No magic wand she could wave to change it.

The world preferred her over you, and they probably always would. You had learned from the time you were small that you weren’t worth as much as Alex was. You were invisible when she was there. You accepted it. The only person who didn’t make you feel that way was Taylor.

You shook your head. “There is nothing to fix Alex. You can’t do anything. Now let me go,”

Her face fell, and something broke in her eyes. It made your heart hurt, but it was the truth.

You twisted your arm out of her grasp and turned on your heel heading into the locker room. Alex stared after you, something you said gnawing in her brain.

Everyone always wants yours

It was nearly as bad as the “Now that everyone is watching you care. Now when it’s convenient” you gave her on the practice field in November.

She wasn’t sure what had happened between the two of you, or why you were so… frustratingly stubborn about allowing her to build a bridge over the mile-wide gap between you.

Your attitude shifting was also giving her whiplash. You seemed so… open over text. So willing to interact. She didn’t know how to navigate it all, and it seemed that you weren’t at all willing to help her.

“You good?”

Alex jumped at Kelley’s voice in her ear and gentle hands on her shoulders.

“No,” she shook her head, relaxing back into the defender's grasp.

Kelley hummed, and placed a kiss just below her ear, soothing her. “What happened?”

“Y/n called me over to give a girl my jersey, and then told her that she had the one she actually wanted,” Alex explained, frustration evident in her voice. “and when I asked, she told me that everyone always wants mine,”

“Al, we talked about this,” Kelley sighed, as your sister pulled away from her.

“I know,” Alex grumbled running a frustrated hand through her soaked hair.

They had many conversations about it. They both agreed that the best move was to take it slow. To let you dictate the pace, but neither of them expected you to be so… passive-aggressive.

Not when you let people push you too far because you didn’t know how to set limits, or you just pretended like they didn’t exist.

She didn’t know how to act when you went out of your way to interact with her and then tried to run away.

“But we never accounted for this,” She gestured wildly towards the locker room door. “She called me over,”

“And then you chased after her,” Kelley countered. “Because she told you a snippet of what’s bothering her that is supposed to make sense, but it doesn’t because you don’t have context. And you need to understand. I know,”

“She said I can’t fix it, Kell,” Alex’s voice finally broke, and Kelley was quick to pull the striker into her chest as her shoulders shook. “What am I supposed to do?”

Kelley closed her eyes, resting her cheek on the top of Alex’s head, holding her tightly.

She could see it from your side.

Alex had spent years unsure of how to bridge the ever-widening gap between you. You had spent years being compared to her, being crucified by the media for not being her, so it made sense for you to be wary. For you to try and protect yourself. What didn’t make sense was the hot and cold way you were going about it.

“I’ll talk to her,” Kelley said, holding your sister together as she crumbled. “But we need to take this at her pace. And that means one step at a time,”

*****

Slipping out of the locker room undetected was far easier than you expected it to be, but then again you had retreated to the showers long before most of the team was even off of the field. You hadn’t been planning to escape, but when the text came through on your phone, it was a no-brainer.

You smiled widely as you made the final turn down the tunnel, revealing Taylor leaning up against the large Visitors sign texting. “Fancy meeting you here, I thought you had album stuff,”

“Heard you didn’t like my henchmen,” She smirked, pushing herself off the wall and meeting you halfway. “So I thought I’d come to check on you myself,”

You nearly fell with the force of the hug, burying your face in her neck and squeezing her tightly to you. “I don’t like the henchmen. I don’t need babysitters,”

She hummed, leaning back just enough to look you in the eyes and brushing your wet curls out of your eyes. “You don’t need babysitters, but you do need protection. Let me be a little overprotective of you,”

You could feel her breath on your lips, and you couldn’t help but lean in and connect your mouths. Your hands slipped into the back pocket of her jeans and you squeezed lightly.

It was slightly scary how addicted to her you were. How you craved her touch.

She made a low sound in the back of her throat. One of her hands hooked into the hem of your sweats, and the other wove into the short curls at the back of your neck, pulling you tighter to her.

You stumbled forward molding yourself to her, as the kiss changed. Her tongue slipped into your mouth, running against yours, and you could feel her desire.

It didn’t surprise you. You knew what she wanted. What she expected. It was the same thing that every girl expected from you, so you just let it happen.

You let her pull you into the closet (unsure of how it appeared out of thin air, or where her shirt had suddenly disappeared to), pushing her against the only wall not covered in athletic equipment, and pinning her there with your hips.

Your lips dragged across her neck, and you longed to pull the velvety skin into your mouth. To place a mark, a claim out in the open where everyone could see. But you didn’t.

You trailed down to her collarbone, skimming your teeth along it as your hand slid into her pants, past her underwear, and through her warm wetness.

You couldn’t help the smirk that graced your features. “Is this all for me?”

“You’re hot when you play,” She keened as you teased at her entrance, gathering her slick on your middle finger. “And even hotter when you’re drenched and you kept pulling your shirt off to wipe the rain out of your eyes,”

You hummed, tracing her lower lips and brushing your middle finger across her clit. Her hips jolted, knocking into your thigh and it reminded you of how players always fought you for ball possession.

How they would press back into you while you tried to tap it through their legs. How they always bucked back to keep you from picking their pocket.

Taylor’s head hit the wall, and you worked your lips back up her neck, lingering on the underside of her jaw. “Please y/n,”

You hummed, dragging your teeth along her chin, and slipping your finger inside. She was warm and tight, squeezing your fingers as you dragged them against her walls.

Her hand tightened in the short curls at the base of your neck, while the other clawed at the bare skin of your shoulders.

She tasted like sweat and rain, and something just so Taylor.

It was like the sun on your face during the perfect practice, using your arm to wipe the sweat off your upper lip after you sank a ball past one of the keepers. It was like your teammates pulling you into tight hugs, running their fingers through your hair after you scored on a scorching summer day, their hands slipping through yours as they headed back to their starting positions.

She shuddered against you as you curled your fingers, finding the spongy patch inside of her, and you carefully ran your teeth across the special spot right below her ear.

It made you feel… powerful to have her so on edge already. Nearly as powerful as when you were 5 goals up on a team, or when a player couldn’t make it past you in midfield.

“Y/n,”

It was like playing with Mal, and how you knew where she was going to be before she moved, so you could pull the opposing players and set her up for a goal.

Except it was better. It was what you imagined scoring in the World Cup would feel like. Or assisting in a goal.

“Y/n,” Taylor panted, using the hand in your hair to tug you away from her neck.

“What baby?” you asked, glassy eyes blinking blearily up at her as you again curled your fingers.

Her head fell back and hit the wall with a thump. “Oh my god,” She moaned low in her throat, fighting to get out whatever she was saying. She swallowed hard, her hands keeping you from continuing your ministrations. “The door,”

As if on cue, three loud rasps sounded from the door just to your left. “I know you’re in there Y/n. We need to talk. Now,”

Your head fell forward and landed heavily on Taylor’s shoulder as you let out a groan at Kelley’s voice. “One second,”

Why did she always have to pick the wrong moment?

You pulled back, meeting Taylor’s eyes. “Just stay here,”

She nodded, sucking in a deep breath as you removed yourself from her, and ran your hand through your hair, trying to straighten your ever-messy curls. Your other hand fixed your rumpled shirt, and she frowned. She could have sworn you took yours off when you devested her of hers.

You opened the door just a crack, pushing your head out and glaring at Kelley. “What? I’m busy,”

Her eyebrows were pulled tightly together, a frown firmly set in her features. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You felt Taylor’s hand on the top of your back, warm and heavy, comforting in a way you weren’t sure you would ever really deserve.

“A lot of things,” You grumbled, shifting so Kelley couldn’t get a good look inside the closet. “I’ll need more information to give you a more defined answer,”

Her eyes narrowed. “You told Alex that she couldn’t fix it between you,”

“She can’t,” You shrugged. “Are we done?”

“No,” Kelley bit back, her hand finding the door to prevent you from slamming it closed. “Not until you talk to your sister and fix this shit,”

You were already shaking your head. “Talking is not something that Alex and I do,”

Kelley snorted. “But you’ll text,”

You shrank a little at her tone.

The texting was different. It was safer, more controlled. She wasn’t close enough to hurt you. You needed that distance.

You felt a hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles at the point that always grew so tense when you were stressed.

You let out a breath. “That’s different. We only text when one of us is winning,”

“Is it?” Kelley pressed, unwilling to let it go. “Because from the outside, it looks like you share more than just your exercise routine,”

The hand grew more insistent, and you closed your eyes. “I don’t want to argue with you,”

You could understand why Kelley was upset. She was protective over the people she loved, and while you knew she cared for you, it was nothing compared to how much she loved your sister. She would always choose Alex over you.

And that was ok. It would be weird if it wasn’t that way.

“No, you just want to get back to your quick fuck,”

Kelley's mouth twisted around the words, and it felt like a knife slipping into your chest.

You flushed red, and a hand caught the back of your collar as you jerked forward. “Don’t call her that,”

You knew what your reputation was, but you never expected Kelley to try and use it against you. Taylor was far more than a quick fuck. You cared about her more than you cared about nearly anyone.

his was why you hadn’t told Kelley yet.

Kelley took a step back, sucking in a calming breath through her nose. “Look, all I’m saying is that you need to cut Alex some slack. It’s not fair for her with your hot and cold routine. You at least have to meet her halfway,”

“I’m trying,” You sighed, running a hand through your wild curls. “What else do you want from me when my own team is fucking trading me because I’ll never be the striker that she is,”

Kelley frowned. “What?”

“Those kids said they didn’t know my number because it was new. I changed it over a year ago. They didn’t have anything for me to sign, because they didn’t want my signature. They wanted Alex. Everyone always wants Alex, and that’s not something she can fix,” You explained, your voice going soft and… honest. “I wasn’t being cruel. I was being honest,”

“Oh,” Kelley’s frown deepened, as your comment to Alex suddenly made sense.

The fans had lied to you when you were already hurt from the trade. They made you feel more unwanted.

“Yeah oh,” You said, running another hand through your hair. “We text when one of us is winning. That’s our relationship, so just leave it. Is there anything else?”

Kelley shook her head and cleared her throat. “Bus leaves in 30,”

You painted a smirk across your features.

“Cool, I’ll see you in 29 then,” You said, as you slammed the door, and turned to lean against it. You slid down until you were seated, drawing your knees to your chest and letting your head fall against it with a low thump. “Fuck me,”

Why did Kelley always have to make things difficult?

Sure she was kinda right, but why did she have to remind you of that and get you to admit why you were upset? It was so infuriating that she wouldn’t let you keep her at arm's length.

“I would but I don’t think that’ll help,” Taylor chuckled, settling down beside you, resting a hand on your knee.

You groaned, blinking at her. You had nearly forgotten she was there. And that she was shirtless…“You’d be surprised. There’s something very… freeing about losing yourself in someone else,”

There was something freeing in having all of a woman’s attention. Of you just being enough for them even if it was only for a moment. Of having something Alex never had, and of being in the only situation where you couldn’t be compared to her (though a few girls had mused about it afterward, it’s why you started skipping the after-cuddling).

Taylor made a low noise, shaking her head. “I think talking will help you more in the long run,”

You shrugged. You didn’t want to argue with her.

“I’m sorry Kelley interrupted before you could…you know…” You blushed deeply, rubbing harder at the back of your neck. You couldn’t say the word orgasm.

Taylor frowned, her thumb pausing on the inside of your knee. “Y/n,”

You didn’t stop though. You didn’t let her ask you the hard question.

“I’m surprised the goon squad didn’t stop them, especially since your goons are here too,” You said, scratching your neck, and tugging off your sweatshirt by the hood. “Here,”

You passed her the item, watching with rapt attention as she pulled it on, and her abs flexed.

“Jason is getting the car, and Tony is at the end of the hall,” She hummed, doing the button on her pants once your hoodie was on. “I don’t really like having an audience,”

You wiggled your eyebrows, painting a charming smile back on your face, even though it took too much effort. “And you assumed I’d jump you?”

It was slightly alarming how easily you locked your emotions away. How you could pretend like there wasn’t something bothering you when it had been so obvious just seconds before?

It set off red flags in her brain because a talent like that wasn’t inherent. It was learned.

“No,” She shook her head, deciding not to comment on how easily you flipped that switch. “I just knew how much I missed you,”

Your mask fell slightly. “I missed you too,”

You meant it. Being away from Taylor was harder than your pride would let you admit.

You had never been so… taken with someone. So addicted to them. But she made you feel seen and safe. It made you want to spend every second with her, wrapped around her.

“Can I take you to dinner?” She asked, squeezing your knee.

You shrugged. “I have to go back to the team hotel first to do cool down and check-in,”

“I can pick you up afterward,” Taylor suggested.

“That sounds agreeable,” You nodded, your lips twisting into a devilish smirk. “But what are we going to do in the,” You looked at the time on your phone. “25 minutes we have before the bus leaves?”

Taylor matched your smirk, catching the front of your shirt and pulling you closer. “I can think of a few things,”

OoOoOoO

March 2017

I, I loved you in spite of Deep fears that the world would divide us So, baby, can we dance Oh, through an avalanche?

You didn’t particularly enjoy fancy restaurants. You didn’t particularly like most restaurants to begin with, but ones with a dress code always made you uncomfortable. Their menus always had a small font, and the white tablecloths never stayed white.

The stuffy atmosphere usually lent itself to stuffy conversations, and it reminded you too much of business lunches or dinners with your parents to ever really enjoy yourself.

You had learned over the years that your opinion didn’t really matter. That everything wasn’t about you. So you were fairly adept at painting a charming smile on and acting normal.

It has worked for most of the night with your sisters and Kelley anyway.

It was easy when Jen and Jerri were gushing over the new diamond ring on Alex’s finger. When they kept asking for every little detail of how Kelley proposed on top of the Empire State Building.

And you played along, never speaking directly to Alex, but not being weird enough that anyone would notice. You wouldn’t ruin this for her, or for Kelley.

“You alright over there space cadet?” Jerri asked, nudging your shoulder and pulling your brain from where you were trying to decipher the tiny writing on the menu.

You blinked up at the four women, realizing that they (and the waiter) were staring expectantly at you. “What?”

“Kell asked if you were ready to order,” Jen supplied patiently.

You were just grateful that no one giggled, but you blushed anyway.

You tried to cover it by snapping your menu closed. “Oh, yeah,”

Kelley blinked at you, gesturing towards the waitress. “What are you going to order?”

You felt the heat in your cheeks travel up to your ears, but still, you tried to play it off. “Oh, you guys can go first,”

Jerri shook her head, placing her hand gently on your arm. “We already have sweetheart,”

You frowned, squinting down at your closed menu. You had missed them ordering, and now you didn’t have time to try and decipher the hieroglyphic font the restaurant had chosen. Not that you would have been able to.

The letters tended to go more haywire when you were stressed, and you would be damned before you asked someone to help you. Your jaw worked as you thought of what to say. What could you say?

“You love chicken parm, and I heard it’s good here,” Alex said casually like it was normal to suggest food items after everyone else had already ordered. “or they have a very good salmon in pink sauce if you’re feeling something lighter,”

Your eyes darted to her for the first time since you had sat down at the stable, and your jaw hung open.

Alex intervening so seamlessly when you were struggling wasn’t something that had happened since she moved to Berkeley (you couldn’t help how you sneered the word in your head).

Jerri nudged you again, and you cleared your throat, your eyes still glued to Alex.

“The salmon sounds good actually,” You mumbled, finally getting your voice to work.

The waitress hummed, and you heard her little ticket book close. “I’ll go put that in,”

You were sure that Kelley or Jen responded to the girl, but you didn’t look away from Alex.

It was just so…not Alex of her. For her to have options ready and waiting meant that she had to have thought that you might have trouble. She had to have consciously decided to look for options that you would like too, and to have more than one so you actually got to choose.

It meant that she cared.

You swallowed very hard. That thought was too overwhelming.

Now, at the dinner, after she just got engaged was not the time to contemplate if Alex even had the capability to care about you. It would again make the evening about you when it most certainly was not.

You could feel the eyes of Kelley and your sisters, despite the way they restarted their conversation. It was like they were watching a car crash or a roller coaster derail.

You felt like a spectacle. Like you were drawing attention when you absolutely should not be. It had alarm bells ringing in your ears.

What would your parents say when they heard you had ruined your sister’s engagement dinner?

It was like the walls were closing in, as the conversation at the table blended with the noise from the restaurant around you. It was suffocating.

You didn’t think before you pushed yourself to your feet, nearly knocking over the chair behind you.

“I’m gonna take a bathroom break,” You said, turning on your heel without waiting for a response, not that you would have registered it through the pounding in your ears.

You needed to get away.

To leave.

To put space between you and this version of Alex that somehow gave a fuck about you.

You bypassed the hallway that led to the restroom, knowing that someone would eventually find you there. You turned right, brushing past the hostess and out the glass doors into the city.

The chilly air hit you like a gasping breath after being underwater for too long. Like water after a practice in Houston in July.

You paused just outside the crystal doors, filling your lungs like you had been drowning.

You knew you couldn’t stand there forever, blocking the entrance to Osteria Carlina, so you headed left, in the direction of your favorite hole-in-the-wall pizza place between Canal and Broadway.

You didn't plan to eat there, but you thought that maybe the walk would help you clear your head, and you could be back in time to eat your overpriced salmon. Something about the smell of fresh sauce and baked cheese always made your thoughts clearer.

It reminded you of when you were tiny and Alex would take you for pizza after your u6 games. It reminded you of riding on her shoulders on top of the world, even if none of the goals actually mattered.

Even if you lost.

You just needed a minute to not think, so you could go back and pretend like everything was fine. Like you didn’t feel entirely out of place with your sisters and Kelley. And you knew that the sounds of the city and the familiar comfort would do that.

You could already feel your airway opening, but you reached up and undid the top two buttons of your shirt anyway as though it would help. It was all in your head anyway.

It was always all in your head.

You ran a hand through your hair, your nose scrunching involuntarily at the sticky gel you had used to keep your curls in place. You had forgotten your normal wax in Chicago, and the CVS near your hotel wanted 15$ for it.

You wanted to look nice for Alex and Kelley, but 15$ wax was not in your budget. Still, you couldn’t not do anything with your hair. Wild curls would draw attention to you, and you couldn’t do that.

You couldn’t make this night about you and ruin it for them.

God, you probably already had.

“If you’re going to ditch us can you please slow down? It’s the least you could do,”

Your heart stopped at Alex’s voice, and your feet paused before you consciously decided to listen. You had to swallow down a groan.

Of course, she had come after you.

It was such an Alex thing to do.

You ran another hand through your hair and turned to face her. “What are you doing?”

Her eyebrows pulled together as she finally caught up with you. “I’m making sure you’re okay,”

She said it like it was obvious. Like it was normal. Like she wasn’t sure why you would ask.

“I’m fine,” You mumbled, your hand dragging through your curls to the back of your neck. “Go back to dinner and I’ll rejoin you in a bit,”

Her eyebrow arched. “I think running out of the restaurant constitutes just about anything other than fine,”

You couldn’t help how your nose scrunched.

This was the part of your relationship that you had forgotten about. The one that had been masked by annoying persistence since she moved out for college.

The one where she actually cared enough to force you to admit when something was wrong.

She was pushing you, but it didn’t feel like it was for her benefit. It was for you.

Your hand fell. “I just needed some air,” Your voice came out horse, strained.

Alex hummed, stepping closer to you. “You got overwhelmed.”

It was a statement, not a question, and it struck you how well she knew you, even though the two of you hadn’t had a real conversation in nearly a decade.

You stared at her, trying to understand her game. Trying to figure out why she was pretending to care. Trying to dissect how this would benefit her and her perfect image.

“What do you want from me?” You were thrown off by how small you sounded. How young and… terrified the words that left your lips were.

Alex caught your arm pulling you into her, closing the little space left between you. “I want you to talk to me,”

“No,” You instantly pulled away from her, tangling your fingers in your messy curls yet again. “I will not be a distraction,”

“What?” Her eyebrows pulled more tightly together.

Your fingers caught in a curl at the back of your head, the one that always seemed to tangle no matter what you did. You harshly tugged at it, the little pinpricks of pain helping you stay grounded.

Except this time it didn't help.

It didn’t give you enough to focus on to crack some smart-ass remark or shove your feelings into a tiny box.

It was too much.

“It’s all I’ve ever been,” The words spilled from your lips before you could stop them, like blood gushing from an open wound that you had tried and failed to stitch together too many times before.

Alex softened, and she took a step towards you, gently catching your arm and pulling it towards her, effectively stopping your from ripping your hair out.

“Monkey,” She said softly.

You jerked away, like a wounded animal. You would not let her pretend that she didn’t think that. That she didn’t hate how you followed after her when you were young, that she didn’t despise how you distracted from her.

“No! I heard you. I’m just the spare Morgan chasing after you, taking people’s attention off of you, and joining in uninvited on your opportunities. This will not be like that. I won’t fuck this up for you. You need to go back, and I’ll be there in a few minutes,”

The words forced themselves out of your lips like they had been waiting to leave for forever. They broke you apart as you choked trying to hold in your emotions. As you fought to close the lid back on Pandora’s box.

Alex caught you again, pulling you into her, and you quaked against her chest, sucking in strangled breaths. Her arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tightly, just like she did when you were little after a busy trip to the mall when the crowds had made your tummy flutter.

You didn’t fight her, instead burying your face in her neck, curling into her like you hadn’t since she left for college.

She held you like the two of you had all the time in the world. Like you weren't on a random sidewalk with random people walking around you.

She didn’t pull back until your trembling had slowed and your breathing had evened out, and she very gently ran her thumb under your eyes.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying.

“What the hell are you talking about?” She asked when your eyes met her identical blue.

“You said it,” You mumbled, sniffing lightly.

Alex’s eyes scrunched and a crinkle appeared between them. “When?”

“I was trying to surprise you at Berkley. Mom thought I had practice, and I took the bus. I heard you,” You said, your eyes closing as that day played back through your head.

It had taken some serious convincing from Jen that Alex missed you, and that she was desperate to see you since you had gone radio silent on her. You had been so excited as you waited near the Berkeley bleachers for their practice to finish.

She had been walking with one of her teammates, and they were talking about someone Coach McGuire was going to invite to practice.

“It just makes no sense, why would he extend that kind of an offer to a kid?” The girl you didn’t recognize said, nudging your sister as they stepped off the field. “Like fuck, it has to suck to always have your younger sister getting opportunities off of your hard work,”

Alex hummed, shifting her bag over her shoulder, and you moved to be more hidden under the bleachers.

The little sound was like a knife in your chest, deflating the balloon of excitement that had been there since you snuck out this morning.

Alex didn’t want to see you. She thought you were getting things off of her hard work.

“Don’t they understand that you want something that’s yours?” The girl continued, and you bit down hard on your lip to stop the tears from leaking down your cheeks. “You should have to deal with her being a distraction from your greatness,”

You would never cry for Alex again.

You shook your head and refocused on Alex in front of you, shoving away the cracking feeling in your stomach.

“Go back to your dinner. I’ll be there in a bit,” You said, forcing your voice steady. Emotionless. In control. “I promise Alex. I just needed some air,”

“No,” Alex said sternly, her arm tightening around you so you couldn’t pull away. “Don’t do that. Don’t shut down on me. I'm not going anywhere,”

You blinked at her, fighting to swallow the warmth that spread through you. It couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be honest about this.

You had already resolved that she didn’t actually care about you. That she loathed the responsibility of you from when you were younger. You couldn’t wrap your head around anything else.

And before you could stop it the strangled “Why?” Fell from your lips.

She chuckled, running her thumb under your eyes again and wiping away the tears that would not stop. “Because I fucking love you, and I can’t read your fucking mind, no matter how many times I told you I could when you were little,”

You knew the comment was meant to draw a chuckle or a smile, but it didn’t.

Alex ducked her head when you tried to look away, not letting you break eye contact. Not letting you bury your emotions and draw back into yourself. Making sure you heard her. “I want to fix our relationship. I’ve wanted to fix it since you stopped talking to me when I moved out. I don’t understand what happened, even though I probably should, and I can’t if you don’t tell me,”

You sniffled, unable to stop yourself from leaning into her touch as her thumb ran circles under your eyes, clearing away the tears as they continued to fall. It warmed your cheeks, and traveled down to your tummy. It made you feel… safe. Something you hadn’t really felt that way (aside from when you were with Taylor) since you were 12.

The two of you stood like that for a long minute, stuck in your own bubble, uncaring of the crowds rushing around you.

It took you another moment to realize Alex’s eyebrow was raised, and that she was looking at you like she always had when she expected a response.

You swallowed hard. “Ok,”

The word was simple but held a weight not lost on either of you. What you were agreeing to wasn’t lost, and neither was the vulnerability it took to let it out.

Alex’s head tilted, a smile tugging at her lips. “Ok.”

You nodded, finally pulling yourself out of her grasp and wiping your face with your arm. “I’ll try. Old habits die hard,”

“I know,” Alex hummed, and you knew she was saying more.

She was saying that she knew how hard it was for you to voice your feelings sometimes. How difficult it was for you to be open.

She was saying that she knew you.

And it had a warm feeling filtering deep in your tummy.

You looked away, clearing your throat. “We should go back. It’s your night and you should get to enjoy it,”

Alex sighed.“ This doesn’t change my ability to enjoy my night. If you need more time, we have plenty,”

Your shoulders rolled, and your back straightened. Your fingers tangled in the baby hairs at the back of your neck.

It was something Alex had seen a million times. The way you pieced yourself back together, even when you didn’t necessarily have to. Even when you weren’t ready to.

It was unsettling, how little this part of you had changed.

“The only bad thing about the city lights is that you can’t see the stars,” She said, watching how the abrupt change in subject took an immediate effect.

You blinked at her, your eyes instinctively glancing upward towards the sky, and your shoulders relaxing.

Bingo she thought.

You might not have had a conversation with her in years, but she still knew you. And your obsession with astronomy… well more like your obsession with Greek mythology and stars… hadn’t changed.

You hadn’t changed all that much. Well, most of you, no matter how much you wanted to pretend otherwise.

“Canis Minor is there,” You mumbled, pointing up at the sky barely visible surrounded by the neon lights of the city. “And Vela and Volans are there. It’s hard, but you can make them out,”

She hummed, not at all surprised that you could pick out the constellations even when you could only see a small part of them. But that wasn’t the point.

The point was how you relaxed.

You looked back towards her, your hand dropping as you let out a shaky breath.

“Let’s go back,” You said. “I don’t want your food to get cold,”

Alex nodded. “As long as you’re ready,”

You made a low sound in the back of your throat and turned back towards the restaurant. “Let’s go,”

She signed, reminding herself that everything wouldn’t be fixed in a day. You wouldn’t be fixed in a day. It would take baby steps, and you had given her more today than you had in years.

“Ok,” She agreed, letting you lead her back towards the restaurant, and your family.

*****

“You sure you don’t want a ride kid?” Kelley asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

You nodded, forcing a smile across your lips. “Oh yeah, I’m good,”

The end of dinner had actually been nice.

No one had said a thing when you and Alex returned to the table, just before your food arrived. The conversation had been light, focused on the proposal, and no one had tried to force you to join in.

They hadn’t even batted an eyelash when you pulled out your phone to text your girlfriend about where you would be sleeping, and made eye contact with the two men who had taken up a table in the back corner of the restaurant.

Desert had been… almost pain-free, which set you on edge.

Nothing in your family came without a cost, and you wondered what it would be. Especially since Alex had come after you.

But everyone said their goodbyes and headed to their cars with very little fanfare.

All except for Kelley who was worried when you lingered near the entrance of the restaurant.

“You don’t have to stand here with me,” you said, glancing down the street, looking for the familiar black Escalade you assumed Taylor would be sending to retrieve you. You figured Tony was driving, since he had disappeared, leaving Zach to linger a few feet away from you. “I'm just waiting for my Uber,”

Kelley made a low noise. “And while I’m sure your new mob friends could take care of you, Alex would kill me if I left you here without knowing your plan,”

You blew out a breath, a strange warmth in your stomach at the thought that Alex would care. “My ride should be just around the corner. You can go, and I’ll be fine,”

It didn’t even bug you that Emily had apparently convinced her you were in the mob too.

“Burrito girl?” She asked, her features softening.

You nodded, glancing sideways toward where Alex was standing. “Satisfied now?”

You weren’t ready for your older sister to know yet. You weren’t ready to hear about how you weren’t mature enough. Or how your reputation would impact your relationship.

You didn’t want to be lectured about how much older Taylor was.

Kelley wiggled her eyebrows as a black Escalade pulled around the corner. “Very,”

“You’re far too smug about this,” You huffed, again glancing towards your sister, who still seemed oblivious to your conversation.

Kelley followed your eyes, and her smirk softened. “You know she wouldn’t be upset that you’re seeing someone right? She just wants you to be happy,”

“I know,” You mumbled, feeling the kid you had forced over your emotions rattle in your chest. You had already been too vulnerable tonight. “I just… I’m still figuring it all out, and I don’t want the pressure yet,”

Kelley made a low noise of agreement in the back of her throat. Like she wanted to argue with you, but knew you weren’t in a place to listen.

You wondered how much she knew about your earlier moment with Alex. How she knew so well not to push.

The black Escalade came to a smooth stop in front of you, and Zach stepped up from behind you to stand near the rear passenger door.

You appreciated that he didn’t say anything.

“Tell your burrito mob boss hello,” Kelley said, patting your back. “And I’ll take care of your sister,”

You rolled your eyes goodnaturedly at her before Zach opened the door for you and you slid into the backseat of the car.

Zach closed the door behind you and was in the passenger seat before you could think too hard about what Kelley had said.

“To Taylor’s apartment?” Tony asked you, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. “Or did you want to make a pitstop first?”

You blinked at him, not expecting to have a choice in where he was taking you. You figured Taylor had given him instructions already. That he would do whatever she told him to because she was the one paying his (probably incomprehensibly expensive) salary.

You cleared your throat, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Taylor’s apartment is fine, thanks,”

“No problem kid,” He winked, his eyes returning to the street ahead of him.

Zach reached forward and flicked the radio, letting quiet pop fill the car, and you relaxed back into the leather seats.

It was weird. This was weird. You felt so… off balance after your moment with Alex. It made you feel so vulnerable.

You needed to get rid of the raw feeling in your chest. You needed control.

You swallowed hard and looked out the window as the lights of the city passed.

*****

One thing you absolutely loved about Taylor’s apartment was that it was always stocked with sweets. And since you had started dating, your favorites seemed to appear alongside the treats that she enjoyed.

“How was dinner?” She asked you, passing you the container of chocolate frosting as you sat on her kitchen counter.

She was dressed in short shorts and an old Philadelphia Eagles shirt, her feet bare. She was relaxed and comfortable. Which felt like a stark contrast to needles prickling in your stomach. The pins tingling the back of your neck.

She had been waiting for you near the elevator when the SUV pulled into her private garage, and she welcomed you with a hug that was so… warm that it almost made you forget how raw you felt.

She held you as you ascended to her apartment, and all the way into her kitchen, asking if you were up for a bit of dessert.

You were surprised she hadn’t immediately tried to get you to talk about dinner with your sisters and Kelley. That she didn’t pry into it the second she had the chance like Mal would have.

Now you found that you didn’t mind the question.

“Fine,” You shrugged, sticking a spoon in the frosting and twisting it around, lifting it to examine the scoop you had made. “They mostly gushed over the ring Kelley picked, and how romantic it was to propose on the Empire State Building,”

You licked your spoon, pulling it into your mouth, and your eyes closed at the taste.

It was silky and smooth, much better than the cheap frosting you always brought.

“You don’t think it’s gush-worthy?” Taylor asked when your eyes fluttered back open.

You paused, thinking about it for a long second as you got another scoop of frosting.

You actually thought Kelley’s proposal was sweet. It combined some of your sister’s favorite things and one of her favorite places. It made sense.

But it was so cliché.

“For Alex it is,” You shrugged, sticking the spoon in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the ridges to get all of the delicious chocolate.

Taylor hummed, stepping up between your legs, her hands running gently over the dark denim of our jeans. “But it’s not what you would want?”

You shook your head, scooping a bit more frosting on your spoon.

“I think I’d want something more creative,” You said, your lips quirked up, as you held the spoon out for her. “You know, like under the Eiffel Tower,”

“So original,” She rolled her eyes, letting you slip the spoon past her lips.

Sharing food with her was a habit you had picked up. Something that settled the nagging feeling in the back of your mind that she was too skinny. That there was something… wrong with her relationship to food.

Her fingers tightened around your thighs and you tilted the spoon up and her chin tilted to follow, exposing the long lines of her neck. You traced them with your eyes, swallowing hard.

It had want bubbling in your stomach alongside the needles. It had you leaning into where you knew this evening was heading. Into the coping mechanism that hadn’t failed you yet, even though you so desperately wanted things with Taylor to be different.

But maybe tonight they didn’t have to be.

You hummed, pulling the spoon away.

She let her tongue trail along it, her eyes fluttering open to make eye contact with you. “That’s good,”

“You bought it, so I would hope you like it,”

You dipped the spoon back into the container, pulling up a glob of frosting and bringing it to your lips.

She watched you intently, waiting for the spoon to leave your mouth with a little pop before very slowly leaning in. It gave you enough time to pull away if you wanted to, but you didn’t want to.

You needed this. To feel in control.

You leaned forward, connecting your lips in a languid kiss. Her tongue gently pressed against your lips, and you opened your mouth to grant her access.

It carefully explored around your mouth, dancing with your tongue in a slow waltz, licking the residual frosting from every surface it touched.

She let out a low noise in the back of her throat as she pulled away. “That one tasted better,”

You wiggled your eyebrows, dropping the spoon back into the container. “Did it now?”

“It did,” She nodded, her thumbs running up and down your thighs.

You leaned forward, connecting your lips again and slowly sliding off the counter. Your hands landed heavily on her hips and her arms draped across your shoulders, pulling you closer, her fingers playing with the baby hairs at the back of your neck.

It was easy for you to snatch control of the kiss, Taylor gave it to you willingly.

It should have smoothed over the frayed edges of your nerves. It should have quieted your thoughts and made you more present.

Instead, you slipped farther into your head.

You replayed the feelings of Alex’s hand in your hair, the weight of her arm around you. How you had made a promise you weren’t sure you really wanted to keep.

Your lips never left her as she took a step back towards the hallway that led to her room, and you slipped your fingers under the hem of her shirt, skating along the waistband of her shorts.

You loved the smooth skin there, and the goosebumps that trailed after your light touch. They distracted you so much that you didn’t notice her turning down the hallway until you were stumbling over your feet to keep up.

Her lips tilted into a smirk as she used her newfound leverage to switch your position.

Your back hit the wall with a low thump. Her lips reattached to yours, one hand tangling in the hair at the base of your skull, and the other cupped your chin as she pressed you into the wall, her thigh landing heavily between your legs.

It was more demanding, more needy, more in control.

It jarred you out of your head. Out of the rabbit hole of how being honest with Alex would help you link the back line to the front line better. Of how it would allow more line breaking balls through towards the edge where your sister always danced to stay onside.

“You didn’t think I was a pillow princess did you?” She asked, winking at your surprised eyes.

You let out a sigh at the pressure against your core, doing everything in your power to prevent your hips from pulling back when she rocked against you.

This you weren’t used to. This you had never done with anyone besides Mal.

You sucked in a breath through your nose, deciding to focus on the things that you enjoyed. You leaned into the kiss.

You liked the way her tongue explored your mouth. You liked how her fingers twitched against your jaw before they made their way to your collar.

Your head tilted to give her more room as she began trailing warm, wet kisses down your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine when she hit the spot just below your right ear, and you let out another low sigh. She echoed the sound, her fingers deft as they undid the first button of your shirt.

She let the blunt nail of her pointer finger graze your collarbone, trailing after her as she moved to the next button, leaving flames in its wake.

Goosebumps erupted on the newly exposed skin, and you felt her smirk against your neck.

Her long fingers splayed across your abs, tapping out a rhythm you couldn’t define.

“Do you know how amazing these are?” She asked, her warm breath hitting the damp skin of your neck and sending a shiver down your spine as her fingers tapped you a bit harder. “I think about them all the time. It’s not fair that I’ve only gotten glimpses of them, especially with how much you show them off,”

“You were a bit distracted,” You smirked, projecting confidence that you didn’t feel, your fingers closing around her hips, trying to maintain a sliver of control.

She flexed her thigh again to prevent you from flipping your positions though.

“Hmm,” She hummed, a devilish smile cracking across her lips as she dropped to her knees. Your breath caught in your throat, and you splayed your hands on the wall behind you, trying to hide how much they were shaking.

You didn’t know how to handle this. How to do this.

“Well I’m not distracted now, and I’m going to give them the attention they deserve,” She said, her hands moving the edges of your shirt out of the way.

You raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you now?”

Your voice barely wobbled as you spoke, and you took it as a win.

“I am,” she nodded, determination glinting in her eyes. She leaned forward, placing an open mouth kiss on the abb right above your left hip. Her tongue followed the ridge of the muscle to the other side.

you bit your bottom lip and allowed your head to fall back against the wall with a low thump.

You liked this touch. More than any touch you had ever had before. You had never let anyone get this far before, not even Mal really.

Things had been quick with her, like touching you was an unpleasant chore. One neither of you had ever been fond of.

This. This was different.

Taylor took her time, lavishing each individual muscle as her warm mouth traveled around your stomach. A chill trailed after her lips, the air landing on your wet skin sending goosebumps across your flesh, stoking a foreign fire in your belly that was almost enough to quiet the growing dread.

Almost.

She made her way up your stomach, placing a line of kisses up your chest and collarbone before she again landed on the special spot on your neck.

“Let’s get you out of these pants,”

You sucked in a harsh breath through your nose, forcing yourself to remain relaxed. You tried to enjoy the feeling of her hands tracing the residue left on your stomach. Tried to focus on the softness of her lips on your neck and the scent of her perfume.

Tried to let it drive away ghosts of calloused fingers and gruff voices.

It almost worked.

Then her thumb flicked open the button of your jeans, and you couldn’t temper your reaction. You couldn’t quell the growing anxiety in your chest. You froze, every muscle in your body going rigid for a split second before you could force them to relax again.

You hoped that Taylor wouldn’t notice, but she did.

“Y/n?” She said softly as she pulled back, her hands retreating from their position at your waist to cup your cheek, and her leg falling from between yours.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open and met very worried blue. You could see the questions forming. The concern dripped from her form.

But you knew you couldn’t answer. You weren’t ready to unlock Pandora's box yet. Not when you knew you would never be able to shut it again. You only knew one way to stop her from asking. One way to regain control.

You surged forward, your hands on her hips giving you the leverage to push her back against the wall opposite of you. Your mouth landed hot against her neck, lavishing the soft skin with open-mouthed kisses, and your thigh slotted between her legs pressing into her core with the perfect amount of pressure to distract her.

“I’m ok,” You muttered hotly into her ear, pressing more firmly into her center. “Let me make you feel good,”

She sucked in a breath, her hips stuttering like they wanted to grind against you, but she wouldn’t let them.

You dragged your tongue down her neck, letting your teeth just barely graze her sensitive skin, and rocked your hips. Your thumbs scared along the sliver of skin just above her shorts trying to convince her to just go with it.

To let her let you distract her.

You thought for a second that it had worked, as a low groan left her lips. You thought that maybe you had… derailed her enough to forget about your momentary lapse in the hold you had on your emotions. But just as you went to slip your hand into her pants she stopped you.

Her palm pressed firmly into your chest, insistent until you pulled away enough to make eye contact with her.

“I want us to both feel good,” she said sternly.

You swallowed at the comment, fighting to keep your face neutral.

“Making you feel good will make me feel good,” You said, trying to lean back in, but the hand on your chest stopped you.

“Y/n you tensed,” She said, her blue eyes burning into yours, looking for answers, the charge between you melting away.

You sighed as you pulled away from her until your back hit the wall opposite of her. You ran a hand through your messy curls and glared up at her ceiling, unable to look at her.

You were afraid that if you did, she would be able to read your mind. She would see the… brokenness you fought so hard to hide. But you had never been able to hide from Taylor.

Even before you were dating, you had let her closer to you than anyone had ever gotten before. She was scarily perceptive and had been able to read you from the beginning of your friendship even better than Mal could (and that was saying something). Her abilities only seemed to get more acute as you got closer.

This was the only area she hadn’t seemed to pick up on.

You let yourself slide down the wall, your eyes closing as you sucked in another breath. You still felt so raw from your talk with Alex. Too… vulnerable. Like opening up again would finally crack your chest in half.

“I’m,” You started and stopped, unsure of what you were actually going to say. “I’m not good at receiving,”

You settled on the phrase, drawing up the courage to finally open your eyes, pulling your knees close to your chest and resting your chin on them.

You were surprised that Taylor had slid down her own wall so she was sitting across from you and mirroring your posture.

She made a low sound in the back of her throat, and her eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not good at it?”

There was no judgment in her voice. None of the disgust you expected.

“I can’t ever get out of my head enough to… enjoy it I guess,” You cleared your throat and looked away from her, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “No one’s ever noticed before”

It was a semi-truth. In your slew of hookups, no one had ever cared. No one had pushed back when you stopped them. No one had ever not let you distract them.

But then again, Taylor was nothing like your hookups.

You actually had feelings for her that stretched beyond self-loathing and the need to be in control of something. To be good enough. There was nothing quite like the rush that came from making a beautiful woman fall apart under you. It was irrefutable evidence that you were capable.

Taylor’s eyes tightened. It physically hurt her that none of your past partners (if she could call them that) had cared enough beyond their own needs to see the obvious. And that you were willing to bypass your own comfort so someone else could feel good.

She wanted to kick herself for not noticing that something was wrong sooner.

“You’ve never talked through limits or likes and dislikes with any of the people you’ve slept with?”

You ran another hand through your hair (making it impossibly more messy) and let out a very long breath.

You shrugged. “We were never doing anything beyond vanilla and it never progressed past a few one-sided orgasms,”

You had never let any of them touch you. Hell, you hadn’t even gotten undressed for most of them. The thought of doing anything… kinky sent a shiver down your spine so you hadn’t. It was just easier to keep distance from the people you slept with. It was safer that way.

Taylor shifted, very slowly scooting towards you, reaching out to place a gentle hand on your foot like she thought you would freak out if she moved too fast.

“Well, I think there’s a need now,” Taylor said, watching your every movement.

Your eyes were scarily hollow, accented by the red that rimmed them from the time you had made it to her apartment. She had wanted to ask about it. Pushed just a little to find out if you had been crying, and why. But you didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

You had pivoted to sex almost as soon as she tried to bring it up. It sent red flags up in her mind. Red flags that only got brighter.

She couldn’t help but replay every interaction the two of you had had in her mind. There would be time to agonize over every little detail later, but even now, your… reluctance to undress, or allow her to touch you was glaringly obvious. How the moment she flipped your typical script, you couldn’t hide it anymore.

She was slightly ashamed she hadn’t noticed it before. That she had ignored the signs of your discomfort, even if they were well masked.

Have you ever wanted to have sex? Had she put you in a position where you didn’t feel like you could refuse?

She never wanted you to feel forced, whether that was about talking about how you were feeling or having sex. She wanted you to feel comfortable enough to tell her when you weren’t ok with something.

Your nose dipped behind your thighs, your forehead pressed into your knees, and you squeezed your arms more tightly around them like you were literally trying to hold yourself together.

Her heart broke a little more at the barely audible “ok” that left your lips.

She scooted closer to you, her hand carefully drawing up your shin and weaving in your curls. Her nails scratched gently on your scalp, and you practically melted.

Your shoulders relaxed and you let out a long breath before you shifted to look up at her, your chin balanced on your knees.

She brushed a curl from in front of your eyes. “When did you start to feel uncomfortable?”

You scrunched your nose. It was a hard question.

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to explain that your mind went to soccer as soon as anything remotely intimate started. How were you supposed to explain that you were just defective?

But maybe you didn’t have to.

She didn’t ask you that. All she asked was when you started to feel uncomfortable, and that answer was easy.

It was the moment your back hit the wall. The moment you were jarred out of the safe space in your head.

The moment she forced you to be present, unlike every other girl you had ever been with.

But you weren’t entirely uncomfortable. Maybe at the start, but you had enjoyed parts of being with her. You wanted to enjoy being with her. But you were just… incapable. Defectives

You settled for a shrug, curling tighter into yourself. You didn’t want her to see how… fucked up you were. It would only push her away.

That’s what pushed Mal away. And Alex. And your parents.

You would never be good enough, and you had just wanted to pretend as long as you could. You weren’t ready to lose Taylor yet.

“Ok. It’s ok,” Taylor’s voice was gentle, and her hand trailed to tangle in the baby curls at the back of your neck. “Let’s try something else. Can you tell me what you liked?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “This time?”

“Any of the times,” She said soothingly, her fingers never stopping their gentle scratches at the back of your neck.

You closed your eyes, leaning back into her hand. “I like it when you do this,”

She hummed, and you could hear a smile in it. “Anything else?”

“I like kissing you,” You mumbled, feeling the red flair in your cheeks.

Her lips always tasted like coffee, and something so… Taylor. They were addictive in the best way.

“And I like holding you,” You added. There was something comforting about having her in your arms. Something that made you feel safe. “And I like it when you hold me,”

“But the rest?” She asked you gently.

Your shoulders lifted and fell. You did what was expected of you. What you knew worked.

You went with the flow just like Emily told you too, and then had been too caught in your head to savor the moment. To take in all of the little details that you wanted to remember. No matter how hard you fought, you just… couldn’t.

You quite liked touching her too, but you knew there was something wrong with your inability to remain in the moment when you did. You knew that she deserved for you to be present.

“I’m just not good at receiving,” You repeated, misery leaking into your tone.

It was the only response you could come up with. The only explanation that remotely made sense. This was when she would realize you were… defective. This was when she would leave. But she didn’t.

She gently squeezed the back of your neck. A silent request for you to look at her and a comforting touch that told you that it was ok. It took you a second to gain the courage to look up, but when you did, you didn’t see the disgust you expected.

Her eyes were soft, sad, and they held another emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “I like holding and kissing you too,”

She shifted a little closer to you, so her knee was touching yours. “And I’ll hold and kiss you for as long as you’ll let me, at whatever pace makes you feel comfortable,”

You made a low noise.

It was strange. Conceptually, you could understand what she was saying, but you had never been with someone who didn’t judge you based on your ability to give them an orgasm. You wondered how long her patience would last. How long would she stay when she realized how deeply you were fucked up.

“How about we go cuddle on the couch and watch a movie?” She asked, squeezing the back of your neck gently.

Your nose scrunched as she pulled away, pushing herself to her feet and holding her hand out to you. “You know I don’t like movies,”

You didn’t have the attention span for them, and you would inevitably get bored halfway through.

She hummed, wiggling her fingers so you would take her hand. “How about survivor then?”

Your tension melted at the mention of your favorite show, and your easy smile returned to your features.

“Yes! We have to watch Heroes vs Villains so you can see Russel at his finest,” You said, allowing her to pull you into her side.

“Whatever you want sunshine,” She kissed your forehead and guided you back towards her living room.

It felt like going to her bedroom was too much, too fast. She didn’t want you to think she had some… expectations despite the clear signs that you were not ready to progress past cuddling. Not while you would so easily compromise your limits.

Not while your limits still felt so unclear.

She knew that it would take time to work through that, and she was willing to wait and help you for as long as it took.

*****

Soft morning light filtered into your consciousness, waking you gently. You breathed in deeply, shifting on a bed that you knew wasn’t yours.

It smelled like lilacs and Taylor’s perfume, sweet and inviting and safe. You could hear soft music from somewhere else in the apartment and felt cool sheets next to you.

You frowned, pushing yourself to a sitting position with a yawn. It was rare you woke up after Taylor. That you slept in in general.

But it shouldn’t have surprised you with what had happened last night. Sure, the two of you had fallen asleep together just after Pavarti and Russel had schemed to take down the Hero’s tribe during the merge. Taylor held you just like she promised, but you should have known it wouldn’t last.

A good nights sleep had opened her eyes. She had reflected and decided you were too… broken to be worth it.

“Fuck,” You mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the palms of your hands.

You should have stopped her before she got to your pants. You should have been more subtle and slipped your position instead of tensing.

You should have been prepared to lose hold on the iron box that held your emotions. You should have had more control.

But you didn’t, and now you were most likely going to lose your girlfriend.

She would break up with you in the sweetest way possible. She would say that it was her. That she was the problem, and you would accept that.

You would nod along, and make it easy for her. Just like you had with Mal when she told you that Dansby was her soulmate. That he was so good and perfect.

You dragged your hands up your face, and into your hair, ruffling your messy curls as you pushed yourself out of bed. There was no point in drawing this out longer than it needed to be.

You stretched, pulling your shirt down over your boxers as you padded out of Taylor’s room towards the sound of the music. You could also make out soft voices as you got closer. Your eyebrows furrowed. Who was Taylor talking to?

You peeked your head around the corner, your frown deepening when you saw a redhead sitting at the island across from Taylor, a large stack of papers sitting to the right of her, drinking a cup of coffee and humming to a song you had never heard before.

Why was she here?

Taylor turned from the stove, catching sight of you before you could hide back behind the wall. “Hey babe, good morning,” She said brightly, smiling widely at you.

“Morning,” You said slowly, stepping out from behind the hallway wall.

She gestured to the woman across from her. “This is Tree,”

“Hello,” You waved awkwardly at the redhead.

“She just swang by to hear a bit of the new album,” Taylor explained easily, turning back towards the cabinets. “Do you want some coffee?”

Tree smiled brilliantly at you, showing off perfectly white teeth in a way that surprisingly didn’t feel forced.

But you could sense the lie in Taylor’s explanation of why her publicist was there. Of why the woman who handled all of Taylor’s outward appearances appeared with a massive contract right after you had shown her how defective you were?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” She said, pushing out the stool next to her, a clear invitation to sit.

You shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and dragged a hand through your hair.

Neither of them seemed… angry. Or like they were plotting the fastest way to get you out of the apartment. But you didn’t trust it. All of your instincts told you not to.

“Nice to meet you too,” You said slowly, stepping towards the stool and gesturing to the stack of papers. “Listen, I’ll sign whatever you want me to sign. Can I just take a shower before you kick me out?”

“What?” Taylor and Tree said in unison, Taylor nearly dropping the mug she was holding and Tree’s eyes tightening.

“I just hate to put on clean clothes without showering,” You scratched more insistently at the back of your neck, your fingers tangling in the tight curls at the base of your skull. “And Alex and Kelley would think it’s weird if I show up to their house in what I wore last night, and I won’t be able to accurately answer their questions,”

Taylor’s eyebrows pulled tightly together and she set the mug down, stepping closer to the island. “Y/n, slow down,”

You ignored her. You knew you were rambling at this point but you couldn’t stop yourself. “I promise I’ll be in and out in like 5 minutes. I won’t even do my hair,”

“Y/n stop,” Taylor moved around the island, catching your hand as it began to tug at the roots of your curls.

“What are you talking about?” She asked you softly, ducking to catch your eye.

“You’re going to break up with me because of what happened,” You rushed out, catching her frown and immediately backtracking. “Which is totally fine. I understand that you want someone… with less baggage. I just want to take a shower before you make me leave,”

“I’m not breaking up with you,”

You blinked at her. What was that supposed to mean?

Was she going to make you do it so she could be the good guy? Was her publicist there to witness it so they could write a story about it?

“Do you want me to break up with you then?” You asked, softly. You hated the fragility in your voice.

Taylor’s head cocked to the side and she raised an eyebrow at you. “No,”

It was your turn to frown. “I don’t understand what’s happening,”

“I’m not breaking up with you. You’re not breaking up with me,” She said like it was simple, tugging you towards the stools. “You’re going to sit down and drink your coffee while I make breakfast. You can talk to Tree if you like, or just listen to some of the tracks from my new album. But no one is getting kicked out or leaving,”

“Oh,” You breathed out, your shoulders dropping. “I don’t like eggs,”

“I know,” Taylor rolled her eyes, an amused smirk on her lips as she turned back towards the counter. “I’m making pancakes,”

“With chocolate chips?” You asked, watching her warily as you took the seat next to Tree slowly.

You felt like you were in a stupid rom-com that Alex would like. Like you were the idiot boyfriend who was lost.

“Of course,” Taylor hummed, sliding you a mug. “Drink your coffee,”

“So I heard you’re going to be playing for Washington this season,” Tree said, and you really looked at her for the first time.

Her eyes were kind, and she actually seemed… interested.

“If they ever get me a place to live,” You shrugged, clearing your throat. “Their manager keeps giving me the runaround and preseason starts in like 2 weeks,”

Her eyebrows pulled tightly together and she tapped her perfectly manicured nail on the edge of her mug, just beside the tea bag string. “They haven’t figured that out yet?”

“No. The only option they sent me doesn’t allow pets, which is a serious problem for my 3 huskies,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

To be honest, your move to DC was nearly as painful as the one from North Carolina to Chicago. You just hoped that this time there wouldn’t be a dismembered toe in whatever apartment they put you up in. And hopefully, you had working AC…

The redhead's frown deepened. “Don’t you have a manager that takes care of that?”

Your nose scrunched. “He’s not helpful,”

Your manager, Travis, had never been… involved. You were one of his 70 clients, and he preferred to do nothing besides collect his paycheck while teams fucked you this way and that. He rarely ever answered your calls, and when he did, he acted like a total slimeball. One more than one occasion he had insisted that he could turn you straight.

Taylor turned away from the stove, meeting Tree’s frown. You could tell there was a question on the tip of her tongue, one you probably didn’t want to answer just as much as you didn’t want to talk about what had happened last night.

Tree shook her head slightly, a movement just barely perceptible, making a low sound in the back of her throat and pulling out her phone. “I’ll take care of it,”

You blanched as Taylor turned back to the stove, flipping a pancake.

You reached for Tree’s arm before she could fully stand from her stool. “No, that's ok. I can figure it out,”

You didn’t need anyone else to get involved. You didn’t need to make a big deal out of this. You were sure it would only make it worse for you when you arrived.

You’d heard that the Washington coach Richie was no better than Paul or Rory, and you knew the only way to deal with it was by not making waves. By gritting your teeth and keeping your head down.

Tree smiled, squeezing your arm and grabbing her phone as she stepped towards the back balcony. “I’ll be right back,”

You sighed when she disappeared through the glass doors, sinking into the stool, looping your hand through the mug handle, and taking a long drag of your coffee.

It was perfect. Sweet and light exactly how you liked it, and the soft music playing in the background only made it better. You had never heard this song before. It was just a guitar track, with Taylor’s voice and you found yourself entranced by it.

I know that it’s delicate, delicate.

You pressed your fingers into the side of your mug as you took another long sip, your eyes following Taylor as she hummed along to the song while flipping the pancakes onto a plate.

She turned back towards you, sliding the plate across the marble island, and leaning against it. She waited for you to take a bite of your favorite breakfast, smiling when your eyes practically rolled back into your head at the taste.

Her new music wasn’t the only reason Tree had visited. But she knew she had to explain that very… carefully. She didn't want to set you off, especially when you still seemed so frazzled from the night before. When you thought she would kick you out for tensing.

She had her suspicions about why your reaction had been so strong, suspicions she had briefly discussed with Tree, but she knew she had to tread carefully. She had the feeling that if you felt too vulnerable, you would shut down entirely.

But considering the pictures the news media had tried to splash across the headlines, she wasn’t surprised that you had tried to use sex as a distraction (or something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on). It seemed like it was your go-to method, and explained why you had been so content to leave a trail of bodies in the wake of your reputation.

She also wasn’t surprised that it had ended… the way it did. You had already been emotionally vulnerable. Too vulnerable to have the kind of sex that was deeper than just movements and orgasms.

She sighed. She would have to tell you why Tree was there, preferably before Tree herself told you.

“Paparazzi got pictures of you and Alex last night,” She said, trying to stay casual. Trying to make it seem like no big deal.

You paused, fork full of pancake freezing midair in its trajectory to your mouth for a brief second before you dropped it with a clatter back onto the plate.

“Fuck me,” You groaned, dragging your palms over your face and through your hair. “Fuck me hard,”

It was another problem. Another thing for you to deal with. When honestly, you just wanted to pretend like last night had never happened.

All you needed was for the fans to get ahold of a photo of you crying.

She suppressed a chuckle. “It’s ok, Tree already took care of it,”

You paused, your fingers scrunching in your hair before you dragged them back down your face and picked up your fork.

Your eyes stayed closed for a long second before they opened slowly and you resumed eating like nothing had ever happened.

It was like watching an actor pull on a mask, how you folded all of your emotions up neatly and pushed them inside. It was… incredible and sent alarm bells blazing in Taylor’s mind.

“Oh. Um. Thanks,”

You could feel her eyes appraising you.

“It’s no problem,” She said with a little shrug, bringing her own mug to her lips.

You went back to your pancakes, the only sound between you the scraping of your fork on her plate and the song playing again in the background. Your mind wandered through the chorus, enjoying the way the beat drop tickled the little spot in the back of your head. Your eyes swept across the kitchen landing on the giant stack of papers in front of Tree’s empty stool.

“What are the papers?” You asked after a moment, pointing to it with your fork when the music died down and the song restarted.

Taylor reached for it, placing it between you and spinning it so you could read it. You didn’t. The print was small and close together, and you didn’t want to give yourself a headache.

“You said that no one has ever discussed limits and boundaries with you, so I thought it might be nice to do that,” Taylor explained carefully.

You raised an eyebrow at her. “So you printed a packet?”

“Well, no,” She shook her head. “I know you said that you had never done anything beyond vanilla, but I have, and I think it’s important to thoroughly know my partners limits,”

You let a teasing smirk play across your lips, sinking into the teasing to cover how… off kilter you felt.

You had never discussed limits. With anyone. And it scared you what she could discover. What if something you said turned her off? What if she didn’t want you after you filled out her packet?

“I didn’t know you were kinky Miss Swift,” You said, wiggling your eyebrows. “Or is there some other title you prefer?”

A bright red blush spread across her cheeks, traveling down her neck, and she looked away from you.

Before you could follow up, to make the gorgeous red color travel further, the sound of the glass door opening echoed through the kitchen, and Tree stepped back inside.

“Ok. I’ve got your housing settled, and I ordered a moving crew to help you,” Tree said as she sat back down beside you, seemingly oblivious to the tension between you and Taylor.

Or maybe she was just better at ignoring Taylor’s reactions.,

You blinked owlishly at her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“All you have to do is text this number with the date you want to move and they’ll help you get all of your belongings down to DC,” She said, handing you a sticky note with a number on it.

You had no idea where she had gotten it, but you were thankful for it.

“Oh, uh, thanks,”

She nodded. “If you have any more issues, call me and I’ll take care of it until we can get you a good manager,”

You swallowed your surprise. You weren’t even sure how to go about finding a new manager, and you doubted you could afford one. You weren’t entirely sure how the whole thing worked actually. But Tree seemed to know exactly what to do.

You turned back to your plate, taking another bite of your pancakes. They were like heaven, second only to the Pancakes Kelley made. But something nagged at the back of your mind. Taylor didn’t have a plate in front of her, and there wasn’t one in the sink. You supposed she could have placed it in the dishwasher.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” You asked, your fork pausing midair.

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry,”

A frown pulled at your lips. Now that you thought about it, Taylor was not hungry a lot. She rarely ate snacks when you did, and you were pretty sure she had never finished a meal with you.

“Then I'm not hungry,” You responded, already pushing the half-finished plate away from you, despite the way your mouth watered for more. “Unless you want to share these?”

She sighed heavily, but took your fork nonetheless, stabbing a tiny piece of pancake not drowned in syrup and bringing it to her lips.

“Happy?” She asked you, and your smirk turned real.

“I’m always happy when I’m with you,”

*****

“I don’t understand what that means,” You muttered, reading number 372 of Taylor’s limit questionnaire.

Touching while under sense deprivation

Most of the list had been easy. Things you knew you liked (like kissing), and things you knew you would never want (impact play with a cane). The rating system had also been easy to understand: things you liked and had done, things you wanted to try, things you would only try with lengthy discussion, and things you never wanted to try.

Taylor highlighted her preference in green Sharpie and you did yours in orange as the two of you worked through her packet cuddled on her couch. She had been insistent that the two of you fill out the packet after lunch, and Tree left to give the two of you some privacy.

“It means the use of a blindfold or headphones that cut off one of your senses,” She explained, already highlighting a would like to try in her green highlighter. “It can be fun. When one sense is taken away, others tend to heighten,”

You swallowed hard, biting your lip as the red in your cheeks got impossibly darker.

“I,” you swallowed hard and looked away from her. “I don’t want to do anything where I can’t see you,”

You had enough problems remaining in the moment with her. The idea that you wouldn’t be able to see her terrified you.

It scared you to think about where your brain might take you.

“Ok,” She agreed easily, placing a perfect orange swipe over never try, already moving on to the next one.

It made your head spin how… comfortable with this she was.

It was like she had done this before. She said she liked to know her partner's limits, so maybe she had. You had never asked about past relationships before.

“This isn’t your first time going through this list, is it?” you asked, but the question was more of a statement than an actual question.

She paused, halfway through reading hands restrained while partner touches- giving and looked at you.

“No, it’s not,” She admitted gently. “I… I would rather be over prepared than cross a line that I didn’t know was there,”

Your head tilted, and you raised an eyebrow at her. “And you were doing kinky shit like touching your partner while their hands were restrained?”

“Sometimes,” She shrugged, her eyes narrowing. “But I feel like that wasn’t the question you actually wanted to ask me,”

It was slightly scary how well she could read you sometimes.

You bit your lip. Your questions weren’t polite, but then again you were discussing allowing her to restrain you while you had sex. It was more… intimate than anything you had done with any of your partners, but Taylor seemed… comfortable.

She had done this before, and you wondered… how many others had been in your position.

“You’ve had relationships before?” You asked slowly, picking your cuticle and looking away from her.

“Yes?” She asked back, using a finger under your chin to gently get you to meet her eyes again, as she raised her eyebrow.

“I was wondering if you would tell me a little bit more about them,”

“I’ve had a few, some vanilla, some not so vanilla. A few with men, but the serious ones have only been with women,” She said, her voice soft, like she knew you were insecure about asking. “Is there anything specific you would like to know?”

Your fingers picked more instantly at your thumb. “Were you-… did they-…”

Her thumb ran over your elbow. “Relax and take a deep breath,”

You did, except it didn’t help you. You felt like a fish gaping out of water. You forced your mouth to close, dragging in a deep breath through your nose.

“You said you weren’t a pillow princess,” You mumbled, and a rye smile crossed her lips.

“You want to know if I was tying people up or if they were tying me up?”

You gulped but nodded. That had indeed been your question.

“Well. The dynamic I had with my partners changed with each partner,” She explained thoughtfully. “I found early on that I preferred to give rather than receive, but sometimes it’s nice to just let go and let someone else take care of you,”

You made a low sound as you took in the information. Really, it should have been obvious with the way she already took care of you. She waited for you to ask a follow-up, as the silence stretched between you. When it became clear that you weren’t going to ask, she asked a question of her own.

“Can I ask you a question?” Her head tilted, and she waited for you to nod. “The situationship?”

Your nose involuntarily scrunched. “What about it?”

“I was wondering if you would tell me a little bit more about it,” she mimicked your phrasing gently.

You pulled your chin from her hand and looked away from her again. It was… hard for you to talk about what happened with Mal. It still stung in a way you didn’t expect, even though you didn’t… want her anymore. Not like you had.

“It was a teammate. We were under a lot of pressure, and it just kinda… happened,” You mumbled. “I got hooked and she didn’t, so she chose someone else,”

Taylor made a low noise of understanding in the back of her throat. “But not before stringing you along,”

Your lips pressed into a thin line and you shook your head. “No,”

You didn’t want to give her more details, to let yourself remember the agony of how it all devolved. How it felt like she was running you over broken glass every time you interacted. Giving you hope just to swipe it away at the last second.

“For how long?” Taylor asked softly, drawing your eyes back to her.

“Almost 4 years,” You sighed, running your hand through your hair and massaging the back of your neck. “The last time we hooked up was like 3 months after you and I became friends,”

Her eyes tightened as she did the math in her head. That would make you 13 or 14 when it started. A shiver went down her spine. “So young,”

You shrugged, your fingers digging more deeply into the skin on your neck. “Weird things happen at youth camp,”

“Apparently,” She muttered.

Your reaction to her trying to touch you was starting to make sense. If you had started young, and had a… bad experience…

You cleared your throat. “How long was your last relationship?”

She blinked at you, pulling out of her thoughts. “5 years and some change,”

“Do you talk to any of your exes?” You asked. “Like the serious ones?”

“No, those bridges went down in flames, but I keep up with a few of the less serious ones,” She shook her head. “I’m assuming you still talk to your ex situationship?”

“She’s one of my best friends,” Your shoulders lifted and fell, and your lips formed a very thin line at calling Mal a friend. You disliked how she UNC all over you, and things were… weird when you interacted, but you couldn’t exactly do anything about it. She was an integral part of your friend group and of the team. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” She said thoughtfully, reaching over to catch your hand as it again ran through your hair. “Because I trust you,”

“I trust you too,” You said back, and you meant it with everything in you. You trusted Taylor more than you trusted nearly anyone.

She smiled gently at you. “Do you want to continue this list?”

You nodded slowly. “Let’s do this,”

You glanced back down at the stack of papers between you. Yes, it was uncomfortable, but you trusted Taylor.

OoOoOoO May 2017 You come around and the armor falls Pierce the room like a cannonball Now all we know is don't let go

“You are too fast for your own good,” Ali Krieger sighed, settling down on the bench beside you as you squirted more water into your mouth.

You shrugged. “You and Dydasco keep leaving a gap for me to split, and Mal is good at finding space,”

The Washington Spirit captain hummed, sipping her own bottle.

The defender had taken you under her wing as soon as you stepped foot in DC. She had shown up at your apartment ready to help you unpack, only to find it immaculately set up. She had taken you to lunch instead and introduced you to the rest of the team.

They were wary at first given your reputation, but they were slowly finding out that you weren’t what everyone claimed you were.

“Dude, that little through ball is sick!” Mal said before Ali could respond, throwing her arm around you and sitting on the bench practically in your lap. “We can totally use that against Sky Blue,”

You shuffled away from her as far as you could without being obvious, taking another long sip of your drink. “Kelley will be looking for it. She’s seen us do it too much,”

Ali had noticed that there was something… odd about the way you interacted with Mal.

The two of you were inseparable, and your chemistry on the field was entirely unmatched. But there was just something she couldn’t quite put her finger on that bothered her about how Mal was with you.

How you tried to squirm away from her without drawing attention to it, and how Mal would only move closer. How there was a depth to your relationship with the forward, a history, that Ali hadn’t been aware of before.

Mal grabbed your water and squirted some into her own mouth while squeezing your shoulder. “Maybe we can discuss a new game plan over drinks?”

Ali raised her eyebrow. “You’re both underage,”

“Hasn’t stopped Y/n before,” Mal shrugged, nudging you with a giggle. “She can take down a case of beer all on her own,”

You scrunched your nose, and brought your free hand to the back of your neck, pressing deeply into the skin.

“Um, no thanks,” You said. “I have plans,”

Mal froze, dropping the water bottle into your lap, and inadvertently getting your pants wet.

“Plans?” Mal’s eyes narrowed at you, and the edge in her voice made you shiver. “Which one of our teammates are you fucking tonight?”

A grimace crossed your features, but you smothered it under a mask of indifference, as you brought your shoulders up to touch your ears. “None of them,”

Mal relaxed, ever so slightly. “Ah, so you finally got the app Lindsey suggested?”

“No. I don’t use straight dating apps,” You huffed, righting the water bottle. “I don’t need the internet to pick up interested parties, but I’m not seeing some rando either. Not that it’s any of your business,”

“Who was in your pants used to be entirely my business,” Mal mumbled, pressing a finger into the spot right below your ear, dragging it down the curve of your chin, and using it to tilt your head to make eye contact with her. “You liked it being my business,”

You stared her down, something passing between you that Ali didn’t understand.

“And you made sure that it wasn’t anymore,” You said, your voice cold as ice as you pushed her hand away, and squirted more water into your mouth.

“Ok,” Ali said, breaking the tension between you and the forward. “So Kelley will be wise to the through ball, what do you suggest?”

She had never seen you be so… direct.

You put more space between you and Mal, your lip caught between your teeth for a long moment before you shrugged. “I’m sure Richie has a plan. He’s the master strategist isn’t he?”

“You’ve had enough film sessions with him, so you tell me,” Ali countered.

A dark look crossed your features, there for a split second before it was gone. Replaced by an easy smirk that Ali was learning wasn’t so easy. It was the face you made every time something made you uncomfortable and you didn’t want to talk about it.

You took another sip from your water before you squirted it at Mal. “I’m sure he’s got a plan for his superstar,”

You pushed yourself off the bench and ran off towards the midfield coach before either of them could stop you, and Mal went tearing off after you.

Ali shook her head. If only she had as much energy as you two. But still, there was something… nagging in the back of her mind. Red flags she couldn’t quite place.

*****

You hummed quietly to yourself as you lit the final candle on your dining room table.

The table was set. The dinner was in the oven set to the exact temperature Kelley recommended (after she walked you through how to turn it on), removed from its take-out containers and placed in glass dishes, and the trash had been removed taking with it any evidence that your meal hadn’t been created in your kitchen well before Taylor arrived at your apartment (and you had sworn Tony and Zach to secrecy).

You had cleared off the counter in your kitchen, save for a thick off-white envelope, and a bottle of the red wine you knew Taylor preferred. It would be the perfect date night.

Taylor had flown in from Nashville to spend the midweek break with you, and you were fucking stoked. The two of you had seen each other in passing, but getting really quality time together during the season was rough. Nothing would stop you this weekend.

“This is gorgeous,” Taylor hummed as she stepped into the kitchen area. “And it smells amazing,”

You smiled widely at her, pulling out a chair. “Thanks. I was just about to pull it out of the oven if you wanna sit?”

“Such a gentlewoman,” She said, as she sat, and you felt a bit of red color your cheeks.

You had been called many things, but a gentleman (woman- whatever) was never one of them. People tended to believe your reputation and take you at face value.

You were pretty sure Taylor was the only person to ever look past it.

You turned away from her, moving towards the oven. “Only for you,”

She hummed, and you felt her eyes as you got the food out of the oven, and turned off the device before you brought it over to her.

“It looks amazing,” She said as you placed the cookware on the table, and more red bloomed across your cheeks.

“Thanks,” You mumbled, joining her at the table. “It’s coconut curry with chicken, broccoli and rice. It’s got a lot of good fats and protein,”

It was a habit you had started in March, listing out the good parts of your meal. You noticed that she never saw food as fuel or something to be enjoyed. It always seemed like a chore she dreaded or a part of her day she just omitted entirely. You worried and you hoped that your little talks might change her view. So far you had been (mildly) successful.

Taylor hummed and spooned herself a good portion. “I like coconut curry. I have it a lot after shows,”

“Good,” You smiled as the red bled up your cheeks towards your ears. “It’s one of my favorites during the season because it meets all of my macros and is filling,”

Taylor hummed again. “What’s the envelope on your counter?”

You rolled your eyes at the thought of the off-white envelope, with your address written in perfect cursive. “A wedding invitation,”

Taylor’s eyebrows pulled tightly together. “I thought they got engaged in March? They’re already setting a date?”

“We have to plan around tournaments, so they picked the only time everyone will be available,” You mumbled, chewing your too-large mouthful. “Spring of 2018”

“Still seems like a fast turnaround,” Taylor said thoughtfully.

You shrugged. “They’ve been together for like 10 years. Alex has probably been planning this for years. She can read minds, and she’s a control freak so she probably knew Kelley was going to propose as soon as Kelley started looking at rings,”

“Ah, I see,”

You fidgeted in your chair, your fork aimlessly scraping your plate. “Do you want to be my date?”

It nigged in the back of your mind that the two of you might not even be together in a year and a half, and that you were probably asking her to be your date way too far in advance.

“Unless you hate me by then,” You added, forcing a playful smirk across your lips.

She rolled her eyes at you, swallowing her bite. “I won’t hate you by then, and I would love to be your date,”

You nodded. “I’ll talk to Alex and Kelley about getting a plus one,”

Taylor hummed and took another bite, chewing slowly. “I also wanted to talk to you about maybe trying something new,”

You raised your eyebrow at her. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well,” She started. “When we filled out the limits sheet you mentioned that you didn’t like all touches, so I thought we could maybe walk through those boundaries, and I’ve never seen you naked, which is kinda criminal,”

“So? You want to what?” You asked, watching her carefully.

“Shower together,” She said, meeting your eyes. “This way it’s something we’ve done, just-“

“I’ll actually take my clothes off this time?” You asked, meeting her eyes.

“And you can show me where you’re comfortable being touched and where you’re not,” Taylor continued gently. “I think it might be a good exercise in intimacy without expectations,”

You nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Ok,”

“Ok,”

*****

Water cascaded down your body in ripples, rolling over the goosebumps that littered your skin. Your fingers tapped against your hips, as you tried to force yourself to relax.

“We don’t have to do this Y/n,” Taylor said from behind the shower curtain.

You thought that this would be… easier if you get into the water first. That it would ease the bubbling anxiety in your chest.

It didn’t. But you weren’t ready to give up yet. You wanted to trust her.

“No,” You said, your voice more shaky than you would have liked it to be. “It’s ok. You can get in,”

You turned towards the water, letting the spray hit your face, as you heard the distinct crinkle of the shower curtain.

You felt her warm presence behind you, though she didn’t reach out to touch you.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before you turned back to face her.

“I want to do this,” You mumbled, meeting her eyes, trying not to scan down her body. You appreciated that her blue orbs remained steadfastly locked with yours.

“As long as you’re sure,” Taylor said softly. “You can tell me to stop at any point, and we will. Red, yellow and green still apply,”

Your lip disappeared between your teeth and you nodded.

You understood the stoplight system that the two of you had discussed. Red for stop, yellow for slow down or discuss first and green for good. You swore you would try for her, so you would.

“Remember that I need a verbal?” Taylor asked you.

“Yes. I’m ok. Green,” You said, your voice shaking more than you wanted it to. “Just…”

You looked away from her, finding a spot on the wall above her head. “Just go slow,”

“Of course,” Taylor promised you. “We’ll go at your pace. Even if today we just stand there, that’s ok,”

You nodded again.

You didn’t like how… vulnerable you felt without your top on.

It was too close. Too intimate and that’s part of the reason you had never done this with anyone before.

But Taylor wasn’t just anyone.

You wanted to give Taylor this.

You closed your eyes and let out a long breath. It shook as it left your lungs, disappearing into the steam building between you.

You reached out slowly, catching her hands. “Let me show you where my boundaries are,”

You went to tug her hands forward, but she resisted.

“Can you look at me while we do this?” She asked, her voice gentle. “I want you to be present, here with me,”

It took you a very long second for you to open your eyes, and another for them to drag down her forehead and meet her blue.

She smiled softly at you. “Thank you,”

Your head bobbed briefly, and you squeezed her hands. It shouldn’t be this hard for you to let someone touch you.

The two of you stood there for several minutes before you gained the courage to pull her forward again. She went with you this time, letting you bring her hands to the hard lines of your stomach just below your belly button.

“Here is ok,” You said, trailing her fingers up the center of your abs to your diaphragm before you moved them out to your sides and back down to the original level.

“My whole back is ok too,” You murmured, feeling her nails dragging across your lower back, meeting at your spine.

Your eyes slipped closed at the feeling. At how you could feel the body heat rolling off of her because of how close she was to you.

“Color?” She asked, and you could feel the words on your lips.

Your eyes blinked open, meeting the fire burning in hers. “Green,”

“Good,” She said. “Stay with me, ok?”

“Ok,” You breathed back, as her fingers moved up your spine like she was counting each of them.

You did your best to remind yourself that it was her hands on you as they finally reached your shoulders. They outlined your collarbone, and her thumbs brushed against your neck.

It felt like a warm flame traveling from the point of her touch up to your cheeks, and down in your chest.

“Will you let me wash your hair?” She asked, and her thumb swiped around your cheek.

“Yeah,” You breathed out, making no move to grab your shampoo. You were afraid that if you’d turned, you would forget it was her.

Her head tilted to the side. “Color?”

“Green, right now,” You murmured, more red flooding into your cheeks. “I just… I need to be able to see you when your hands are on me. When we’re… like this,”

“Ok,” Taylor agreed easily like it wasn’t a big ask at all. “I’ll stay where you can see me,”

You nodded, swallowing hard again. “Maybe we just do this today,”

“That’s ok too,” Taylor hummed, her thumb running over your cheek to the sensitive skin behind your ear. “We’re doing this all at your pace,”

You swallowed hard again. “Thank you,”

Her lips tilted upwards. “Anything for you. I want you to enjoy our time together too. We’ll work up to the rest. My main concern is your comfort, and maintaining your boundaries. We’ll take it one step at a time,”

You could do that. You could do this. One step at a time.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #uswnt x reader #taylor swift imagine #taylor swift x reader #alex morgan x reader #alex morgan imagine #13 eras of us

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carmenized-onions · 4 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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crazilust · 6 months ago

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What main character energy should you embody for this next chapter

From left to right : Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3.

Pile 1

confirmation/what’s coming instinctively : Brown eyes, brown, guitar, vynils, green shoes, docs, bangs, rings (lots of them, Virgo/Earth energy, hardwood floors, The Emperor, Goddess energy, Water sign, Water dom, Loves water, loves nature, loves animals, Names that start with a J, F, P, S

the message :

You should embody the main character that moves out of her town to start her character ark. Now, this doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll physicall leave your town (although, you might!) but you definitely need to leave some things behind. I’m sensing friends, maybe even family members. Your environement is getting too small for you, which is maybe why I’m getting small town vibes. You are someone that needs a lot of recognition, even from yourself and you’re not getting any where you are right now. Are you proud of yourself? I doubt it. But you need to make the proper steps to find your place in this universe and there is a place for you but you need to look for it! I see you in a new apartment, maybe a bit lonely at first, but it’s because it’ll be the first time you really get to know yourself and discovering your true self. You have been repressing your true taste, your true interests, your true self with those people you’ve been surrounding yourself with. It’s not healthy and it’s getting dangerous at this point cause you’re starting to lose yourself. Leave. That would be my advice for you.

Pile 2

confirmation/ what i’m getting instinctively: Fighter, Orange is the new black, Piper Chapman, Blue, Glacier, Grey, long hair, fake smile, dimples, the emperor Reversed, bad relationships with caregivers, siblings, many friends, Aquarius, Pisces, car, driving, roadtrip, name that starts with M, N, X, V.

the message :

Woah! Okay! Love this energy, but hard to catch honestly. You don’t like being seen, huh? It’s okay, me neither! The journey you should embark on is the one where you’re gonna get thrown into an environment that is completely unfamiliar to you. A bit like pile 1 in the sense that it’s not something you’re used to, but contrary to that pile, you don’t decide to go into this environment, you’ll get thrown into it. I can sense you have some sort of anger issues and this will be the perfect environment to finally let it out. I can feel that although you have a very polished appearance, you actually feel like a wild animal inside. In this new environment, you’ll finally face yourself as you really are. You won’t be able to fake it, or to act like you’ve always done it. It won’t be possible anymore. You’ll have to be your real self, even tho it might disappoint people around you. Oh, you probably don’t want that. Too bad, because you will disappoint people, but you’ll make some real connections out there. When you’ll get out of that environment (because yes, it is temporary I feel), you’ll look back and won’t even recognize yourself. I think you’re quite excited for that. Deep down.

Pile 3

confirmation/what i’m getting instinctively: Twilight, Bella Swan, break up, torture, painful love, toxic love, mean, smiles with bad intentions, agenda, skinny, long hands, pale (or pale for your ethnicity), doesn’t like their hair, Aries/Taurus/Sag/Pisces, Fire dom, Neptune dom, Jupiter Dom, lucky but fails to see it

the message : Oh I’m getting major Bella Swan vibes lmao. Not necessarily her temperament, but mostly what she’s going thru. You’ve been thru a bad breakup and that person has left you empty inside. You find yourself staring at the window, and wondering why it ended the way it did. Stop obsessing over the past. You’re at a point of your journey where you need to change gear. You cannot keep going like that or you’ll litteraly become a shell of yourself. Get up of your bed, take a deep breath, take a walk. Anything. But reminiscing on someone that is gone, won’t do any good. Btw, they’re gone now but they’ll come back. I know you’re excited, but they’ll come back when you won’t care and then you’ll be like : “huh, i don’t even see what I saw in you anymore”. It’ll be a very satisfying feeling for you. In the meantime, cause you’re not there yet, focus on healing. See some friends, get into a hobby. Anything that could take your mind off of him. Why do you fixate over him? Was he something he did? Or didn’t do? Focus on moving on. That’s your journey for now. That’s the part of movie where we all root and get excited for the protagonist to get on her two feet. That’s your part. You got this.

• 🧡🍯👑🐰🪀 •

and that’s all from me folks, thank you so much 🧡

#tarot tips #tarot spread #free tarot reading #free tarot #pac reading #pick a pile reading #tarot pick a card #pick a card reading #pick a pile #tarot spreads #daily tarot #tarot reading #tarot witch #astro community #astrology #astrology observations #astro notes #astrology notes #birth chart

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nanaminokanojo · 8 months ago

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BAD NEWS | CHAPTER INDEX/PROLOGUE (Part 1-64)

-just when you thought you were over your humongous crush on your older brother’s best friend, geto suguru, you couldn’t be more dead wrong, and maybe there isn’t really anything holding you back from acting on it now that you’re all grown up…except satoru doesn’t like suguru for you because he knows his kind all too well: a huge ass playboy who breaks hearts like he changes socks. but you think. MAYBE you’ll be the exception...maybe not.

TW/CW: strong/mature language | adult content so mdni on some parts; just skip them. you’re not missing much | mentions of alcohol, drugs | mentions of cheating, promiscuity, mild dubcon (consent >>>), etc. | again, god-awful pet names i’d cringe at if a 3d person says it | toxic behavior | will add more if something arises

AKI’S NOTES: I would like to express my sincerest thanks to everyone who loved and supported “Thawing Ice Queen” as well as those who participated in the poll on which smau I’m going to write next. So, this is what won in said poll, and I hope it gets as much as love as TIQ if not more. Reblogs and likes are very much appreciated, and I actively respond to comments as well as Asks. Also, if you’re interested, I will include you in the tag list. Just message me through whatever avenue you’re most comfortable with. Happy reading!

ADDITIONAL NOTES: i will be using pics and other media which would fit situations and make the smau-ness of this piece a little more realistic and entertaining when i believe it’s appropriate/fitting to the plot (as i've done with TIQ). having said that, with regard to inclusivity, i just want to put it out there that they will not necessarily be aimed as the exact descriptions to fit a supposedly generic reader nor will they be representative of a specific race or color (even if you’re/the reader is gojo’s sister here). it’s all for the simple fact of media availability, for funsies and the fact that i don’t exclusively write in consideration of those aspects when using reader-insert characters unless i specify it. thank you for understanding.

MASTERLIST

CHAPTERS: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30

31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45

46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54 | 55 | 56 | 57 | 58 | 59 | 60

61 | 62 | 63 | 64 | CHAPTER INDEX II

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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vettelsvee · 2 months ago

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DO YOU REALLY WANT US TO TRY? | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | ask me anything or let's talk! history series masterlist

retired sebastian vettel x wife!reader

word count: 7265

summary: having the day off from the shootings of the documentary they're shooting about their years in formula 1, so seb decides not only to take y/n on a date in new york, but also to try for another baby

warnings: smut: female masturbation, male masturbation, fingering, oral sex (female receiving, male receiving), p in v without protection (wrap it before tap it!). bad language, curse words, translated german. based on january 2023

a/n: (you can read this while listening to maroon by taylor swift bc oh my) this is one of the extra fics i'm gonna be posting of history series! first volume on the series, meeting, will be posted as soon as i finish writing the first chapter so you can enjoy the same day both the intro, the prologue and chapter 1 🔥 feedback and reposts are truly appreciated, and also comments! thank you for all the support lately, you don't know how much it means to me <3

The dawn light, painting the New York sky in pink and orange, began to filter through the windows partially covered by semi-transparent curtains.

You laid peacefully in bed, on your right side, immersed in a light sleep. Your hair sprawled across the pillow, and your breathing was calm, synchronized with the movement of your chest. A faint smile adorned your lips, possibly reflecting a pleasant dream involving you, your husband and your little ones.

Sebastian gradually woke up, his half-asleep eyes first meeting the serene face of you illuminated by the emerging sunlight.

"Good morning, my love," Vettel whispered, trying not to startle you.

You didn't react, still lost in your peaceful nocturnal fantasy. A tender expression crossed the German's face as he leaned gently to kiss your forehead, taking utmost care not to wake you.

Your day in New York held many plans, and all he wanted you was to be as rested as possible.

"Mmm," you murmured, slightly more aware now. "Seb..."

Sebastian's gaze focused on your lips, but he didn't want to overwhelm you. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist, leaving a trail of kisses from your cheek to your jaw, chin, and even focusing on your neck, well aware that such gestures often led to a morning session of intimacy you had enjoyed many times before.

You mumbled sleepily but became a bit more conscious of your surroundings.

"That was nice, but could you let me sleep a bit more, please?" you asked.

Sebastian smiled, settling closer to you, resting his head on the pillow and letting it rest on his right hand, aligning with your level.

"I think it's already time to wake up, love," he said, gently caressing your cheek. "How about you let me wake you up properly?"

You, as if engaged in a playful banter, slowly opened your eyelids. You blinked leisurely, letting your light eyes adjust to the ambient light, a playful smile forming as you realized how close your husband was.

"What do you mean by waking me up properly?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, intrigued and emphasizing the last word.

Sebastian didn't reply. Instead, he leaned in and brushed his lips against yours, initiating a tender and longer kiss than initially intended. Afterward, he focused on every part of your tired face once again.

"Like that."

"Are we playing Disney princesses as if we were with the girls?" You teased, your cheeks turning slightly red. "Am I supposed to be Sleeping Beauty or what?"

Sebastian chuckled sincerely, admiring the innocence with which you, his wife, sometimes spoke due to the games you played mostly with your daughters throughout the day. Since becoming parents, you both knew your were reliving a second childhood, something you particularly loved as you had become the mother you always wanted to be, but you never got to have.

"Something like that, yes," Vettel replied. "Who could resist the incredible task of waking up a princess? Well," he corrected himself, "you’re not a princess anymore as I'm afraid to say you’re my queen."

"I haven't been awake for five minutes and you're already acting like your 2010 self! Yes, don't laugh, Seb! The one who didn't know what to do with his life and how to get rid of all the crap falling on him," you recalled. "And there was quite a lot, especially, and who flirted with every walking female being."

"But you loved him because, thanks to him, you ended up falling in love with me," Sebastian added with sarcasm. "Besides," he continued, "don't act like you've never put a foot wrong in your life. You weren't an angel a year later either."

Before you could retort, Sebastian moved aside the sheets covering him from the waist down to get out of bed. He put on his slippers and, with a mischievous smile, headed to the apartment's kitchen you had rented for your stay in the city.

"What are you doing, Sebastian Vettel?" demanded you to know, trying not to fall back asleep and figuring out what was going on in the man's head.

A playful smile appeared on Sebastian's face as he turned to you. You were watching him with considerable curiosity.

"It's a surprise, sweetheart," he commented, quickly returning to you, planting a kiss on your forehead and covering you a bit more with the sheets.

"You've got me intrigued," you said drowsily, yawning, "so don't take too long, or I'll fall back asleep."

Sebastian returned to the small space, leaving you confused and stretching in bed. Once in the kitchen, the former driver began gathering everything needed for a simple breakfast, given that his culinary skills were not the best but good enough to impress his wife. Soft sounds of utensils and plates clinking filled the air, along with the gradually brewing aroma of coffee, enough to fully awaken you. Nothing delighted you more than the scent of that brown beverage you loved, wafting through your nostrils.

You sat up slowly, leaning against the padded backrest. A few minutes later, you heard footsteps approaching. Sebastian appeared at your bedroom entrance carrying a tray filled with fresh fruits in an unevenly cut bowl, a buttered toast with peach jam, and a cup brimming with coffee, featuring a failed attempt at a heart. Additionally, there was a vase with some dried flowers that Sebastian had secretly bought the day before from a nearby florist.

"What's all this? Are we celebrating something?" you asked, completely impressed by the wonderful wake-up Seb had prepared for you. "Or is there something you want to tell me, and you don't know how?"

He carefully placed the tray on you lap, trying not to spill anything and cause a mess. Sebastian then sat beside you gently, positioning himself close enough to you but giving enough space for you to enjoy breakfast without feeling overwhelmed.

"I just wanted to make something special for the most special woman in my life," the blonde clarified.

"It's surreal that you've done this for me," you admitted. "Are you sure you're not going to ask me for a divorce or anything like that?" you added while taking a piece of bread with your hands and bringing it to your mouth.

"I thought the nonsense of wanting a divorce was a thing of the past," Sebastian replied. "Besides, this is the simplest thing in the world, love. Remember when I taught you to drive?" You nodded, eating slowly. He had given you quite a hard time, although in the end he became your best driving instructor. "Or when you got so obsessed with Moulin Rouge that I threw you a themed birthday party where you were Satine, I was Christian, and we spent the whole night singing after I spent days learning every single song Ewan McGregor sang in the movie?"

"You looked handsome as fuck in that outfit, and everyone had a great time," you said, recalling that day as if it were yesterday. "Although we didn't enjoy it as much when Mick and that girl he dated, Lara, who clearly intended to sleep together, caught us in bed together ."

The German rolled his eyes, trying to forget the scene where he had you sitting on his face, your face down focused on his penis giving him a blowjob, and the ex-couple, wearing only their underwear, entering the same room where you were.

He didn't want to remember that date even if they paid him all the money in the world, or if they even told him that climate change would end.

"Well," you continued, realizing that Sebastian didn't want to talk about it anymore. "Then you tell me what's all this for."

"Since we had the day off today, I wanted to do something special with you," Sebastian explained. "I know we have to get up at five tomorrow because we need to be at the studio around seven, so I didn't plan anything big," he apologized. "Sorry."

"Spill it, don't leave me in suspense," you said, now holding the fruit bowl in one hand and the fork in the other.

"What if we go to Central Park and spend the day there, sweetheart?"

You lifted your gaze from the coffee, surprised by the suggestion. Then, you smiled at her husband.

"Central Park is always a good plan, especially when it's with you,” you replied cheerfully. “I like that it's something calm," you confessed, quite happy. "Mr. and Mrs. Vettel need, every now and then, a bit of calm in their lives."

Even though you hadn't finished eating everything Sebastian had prepared for you, you made a move to get up and get dressed. However, he asked you nicely to sit back down and wait for a moment.

"I have something for you," he declared affectionately, thinking about how you would react to the two surprises he had prepared, especially the first one.

Quickly, with your watchful eyes on him, he approached the built-in wardrobe in one corner of the room and took out a small bag containing an envelope and a small box wrapped in Christmas-themed wrapping paper.

"I know it's not the right time for me to give you this," Sebastian explained, pointing to the box, "but I'm sure you'll love what's inside. I couldn't give it to you with the girls around," he revealed, "or they would want to copy their mother, especially Emily. I still think they are too young for that."

You were puzzled by what the German had just said. As he offered you the box, you took it carefully in your hands. Slowly, you unwrapped it, avoiding tearing the wrapping hastily and removing the pieces of tape one by one, even though excitement was eating you.

Once you removed the wrapping, you saw what appeared to be the back of a toy box. When you turned it around you realized you were right and started screaming and jumping on the bed. Then, you ran towards Seb and gave him a tight hug, one of the ones she loved.

"Oh my God, sunshine. I can't believe it!" you exclaimed, completely thrilled. "I know I'm an adult, a mother with responsibilities," you specified, counting with your fingers, "but you've fulfilled my childhood dream!"

Sebastian laughed at your reaction, something that he was already expecting from you. As you became closer in 2008, you talked about childhood toys and that kind of stuff people usually talk about when they meet. You revealed that you had always wanted a Tamagotchi but, due to your family's economic situation, they couldn't buy you one. Your surprise came when Emily, your eldest daughter, asked for one last Christmas. Since then, he often caught you playing with it whenever your eldest ignored it or got bored of it.

He loved seeing you so excited about something as simple as a gadget with a virtual pet or whatever was inside.

"I thought you'd like to have one for yourself," Seb raised an eyebrow. "Considering how often you take it from your eldest daughter..."

You avoided his comment. Instead, you eagerly tore open the box and, once the device was out, you stopped to examine it in detail, trying not to let it slip from your trembling hands. You felt a rush of emotions running through your body, transporting you back to your childhood, remembering every detail you had experienced with your family and the ones that you didn't have around anymore.

But now you had a new family, your own family, and that was what you clung to in moments when you wondered why almost all your loved ones had somehow left you behind.

"And what's the other thing?"

You discreetly pointed, ignoring your feelings as you stepped away from your husband, to the envelope he held in his hands. You tried to reach it, but it was in vain: Sebastian, even just slightly, was taller than you.

"Oh, this?" he said. "It's nothing. Just tickets to go to the theater to see the Hamilton musical."

You opened your mouth completely in shock.

"And you say it so calm?!" you exclaimed, moving towards your husband again. "You're the most utterly unexpressive person I've ever met in my life, Vettel."

"Go get dressed, come on," he avoided that comment, heading towards the front door, grabbing his jacket, and after putting it on, he took the keys to the residence. "I'm going grocery shopping for the wonderful picnic we're going to have today."

"But what picnic are we going to have if it's winter!" you shouted, somewhat puzzled. "Sebastian Vettel, I swear to God that if I catch a cold and, on top of that, when we come back we give it to the girls, I won't be the one staying home to take care of them!"

He left the apartment laughing, closing the door behind him, leaving you to come up with wild theories about what you were going to do. It seemed you knew him very little.

Did you not know that, for him, a picnic always ended up meaning taking you to eat somewhere quiet in the city?

[...]

After almost two weeks of the History recordings, where you had only worn the most formal clothes possible, from almost gala dresses to uncomfortable pencil skirts that remind you of your days working for Red Bull as a intern and, then, as a race engineer, you could finally wear something you could describe as comfortable.

You had always been used to dressing casually except for the years you worked at Red Bull, where you often felt like you were on a fashion runway. So, for a stroll in the most famous park in New York and even for a night at the theater, you decided to wear slightly tight jeans that easily hugged your curves, hidden under a well-worn oversized sweater from your pregnancies. You left your hair, a bit longer than she was used to in recent years, loose, with its natural waves. You also wore tiny pearl-shaped earrings, your father's watch on your left wrist and white Converse shoes.

For Sebastian, an overshirt and a t-shirt hidden under his jacket, along with pants and Adidas sneakers, were more than enough. He wore that almost always, and no matter how many times you told him that it seemed like that outfit had become his uniform, he refused to change it.

And thank goodness he doesn't wear the famous headband, you criticized in your mind. How embarrassing.

It had been almost three hours since you left your rented apartment and had done quite a few things, although it was nothing extraordinary. First, you walked hand in hand through the park, avoiding athletes and talking about trivial matters. Then, you started feeding ducks in a small pond with a loaf of bread Sebastian had specifically bought for that. You also decided to approach a group of elderly people playing chess to chat with them for a while. Older people were your weakness, and you felt sorry for most of them. You even ended up playing a few games while listening to them talk cheerfully about their lives, sharing some trivial details about yours at the same time.

When you set out for the famous picnic, they decided to call Amelie, your middle sister, to check on your kids. The moment the girl answered the call, the couple could momentarily see the desperation she was feeling:

"I swear tonight has been a disaster," the girl commented in German. "Matilda, at eleven at night, wanted to get into the pool with her Little Mermaid costume to swim and go to the magical kingdom of I don't know what," she expressed angrily, gesturing with her free hand. "Then, Emily wanted to play with your simulator, Seb, and ended up crying because I told her she needed your permission, but you were working and you couldn't give it to her," the mentioned one nodded, gesturing to his sister to continue. "And to top it off, George and Mick ended up falling asleep, leaving me in charge of two little devils."

“And what about aunt Johanna?,” you asked abruptly, leaning closer to the phone. Sebastian could sense your getting nervous, so he quickly took your hand and started caressing it with his thumb.

Amelie sighed, and you even heard a few muttered curses.

"Don't talk to me about your them, Y/N," the girl almost shouted. "They promised me they'd be here around eight, but uncle Hans ended up calling me a few hours later, drunk as a skunk, to tell me they went to a fancy dinner with some of their workmates and couldn't make it home."

"So, you've become the boss of everything, huh?" you commented with humor.

"Sadly."

The family conversation continued. As the minutes passed and you got closer to the place Sebastian had chosen for your meal that day, his parents joined them, having decided to take care of the youngest of the family, your baby boy Carl, while you were out. Michael and Corinna also decided to go to your residence, and with the youngest in her arms, she began explaining to you that he had learned to say a few new words.

"Auto," the baby joyfully exclaimed, while pointing from Schumacher's arms to a photo of Sebastian in his second team that was above the fireplace. "Auto, daddy. Daddy, das Auto ist blau."

That made Sebastian so happy that tears welled up in his eyes, although it didn't last long because you had already reached the door of the restaurant. Soft lights, despite it being midday, illuminated the path to the entrance, which stood out with its wide windows, resembling a glass display, showcasing diners already enjoying their meals.

After hanging up the call with your relatives, you entered and let yourselves be enveloped by the atmosphere. The interior was elegantly decorated, but not overly extravagant. There were plenty of potted plants of all kinds decorating every corner, and you weren't sure if it was that or not, but a very faint scent, like vanilla, seemed to emanate from some unknown place.

A waiter approached you both while you were chatting animatedly about the place.

"Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Vettel," the young man interrupted, who should be in his twenties and apparently seemed to be a fan of your husband by his way to behave and, apparently, nervousness. "If you follow me I'll show you the table we've prepared so you can enjoy your meal without interruptions."

Sebastian and you thanked him with a slight nod and proceeded to follow him. You crossed the different sections of the establishment, trying not to attract the attention of any customers, until you reached a more secluded corner from where Central Park could be seen in the distance.

Once seated, the guy who was serving you offered you menus and, immediately, an older woman placed a few appetizers on the table, saying they were on the house.

At that moment, while deciding what to order, you began to dwell on the conversation you had with your youngest sister before starting to record the documentary for the first time. You didn't know how to broach to Seb the subject of getting pregnant again. You were nervous about his possible reaction, yes, but at the same time, you had a good feeling. Your husband was currently dissecting the steak you had ordered, while you dipped a nacho into some guacamole. Trying not to delay it further, you finally spoke while settling into your chair:

"Seb?" you asked to get his attention. "The other day, Lou told me something a bit... strange," you innocently expressed.

Vettel stopped cutting the piece of meat, dropped the utensils onto the plate, and looked at you a bit uneasy, not knowing what you might be referring to.

"What do you mean something a bit strange?" he said, frowning and with a concerned tone. "What did she tell you?"

"She said we could go for one more bun," you emphasized the phrase with a bit of irony. "She also said we should have a second honeymoon or something like that," you crossed her arms, trying not to make a big deal out of it. "You know how my sister is."

And, indeed, Sebastian knew. He already had an idea of where this conversation was going, and if you meant it in a positive way, he was totally on board.

"So... one more bun, huh?" he teased, pretending not to know where the conversation was heading.

"I think Lou was talking about having another baby, love," you bluntly stated.

Sebastian nodded with excitement, knowing that your expression was currently a masterpiece. If you thought he wouldn't catch on to what you were referring to, you were absolutely mistaken. Every time your sister had told him that she'd like to have another nephew, she had done it using that phrase which, though totally absurd, had become an internal joke between them both. Now, you seemed to be a part of it as well.

"I know," Seb finally admitted, not wanting to tease you anymore as you seemed a bit deflated. "And... what do you think?"

You had a thoughtful expression, unsure of what to say. On one hand, you indeed wanted to be a mother for the fourth time, but there were so many things swirling in your head, things that would soon become a reality...

"What are you thinking, Y/N? Wouldn't it excite you us being parents again?"

Sebastian moved his chair closer to the table and took both of your hands while keeping a close eye on you. He could feel you trembling a bit, and it wasn't particularly because of the cold.

"No, it's not that, it's just that... Carl is still a baby... You've just retired, and the only thing you should focus on now is on resting and making up for lost time. I'm starting all this stuff of F1 Academy soon and, on top of that, there's the mess of the documentary we've gotten into," you listed. "I don't feel capable of being a mother again, Seb," she confessed. "It will be overwhelming for us."

The German took your chin and made you look at him. Your gazes met, and your found somehow serenity amidst all the concerns that were overwhelming you at the moment.

"Listen, Y/N," the former driver expressed clearly and calmly. "I'll always be by your side, no matter where I am or what I do, okay?" You nodded, trying to hold back tears. "If you don't think now is the best time to have a baby, I'll wait, and if that time never comes, I'll be more than happy to see our little ones grow up next to you."

"Are you serious?"

"Very serious, Y/N," Seb affirmed once again. "I've always wanted to have a big family with you. You know that for me, the more, the merrier."

You leaned back a bit, surprised by your husband's words. You started reflecting on everything he had said since then, especially the if you don't think now is the best time to have a baby, I'll wait.

Did that mean he might want a fourth child... right?

"Wait, wait, wait," you played with your hands. "What did you say before?"

"I want to have all the babies in the world with you, and I'll wait as long as you need," Sebastian explained again.

Your eyes began to fill with tears of joy, causing confusion for your husband, who began to genuinely worry about you. He hadn't seen you like this for quite some time, and those were not particularly good times.

"Do you really want another baby?" you asked, now crying after you tried holding back tears. "Do you really want us to try?"

"How could I not want it, silly girl?" he rushed to hug you, already knowing what was going through your mind. "I'm willing to do anything you say except to sign divorce papers. So, if you want another mini version of us running around, with the mini versions of us that are no longer so mini running alongside, let's do it."

Your excitement couldn't fit into your body at the moment.

"You're amazing, did you know that?" you expressed, holding onto your husband even tighter.

"Of course," the German laughed, causing you to laugh as well. "I'm just doing what all men should do: be, or at least try to be, everything their girls deserve."

And you knew he was right.

"So...?"

You were nervous about the final answer, although after seeing Sebastian's eyes light up and narrow, revealing the dimples on his cheeks, he didn't need to give you a response: you already knew, and knew your husband too well to understand what was going through his mind at that moment.

"After the musical and dinner I'm going to make you the most beautiful baby in the world. Four kids for us, who have four Formula 1 world championships, is that ok with you?"

[...]

The return trip had created a kind of barrier between you.

You knew what you were going to do, you had talked about it and, especially, it obviously wasn't the first time you had done it. Nevertheless, doubts always plagued you both when it came to conceiving a baby because, after the miscarriage you had in 2016, fear was always present.

Both the musical, from which you had left crying, and the dinner, despite having been caught by paparazzi and fans, to whom you did not deny anything, were great even Britta wasn't with you to help you. The night was young, and for you it had just begun no matter how much you tried to fool yourselves by promising each other that you would go to sleep soon.

As soon as you arrived at the apartment, you shared kisses that were more intimate than normal, and even some friction over your clothes. You were starting to get very horny, but had to calm down even you became more excited at the same time when Seb told you that, after the shower he was going to take, he would give you a lot of love.

Carl was barely two years old, and although Seb bragged about his three girls every time he had the opportunity to, you knew that what your husband wanted most was to have another small version of him running around.

You took off your clothes quickly, not bothering to put them on properly or look at where they ended up being thrown off. You laid down on the bed, wearing only the black lace panties, a courtesy gift from your sister and which had ended up becoming Sebastian's favorites, and you began to lower your left hand very slowly towards your privacy. You took some time for yourself despite how aroused you were by your touch, focusing on you nipples and, little by little, working your way down to your stomach, leaving a trail of caresses that made you very wet, as you could tell. You had had a lot of problems with your body in the past but, now, you felt like a fucking Greek goddess, and you didn't need Seb's compliments to believe it.

Once you reached your pussy, you tried to spend a brief moment exploring it However, you hunger was getting the better of you, and your excitement even more, so you quickly began to give small massages with the slowest speed you could to your clit, which made you let out a slight gasp. You continued to focus on yourself to the point that you had forgotten about Seb, who had already taken his shower and, completely naked from the bathroom door, was admiring the show that you were giving to him.

At the same time that you were increasing the pressure you were exerting on your G-spot, you began massaging your right breast with your non-dominant hand, the right one, focusing first on the areola and gradually moving towards your nipple, limiting yourself to rubbing it with the index finger. The movement of both of your hands, completely in rhythm, made Seb's penis become completely erect and ready to do anything to you.

The German had been the one who had taught you everything about masturbation, no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise.

The man walked towards where you were while massaging his penis. As soon as he arrived and had you in front of him, he climbed onto the bed and lay down next to you, still absorbed in your own pleasure. As soon as he had the chance, Seb took advantage to kiss you fiercely, which was eagerly responded by you. You had already noticed that your husband had joined the party, although not yet actively. As if Vettel had read your thoughts, he began to caress your stomach and, without warning, he inserted his hand into your underwear, wasting no time and getting to work with the bundle of nerves between your legs.

"Fuck, Seb..." you whimpered with pleasure. "You could have warned earlier."

"If I had warned you you wouldn't be moaning three times louder right now than when your hand was in my place," Seb said, moving his finger from your clit to your inside, surprising you. "Remember that no one will ever give you more pleasure than me, Y/N Vettel."

Sebastian wanted to continue in that position. However, he knew they had to finish quickly. In just a few hours you had to be up and getting ready to continue filming the documentary, and it didn't seem particularly right to fuck you all night long even though that was his only desire.

Quickly, the German quickly pulled out of you, what made you let out a cry of frustration at the loss of contact. Instead, Sebastian got off the bed, knelt in front of you and took your thighs, squeezing hard to lower you to the edge of the surface and leave your pussy perfectly aligned with his mouth. You knew perfectly well that, in those moments, the blonde was the one who had control of you, no matter how much you wanted to dominate him. But you were not going to object to it: you loved Seb being in control.

Sex for you, who had been affectionately and sarcastically nicknamed the paddock royalty back in the day, was never boring but actually quite the opposite: it was a box full of surprises in which, in a matter of seconds, Seb could go from being rough and dominant, to be the exact representation of the perfect guy in teenage romantic movies.

The man took time to admire you. You only had your panties left over to be completely naked before him. Quickly, he slowly got rid of them, even though you were putting up some resistance. Then, he opened your legs and held them tightly by your thighs, on which he began to leave kisses, caresses and even the occasional slight bite, alternating between them tortuously.

"Sebastian Vettel, I'm not here to play games," you told him reluctantly, anxious for him to take the next step once and for all. "Either you fuck right now or I'll rub myself against the pillow until I come and the pillowcase ends up soaked."

He stood up, stopping touching your body. It caused, once again, great frustration for you.

"Do you think a bag filled with feathers is going to please you more than me?," Vettel asked curiously, playing with you.

"Seeing that you're acting like a dick, yes," you replied, sitting up and resting on the bed with your forearms.

"Are you sure what you're saying, meine Königin?"

You felt more horny after having heard that nickname. Not even a few milliseconds passed when you had already pushed him to lie down again. Immediately afterwards, with his arms tightly holding your lower extremities, the German was already kneeling again and running his tongue throughout your intimacy without any kind of mercy.

“Fuck, Seb!,” you squealed in surprise, prompting the German to lick faster. "My God..."

Seb was going so fast that your body was constantly rising and falling, your breasts bouncing hard almost in unison with Sebastian's licks. To change the rules of the game, and surprise you once again, he opened your folds widely with one hand and, with the other one, started massaging that button that caused you so much pleasure. Your legs had begun to close due to you being close to the orgasm, and the German could do nothing about it except try to delay the arrival of it. He had seen first-hand that, the longer you took to reach your release, the better it was. For this reason, he decided to slow down the pace of the movements, now replacing them with slower rubbing of your clit fusing it with the penetration of his middle finger.

The screams were getting louder, and Seb noticed how your walls contracted on his finger with increasing frequency and violence. He felt the orgasm close to you, and that was the impulse to add one more finger inside you to the equation, accompanied by the entire surface of his tongue on your nerves. While the two fingers were entering and leaving you, he devoured your pussy with a little bit of difficulty due to the lack of access, but with an incredible hunger. He was excited, and he noticed how the precum began to come out of the tip of his penis. This served no purpose other than to give him more motivation to eat you out as if he hadn't done so in a long time.

He needed to fuck you as soon as possible, but first he needed to please you. You always came first for him in sex, and it had become a ritual that emerged unexpectedly years ago, all thanks to Rosberg.

"I'm about to cum, sunshine," you shouted, hunching your back aggressively and lifting your head as high as you could while you kept pulling hard on your husband's hair. "Let me do something, please... I get on top of you and give you a blowjob while you keep going," you begged. “I’m serious, Seb, don't ignore me. Fuck...!”

Sebastian didn't replied as he was completely absorbed in giving you a good orgasm, because saying the best would be impossible. That position had been earned by those when celebrating your victory in the 2013 World Driver's Championship despite everything that it entailed later.

A few light bites on your clit and the increase in the thrusts, focusing on that point inside you that gave you so much pleasure, were the key to the arrival of your climax as you were holding onto the bed sheets tightly while he writhed wildly.

Seb took some time to take all of your cum and let you calm down because there was still the best part of sex left.

"That was... lovely. Simply lovely."

Vettel sat up, gladly took the remains of your cum and sat down next to you, leaving a chaste kiss on you forehead and, later, on you lips, making you taste yourself.

"I'm the best at my job, what can I say? The best for my girl," he said modestly.

"So..." you commented before the German went on to the next thing and ignoring his words. "Are you going to let me make you feel good or not?"

"No."

A mischievous smile began to form on the man's face. Although he was quite enjoying making you nervous, the truth is that he didn't want that day to focus on him.

If you were going to make a baby, all the attention had to go to you: for that you were the one who would carry it, with everything that entailed, for nine months... more or less.

"Not even a simple blowjob?," you tried to convince him. "Not even a little suck? Come on, Seb."

"Don't insist anymore, really."

"I hope at least that you let your besties do it for me," you approached your husband, taking you breasts and squeezing them while impatiently bringing them closer to his face.

Sebastian laughed, again refusing your insistence.

"Y/N," Vettel began to explain, "I want you to lie down," he gave you a short kiss, "and let me do everything," he took you by your waist and began to lay you down on the bed again. "Let me do all the work, love," he finished saying, standing upon top of you and beginning to rub his member against your intimacy. "Let me remind you that we're gonna make a baby, love, and you already know that in the Vettel's baby factory, children are made with love. Much affection and love."

You hated when your husband became dominant when they had sex and as quickly as possible ended up acting as if he were a prince straight out of Disney movies.

"Yes, whatever you say," you reprimanded. "It's not fair, Seb. I want to make you feel good too."

"It's not fair either that you suffer during pregnancy and I just stand by and watch," that's when you had to agree with him. "You...," he corrected herself, "you all women do everything. We only take part in the fun part."

Again, without letting you say anything else, he began to spread kisses along your neck, sucking on the spots he knew you liked the most. At the same time, he began to rub himself impatiently on the your stomach, masturbating himself so that his erection would not go down even though it was impossible at that point.

"I love when you do that..." you moaned when you noticed how the German's teeth dug lightly into you skin, "although I would like more to have you inside me."

"Patience, Y/N."

Sebastian continued kissing you through your entire neck, and all you could do was making increasingly aggressive gestures as you felt your pleasure increasing. His penis was becoming more and more erect and, as he could tell by touching your inner lips, you were very, very wet again.

"Please, Seb, don't stop," you moaned in desperation when you stopped feeling the German's lips. "I want you to do something else now, please."

"What do you want me to do?"

A mischievous smile appeared on the blonde's face at the possibilities that were going through his mind right now about what he could do with you. He looked at the time on his digital watch, and when he saw that it was almost twenty to one in the morning, something in him changed.

"Do you want to be in control now, Königin?," he commented with a hoarse and serious voice. "Is that what you want?"

“If you know that’s what I want, I don't know why you're asking me then.”

"Well," replied Sebastian, who had already reached the height of excitement, "let's do it my way because you haven't given me a clear answer..."

Before you could say anything else, he gave you another kiss, although this time he showed much more desperation than anyone you had shared earlier that same night.

"Are you going to leave me like that or what?," you said, seeing that your husband was not up to the task of what he had promised you and, therefore, he stepped away from you. "Switch positions with me right now and lie on the fucking bed, Sebastian."

He did as requested, completely surprised by the words you had let out of your mouth even though it was not the first time he had seen you behave that way with him during your intimate moments.

You had many facets, but the one where you had control during sex was secretly his second favorite, followed right after the one of you being the world's best mother.

Once you husband was finally lying down, you desperately grabbed his member and began to move it up and down at the same time as you clumsily pleasured yourself. Within a few seconds you already had it in your mouth, constantly putting it in and out of your lips and masturbating what you couldn't fit due to its length.

"Are you going to let me fuck you now or not?," Sebastian verbalized, trying not to sound desperate.

"You'll fuck me when I decide it, Vettel," you said. "So now you better shut up for a while. Let me continue doing my job or I'm afraid I'll have to stop too."

"Princess..." Seb complained.

You couldn't take it anymore no matter how much you tried to make excuses for yourself and restrain your husband. You hated it when Sebastian begged you: you were tough, and you coped differently depending on the day. Suddenly, and to the German's surprise, you straddled him and aligned you entrance with his member, slowly letting yourself fall just to torture him. Seb responded with loud gasps accompanied by several expletives towards you, which served to excite you even more.

Finally, you lowered yourself completely, letting out a scream as soon as you felt the German's cock completely inside you. At first, you put your hands on Seb's chest, although you quickly moved them to the edge of the headboard when you saw that he wanted to have full access to your breasts, which he began to caress more than with desire, with affection, focusing on the nipples especially, while massaging them together.

You increased the promising rhythm of your hips when you saw Seb getting close to orgasm. Him, to help you, took you by your waist, helping you in that swing that your hips were so accustomed to doing.

"Honey, I'm close," said Sebastian, who was having a hard time to even speak.

This only made you squeeze your insides and increase more, if possible, your speed, even causing you little damage. The German's heartbreaking screams were filling your ears and, as soon as you began to touch yourself to try to reach the orgasm at the same time as Sebastian's, you joined his gasps.

"God, Y/N, there. Yes!"

A few more thrusts were enough for Sebastian to cum inside you, who continued riding him with impetus. Just a minute later, you had also reached the long-awaited second orgasm of the day, without a doubt much better than the first one.

With your legs shaking, carefully got off your husband, who helped you even though he couldn't even handle his own body. You laid down next to him, tangling your legs next to his. Sebastian, as soon as he had you next to him, took you in his arms and began to caress you and kiss you delicately all over your face.

Sleep began to take its toll on your bodies, and as soon as you began to get closer to each other, yawns replaced moans. Despite being aware that you had to get up in less than four hours, you wouldn't change anything that had happened between you moments before.

"I never get tired of kissing you," you commented, sliding your fingers through Sebastian's hair and snuggling with him, "or hugging you, or anything with you. I am very lucky to have you, and I would live again everything we have gone through in this and a thousand other lives just to be with you,” you acknowledged.

"I'm the lucky one, Y/N," he limited to say with honesty as he placed a kiss on your forehead for the umpteenth time that day, "and you'll never know how much."

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