#but no HONESTLY he’s very fruity I think

[femboycharles]

me: I don’t like to speculate abt the drivers sexuality, it’s nothing to do with me

also me: the bisexual vibes from max are STAGGERING

[dawntheduckrb]

Home from my trip, I managed to navigate the city capitol interstate in the dark+rain mostly on my own :D (not without a death grip on my steering wheel the whole time, but that's okay)

Wasn't actually able to take any pictures, which is rare bc I usually come back from trips with at least 20. All I got was a picture of a miniature deck of cards I won in a game and the pretty state welcome sign on my way back in (taken with no other vehicles around me but my dad's, of course) (and theres one of these at every possible entrance to the state so i dont think this really says where i was at). Trip blab in tags but tldr; it was fun :)

[hide-your-bugs-away]

JANE ASHER'S COSTUME BOOK ON THE DASHBOARD?? TIME TO BE NORMAL ABOUT MY FAV'S METICULOUSLY-CRAFTED CAMEO.

I haven’t heard anyone talking about this…

Could someone enlighten me?

?????????????????? WHAT

The collateral effects of having dated Paul

WHY ARE THEY SO GOOD?

Entrepeneur queen

ALSO THE BEST ONE

IM PEEING MYSELF THIS CANT BE TRUE LMAO

(Also, my posible future pfp…)

[xxsabitoxx]

How JJK Men Eat Pussy 2.0

Satoru, Suguru, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna, Yuta, Itadori, Megumi

Warnings: All characters are 18+, this post is explicit smut. As if you couldn’t tell that from the title

A/N: Funny story, I forgot I already wrote this same concept last year… but since I didn’t realize until I finished writing this… imma post it anyways. But if you’d like to see my original thoughts on this topic, you can see them here with an additional 2 characters lol

Gojo Satoru

He is relentless, especially when he’s in the mood to go down on you. These little moods of his will have him between your legs for hours, multiple times a day. You always like to joke that he knows when you’re ovulating because somehow these little moods seem to fall in sync. If Satoru goes more than three days without you, it’s like he’s going through withdrawals. He’s skilled with his tongue, he’s able to move it in ways and speeds you didn’t know a man could. Typically he’s a tease, he’ll edge you until you have an orgasm so pathetic you can’t even call it one. Ya know, the kinds where you come and don’t feel that satisfaction, just the pulsating ache of needing more. But recently, Satoru discovered how much more fun it is to overstimulate you. He loves the way your finger’s bury in his hair and try to tug him off as he sucks on your clit until you’re sobbing and begging him to ease up. He’ll keep your thighs spread wide, large hands effortlessly keeping them in place while they desperately try and close. He’s also the type to see those “pineapple make’s your cum sweet” articles and come home with enough pineapples to feed a village. He’s not even embarrassed about his reasoning, even if it’s just a myth, his sweet tooth can’t pass up the opportunity. Satoru loves your natural taste, but you surprised him with edible lubes in various fruity and sweet flavors one night… you still recall seeing the sun rise. 

Geto Suguru

He’s a god at eating pussy and you can’t convince me otherwise. Suguru has always been about your pleasure over his, not to say he doesn’t have his selfish moments, but your pleasure is just so much fun to him. He loves the noise, the facial expressions, the smell, the taste. The first time he went down on you, you were convinced he was lying about it being his first time. The ability just came naturally to Suguru. Like Satoru, Suguru loves to tease you. He’ll focus all of his attention on your dripping entrance, only stimulating your clit if his nose bumps it. He loves the way you squirm, his nails leaving crescent shaped nail marks in the plump flesh of your thighs as he holds you in place. He loves your breathless gasps, his long hair tickling your thighs as he eats you out, only adding to the stimulation that’s making your toes curl. Suguru loves to make you beg, pulling his mouth away from your cunt to just barely flick his tongue over your clit. He’ll stop all together just to taunt you until you’re sobbing, begging him to do something. He has a whole album on his phone dedicated to you, most of the content being videos of him eating you out, some he even made you take just so he could see the camera shake with your effort to keep it straight and hear your noises better. He puts on a show for you, slurping and sucking and moaning just to feel your thighs tremble as you moan with him. 

Nanami Kento

Eating you out is a stress reliever for Nanami… so it happens like very fucking day. Lord help me this man will spend hours edging you, cheek pressed into your thigh as he lazily licks and nips at your cunt. He can’t think about anything but you when he is between our legs, moaning and whining his name like a beautiful lullaby. He’ll let you cum eventually, but for the time being you are completely at his mercy. Nanami is the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, especially on nights where he comes home late and you’re already passed out in bed. He’ll make out with your cunt honestly, licking and sucking and nipping at your folds until he can’t tell if you’re wet from his saliva or your own arousal. The answer is both. He doesn’t care for any of the fancy shit, so don’t bother with flavored lubes or eating particular fruits to try and alter your taste, he just wants you and you alone. I feel like this man has a scent kink so the smell of your arousal honestly gets him going even more. He prefers eating you out in bed, mostly because he’s tired and nothing feels better to him than laying on his plush mattress while using your thighs as his pillow. He’s a whore for face sitting by the way, even less of his energy needs to be put into  that, especially when you’re grinding your cunt against his tongue. Nanami’s other favorite thing to do is use his tie to bind your wrists, that way you really can’t interrupt him.

Fushiguro Toji

I had to restart Toji’s so many times because I got too aggressive. Listen, this bummy ass bitch will eat you out till the sunrises and he will make a fucking mess of you while he does it. Toji will eat you out and finger fuck you until you’re screaming. He’ll give you a “break” by stuffing you full with his dick and then get back to work eating you out again after he blew his load in you. Filthy bitch. He’ll eat you out anytime, anywhere, any position. He’ll never turn down the opportunity and depending on your relationship with him, this bitch may even charge you for his services. Which is just another way he likes to tease you, watching you whine and squirm while you cough up the money he wants. He’ll call you pathetic as he gets on his knees and basically rips your underwear off of you, commenting the whole time about how much of a whore you are… like he ain’t selling his body to you rn. This man will somehow make you feel inferior, but you can’t be bothered when his tongue is lapping at your cunt like a starved man. Toji will make sure your thighs and your cunt are swollen, bruised, overstimulated, and sore by the time he’s done with you. Your cunt is puffy from his sucking and biting, thighs littered in dark marks and teeth indents. He'd go as far as to find a marker and write “cum dumpster” on you if he was really in the mood to see you sob.

Ryomen Sukuna

Listen, you thought Toji could be mean? Sukuna is ten times worse. The thing is, the king of curses actually likes to eat pussy but he won’t admit it. But that is not to say he can’t live without it, Sukuna is selfish and really only prefers things that pleasure him in the process. But, when you’re sobbing, pathetically begging him to go down on you, he may just crack. Especially if you’re looking at him with watery eyes, swollen lips from sucking him off, your neck littered with bite marks and bruises. Oh, and, if you’ve made him cum, he’s more likely to agree and indulge you. If you manage to convince the king of curses to go down on you, don’t expect him to be easy on you. His nails are digging into the flesh of your thighs, blood dripping slowly as he eats you out with so much force it’s borderline painful. He’s using his tongue and his teeth, nipping at your folds and even grazing your clit with them until he can tell your sobs are a breathless mix of pleasure and pain. If we’re talking true form Sukuna, I promise you he won’t stop until you’ve blacked out. He’ll use one set of arms to hold your waist while the other set keeps your thighs spread. He’s forcefully dragging your cunt over the long tongue that protrudes from his stomach, occasionally stopping just to hold you still as he spreads you open and stuffs you with the same tongue, watching you yelp and moan as he toys with you. 

Okkotsu Yuta

If you look up the definition of “pussy drunk” you’ll see a picture of Yuta. This man cannot go down on you without becoming delirious. Your body puts him in a trance, he can’t even explain the way you make him feel. Yuta is all about body worship and his favorite way to go about it is having his face shoved between your legs for hours. He’s just as vocal as you are while he eats you out, groaning and whining against your cunt until the vibrations are making your eyes roll back as you cum again. He’ll be kneading your thighs as he eats, squeezing them like stress balls and hitting nerves that send sparks of electricity all the way to your toes and all the way up to the base of your neck. Without even trying, Yuta will manage to overstimulate you until you’re unironically going cross-eyed, fingers twitching as they bury in his hair and try to pull him off so you can catch your breath. Yuta is still a bit shy when it comes to being intimate outside of the privacy of your home. But that doesn’t mean he won’t drag you into the nearest bathroom and eat you out against the bathroom stall. In this sense, he’s almost cocky when someone unknowingly enters the bathroom only to see two sets of feet in one of the stalls. Not to mention the noises are echoing. Yuta lives to see your eyes going wide from embarrassment as he doesn’t stop, your noises are uncontrollable as he tongue fucks you. The poor bastard who entered the bathroom with the intention of properly using it just muttered under their breath and walked out.

Itadori Yuji

Yuji is eager, so, so damn eager. He wants to do anything and everything that brings you pleasure so when it comes to eating you out, he’s determined to be great at it. Yuji is the type to ask you for “practice” or “lessons” which is just his way of indirectly asking if he can eat you out. Most of the time, it’s an offer you can’t refuse, because as fate would have it, Yuji isn’t bad at anything. He’s so praise focused, eyes glued to your face as he flicks his tongue along your folds and waits for you to tell him he’s doing good. He’ll slow down when your praise isn’t coming fast enough because he wants you to beg. Yuji is a sucker for adding fingers to the mix, as much as he loves making you cum with just his tongue, he sees no point in limiting your pleasure for his own confidence boost. Kind of contradictory since he likes when you beg. Yuji is also the type to wake you up with his head between your legs, just slowly lapping at your cunt while also rutting his hips into the mattress, trying to not wake you up until you’re coming. He finds it so pretty when you wake up gasping, completely unable to restrict any of your noises as you orgasm. It’s important to mention that Yuji is a sucker for 69-ing and face sitting, he loves, loves, feeling your plush thighs caging in his head. He can’t get enough of the way your body settles so nicely into him, no longer afraid of “suffocating him” by sitting all the way down on him.

Fushiguro Megumi

He won’t admit it but he loves to eat you out. Megumi is shy at heart so even if he’s been with you for years, he can still get embarrassed when telling you how badly he wants to go down on you. He’s focused when he does get between your legs, hands gripping your thighs or hips while his tongue laps greedily at your cunt. Megumi loves to tongue fuck you, just because he knows it’s not enough stimulation to make you cum but enough to make you embarrassingly wet. He’s a bit mean at first, not willing to let you come until he feels you’ve earned it. He’ll stop abruptly just to sink his teeth into your inner thighs, not stopping until you’re gasping as the pain turns bruising. He’ll admire the teeth indents he’s left on your skin while his nails are scratching down your other thigh, tongue moving to wiggle against your clit until your hips are bucking. Megumi finds toys to be very hit or miss, but he’s found a love for stuffing you with a vibrator while putting all of his attention on your clit. Megumi’s preferred method of “torture” depends on his mood, either he’ll edge you until you’re begging or overstimulate you until you’re crying. He’s very private when it comes to these things… unless he’s jealous. Much like Yuta, he will not hesitate to drag you somewhere private while out in public to remind you of who you belong to. 

[evilminji]

Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes

[heart2beom]

cliché

pairing: bsf!yeonjun x reader

genre: fluff, best friends to lovers, crack, little angst

synopsis: after yeonjun hears you referring to him as someone who's like a brother ...he tries his hardest to make you see him as a potential boyfriend.

or in which you're perplexed at all the movie hangouts your friend has been initiating.

warning: mature language, reader is assumed to be fem

notes: honestly, i always try to cut down the word count to make it more available for people who only read drabbles/blurbs but i just CANT. so here's another short oneshot T-T and as always, reblog to help the algorithm pick up on this :D

yeonjun was confused walking back home -- no, the whole day, he was disturbed. the reason for this was yesterday...when he went to get drinks for both you and him at a frat party.

the crowds were insanely hard to get through (and it didn't help that people kept on stopping him to 'catch up' or whatnot) so it took him more than fifty minutes to come back with the drinks he promised to get.

but it looked like it was too late because the people you were surrounding yourself with when yeonjun was there...disappeared. instead, you're bundled up, alone in a corner, with a guy he does not know. which was already weird because yeonjun knew everybody, and that was enough reason for him to hurry his ass up through sweaty frat drunks and make sure the unknown guy isn't some sleazeball.

that time he wasn't aware that he rolled his eyes but he did conciously plan to squeeze himself into the conversation...and technically cockblock.

but when he neared you...that's when his world shattered...on more dramatic terms. it was more like his confidence was shot down to the deepest depths of hell.

"oh, yeonjun? pfft, he's like a brother!"

even though it was almost barely audible due to the blasting music, 'brother' to his ears were magnified -- the word circling through his head.

brother. brother?!

and as a result of this baffling situation, he had backed himself in an opposing corner with your cup in his right and his cup in his left, way further than you now, thinking of where did it go wrong?

he's never had someone friend-zone him -- for heavensake, he's yeonjun, he's aware of how attractive he is. but brother-zone? that was even worse of an attack!

it doesn't matter that you said it -- come on, that's barely the case. it's the fact that someone was so unattracted to him that he was seen as a sibling.

sure, you and yeonjun were a sort of bunch that have been together since... forever, really. seriously, you were friends since elementary -- when you joined the school, fourth grade, mindlessly kicking rocks at recess he approached you like the social butterfly kid that he was, asking you if you wanted to come play with his friends.

once he took another sip of the red cup in his right hand, the fruity punch being way too overbearing (just how'd you like it), he furrowed his brows together.

he definitely doesn't see you as a sister.

he'd have to admit that when middle school hit and his puberty was acting up around ...the seventh grade? he was convinced that he would eventually marry you like the way his parents were. a brother wouldn't have felt that way about his sister! normally that is...

granted, he mostly blamed that on the first strikes of puberty because right after middle school, he moved on from the thought -- completely abandoning his pre-puberty dreams, but that was besides the point!

he was getting nauseous from the sweetness of his drink and the further he thought about the way you thought of him, he felt that he would ruin the party by vomiting on someone.

his night was officially ruined. absolutely, fundementally, literally ruined.

and thats how he found himself unfocused on everything around him the next day, finally making the decision to consult with his roommates about this frankly, very big conundrum.

"you can't just purposefully leave out important details? like, how am i supposed to diagnose you properly bro?" beomgyu asked as he spammed the keys on his controller.

"you're not diagnosing me--" yeonjun exhaled, wanting to to keep the banter to the minimum in respect to the issue he's facing. "literally what do you think we're doing right now?"

"i'm going to be completely honest and say ...i have no idea-- shit, what the fuck are you doing heeseung? jump! jump!" he yelled towards the big screen in front of him.

yeonjun groaned, turning his head to behind the couch. "soobin, it's not too late to help out your only friend!" he yelled out in hopes of it reaching the guy's bedroom.

and with no response, he turned back to watching the game beomgyu was playing. "god, you know how many times i gave that guy life changing advice on women?"

"and this is how he repays me?"

beomgyu nodded along to whatever yeonjun was mumbling about until the brunette magically connected dots and euphoric realization hit him. beomgyu almost scrambled around to completely face him this time, "hold on, hold on. yeonjun you lost me, are you having girl problems?"

to that, yeonjun rolled his eyes. "i wouldn't call it 'girl problems', that sounds like a problem soobin would have."

"uh-huh ...uh-huh. no, no yeah." beomgyu said nodding mindlessly to save the guy some face. "heeseung i'm logging off dude, yeonjuns got girl problems."

yeonjun just deadpanned to the back of the guys head, having no will to correct him.

he wanted to get the pending issue out of the way first.

it was more situated a few minutes later. instead of beomgyu sitting on the floor criss crossed, leaned on the couch yeonjun was sitting on, beomgyu was now sitting on the chair next to the couch, his elbows on his knees, brows deeply furrowed.

and not to forget yeonjun's pen and paper in hand.

"so... you're trying to get a girl to like you?"

"not like. i want her to see me as someone she would want as a boyfrie--" when he saw beomgyus brow raising up as to say 'whats the difference' he cleared his throat. "yea, basically."

"don't you know how to do that though?"

he shrugged, "it's different this time."

"how?"

"trust me, it's very different."

"okay but how?"

"you'd be the last person i'd ask for an interrogation beomgyu, that'd be a task for like... taehyun or something."

"i'm sorry that i need to understand my client first--"

"i am not your client" yeonjun said, rolling his eyes.

"what's going on here?", yeonjun turned his head to see soobin behind the kitchen island, scooping himself some icecream.

"dude, where were you when i needed you?", yeonjun asked.

"me and yj are holding a dating therapy session."

yeonjun turned his head to beomgyu, "again, it's not a therapy sessio--"

"you're getting dating advice from beomgyu?" soobin asked, his face scrunched up doubting if it really got this bad.

and back to soobin. "when you say it like that.." "soobin can you please leave yeonjun alone? he's in a very vulnerable state right now"

then beomgyu again. "i'm seriously going to beat you up." he said, biting his bottom lip and raising his fist against his roommate. beomgyu immediately jumps dramatically, shielding himself with his arms up.

"see? he's getting violent!"

soobin finally plopped on the couch next to yeonjun with his cup of icecream. "explain it to me, maybe i can help you out."

"i'll save you the trouble, he's not explaining for whatever reason--"

"a girl said that i'm like a brother to her." yeonjun reluctantly mumbled.

a wave of silence hit the dorm, for a minute yeonjun thought they just didn't hear him and to be completely honest, he was about to thank the gods because he regretted saying anything the moment he did, but that thought was immediately shot down when both sides of his ears were being blasted by humiliating laughter.

soobin got up, patting yeonjun's shoulder as reassurance, still laughing. "yeah, good luck with that hyung."

"okay, it's not even that bad--"

"dude, not even cha eunwoo would survive the sibling zone." beomgyu said, a hard reality check for yeonjun. "though hyunbin might.." he mumbled to himself. yeonjun caught it though, but it didn't matter. yeonjun was no hyunbin.

"fuck." he breathed out, the utensils he was holding had lesser grip on them as he just stared into nothingness. beomgyu was right. he's forever stuck as a brother in your eyes.

but then a ring of his phone snaps him out of it.

when he checks the id, his ambition is restored almost immediately for whatever reason; it was you.

"yo why are you smiling?", beomgyu said trying to peep at yeonjun's phone, but yeonjun reflexes took over, and he immediately turned his phone off.

"beomgyu, don't you think i kind of resemble hyunbin?" he said with a head tilt and an overconfident smirk, talking like he just had an epiphany.

"the one from crash landing on you? uh no."

yeonjun jumped from the couch a new man, his pen and paper in one hand and his ringing phone on the other. he finally faced beomgyu as the man he was, choi motherfucking yeonjun. "i gotta answer this call...and also, if you ask anybody who my celebrity doppelganger is, everyone would proudly say its hyunbin dumbass."

then yeonjun left with a smile and a surge of new confidence overtaking his face as he spoke away on the phone with you, while beomgyu was left in the living room more than confused as he looked up the actor on his phone.

instead of finding the difference, beomgyus brain was tasking him into finding the similarities...which, there was one to yeonjun's credit.

black hair.

"when are the others coming?" you asked looking around the crowded floor as yeonjun was buying popcorn and drinks. "the movies about to start.." you mumbled, checking your phone for the hundredth time.

"oh, i guess its just me and you again." he said with the popcorn and bottle of coke finally in his arms.

"again? don't you think this is getting suspicious?" you said as you walked alongside yeonjun, not noticing the way yeonjun just gulped.

you stopped in your tracks, in turn yeonjun bumping into your back a little, a few popcorns dropping on the floor.

"hey...you don't think.." you furrowed your brows, in deep thought. this has been on your mind for a while now. "you don't think they're trying to set us up or something do you?"

after the third time your friends stood you and yeonjun up, you were starting to think they were pushing, what they called, the 'ynjun' agenda..but it was the first time you'd ever bring it up to yeonjun, so you just laughed it off -- scolding your friends will come on a later date.

"nevermind, lets go inside the movie theatre jun."

"ya' y/n, wait."

you turned around to an awkward standing yeonjun at first, but he immediately straightens up and clears his throat, with a smile you've grown so attached to -- the smile that reached his eyes. for something so simple, it made your heart beat a little quicker than normal.

"can you hold the coke for a sec? i'm trynna--i'm trynna do something."

you break into a light laugh, "um, okay." that snapped you out of it because you remember who he was again -- your platonic best friend.

you took the cola bottle off his right arm, expecting him to take his phone out of his pocket to check something.

but as you stared at your sneakers, checking if they're untied, you felt his hand on top of your head, which startled you.

you looked up to meet yeonjuns eyes, a brow raised.

before you could say anything, he ruffled the top of your hair gently, leaning towards you a bit, to shorten the height difference.

"y/n, let this be our first date." your platonic best friend's voice, so warm and gentle you thought you would only hear in dreams, said those words...to you.

"so you asked her out on a date but you don't even like her...? that doesn't make any sense." soobin said, sitting on the couch watching beomgyu hog up the tv screen, his use time running out.

"bros an asshole..but i feel like we knew that already-- fuck you heeseung. you fucking suck ass you need to get off my team." beomgyu yelled.

"okay, first of all, it's not that bad. she doesn't like me at all, plus the date was how we would usually hung out anyway."

soobin just shook his head -- being the only guy with a functioning moral compass amongst the people he called his friends was exhausting.

as soon as he was about to lecture yeonjun, the tv timer goes off -- and that makes his plan a fleeting thought.

"it's my turn now, throw me the remote."

"bro give me a second, let me finish this gam--"

"no! unplug your console." soobin yelled impatiently, he knew better than to let beomgyu go over the timer again.

beomgyu groaned, abandoning heeseung in the game and unplugging his console. when soobin got control of the tv and opened up netflix, beomgyu stood up to sit next to yeonjun -- who had gotten a notification from you.

"yj, who's the chick? you never told us."

"uh, you don't really know her." he mindlessly answered, focused on the messages from you.

[y/n, 9:16 pm] that serenade ..as cringe as it was.. [y/n, 9:16 pm] like lets be serious, there was NO reason for u to get on top of the cafeteria table lol

he hadn't yet told his roommates what he did this morning, thinking that he'd get a longer lecture by soobin.

but he had took inspiration from the movie you guys were watching the other night at the cinema. you talked his ear off about how romantic it was, how you would fall at the feet of dicaprio if he did the same to you..

he was no dicaprio, but he could try is what he thought. and though you forced him to get down half way through, he could still enjoy sharing the laughter, your laughter, that was ringing in his ear.

[yeonjun, 9:17 pm] as cringe as it was...? you're in love w me ;)

he typed it as a joke, a smile tugging on his lips waiting for your reaction to his teasing.

but beomgyu hovered over his phone out of boredom again, and out of instinct yeonjun threw his phone -- the three chois looking at the phone on the floor in shock.

"bro, why are you being so secretive? were you sexting?" beomgyu yelled, accusatory.

"can we collectively have some decency in this house, jesus fucking christ beomgyu." soobin muttered.

"shut up church boy, yeonjun's hiding something for sure."

"or maybe he just wanted some privacy dude?" soobin retaliated.

yeonjun jumped up pointing at soobin, "exactly! exactly! listen to soobin, you were invading my personal space. so not cool beomgyu."

"yeah, okay. you've never agreed with me with this much enthusiasm before. he's hiding something. quick, check his phone." to soobins order, beomgyu was prepared to run to the phone when he made eye contact with the owner -- but yeonjun was quick.

"good god, wait wait. what do you want beomgyu--fuck, if you wanted her name it's y/n alright? the chick's y/n!" yeonjun doesn't do well under pressure, at all.

"what are you talking about--" beomgyu's face morphed into shock with his mouth agape. "--oh my fucking god. yeonjun, y/n's the chick? the one who brother zoned you?" beomgyu yelled.

"yeah...?" he said hesitantly.

"i can't--i just can't. soobin knock some sense into him." beomgyu turned away dramatically, shaking his head.

"yeonjun--" soobin started.

"dude, y/n has been in love with you for like a decade!" beomgyu blurted out, turning to face yeonjun again, interrupting soobin.

"uh..no? guys, i literally told you that she said she sees me as a brother. i saw her telling some guy that at the frat party last week."

beomgyu walked towards yeonjun, grabbing both of his shoulders, shaking him, "she. didn't. brother. zone. you. you stupid fuck!"

"she's been saying that to people because its so obvious that every time she tries moving on, she still likes you." soobin added in.

yeonjun, with his brows furrowed, tore beomgyu's hands off his shoulder -- walking towards his phone.

and it felt like a million thoughts were racing around his head the three seconds it took for him to get his phone, like a storm, a big tornado clouding his mind. but the most heavy was...how long? a fucking decade? and he never noticed?

he found it hard to swallow, almost nervous...that it was true.

the two other chois were staring at him, exchanging glances.

and when he picked up his phone, it was like he feared.

his text was left on read.

yeonjun's roommates were right for once.

all the secret glances he'd catch, a smirk twitching on his face as he pretended not to see, all the times you'd practically asked him out -- he shot it all down subconsciously thinking it was nothing more than coincidences on top of coincidences.

"you know, i was thinking it was weird you freaked out so much about the brother thing. yunjin told you that right to your face like last month and you didn't say anything." beomgyu said as he let himself fall on the couch.

beomgyu was right, he didn't care when yunjin said it.

yeonjun looked at beomgyu, eyes confused. "so...what are you trying to say?"

"maybe you feel the same way...? god, do i have to spell it out for you every single time?" he said dramatically, groaning.

"okay yeonjun. drama's over, go do your walk of shame to your room." soobin said, getting comfortable on the chair again to watch the premier of his show.

"and reflect!" beomgyu shouted out as yeonjun went over to his room, obeying soobin with his phone tight in hand.

"what are we watchin?" beomgyu finally asked, soobin giving him a side eye in response.

"we? beomgyu, i'm not watching another show premier with you again."

"just because my commentary is too good doesn't mean you have to get all jealous--"

yeonjun bursts out of his room through the narrow hallway that lead to the main door, a coat hanging on his right arm as he hurriedly slipped on his sneakers.

it startled both of the guys on the couch, looking over at him with brows raised: what is yeonjun doing?

no one could get a word in, not even beomgyu, before he was totally out of sight.

only adrenaline was rushing through his veins as he shut the door behind him, putting his arms through his padded coat, and sprinting to the elevator -- frantically spamming the button to make him falsely hope the elevator would reach his floor any faster

it wasn't like he had to do something in the ten minutes his head thought he had left, no, it was the realization that had him acting in urgency he never thought he'd have for a girl. all of his stupidity dawning on him -- for fucksake, of course it mattered that you said he was like a brother, it was you.

and as he ran out the building -- his head felt dizzy, not because it was overwhelmed with thoughts, no, this time he only had a few but those were harder to manage his head.

did he ever give up on you in middle school?

did he ever move on from you in highschool?

did he really dump a dream, you -- the dream he had as a boy, with all the other dreams he never thought would happen?

when yeonjun was finally in front of your family house, the one you still chose to live in through your college experience, he moved to where'd he guess the window of your room was.

"y/n?" he shouted out with all the energy he could muster up. he had to bend over his knee to catch his breath, because he would shout your name again.

again, and again, and again.

blood rushed up to his cheeks, not because of the cold, because he was embarrassed -- what if you weren't even here?

he waited, staring up at the window which showed no sign of your room light being on.

but he wouldn't give up, he'd have to try something else.

yeonjun looked down at his feet, the absence of the sun being harder on his vision. there were no rocks, the only thing visible to his eyes were branch sticks which only made him hope that his aim was good enough to get your window a few times.

it wasn't.

when the last stick that he found hit a window that wasn't the one he was trying to aim at - he cursed under his breath, defeated. yeonjun concluded that this was a bigger fail than the fucking time he found out that he was flirting at a family--not a class, reunion.

he could just go back to his dorm and call you is what he thought as he exhaled, a fog escaping his lips into the cold, feeling even more of a loser.

"yeonjun?!" he turned around at the familiar voice calling out for him and his eyes widened, lighting up as they set on your face, finally out of the window, with your room light making it a little easier for him to see your features.

"y/n?" he shouted back, ecstatic.

"what are you doing out here?", you shouted the words slowly so he could pick it up. then add, "it's fucking cold!"

"i just wanted to know" he inhaled, the cold air burning his nostrils, "why you didn't answer my text!"

it was silent, yeonjuns lips agape waiting for a response.

"you're fucking insane!" you said laughs slipping between your words, yeonjun scoffs lightly, a wide smile on his face.

he put his hands up as walls to his mouth to echo his words louder, "for you!" he shouted out in response.

"shut the fuck up!" it was a distant yell, one you both assumed, as you met eye contact, was y/n's neighbors. and then you laughed again at the untimely part of it all.

when you turned away from the window, yeonjun found himself yearningly waiting for you to come back. hands that were in his pockets felt a vibration -- his phone.

he took it out just to see a notification from his, quite frankly, favorite person ever.

[y/n, 10:26 pm] lets talk on here lol

he looked up and saw you at the window again, with you waving your phone at him -- it earned a smile tugging once more, on the ends of his lips.

just how did he manage to ignore overwhelming feelings about you, of you, for the past decade?

[yeonjun, 10:27 pm] come down. i'm not gonna tell u this thru text [y/n, 10:27 pm] why not? [yeonjun, 10:27 pm] don't wanna [y/n, 10:28 pm] youre asking me to get out of my cozy ass room just bcs u dont wanna??

"yeah! basically dumbass!" he shouted, startling your poor self out of your focus on your phone. you glared at him, yeonjun most likely missing it.

[y/n, 10:28 pm] STOP DONT DO THAT THOSE PSYCHOS ARE GOING TO CALL THE COPS ON ME [yeonjun, 10:29 pm] ok then come down before i freeze my fingers off

when you slid your window closed, closing your curtains, he immediately turned to quickly run towards the front of your house. yeonjun leaned on the fence of your porch, smiling with thoughts of you clouding his mind, as he looked up at the moon.

it was all so cliché -- the type of scene his roommates would squeal over and one that he would roll his eyes to, but if he were to watch this part of his life, again and again -- the moment you opened the door, the moment you both exchanged looks that communicated 'we feel the same way don't we?', a short awkward laugh that was shared, the moment you hesitantly opened your mouth to say something -- and then, the final moment of his longing lips crashing onto yours, his cold hands warming up the moment he cupped your face, the repocracy from your side making him smile into the kiss, the euphoric realisation that he wasn't late, you didn't stop loving him yet, and when he cut the kiss short, both your lips barely apart, yeonjun whispered an i love you, and to it you smiled, pulling him into your house, to finish your kiss -- he would too, squeal over the scene, kicking his feet like a highschool girl.

ending a/n: YOU FINISHED IT YAY :D yeonjun was lowk an asshole for wanting to lead on mc at first for his own benefit, but hes such a cutie im sorry, its easy to forgive T-T let me know what you feel about this piece, it was so fun to write!!

[nobodyknowsimalesbian777]

Sunshine- pitfighter!Vi (Arcane)

NSFW tags - angst, smut, sub!vi, dom(ish)!reader, pussy-eatting (v!receiving), mentions of drinking, mentions of violence/blood, as always, 18+ only

authors note : this was a request from anon and it was sosooooooo fun, i hope you all like it very, very much

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

you couldn't answer honestly if someone asked what lead you to where you are now

you couldn't say hatred, because you loved every moment of your "relationship"

you couldn't say love, because you knew now that vi never loved you

maybe you could say fate, but you didn't think that was entirety true either

you truly had no idea what drew you to vi

she was cold, harsh, and overall mean

polar opposite to you, who people described as a literal ray of sunshine.

you had seen her first when a friend of yours told you he wanted to go down and watch the fights in zaun

you were incredibly hesitant at first, which he expected. but he had spent days wearing you down, asking incessantly,

eventually, you obliged, of course. you worked to make your friends happy above all else

you had just stepped in when you saw her

she was dressed in deep reds and black, bandages covering her chest and arms

she wore her hair short, and badly dyed. the black barely covered her hair and let random splotches of pink show through

your friend had made a comment about it, saying she looked like she'd been through hell

you agreed, as anyone would. but you felt yourself drawn to her, her past, her future, just her

what could she have gone through to have that look in her eye?

you longed from the moment you saw her to ask her about it,

to be the person she told everything to

something about her drew you in, you couldn't help yourself

you watched her with a certain intensity,

grimacing with every punch she took and cheering for every punch she threw

she had been winning her current fight, nearly knocking out a man twice her size

the crowd was chanting her name as she brought her fists up to throw the final punch

she glanced over her opponents shoulder,

eyes scanning the crowd, she felt a sense of pride she hadn't felt since she had been with caitlyn

that was, until she locked eyes with you

you saw the moment her eyes went wide and her confident grin faltered

and unfortunately, you were the last thing she saw before taking a punch straight to the nose

vi stumbled back, quickly trying to regain the upper hand in the match

but she knew it was too late, her focus had broken

it only took a few more strikes until vi was on the ground, the crowd mixed with gasps and "boo"s

the man who had beat her cheered, rallying up the crowd while she held her gushing nose

she had to be dragged out so she didn't go brutalize the man who made her look like a fool

you longed to go sit with her, to comfort her and clean her wounds

but you were in the stands, watching her

and she was sitting outside the ring, trying her best to ignore your burning gaze

after the fights, your friend had dragged you out to some bar down the road,

he had only gotten two drinks in before he left to go talk to a girl who was "giving him looks"

so you stayed at the bar

you sipped on some fruity drink, trying to conjure back an image of the fighter, vi, you had seen less then an hour earlier

it was confusing to you how much you thought about her,

even though you had never spoken a word

you never expected to look over and see her settling down onto a barstool,

and you definitely never expected her to look directly over at you

her eyes narrowed and she let out a quick sigh before stepping up and moving to the seat next to you

you felt your breathing pick up as you looked over at her, meeting her incredibly intense gaze

she looked you up and down, taking a long sip of her strong-smelling drink

"what are you doing here?"

you were taken aback by her question, wondering if you really stood out as someone out of their habitat

"i- drinking, i guess?" you lightly scoffed, catching the smallest smirk dance onto vi's face

she nodded slowly, again looking you up and down in a way that made your cheeks flush

you felt incredibly warm under her gaze, wanting so badly to know every detail of what she was thinking

"you did good tonight, i've never seen anything like it" you spoke gently, in a way that left a heat in her stomach

"it is my job, sunshine" her eyes scanned you yet again, catching the way your face lit up at her nickname

you tried to fien annoyance as you turned to face the woman next to you, tilting your head slightly at the haphazard bandages placed on her nose

"you should let me look at that," you gestured to her face "it looks broken"

she eyed you up and down before shrugging and leaning forward, her voice seeming apathetic "go for it"

you reached forward, gently peeling away the bandages to reveal her bruised, crooked nose

you failed to hide the shock on your face as you scooted closer to her and laid your finger on the bridge of her nose

vi barely made a face when you tapped her nose, and you tilted your head, asking her if it hurt

"shit hurt more when it broke" you couldn't help but roll your eyes playfully at her sarcasm,

you backed away from the beaten woman, finishing your improptu examination

you informed her of the chances of it healing a little crooked if she didn't keep it taped, and went back to sipping on your drink, making small talk with vi

a couple hours had passed before she finally called the bartender over for her check,

vi quickly wrote something on her receipt, slipping it over to you as she whispered in your ear

"come find me if you want to play doctor."

and just as quickly as you'd met her, vi was gone

you felt your face heat up as you picked up the receipt, looking down at it to find an address written on the tip line

without a second thought, you had picked up your purse and made a break for the door, stepping around drunk men and giggling women

you had walked quickly, seeing the address was down the street in an apartment

the door swung open almost immediately after you stepped up to it, and you saw vi standing there, waiting

you both looked at each other for a moment, before you moved towards vi, locking your lips against hers and slamming the door shut behind you

your lips met hers with an intensity you hadn't expected, and you were unsurprised to find vi desperately trying to take the lead

both of you found vigorously for dominance, knocking over chairs and tripping on rugs as you rushed back to her room

--------------------3 months after----------------------

you and vi had been inseparable since that night, you had spent nearly every day together

she had moved you into her apartment, making apparent room in her home as well as her life for you

you had shared nearly everything with each other, and you both agreed you hadn't felt this way before

you life felt perfect,

vi would come home from her fights, exhausted and bruised,

she would sit on the edge of the bed, letting you tend to her wounds and remind her how capable she was,

one night, she had a particularly rough match, you had spent the better half of the evening tending to a badly bruised rib,

after showering together and making food, vi had urged you to the couch, laying down and pulling your full weight on top of her

"make me feel better?" she questioned, knowing you would've given anything to make her whole again

you agreed quickly, moving down to take off her sweats and reveal her aching core,

finding comfort in your favorite place, you dove your tounge into her, knowing just the spot to make her unravel,

your skillful tounge swirled around her clit, breaking her tough exterior as she let you handle her pleasure,

vi's dirty mouth was something you were very aware of, and her words got progressively more needy the closer she got to release

so when she practically whined out how much of a slut she was for you, you knew she was close

as you licked a long strip up her pussy, she undid herself for you

her body convulsed as her orgasm hit her, and you loyaly stayed in between her legs, continuing your skill until she had gone essentially limp

you pulled back, taking care to clean her up and make her comfortable, when finally you were able to lay your head down on her chest

vi's hands worked through your hair, rubbing your scalp as you both felt sleep pulling you in

her murmured 'thank you' filled the silence of the room, and you laid a tender kiss on her jaw as you felt yourself falling asleep

vi's hand rested on your back, her voice was soft and tired as she whispered

"i love you more then anything, cait"

you felt your eyes shoot open, and you suddenly felt your world, this little bubble you had made with her come crashing down

tears brimmed and threaten to spill out of your eyes as you lay motionless, questioning how the hell you got yourself here.

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

okay gang i got carried away, i hope you loved ittttt pretty please leave requests, this was my first request and i lovedddddd it

[frillsand]

Hi Frillsand I wanted to start off by saying I adore this au and love all the art you've posted for it..

Secondly and Sorry if this has been asked before but I was curious about how Wally in you au feels about his masculinity? I've seen a lot of people mention how the ai for him is insecure about it at times. The idea is very compelling I think too since I've seen many instances where men who are both shorter than average and enjoy things that our culture deems as feminine are seen as somehow less masculine.

In regards to Wally you've said he adores the attention he gets for being cute but has he ever been really frustrated at not being taken seriously because of it? Both as a man in general or possibly even a romantic partner?

Though as I think on it his diva personality could be interpreted as a response to not being taken seriously in general. People like Max have the option to lean in to the cultural expectations of masculinity and be taken seriously whereas someone like Wally needed to adopt the diva personality for it.

Sorry for rambling a bit I just thought it was an interesting aspect to the character and wanted to learn more! Hope your having a lovely day regardless!

Wonderful question , I’m so so so glad you asked. In regard to his masculinity, Wally is privately very insecure about his appearance not being “traditional”

I know I make a lot of jokes saying how fruity he is and honestly Wally has no problem with how he looked. But something about seeing the differences with him and other men, makes him self conscious.

He doesn’t have broad shoulders, he isn’t tall, he isn’t considered to be attractive in ways men want to be.

He’s always just CUTE.

What more can he do but go along with it, he’s cute, it’s a fact. And there’s times where the thought pisses him off.

Of course it doesn’t help that he loves doing things that can be considered feminine. His job being one of them, like his role in the show as a nurturing figure and his love for teaching kids. (Being flamboyant doesn’t help). He doesn’t care for gender norms and that helps a lot but not completely

Looking the way he does, comes with perks. He’s more likely to get things he wants and no one ever suspects someone like him can do wrong. Truly, he likes the way he looks, it’s just that he can’t help but think about what it would have been like to be different

He’s learning to accept it

I so wish I can ramble more , I want everyone to understand what’s going on in my head so badly but i can’t articulate my thoughts and I won’t be making sense

[lady-of-tearshed]

Blinded

Azriel x Reader

Summary:

Word count: angst, feeling worthless, yelling, cursing, betrayal, jealousy, big sad people, pregnancy (Elucien), injuries, violence. Yup.

A/N: Honestly? Be prepared. 🤣💕

Again, thank you @sarawritestories for always giving me to kick in the butt I need when I'm stuck! 💕 Thanks @milswrites for the moral support too ily 🥰

Azriel was staring at your lips. Those full sultry lips painted with that same shade of pink Elain loves to wear.

Only, you weren’t Elain.

He tried to convince himself that he could get over it, get over Elain. He could love, praise, and touch another female without thinking about her.

Could he?

“Az?” You whisper, each one of your rapid breaths formed a cloud that filled the small gap between yours and Azriel’s face. His grip on your hips loosened as he snapped back into reality. He gulped down his shame. Shit. Your eyes, so soft, and loving, and pure filled with concern, Azriel’s stomach dropped. “Are you alright?” She stroked his face, his lips. His lips were still swollen from the kiss…

From the kiss that he fantasized about sharing with another woman.

He tried to shake the thought of Elain away, tried to ignore his shadows whispering wrong, wrong, wrong in his ears. He could do it, he knew it. You were kind, very pretty, caring… “Yeah,” He whispered, before attacking your lips once again. The kiss was feral, rough. His lips were crashing hard against yours, teeth clashing, as he tried so desperately to forget about Elain’s softness.

Your heart was beating in sync with the loud, yet distant busy chatting of the crowd at Rita’s, situated not far from the gloomy alley you and Azriel had stumbled out to. The frenzy was too intense for you to wait before touching him, tasting him, smelling him. Your lips parted when the exposed skin, compliments to the deep cut of your dress that barely covered your body, collided with the cool surface. The earthy and vigorous taste of the wine you had imbibed earlier that night filled his own mouth as his tongue caressed yours.

Elain would’ve drank something sweet, or fruity.

He slowly pulled away from you, his thumb grazing the exposed skin on the small of your back. It sent shivers up your spine, and your nipples hardened. He stared at you, observed how red your cheeks were, how his lips had smushed your lipstick, how the smell of you changed from your arousal. But the love and adoration that shone into those eyes, your eyes, felt like a stab in his cruel heart.

He couldn’t do this.

“Let me fly you back home,” His voice was raspy. He tried to give you a genuine smile, and pressed a chaste kiss on your forehead, his fingers combing through your now very disheveled hair. “Will you be staying?” He wanted to drown in the cauldron and succumb from his sorrows at the sound of your pleading, hopeful tone.

“Another night, when we’ll both be sober.” He lied. They had talked and danced more than they had to drink, he was far from drunk, and you too. But you just shrugged, offering him a kind and comprehensive smile. “Okay,” Was all that you’ve answered, before he picked you up into his arms and led you through the clear night sky.

He dropped you off, bowed his head, and said “Thank you, for tonight,” before flying away without another word. He didn’t even kiss you goodnight.

—

The sky was clear, and the weather started to warm up in Velaris. You had gone shopping for lighter dresses today, and couldn’t wait to come back home and swirl in them for your Illyrian to see, since he had been too busy to spend the morning with you. There were always piles of paperworks lingering on his desk, you couldn’t blame him.

You turned on yourself in the mirror, admiring the last dress you had to try on. It was the prettiest, the deep blue fabric instantly drew you in. It was the exact same blue of Azriel’s siphons. “So, what do you think!” You beamed, spinning around to look into those pretty shades of hazel dancing in his eyes. Your toes were curling in your shoes, excited to get his reaction on your newest, and now favorite, piece of clothing.

“Mhm,” He hums absent-mindedly. Your face dropped, and your eyes turned a tad more glossy than normal. You lifted your chin up, and instead of exploding with rage, or bursting in tears, you cleared your throat as a last attempt to get his attention.

Desperate, pathetic.

Azriel lifted up his head at last, his eyes quickly scanned you, and he gave you a tiny smirk of approval, accompanied by a small nod of his head. “You look good, baby,” He adds, only for good measure.

Good. Not stunning, not flawless, not delightful, not ravishing… Just good. You noticed how Azriel’s eyes drifted back to whatever paperwork he was doing the second you turned back around to face yourself in the mirror, you noticed how his gaze did not linger on any of your features for one second. The shadowsinger had always been a man of few words, showing his love mostly through actions. But lately… lately he was also a man of few actions.

You gulped down your tears, maybe he was just busier than usual, you thought, and yet… You pinched your arm, mentally scolding yourself for being so selfish. Azriel worked hard, he always bought you anything you’d wish and ask for, even more. He had to work a lot to get you all that. You concluded that you simply needed to be more grateful and understanding.

Maybe he needed space. Maybe you were too clingy. You inhaled, trying to get all of the possibilities of why Azriel was acting this way around you out of your mind, and you exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled. You repeated the action a few times, and once you were sure that your voice was steady enough to talk to him, you did. “I'm going out to see Elain today,” You said, your eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror, secretly analyzing how his body reacted to the second Archeron sister's name.

Azriel barely reacted, only the slight twitch of his fingers around his pen proved your point. Something about Elain was upsetting him, but what? “Have fun,” He dismissed you with a wave of his hand. Azriel tried so damn hard to not think of how Elain’s scent would linger on your clothes for hours, maybe even days when you'll come back from your stupid little play date with her. Tried to ignore the insufferable truth that Elain, even when she belonged to another male, even when himself belonged to another female, to you, still haunted his memories every day, noon, and night.

“I will.” It took every ounce of your self-control to not snap at him. It was getting so hard to ignore that pull, that painful throb in your chest that kept screaming at you more, more, more! But deep down, you knew that Azriel would probably never be able to give you more.

To give you his heart, completely.

—

“How is Azriel?”

Elain's melodic voice snapped you out of your thoughts. Your fingers still plucked at some invasive weeds competing with Elain's stunning flowers for the nutrients, sunlight, and water. But you didn't dare lift your eyes to meet hers, knowing she'd see the lies dancing in your eyes. “Good. Busy, but good,” Which was true, in some ways.

He kept telling you he was fine, and it was true that he was busier than usual, but deep down, you knew he wasn't doing “good”. Elain nodded, the chestnut curls that escaped her bun bouncing on her forehead as she did so. She knew better than to press the topic with you.

“You're… pale,” Her stunning doe eyes burned with concern, and you felt so bad for lying to your friend, even if it was only partially a lie. “I'm fine.”

Suddenly, the air shifted, and a cool breeze ran at the back of your neck, leaving a veil of goosebump on your delicate skin. The sound of Elain's gardening tools clashing to the ground made you jolt. You rapidly lifted your gaze, and gasped when you took I'm the sight of her once brown eyes now turned completely white, the wind flowing through her hair. It was as if she commanded the air itself.

“Leave him,”

Her voice didn't sound like her own, it sounded like nails on a blackboard, scrapping your soul. You hissed, covering your ears, your eyes wide with fear. But you could still hear her voice, and her face was so close. Your body was frozen in place, as if you were hypnotized by those cold white orbs, and your mind screamed at you to back off, to call for help. To call for Lucien, Elain’s mate.

“The shadow male is bound to be blinded.”

The shaddow male could only be Azriel. Was he okay? What was happening? You hated riddles. “Blinded by what?!” You pressed, begging for answers and yet begging for the kind Archeron to come back to her usual self.

“The seer… The shadow male is bound to be blinded by the seer.”

“Elain!” You hadn't heard the grass sweeping against Lucien's fancy leather boots. Nor his hurried footsteps, and breathing, as he not so delicately moved Elain away from you. You landed on your butt, but you didn't take Lucien's actions personally. After all, he was only reacting instinctively as a newly mated male. You swiped a hand on your face, your brain reeling from the information.

Rage, jealousy, despair.

“Y/N…” You faintly heard Elain's voice, her real voice, call out for you. You didn't even realize the tears that rolled down your cheeks until you felt her soiled hands brush against your damp skin. “I need to go,” You didn't wait to be granted your leave before you hastened back inside the River House.

You almost tripped on the marbled floors, your shoe soles were now slippery because of the dew that had coated your heels. You shoved them out of your feets, the coldness of the floors not bothering you for one bit as you kept running, and running through the halls.

Rhysand’s office doors slammed open, making the Shadowsinger, and the High Lord startle slightly. You felt your heart being ripped open when you saw his eyes, on you, filled with worry.

It has been years since he last looked at you, truly looked at you.

“What is this about?” Azriel rose from his chair, his steps towards you careful, his shadows swirling around you frantically. “Elain,” He froze in place, and his pupils shook. “Is she alright?” Her. It had always been her. Her safety, her well being, simply her. It would always be her before you.

The shadow man is bound to be blinded by the seer, not you.

“She is,” You gulped, swiping away your own tears, the tears he yet hadn't noticed. He reached his hand to touch you, but you smacked his hand away, and he frowned. “I am not, Azriel. I am not alright. This is not alright,” You gesture between him and you. “I'm done.”

The bond snapped into place only for him to tug on the crumbling thread, watching as you reject the one thing Azriel longed for most in this life. A mate.

He fell to his knees, his hand curled at his chest as he looked up desperately at you. “What have you done…” His voice shook, his face red with anger, shame even. “What have you done!” He screamed, desperately trying to hold onto the hem of your dress, trying to keep you here, with him. He was angry, furious, at himself, at you, at Elain, at the cauldron that kept torturing his fate over and over again.

Rhys ran to Azriel's side, holding him back. You stumbled back, ripping the hem of your dress out of Azriel grip. He sobbed, and screamed as his soul was being ripped in half. Yours was too, but the damage had mostly been done throughout those years of being ignored, unloved and denied. Your soul and heart have been broken for a while now. You winnowed away, far away, and never came back.

Good riddance.

Taglist: @berryzxx @thelov3lybookworm @sidthedollface2 @favsrachz

[paymechildsupport]

hiii, how would you feel about a gojo x mreader sports au but they both play on the same team. Like hc’s about reader and gojo who are both on the same basketball team. I always see fics where just he’s on the team but I thought it would be interesting to see one where they both are. thanks!

Now hold on a second….

Gojo x M!Reader on the same basketball team // Hc’s

-!! SFW + NSFW hc’s,— you’re both in college

———☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

✮ Teammate!Satoru, whom you’ve always had the most insane chemistry with. Regardless of on the court or off, everybody knows you two have SOMETHING going on —

Some of the plays you pull off shouldn’t even be possible. You’re like a two man army. The two mvp’s of every team, an unstoppable force.

Varsity ever since freshman year of high school, and now you’re both in college and doing the sport you love most of all

You’re each other’s rocks, always there for one another. When he scores the winning basket you’re the first person he hugs,— full on SPRINTS across the court to get that one high-five from his best mate

You’re pretty much a package deal at this point. Back in high school it was clear to any team recruiter that you both came together- if they wanted one of you, they’d have to take both (which, who wouldn’t want to, honestly?)

✮ Teammate!Satoru, who absolutely adored all the attention. The man was born to be in the spotlight, and reveled in the publicity you both dug up.

You’d be in the middle of practice on a water break, and you best believe Satoru has the latest viral clip of you two playing on his phone, giggling to himself. He’s saved every single edit of your plays, has an entire folder dedicated to them. He’s always super ecstatic to show you them too,

“Ohhh!! Look how cool I was in that one— oh, and there you are- OH DID YOU SEE THAT PLAY?!”

It’s not just edits of your plays though…. He has another folder, which he has dedicated to ship edits of you two. His guilty pleasure would be staying up and mindlessly scrolling through the countless ship videos fans have made of you two. Artwork, from theories, to slowmo clips of you two staring almost lovingly into eachothers’ eyes…. All for shits and giggles though! You two are just super tight homies, that’s all! Right…?

He’d play it off too, make a bunch of jokes like,

“Ha ha, fans really think we’re dating… how crazy is that? I mean, it’s not like we like each other or anything, right? Like, it’d be really funny if we kissed on the court after we win the next game, rather than just hug. It could just be like a little peck on the cheek..— as a publicity stunt, of course! It’d totally go viral— as a publicity stunt.”

(The answer was a big fat no from the media manager, much to Satoru’s disappointment)

And yes, he’s VERY aware of the surplus of fan fiction about you two, he’s probably written half of it

“hey, ever heard of omegaverse-?”

Shit, at this point he might as well have his own ship account of you two

✮ Teammate!Satoru, who is the mortal enemy of your team’s media team, who beg him , above all else, to just watch the shit he posts online. They just don’t want a huge controversy, and the team’s two star players dating eachother?! That’s just a scandal waiting to happen. The news and magazines would go absolutely feral

But, of course, true to classic Satoru style, he just doesn’t listen

His entire Instagram account is just photos of you. Has a heart around your handle in his bio (labeled, ‘my pookie <3’ ,— mf even got down on his knees and begged you to match pfp’s with him

One of his many viral photos is of you in his pinnie, reading in bed (why you were in the same bed, nobody knows)

Another has you two on a vacation in Hawaii, sunbathing with nothing but your boxers, and beach chairs a little too close

Satoru posts all of them with jokes about ‘it ain’t gay with the homies ❤️’ and ‘catching yourself being a lil’ too fruity with bro 😂’ — but it’s gotten so excessive to the point where literally nobody knows if it’s a joke anymore or not (sure as hell don’t look like it…)

He crossed a bit of a line when he posted a picture of him getting a tattoo, of your jersey number. Yeah, the manager chewed him up good for that one.

———☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

✮ Teammate!Satoru, who’ll wait a good extra forty-five minutes for everyone else on the team to pack up and leave, just so he can fuck you in the shower room

He’s just so goddamn desperate, he’s turning all the showers on, and it still isn’t enough to mask the lewd noises you two make. Breathy moans, skin slapping,— it’s so hot in there, and Satoru knows it’s not from the steaming water coming from above.

After everybody from the team left, Satoru all but ripped his uniform off. Resorting to using the fucking 3-in-1 shampoo all the other guys use as lube, he’s quick to push himself inside of you.

He tore up the court last game, and for his reward he now gets to tear up you.

“Atta’ boy… hah.. fuck- .. fuck— ah.. did you see my winning shot today..? Ah.. hah.. it was so good, wasn’t it..-?”

He loves it when you wear his jersey while he does it too. He loves it even more if you let him wear yours.

—————————-—☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★——————————

[harryssyndrome]

Darkness and You | h.s

summery: a late night drive takes an unexpected turn when an handsome stranger takes his place in your passenger seat.

wc: 5.3k || 🌕🌖🌗🌘 Masterlist 🌒🌓🌔🌕

WARNING ⚠️ sexual references, mention of unprotected sex. MINORS DNI! you’re responsible for your own consumption, don’t blame me later. It’s your own choice.

Posted on: November 25th, 2024

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 || TAGLIST IS OPEN!

Surprise lovelies! The first part from serial-killer!Harry series is here and I really hope you enjoy it. 😌 let me know how was it and if you have any ideas for other parts, I just might post some more this week itself. this is my first ever try at writing 18+ stuff tho it’s not really much so I hope it didn’t suck🤭😳 REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You don’t do this. Any of this. You don’t pick up hitchhikers in the middle of the night. Especially men.

You’ve seen a lot of horror movies and you’ve heard a ton of news stories.

You’re not five. You know what you should and what you shouldn’t do. But you’ve made an array of bad choices tonight so why not continue it?

You don’t know what it was but something compelled you to pull over.

The boy with the curls and those deep green eyes, gets into the passenger seat, a grateful smile on his face. He looks sweet, to be honest.

“Oh, thank you so so much. I’ve been out here for so long. My car just gave out on me and there’s no signal in this shithole.” He says, his English accent very evident as he adjusts his seatbelt. “May I know my saviour’s name?” He asks with a smiles that shows a pair of dimples.

The air is thick with the quiet hum of the engine, and your fingers clench the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. You’re not sure if it’s the cold seeping into the car or the nervous energy building in your chest. Something about this feels surreal, like stepping into a scene you’d only watch from the safety of your couch. Yet, here you are, with a stranger in the passenger seat and an unspoken weight hanging between you.

“Uh, YN,” you reply, your voice more hesitant than you’d like. His accent catches you off guard again, so polished and charming it almost makes you forget the unease simmering below the surface. Almost.

“YN,” he repeats, letting your name roll off his tongue like he’s testing its sound. “That’s a lovely name. I’m Harry.”

Harry. It suits him somehow. Still, you can’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His curls are messy, probably from standing in the cold too long, and his coat looks worn, but there’s a warmth to him. Those green eyes, so striking, carry a sense of ease—like he’s the last person in the world you should be afraid of.

Still, you’re not stupid. Sweet smiles and dimples don’t guarantee safety.

“So… where are you headed?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral while silently calculating how far you are from the nearest gas station or town. Somewhere with people. Witnesses.

He exhales, the sound almost a laugh. “Honestly? Just anywhere away from here.” He runs a hand through his curls, shaking his head. “My car decided to betray me in the middle of nowhere. Tried to call for help, but of course, there’s no signal. Classic, right?”

You manage a small laugh, though it feels forced. Your instincts are at war—one side whispering that this guy is harmless, the other screaming at you for stopping in the first place.

“Well,” you say, trying to sound composed, “you got lucky I came by. Not a lot of cars out tonight.”

“Not a lot of kind people either,” Harry adds, his voice softer now. “I was starting to think I’d be out there all night.”

His words linger in the air, and for a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. Maybe he’s just another unlucky soul, stranded and hoping for a break. Maybe you’re overthinking this. Or maybe this is exactly how every cautionary tale starts.

“So, YN,” Harry says, breaking the silence again. His tone is light, conversational, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “What’s a girl like you doing out here at this hour? Don’t tell me you’re running away from something, too.”

The question catches you off guard, and your grip on the wheel tightens. “No,” you reply quickly, a little too defensively. “Just… a long drive. Needed to clear my head.”

He hums in acknowledgment, not pushing further, and you feel a flicker of relief. He leans back in his seat, letting his head rest against the window. For a moment, you think he’s going to drift off, but then he glances at you again, his eyes almost piercing in their intensity.

“You’ve got this look,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”

You don’t respond right away, unsure how to take that. “You’ve known me for all of five minutes,” you finally say, trying to deflect with a weak smile. “Bit of a bold assumption, don’t you think?”

He chuckles softly. “Maybe. But I’m pretty good at reading people.”

The car falls into a strange silence again, and you can feel his gaze shift back to the window. There’s something about him—something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s not just the way he talks or the way he looks at you. It’s the way he feels out of place, like he belongs in a story that hasn’t been written yet.

And for reasons you can’t explain, you let yourself keep driving.

There was some reason he can’t take his eyes off of you, almost as if you’re a rare piece of art he couldn’t help but admire.

“You always pick up handsome strangers in the middle of the night?” He teases with a cheeky smirk on his features.

You glance over at him, briefly, before focusing back on the road. The way his smirk lingers, paired with those dimples, feels both disarming and maddeningly charming. “Not usually,” you reply, your tone even, though you’re acutely aware of his gaze on you. “Just the ones who look like they’ve had a rough night.”

He laughs at that, the sound soft and warm, filling the small space of the car. “Lucky me, then,” he says, his accent turning the words into something smoother, like they carry more weight than they should. “Although, I think the luck might be yours. How often do you get to share a car with a proper English gentleman?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “English gentleman, huh? You sound like a guy who gives himself that title. Let me guess, you also drink tea at every opportunity and say ‘cheerio’ unironically?”

His hand flies to his chest in mock offense, and he lets out a dramatic gasp. “Cheerio? Absolutely not. What do you take me for, a walking British stereotype?”

“Maybe,” you shoot back, your tone playful now. “I mean, you did say your car ‘gave out,’ and who even says that anymore?”

He chuckles again, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “Fair enough. But for the record, I’m more of a coffee guy. And I don’t say ‘cheerio.’” His smirk returns, softer this time, as he adds, “I think you might be the first person to question my gentleman status, though. Most people just take one look at me and assume I’m… irresistible.”

You snort, trying to stifle your laugh. “Irresistible? You really do think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” he quips, his voice teasing but not cocky. His gaze lingers again, softer now, almost contemplative. “But I’m serious. You’ve got this… way about you. Like you’re completely unimpressed by people like me, and I can’t decide if it’s refreshing or terrifying.”

That catches you off guard, and you shift in your seat, the smile slipping from your face just a little. “People like you?”

He shrugs, the smirk still lingering but now tinged with something deeper. “You know, the ones who talk too much, crack jokes, try to charm their way through life. The ones who should be lucky just to share the same space as someone like you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, a mix of unease and flattery you’re not quite sure how to handle. You keep your eyes on the road, focusing on the distant glow of headlights in the distance. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who just met me.”

“Maybe,” he admits, leaning back in his seat and letting his gaze wander out the window. “But you can tell a lot about someone in five minutes. Like how you’ve got this look in your eyes, like you’re constantly bracing for something to go wrong.”

You freeze for just a moment, his words hitting closer to home than you’d like. “You’re imagining things,” you say quickly, brushing it off with a casualness you don’t really feel.

“Maybe I am,” he replies, his voice low and calm, like he doesn’t quite believe you but won’t push. After a moment, he adds, almost to himself, “But for some reason, I can’t stop looking at you. It’s like… you’re a puzzle, and I can’t figure out the edges.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for silence, the tension in the car shifting to something strange and unspoken. Outside, the road stretches endlessly ahead, the darkness pressing in on both sides. And for the first time since picking him up, you wonder if you’re the one being read, the layers of your carefully built armor peeling away under the weight of those deep green eyes.

Harry leans back in his seat, one hand resting casually on his knee as he studies you. His gaze, though soft, feels weighted—like he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know you were wearing. After a beat of silence, he speaks, his voice low and curious.

“Can I ask you something, YN?” he says, his tone gentle, almost disarming.

You glance at him briefly before focusing back on the road. “Sure,” you reply, though the way he says your name sends a faint chill up your spine.

“Aren’t you scared?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Picking up a male stranger in the middle of the night? Alone? I mean, you said it yourself—this isn’t exactly normal behavior.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, his words triggering the voice of reason that’s been screaming at you ever since you stopped the car. Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and you force a small laugh. “A little,” you admit, though your voice wavers slightly. “But you don’t seem like the scary type.”

Harry’s lips curl into a smile, one that’s almost too perfect—dimples and all. “Well, I promise you, I’m not some sort of serial killer,” he says lightly, his tone almost playful. “Scout’s honor.”

Something about his phrasing makes you laugh, and the tension in your chest eases—if only slightly. “Isn’t that exactly what all serial killers say in the movies?” you tease, glancing at him briefly with a raised brow.

Harry’s smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—a shadow of a thought you can’t quite catch. “Touché,” he says, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze never leaves you, as though he’s memorizing every detail of your face. “I suppose it would be the perfect cover, wouldn’t it? A smile, a little charm… make yourself seem harmless enough, and no one suspects a thing.”

The way he says it sends a ripple of unease through you, and the playful smirk he wears only deepens the strange knot in your stomach. You force yourself to stay calm, trying to brush it off. “That’s… a little creepy, don’t you think?” you reply, half-joking.

Harry chuckles softly, the sound low and almost hypnotic. “Maybe. But if I were a killer, wouldn’t I have already done something by now? You’ve got me here, alone, no witnesses. Seems like the perfect opportunity, doesn’t it?”

Your heart skips a beat, and your hands grip the wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening. His voice is still light, teasing, but there’s an undercurrent to his words that you can’t quite place. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to gauge whether he’s just messing with you or if there’s something darker lurking beneath the surface.

“And yet,” he continues, his tone softening again, “here I am, just a guy stranded on the side of the road, grateful for the kindness of a beautiful stranger.”

Your throat feels dry as you swallow hard, forcing yourself to respond. “Well, for your sake—and mine—I hope you’re telling the truth.”

He lets out another soft laugh, leaning back against the seat again. “Of course I am,” he says smoothly. But there’s something about the way he says it—like he knows more than he’s letting on. Like he’s enjoying this moment a little too much.

The road stretches on in front of you, the darkness pressing in from all sides, and for the first time, you start to wonder if stopping for Harry was the worst decision you’ve ever made. Because while his smile is charming and his voice is calm, there’s something about him that feels off. Like the quiet before a storm.

Harry shifts in his seat, his gaze flicking to you every so often, like he’s studying the curve of your profile, the way your fingers tap the wheel, the faint crease in your brow as you concentrate on the dark road ahead. The hum of the engine and the soft patter of the tires on asphalt are the only sounds filling the car now, a strange kind of peace settling between you two.

“How far’s the city?” he asks casually, breaking the quiet, his voice smooth and easy, though there’s a strange undertone to it—like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

You glance at the dashboard clock before replying, “Probably around three hours. Give or take.”

Harry lets out a soft hum, leaning back in his seat, his head tilting toward you as though drawn by some invisible force. Three hours. Three uninterrupted hours with you. It’s enough to make his heart race.

He lets the silence return, but his thoughts are anything but quiet. His mind is a storm of emotions and desires—chaotic, consuming, and entirely focused on you. There’s something about you that’s different. It’s not just the way you look, though your beauty feels like something out of a dream. It’s the way you hold yourself, the sharpness in your wit, the vulnerability you try to mask but can’t fully hide. You’re magnetic in a way he can’t explain, and the more he sits beside you, the deeper his obsession grows.

He watches the soft glow of the dashboard lights reflect off your face, highlighting your cheekbones and the curve of your jaw. He wonders what it would feel like to trace that line with his fingers. To know the softness of your skin. To see you look at him not with the occasional suspicion that flashes in your eyes but with trust. Admiration. Love.

His thoughts spiral, wild and untamed, as his gaze lingers on you. What would it take for you to see him the way he already sees you? Would you ever understand how special you are? How perfect this moment is? You were meant to find him tonight—he’s sure of it. The universe wouldn’t have aligned so perfectly otherwise.

His fingers twitch, his desire to reach out, to touch you, almost overwhelming. But no, not yet. He has time. Three hours to savor this moment, to bask in the glow of your presence, to solidify the bond he’s convinced you’re destined to share.

You’re unaware of the storm raging in his mind, the way his chest tightens with every glance at you. You think the silence is peaceful, and in a way, it is—for you. For Harry, it’s intoxicating. Maddening.

He forces himself to take a steady breath, his fingers curling into his palms as he tries to calm the fire within him. He doesn’t want to scare you, not yet. You’re like a delicate thread, and if he pulls too hard, you might snap.

So, he keeps his voice soft, his demeanor calm, though his thoughts are anything but. He smiles to himself, a small, secret smile, as he stares out the window at the endless darkness. You have no idea, he thinks, how utterly and completely you’ve captured him.

And he plans to make sure you never get away.

As the silence stretches between you, Harry's mind spirals further into chaos. He shifts again in his seat, the seatbelt digging into his chest as his thoughts race uncontrollably. His green eyes flicker to the rearview mirror and then to the empty backseat, a dark thought taking hold of him. It's ridiculous, he knows, but the image is vivid, almost too vivid to push away-the two of you tangled together in the small space, your back arching against the leather as his hands grip your hips, holding you in place.

The idea sends a heat rushing through him, and he clenches his jaw, forcing his gaze back to the road ahead. But it's no use. His thoughts keep circling back, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. The way your lips curve as you speak, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the faint scent of your perfume that fills the car—it's driving him mad. You're so close, yet just out of reach, and it's enough to make him want to explode.

He imagines it so clearly: the way you'd look beneath him, your head thrown back, your lips parted in a gasp as he claims you. The sound of his name spilling from your mouth, a mix of moans and screams that would echo in his ears forever. The thought of marking you, leaving his fingerprints, his bruises, his everything on you-it consumes him. He wants you to be his, entirely his, in every possible way. To make sure no one else could ever have you, touch you, or even think of you the way he does.

His breathing becomes shallow as the lust builds inside him, threatening to take over. His hands clench into fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms as he fights to regain control. Not yet, he tells himself. Not yet. You're driving, unaware of the wildfire burning inside him, and the last thing he wants is to ruin this perfect moment.

But his eyes betray him, flicking back to the rearview mirror, imagining again how easy it would be. The backseat seems like it was made for this-for you. He could pull you back there, coax you into his arms, and let his hands explore every inch of you. He'd take his time, memorizing the feel of your skin, the way your body reacts to his touch. You'd look so beautiful, so utterly perfect, with your cheeks flushed and your voice breaking as you beg for more.

Harry exhales sharply, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He turns his head slightly, stealing another glance at you, and it only makes things worse. The way your lips press together in concentration as you drive, the way your fingers drum softly against the steering wheel-it's enough to make him want to lose control.

He shifts again, trying to adjust himself discreetly, the tension in his body almost unbearable now. His lustful thoughts are a storm, loud and demanding, drowning out every ounce of reason he has left. He's trying to distract himself, to think of anything else, but it's no use. Every thought keeps looping back to you-your voice, your scent, your body, your everything.

You glance at him briefly, catching the flicker of something dark and unspoken in his eyes, but you brush it off as nothing. To you, he's still the stranded, grateful stranger, polite and charming, sitting quietly beside you.

But Harry's chest tightens as he fights the urge to act on the consuming need inside him. His teeth graze his bottom lip, his mind racing. He's never felt like this before— this overwhelming obsession, this uncontrollable desire. And it terrifies him. But it also excites him, in a way he can't even begin to describe.

For now, he forces himself to stay still, to keep his hands in his lap and his voice calm. But his thoughts? His thoughts are far from calm. They're filled with you, with every possible way he wants to have you. And the longer he sits beside you, the harder it becomes to stop himself from making you his. Completely, utterly, and irrevocably his.

Harry’s voice cuts through the silence, a casual curiosity in his tone that makes you glance at him briefly. “You don’t have a boyfriend yet, do you?”

You raise an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question. You keep your eyes on the road, trying to process his words. “How did you know?” you ask, voice light, though you can’t quite place the reason why it feels like an oddly personal question.

Harry shrugs slightly, a devil-may-care smile curling on his lips. “Just a guess,” he says nonchalantly. “No man in his right mind would let a gorgeous girl like you be alone at night for this long. Either that or you’ve got a terrible taste in men.”

His words hit you with an unexpected warmth. You laugh, a soft chuckle escaping your lips, trying to hide the flutter of something that rises in your chest. It feels like he’s teasing you, and yet there’s a charm in his tone, something alluring and carefree that makes it hard not to feel a little… flattered.

“Terrible taste, huh?” you reply, half-joking, your eyes flickering back to him. “Well, maybe I’ve just been too picky.”

Harry’s smirk deepens, a glint of mischief dancing in his green eyes. He leans forward slightly, his voice low, as if sharing a secret. “Maybe I can be your new boyfriend,” he suggests, his tone playful but with a teasing undertone that makes your pulse quicken. “Save you from your bad taste?”

You laugh again, this time more freely, the sound light and natural. “Oh really?” you reply, shaking your head with a mock skeptical smile. “You think you could do a better job?”

Harry’s gaze flickers to you, a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he’s sure he’s exactly what you need, even though you’re not quite sure how to respond. “I mean,” he says, his smile widening, “you wouldn’t know until you tried, would you?”

The playful banter between the two of you continues, the tension that had briefly been present starting to dissipate, replaced by a light-hearted connection that feels easy and natural. But beneath the surface of the conversation, Harry’s thoughts still swirl with that same obsessive desire. He’s enjoying the game, enjoying the way you laugh, the way your eyes twinkle when you tease him back. But deep down, he’s already picturing what it would look like if he were your boyfriend. How it would feel to have you close, to make you his—completely, entirely, and without question.

For now, though, he lets the teasing continue, enjoying the playfulness between you, and the undeniable pull he feels toward you. But he knows, deep down, that this is only the beginning. This is just the start of what’s to come. And he’s more than willing to wait for the moment when you’ll be his.

Harry’s smirk widens as you teasingly reply, “Maybe.” He can’t help it; his pulse quickens at your words. He’s always been good at reading people, but with you, everything feels like an exciting game—one he’s eager to win.

He leans in a little, his arm stretching out to rest on the console between you, positioning himself closer. His breath hitches slightly as he catches the scent of your perfume again, the warmth of your presence filling the car. He’s trying to remain casual, but he can’t help it; his thoughts are moving too fast, pulling him deeper into the haze of attraction.

“Give me some hope at least, moon flower,” he says, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “Let me know I’ve got a shot.”

His eyes never leave you as he waits for your response, and when you tease him back, saying, “Okay, you do. You have a shot at it,” Harry’s grin stretches across his face, almost too excited for his own good. It’s as if he’s won something. Something he can’t quite put into words yet, but it feels like a step toward getting closer to you.

He sits up straighter, a surge of confidence overtaking him. His gaze moves over your figure with a deliberation that makes your stomach flutter. The way his eyes drink in the details of your face, your body, makes you feel… noticed. Seen.

“That’s one hell of a boost for my ego,” Harry says, his voice dripping with a mix of playful arrogance and genuine admiration. “I’ve got a chance with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze. It’s flattering, but there’s something else in his look—something deeper, something more consuming than mere compliments. It’s as if he’s claiming you in some unspoken way. His eyes linger a little too long, and though he’s trying to be playful, there’s a certain hunger there that catches you off guard.

A part of you wants to laugh it off, but another part of you… well, another part of you can’t quite deny the effect his words have on you. The way his confidence oozes, the way he seems to have you completely captivated even when he’s just speaking casually.

You force your gaze back to the road, but the tension between you both feels different now. It’s charged, electric—filled with unspoken possibilities. Harry, however, doesn’t let up. His eyes keep studying you, as if trying to decipher every little detail about you. His lips curl into a smile that’s both triumphant and knowing.

The atmosphere in the car shifts. The lightness of the teasing still hangs in the air, but there’s a deeper layer now—one that feels almost like a promise. Harry’s made it clear: he’s not here for just a simple ride. He’s here to win your attention, your affection, to make sure you know exactly how much he wants you. And as he watches you, he knows he’s already made his mark on you in some way, whether you realize it yet or not.

The air between you thickens, charged with the energy of his words. Harry's voice lowers, almost like a secret. "This might sound crazy since I hardly know you," he says, his gaze flickering from your face to your lips, then back to your eyes. "But I really, really want to kiss you."

The intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words, sends a rush of heat to your chest.

Your heart skips a beat, then races faster than before. You know it's reckless, impulsive, but it's as if something deep inside you is responding to him, telling you to act, to do something. But before you can process the surge of emotions, your foot slams down on the brake pedal without warning.

Harry's eyes widen, his body thrown forward by the sudden stop. His hands instinctively grip the console as he stumbles against the force of the car halting.

"Jesus!" he exclaims, his voice laced with shock, his pulse spiking.

You breathe shakily, your hands still gripping the steering wheel as the car finally comes to a stop. The silence in the car is thick with anticipation. Harry's heart is racing, not just from the sudden stop, but from the way you're looking at him now-there's something different in your eyes. Something that mirrors the craving he's been feeling.

When the shock of the stop wears off, Harry turns to you, his breath coming in quick bursts. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he stares at you.

"Why the hell did you stop the car like that, love?" he asks, his voice rough, his brows furrowed in both confusion and curiosity.

Your eyes lock with his, and something shifts. The walls you'd both been playing behind-teasing, joking-begin to crumble. His question hangs in the air between you like a challenge. But then, without saying another word, you lean toward him. A glint of something darker passes over your face.

"Because I wanted to do this," you whisper, and without waiting for any further hesitation, your lips crash into his.

The kiss is immediate and intense, born out of the tension that's been building ever since he first got into the car. His lips are soft but urgent, pulling you closer. There's no room for uncertainty anymore; only the heat of the moment, the heat of his body pressing against yours, the heat of desire crackling between you both.

Harry responds eagerly, his hand reaching to cup your jaw, fingers threading into your hair as he deepens the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours. The taste of him is intoxicating, sending a pulse of warmth straight to your core. His kiss is fierce, as if he's been waiting for this moment just as much as you. His tongue brushes against yours, a soft, tantalizing pressure that makes you lose yourself in the sensation.

For a brief moment, nothing else matters-the world outside the car, the consequences, the lingering doubt. All of it fades away as you both succumb to the pull of each other, driven by something stronger than logic or reason. The kiss feels like a release, the pent-up tension from the entire ride coming to fruition in one passionate, desperate embrace.

When you finally break away, your breaths are ragged, both of you still close, your foreheads resting against each other. Your pulse is wild, your heart pounding in your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way he looks at you now-his eyes dark with desire, filled with a hunger that matches your own.

Harry grins, a satisfied, almost predatory look crossing his face. "Well... I guess I got what I wanted," he murmurs, his lips barely brushing against yours as he speaks.

But you know this isn't over. The tension between you both is only just beginning, and neither of you can walk away from it now.

“God, you’re so hot,” Harry mutters against your lips, the hand not on your face sneaking down to your thigh, his fingers gently squeezing the flesh through your jeans. He’s getting drunk on you, addicted to the feeling of your lips on his. He’s never before felt this way, it’s like something in him has snapped in half, the primal and possessive side of him awakening. He doesn’t want to let you go.

The kiss gets more heated, the sweet gestures replaced by desperate and hungry ones. Harry’s fingers dig into your thigh almost possessively, his head tilting to deepen the kiss even more.

His tongue runs over your lower lip, begging for entrance.

As soon as you grant him access his tongue immediately pushes inside your mouth, exploring every inch of your wet cavern hungrily. It’s as if he wants to devour you. His hand moves up from your thigh to your waist, pulling you closer, trying to get the most possible body contact.

“You’re driving me insane, princess…” Harry mumbles against your lips, one hand now gently gripping your chin, holding you in place. He’s practically addicted to the way your mouth feels on his, you’ve unleashed something primal in him, something he has trouble controlling.

“Your car is like.. a perfect spot for this, love,” Harry comments, his lips moving off of yours, down to your jawline. He begins kissing the skin there as he speaks, “Plenty of space… dark, private… you should park somewhere. I bet your backseats are really comfortable.”

There was no denying that he get want he wants and you’re now his… and this is just the beginning

[moonferry]

OKAY here's part 2 of the "how the stardew marriageables would feel to hug" once again will be in alphabetical order !!

bachelorette version HERE

the bachelors (and krobus)

alex: alex loves working out and is obviously very strong. with this in mind, i think he'd be another person who accidentally hugged far tighter than he meant to. his hugs feel like sitting in a reclining chair - like one of the demo ones at a furniture shop. despite how tight he hugs you, you find yourself relaxing into him. plus, i just think it would be nice to bury your face in his chest, alex gently rubbing the back of your head and you telling him about your day. i think alex would smell like leather and maybe musky cologne. a bit more overpowering than the rest (his smell literally latches onto you, your clothing, or even the air around you.) it's not a bad scent tho, just very "masculine" in a way?

elliott: elliott's hugs are lovely! i imagine he has the softest hugs of all the marriageables (likely do to the copious amounts of skincare products/lotions he purchases, but that's just an added bonus.) hugging elliott would feel similar to hugging a silk pillowcase: nice, soft/gentle, and an overall enjoyable experience. elliott's hugs are the perfect "i just want a simple hug right now" kind. i imagine he'd enjoy wrapping his arms around your waist and complimenting you as the two of you hugged. elliott probably smells like an inkwell, with some pomegranate and maybe some ginger (and the ocean, of course!) very light and fruity (honestly you might steal his cologne a time or two.)

harvey: the man who brought this entire spiel to life.. harvey definitely gives the best hugs. his hugs feel like being wrapped in a comforting blanket or feeling the wind gently blow across your face as you sit outside and watch the sun set. i've mentioned this before, but i think harvey loves back hugs. something about having his arms wrapped around you, drawing small shapes on your stomach, and gently kissing your cheek just draws him in. i imagine harvey smells like coffee, a warm chocolate cake, some sandalwood and fresh pine. his hugs are perfect for when you both need to unwind after a stressful day. something about them (maybe it's his doctorly aura) makes your body feel calmed, like it's being healed in a way. legend says that harvey's hugs tend to have healing properties so 👀

krobus: he doesn't exactly have arms, so hugging you back isn't an option. at least not physically, that is. he somehow manages to transmit the feeling of hugging you into your mind and it causes your skin to tingle. however, if you were to actually hug krobus, i imagine it would feel similar to hugging a stuffed animal or a mystical cat. i imagine krobus would be very soft (possibly fluffy!) and his little wisp at the top of his head would rest against your shoulder. as for smells, krobus is a bit difficult. (obviously, coming from a life in the sewers, it's not going to be the greatest thing to smell) HOWEVER i imagine he would smell like black cherry or the "black ice" car air freshener.

sam: oh sam gives amazing hugs. unlike alex, sam crushes you on purpose. he's just very excited and full of love - he needs to share it by squeezing you until you pop! (not literally, of course). i think it's primarily a case of "cuteness aggression" where he just gets so overwhelmed with positive emotions from seeing you that he has to let them out by hugging you tight enough to crack a rib. you don't mind though, and even joke that he could take up practice as a chiropractor because, after hugging him, your spine always seems to become board straight. i imagine sam smells like strawberries, soda, and the beach, maybe a slight hint of desert mist. i like to imagine he also uses his height to an advantage and often picks you up when he hugs you, probably spinning you around as well.

sebastian: another one who i don't think is much of a hugger, especially if he doesn't know you that well. if he does warm up to you, though, he prefers side hugs or he prefers to be the one being hugged, not the other way around. full contact hugs always result in awkwardness and he'd rather avoid that. his hugs are a bit "colder" in a way and usually are finished within a few seconds. it's not that he doesn't like you, he just isn't a big fan of physical touch. however, if you decide to hug him, he will happily lean against you for as long as you want him to. if you drape your arm around his waist and let him lean into your side, his head on your shoulder, he may end up falling asleep. (yoba knows he needs it...) i think sebastian would smell like the outdoors: like a smokey campfire, like peaches, like the crisp, fall air, and faintly like motor oil.

shane: oh another amazing hugger. shane's hugs are very pillowy and sweet, also slightly addictive. it's very easy to sink into him and enjoy the moment. on the other hand, i feel like shane also enjoys being hugged. he loves having your arms around him, your head resting against his chest or shoulder (or in between his shoulder blades if you're back hugging him, this one's a real favorite). bonus points if you trace shapes onto his stomach or lower back, he goes crazy for that sort of thing. (but he'll never admit it, obviously). i like to imagine shane smells like cherry cola, maybe something outdoorsy or something light (ie body wash or soap). i don't think he would go out of his way to make himself a certain way. however, i do think it's hilarious that he has that line of dialogue where he's like ""Sniff*... *sniff*... mmm... what's that wonderful fragrance you're wearing? Eau de pepperoni?”" <- goober.

[indigo-greer-collins]

so i know the misogynistic milo thing is generally a joke (i hope), but i was thinking about it and like honestly i think he’d be the type to remind the others of their own internalised misogyny within the pack.

i’m taking this from the perspective of when they’re like teenagers/high schoolers mind you, i think presently they’ve all grown to be very well adjusted and the patriarchy doesn’t like have them by the balls.

i’ll elaborate under the cut!

there was no way under marie’s roof that milo would be caught dead treating a woman like shit, he learned from his father that doing so wouldn’t slide.

we also know that milo’s generally a pretty blunt, “feisty” guy, and that’s not really changed — so he probably called out misogynistic BS as he saw and heard it(and still does).

we also know that teenage boys have a tendency to spout misogyny when around each other (even if they don’t fully believe it, to fit in). and yk it’s kinda taught for them to think that way.

also factoring in that they grew up in the 90s/early 2000s which was better than most years, but people still got away with being pretty bigoted/saying fucked up shit.

i don’t think asher and david were overtly misogynistic. like they weren’t on any “all bitches are the same”, type shit (maybe cuz they’re fruity), but there might have been hints of it without them realising because the two haven’t necessarily been taught to unlearn things that the patriarchy teaches.

so we got a teen!milo holding his friends accountable!!

this is also why i kinda love imagining fem!darlin. i love every gender interpretation of darlin don’t get me wrong, but having a female friend around to also help them remember to reject red pill ideologies is very chefs kiss

[carmenized-onions]

Don't Say It. | Closing Out

logline; just say it in every way but the one way that makes it weird.

[!!!] series history; did y'all notice the banner rebrands? tell me you think they look nice and good and cool or i'll. start crying.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. how is it more than 7 hours. my god.

portion; 14k was hoping we'd reenter our single digits era but we ball

possible allergies; two mentally ills battle it out (romantic).

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader almost certain there are gendered bits/pronouns but can't honestly completely remember.

(new!) kofi; I have one now! if you've enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

moving into a new place literally in two days!! high stress. so thank you for waitin' as always pwease enjoy and pwease tell me what you think!

You take a good long breath, sitting on the counter in the bathroom. Right. Time is linear and you’re in New York again— Never left. Right. Carmen’s sitting across from you, it’s kind of a shock this floating sink counter hasn’t collapsed under the two of you yet. How long have you been here? Swapping stories took a long fucking time, and there’s still, disgustingly, a lot to unpack. 

“Any shoes left undropped?” You drum your hands against your knees, the question is as much for yourself as it is for him.

Carmen opts to open with a soft ball. “You called me Carmy?” Before you knew me, you called me Carmy?

“I called you a lot of things.”

“Like virgin Michelin Star chef?” He’s failing to hide the upturned corners of his mouth, when he says it. 

You snort and nod, “Like virgin Michelin Star chef, or Carmy, or Carm, or baby boy, baby bear, mister New York— Basically all Mikey’s, I think the only one I coined was Charmin.”

“Charmin?”

“Like the—” He finishes with you, “—Toilet paper bears.” and whether he should be or not, he cannot stop laughing, when you confess this. 

“I thought it was a good bit!” “Cause I’m a piece of shit?” “Bitch—Cause you clean up, and you’re a bear, and Carmen sounds like Charmin, and Charmin sounds like charming and I—”

You pause, cringing, parasocial relationship coming to a head now. When your best friend wants you to get with his hot talented brother living in the Big Apple, it’s hard not to fantasize about, alright? “...I found you very charming.”

God, it’s just far too easy for you to render him completely speechless. It’s really not fucking fair. Carmen looks like a deer in headlights, he looks how he did in your car, a month or so ago, when he bit the bullet and asked you out. Well, promised to ask you out. He swallows, no more glass in his throat, but it does feel a little scratchy, kinda like, like pop rocks?

Pop rocks, yeah. Sweet, salivating. “Do you still?”

You squint, like he’s a moron. He is. “Of course I do.” Cherry pop rocks. Yeah, that sort of spritz feeling, on the tongue, and the way it continues to simmer all the way down. “I don’t want you to stop being you, by the way, Carm.”

“Huh?” What’s that supposed to mean? Of course you want him to change, he sucks.

“I—” You’re quick to clarify, straightening your posture. “I think it’s great to— to do the work, and therapy and reading and self-care— That’s all— That’s very good, and you should do it— For you, not me, but I— One bad night is not how I’ll think of you— You’re— You’re not a bad person, is I guess all I’m trying to fuckin’ say.”

You’re sweet. Sweet but with depth, slowly developed, caramelized, tart. Maybe a fruity molasses.

Carmen swallows, it’s hard to digest the sweet. “I— I’m not a bad person, but I could be better.” Pomegranate molasses. It’s got an acidic kick. Sort of like balsamic.

“I could be better, too.” Could you? Please God, don’t try, he can’t compete. No, shit, hold on, stop pedestaling. “You kinda got my ass, with peoples’ princess.”

Carmen cringes, there’s the acid. “I should not have said—”

“I have a fucking saviour complex, Carm. And it’s just as bad for everyone else as it is for me.”

Bite, yet tender. You continue on. “I do need to work on that. And I should’ve explained more when we first met, it was just— You know… I know you know.” Medium rare, steak medallion— No— rectangle. 

Pomegranate molasses, thick—Nearly sorbet thick. Poured onto the plate, centered, perfect circle. Medium rare wagyu steak— A3, maybe; too much fat would ruin the composition. Rectangular, off center. Dust with cherry pop rocks. Bizarre, but it might actually be something. Bad, but something. Not tired or overdone, that’s for sure. Anything but dusty.

Carmen missed you for a lot of reasons this week, but it’s almost annoying how merely being in your presence for a few hours has given him more inspiration to work with than he has had in the last one-hundred and sixty-eight hours, without you. But who’s counting?

It’s easy to make things, when they’re for you. When they’re about you.

“I should’ve listened, when you were ready, but I got defensive and—I— I do that a lot, clearly, I just—” Carmen tries not to bite at his nails and fingers, because his therapist, Sara, said not to do that. What the fuck does she know? A lot, actually.

“That’s just kinda how— we’d do things. Like that’s how we—” Carmen frowns, memories dawning on him. “…I guess maybe we never really talked.”

You don’t need to ask who we is. His family didn’t particularly set Carmen up for success. And every figure after his family didn’t really lighten the load. There’s not much for you to say or do beyond, “I like talking to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to still be mad at me.” Carmen reassures, he’s not sure why he feels the need to do so. “You can— You can tell me to go fuck myself.” 

You shake your head, shrugging. “You can tell me to go fuck myself.”

He shakes his head, immediately, squinting, like you’re a moron; you are. “I would never tell you to go fuck yourself.”

It’s a silent moment of exchanging hard stares and trying to glean something from the other. Once you gather your findings, you finally return to your era of speaking in sync again, with, “I don’t hate you.”

It's a hellish realization, that you thought it was possible, let alone certain, to hate you. He could cry again. “Why would you ever think I hate you?”

You raise your brows, because how could you not think Carmen hates you? “Because you said—”

“I didn’t mean a fucking word.”  He says it differently than he did before. Like it’s a final warning. He immediately recoils at his own voice and its aggression.

“I’m sorry.” Carmen scratches his nose, continuing for the both of you. What more can he say? He’s already said it a million times, so what’s one more? When you try to speak, he doesn’t let you. Because he knows you. He knows you’ll brush it off. “I don’t want you to forgive me, right now. I want to prove I earned it.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Yeah, Sara said that, too. You’re both wrong.”

“Yeah, I don’t think your therapist can be wrong, in this scenario.”

“Please.” Carmen props his knee up on the counter, his hands, in some way, mimic a prayer. He holds eye contact, he thanks whoever is in charge that you’re holding it again, too. “Let me earn it.”

Carmen will learn that he doesn’t need to earn anything or prove anything to anyone eventually. He’ll need more than six therapy sessions crammed in during his lunch breaks, for that. But right now, he needs to prove this. Needs to earn you. For now, you'll give it to him. For now, you just nod. 

Carmen chews his bottom lip, he doesn’t want to say it but he has to. “When I said—” You failed Mikey. “—What I said— I didn’t mean it how I said it.”

You bring your legs up, criss crossing them. “How’d you mean it?” How else could he possibly mean it?

“I meant it like— Like— Of course he died.”

They’re Berzatto men, they’re doomed. “Nothing you could have done would have stopped him from dying— And I— It hurt cause it felt like— In—In that moment— In my head—” He puts a hand up, pausing to reassure, “Nothing you did. But I felt like I was ‘Round Two’ for you. Charity. I—”

Carmen swallows, looking down, can’t meet your eyes for the moment, but he points at you. “You didn’t fail Mikey— He failed to know he was worth saving.”

A wound closes up, a little bit, somewhere in your head and heart.  “I think in some ways, I was trying to make up for something—”

You’re quick to clarify, too. “But not cause you’re you— Cause I’m me.” Have to do it all. Have to fix it all. Have to save it all. “Like— I think I might have that edge of paranoia for like, like a long time, if not… forever?”

 You frown; what a bleak idea. “Fuck, I may need to go back to therapy, too.”

“You want Sara’s card?” “Sliding scale?” “Sliding scale.” “Is it weird to have the same therapist?” “Probably.” “I’ll look into it.”

You both laugh, the weighted blanket of tension over you both is finally lifting. Carmen’s capable of looking you in the eyes again. “You did literally everything someone could think of.”

You kiss your teeth, you could’ve done a couple more things. “I mean, location—”

“He never would’ve given it to you.” “That’s exactly it, though— I should’ve put my foot down more. I was never as strict as I was supposed to be.” “But if you were strict he wouldn’t let you help him.” “Sponsors are meant to be strict.” “Then he wouldn’t’ve let you be his sponsor.” “Then I shouldn’t have been his sponsor!” “Then he would’ve never joined the program!” “Well—” “It’s not your fucking fault!”

Carmen doesn’t hate you, Carmen doesn’t think you killed his brother. Heavy exhale of too many emotions and a touch of relief. But you can see yourself in his expression. You can see Richie in his expression. The guilt. The haunting. You swallow, “Not yours, either.”

“I could’ve called more.” “He wouldn’t have answered.” “I could’ve realized why.” “And how exactly could you have done that?” “...I dunno, could’ve— Could’ve been the guy, for him.” “Carmen you were the guy, for him.”

Carmen shakes his head. “You were the guy, for Mikey.”

“I— Okay—” You click your tongue, this is hard to explain. You shift on the sink counter, trying to get more comfortable. You won’t. It’s a fucking sink. “I was the guy, but the guy to another guy isn’t much— you—” You snap your fingers, pointing at him. “You’re not the guy, Carmen. Never will be.”

“Ouch.”

“No— You’re something much more important than the guy. You’re— You’re the, the cat.”

He can’t help but smile, confused. He’s so used to bear comparisons. “I’m the cat?”

“You’re—” You keep pointing at him, thinking the metaphor in your head through. “...The guy is— Is like the host of the house party. He keeps the jokes going, the room light, the drinks and food stocked— He talks people through panic attacks while they sit in the bathtub, he loses at beer pong on purpose to make the other team feel better, the guy makes everyone feel like they’re the center of the universe.”

“And the cat?”

“The cat is upstairs, locked in his room, because the cat will get all jittery if he’s around all that yelling and all those people. The cat doesn’t even like those people. And the guy doesn’t want his cat to go through that. But then, when the guy finally gets all jittery and can’t handle all those people himself—” You sigh, honestly stressed by your own metaphor, thinking of all the moments in your life you needed the cat and didn’t call.

“He’ll go upstairs, to his room, and the cat will be there, and he can talk to the cat— Because the cat likes him. And nothing will be solved, but it’ll still feel good and the cat will still think his guy’s perfect and wonderful even when the guy is just— just him— And the cat asks literally nothing of the guy— Unlike everyone else downstairs— and that’s exactly why the guy wants to give the cat everything over anyone else.”

God, you’ve been talking about cats and guys too much. “Not everyone needs a cat, but the guys that do, really do. And you’re… You’re the cat— Mikey’s and mine.”

Carmen can’t say I love you, because that would be an insane response. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. But it’s the only thing he can think of. The only thing he can say besides that, is, “You’re very good to me.”

You’re not exclusively for Carmen, he knows that. You’re not made for him— You’re made for many things. But maybe you’re curated. The Bear wouldn’t exist without your advocacy. And it’s hard to believe, but there might’ve been even more broken shit at The Beef, if you hadn’t been there before Carmen got there. Mikey got to be your friend, before Carmen did. And you got to be Mikey’s friend, when Carmen didn’t. But you both kept him in mind, you told Mikey to text, you drew schematics for his restaurant, you said you’d talk to him. You thought he was charming. You still do. You’re Mikey’s pick, for Carmen. And it’s not like Mikey’s opinion matters that much, but it’s nice to have approval. Though he didn’t fucking ask for it.

“Such a cat response.” “Is that like being a Leo or some shit?” 

You both laugh. Ah, thank fuck, it’s you two, again. There’s a comfortable silence while you think for a second, before asking, “Can I add another thing to your non-negotiables?”

“Always.”

“I don’t want you to be different for me.” You think back to being in his kitchen, the way he tried to hold back, when you were around. “I get you, work you, home you— If you want me to be your fuckin’ mixologist, you’re gonna have to get comfortable working with me.”

“You still want to work for me?”

“I shook on it, didn’t I?”

He laughs through a deep sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”

“Damn,” You snort, “Are you only with me for my skills?”

“No, I’m with you because you’re— You.” The kitchen needs you, The Bear needs you, Carmen needs you. He’s the cat, he doesn’t need anything more than you. He can work on his codependency issues in therapy, okay? “I— I like having you around.”

You readjust your posture again, it’s hard to get comfortable on a sink. “Well, you better get paid soon, then.”

“‘Bout that.” Boy came prepared. He rifles through the pockets of his black jeans, and pulls out a folded slip of paper. He does a yoga class worthy stretch to hand it to you, from across the sink. A paystub, from The Bear, to Carmen. Officially on fucking payroll.

Yeah, turns out, just a bad week, last week. Being in the red doesn’t last forever. Neither does being in the green. There are ebbs and flows. Next week will probably be shit, and yet the wheel still turns. Carmen also might’ve very well plugged in half of the numbers wrong, according to Sugar, when she eventually got to looking at it. But that’s neither here nor there. So he’s reactive. What’s new? Should’ve believed the you in his head, when she said there will be good and bad weeks. He’s still working on being the only voice in his head. But you’re a good replacement for the other guy, for now.

You stare at it, like an ancient scroll. It’s real. He’s really getting paid— Pretty decent too, he could finally buy some fucking furniture, with this. “Okay.” You look up from the slip to him. He looks like he’s on fucking Shark Tank, anxiously awaiting your approval. “And you’ll act like you?”

“I will act like me.” Even when he doesn’t want you to see it, Carmen will act like Carmen. 

And that’s all you could ask for, really. You’re about to approve the deal, but then you think again, frowning. “The Exec.”

“Ah.” Carmen shuts his eyes, embarrassed by his own brain. “I know.”

“So you thought about it?”

“I didn’t think about— It—” Carmen doubted his own conviction, because he doubts all of himself. But it really was not ever on the table, to give your number…That said— “I thought about loopholes.”

“Catfishing him?” You guess, and he affirms. “Catfishing him.” Hey, great minds think alike. Doesn’t make Carmen feel any less scummy, for considering abusing your likeness for sake of approval. 

“Did you go through with it?” 

It’s Carmen’s turn, to blink, slow to realize that you actually don’t know. “Richie didn’t tell you?” You still live in a world where Carmen isn’t completely batshit. 

You tilt your head, “Did Richie catfish him?”

“No, uhm—” He seems suddenly sheepish now. Can’t look you in the eyes, again. He nods and points to your pockets. “You got your phone?”

“Uh, yeah—” You pull it out, haven’t gotten any sudden creepshow texts, to your knowledge. “Should I be scared?”

Carmen shakes his head. “Nothin’ worse than what you’ve already seen.” He snaps his fingers at your phone, “Look up uh— I think it’s— Chicago Bear on Yankee Chef turf, or some shit.”

You have to take a moment, before typing, to just look at him with genuine pause. “...What?”

“Just do it.” “Did you kill someone?” “I do not have blood on my hands, the Tribune is just dramatic—” “The fucking Tribune?! Shut the fuck up, Carmy.”

Absolutely no way he’s in the Chicago Tribune.

Okay. Upon searching. Absolutely yes way he’s in the Chicago Tribune. Carmen’s trending on Twitter— Or rather, Chicago, The Bear, Bear, Carmy, Michelin Beef, Fuck the Yanks, and a million other keywords are trending— Local trending, but still trending. Chicago Tribune’s made an article archiving a handful of reaction tweets, summarizing whatever the fuck happened. Alright, this is taking too long, maybe you should just ask the man in front of you— “Oh my fucking God, there’s a video.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t watch—” Carmen is interrupted by his own voice coming through your phone. “—And what kind of fucking Chef doesn’t like black pepper? I’m white and overdone, but you’re an entire other goddamn beast—” “...That.”

It’s a screen recording of some patron’s Facebook Live at some New York restaurant David owns or whatever. Empire? That’s what the blurry signs in the video’s background seem to say. What’s his title at this point, anymore? Doesn’t matter.

It’s nice to see his blurry little face around ten to twenty feet from the camera get yelled at by a Carmen that is also many feet away, but his voice seems to be projecting throughout the whole restaurant; enough to be heard clearly through recording, anyways. “And it’d be enough to just be an asshole— But you’re a creep too— Never fuckin’ pray on my— my— bar staff, or I swear on my life—”

“Can’t make direct threats in New York, Cousin! Penal code!” You laugh when you hear Richie’s voice ringing out in the background. Thank God for whoever’s filming, because they pivot their phone to catch Richie, pretty much next to their table, calling out to Carmen. “It’s a fine!”

He looks tired but wired; they must’ve taken a pitstop here, before heading to the hotel. What a fun road trip finale. Richie is such a motherfucker for not telling you all of this first thing while you put on his cufflinks— This is not dirty details, this is front page shit! Literally! God, he buries the lead like it’s his fucking day job.

“Who gives a fuck about a fine? Everyone—” And back to Carmen. “This is David Fields, he’s the head of the head of the head, in their heads— He’s a fantastic chef, I don’t think he eats or sleeps or knows what another person’s hands feel like— He is fuckin’ brilliant at making the same three fuckin’ plates every fuckin’ day— With the most minute differences— And—And—And— He doesn’t even make them! He takes dishes from prozac riddled fucks like me, makes them worse and then puts his name on it! Unoriginal, a narcissist, and fucking bad at it!”

You don’t look up from your phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Holy fuck, Carmen.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” “Is this good marketing?” “Wait for it, I guess.” “...Are you actually on prozac?” “No. I kind of blacked out. Made a point though, right?” “Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Sorry, miss. Could I—” …Fak? Guess he did third wheel on the road trip to New York. He grabs the streamer’s phone. There’s a ‘what the—fuckin— excuse me?’ from behind the camera as Fak pivots the recording to himself. 

“Hey World, I’m Neil, that’s my best friend Carmy the Bear, over there.”

“Jesus Christ.” You look up from your phone to Carm, who was at first embarrassed and is now just trying to hold a straight face, hand over his mouth. “I’m aware.” He repeats. 

You squint, thinking.“...Best friend?” “...I guess he is?” “That’s— Okay— I don’t— Alright, we’ll come back to that.” And return to your phone.

Fak continues, taking advantage of the sudden screen time. “He’s a really good Chef, knows his shit, if you ever want to see how he does it, please come eat— Dine— Dine with us at The Bear, we’re in Chicago— on North Orleans and Huron— You can— Can book with us at The Bear dot—”

“Don’t have the site yet.” Richie interrupts the impromptu ad, hovering over Fak’s shoulder, barely whispering. “Still The Beef.”

Neil nods and continues. “The Beef dot squarespace—”

“It’s Wix.” “It’s fucking Wix?” “Your problem isn’t with the lack of a domain?”

“It’s Google Sites, actually.” You correct for no one, really, looking up from your phone to Carmen, again. “I made him change it so it wouldn’t have that ugly freemium bar.” 

Carmen snorts, shaking his head. Of course you did. “D’you design it?”

You let out a loud, “Ha!” before turning back down to the screen. “I think web design might be the one trade I can’t do.” But you’re willing to learn, if he needs.

Ah, the videographer managed to foist her phone back, returning to catch the very end of the Carmen Show. And it’s a wonderful finale, from Carm.

“—Fuck your two elements, fuck your face— Fuck everything about you— I cannot believe we gave you service— Let alone our best— For a guy in hospitality, you have no fucking right treating my host and somme like that. Fuck you—”

“Fuck you—” Finally a response from David, though it’s quickly interrupted, as Carmen finally starts to back away, not wanting a genuine fight if he doesn’t have to do it, but he certainly wants the last word. “No, fuck you—”

“Fuck you.” “—Chef— Stay in your fucking city— Stay in your fucking city— New Yorks great! Stay in it! We don't play in Chicago— Fuck you!”

Carmen comes back to his road trip squad, he notices the woman recording, and walks up to the camera. For a second, you genuinely think he’s going to square up with her— You’re pretty sure he at least thought about it. “Is she recording?”

“Streaming.” Answers Fak. “It’s the new thing.”

 Carmy opts to use his words, possibly because he could maybe get arrested. “Sorry, sorry— I just want to make it clear—”

He gestures to the fucker in the background, bouncers seems to be approaching. Carmen keeps going, face red but calming down, chasing his own breath. “This man worked— and works with wonderful Chefs who I learned a lot under— And— And— I have all the respect for them, and always will— But-But— when it comes to David Fields specifically—”

Your cherry and lamb dish was perfect. David’s palate is just not worth appealing to. Carmen won’t make that mistake again.

“—What he serves is consistently vapid, dusty, and dead on arrival— like his heart— And—And— When you pay him, dine with him, work with him, you are lining the pockets of some fuckin’ creep that pulls rank on honest cooks and servers. So. Decide if you want that. And uhm— Uh— Tip your servers. Don’t ask for their numbers— Like he does. Be normal. Thank you.”

“Carmen Berzatto, folks! Come— Come to The Bear!” Yells out Neil, as security finally seems to be coming for the Chicagoans.

Richie grabs Fak by the back of his coat, knowing when to bounce, shouting, “No legal names! Godssake— This has been Carmichael Burrowski, folks! Don’t call no one—!”

The screen recording ends, not long after that. You’re going to need maybe a… fifty minute nap, to process that. Maybe, somehow, this is good publicity— Maybe in some way, this is putting The Bear on the center stage. But one thing is fact, Carmen completely abandoned the idea of keeping appearances and getting a star through kissing ass. He completely abandoned the idea of being appealing to the man in his head. 

And he did that for you— And Richie— Which, honestly, makes it mean even more. Carmen’s a good boss. Not always. Definitely not always. But when it fucking counts, he is. Carmen's a good man. A good friend. A good not-quite boyfriend. Ugh, boyfriend? What kind of word is ‘boyfriend’? That's fucked.

You put your phone away, quietly nodding and thinking, not looking at Carmen. You shrug, attempting to be nonchalant. “Contract and I’ll be your mixologist.”

“Yeah?” There’s such a brightness, to the way Carmen asks. Like a spritz. “Okay. I’ll— I’ll send you a Docusign.” Aperol spritz. There’s more to it, than that though. 

You’re so zoned out, looking at the sinks instead of Carmen, he starts to get worried. He just got eye contact back, come on. Was the yelling too much in the video? He was loud and mean. He always is. He told you not to watch. 

“Tony?” What kind of bitters suit him? A slice of grapefruit might be nice. Bright but acquired.

“Are you good?”

“Wha—” You shake your head out of it, turning your gaze to Carmen. He jumped off the counter to stand by you. His hand hovers by your head— He considers grazing your hair, and chickens out. But he can’t put it down.  “Sorry, was— I was uh— Just thinking of what we could put on a cocktail menu, that’s all.” Yeah, that’s all.

“Don’t work on it, without me.” It’s with a, dare you say, panicked quickness, that he requests this. “Cocktail menu, coffee menu, we should— Should do R and D, together.”

“Yeah, f’sure.” Fucking Chefs, so particular about their menus. “I think it’d be good to uhm— Build it around the main menu, anyways. Sorta match stuff up.” Thankfully, you like particular.

He really needs to not be standing this close, though. Your brain keeps zoning in and out— It’s really not the time to be feeling any sort of type of way about Carmen cursing out that fucking chef and going to therapy for himself and you and he smells nice and he’s reading books and he worked bar all night with you and he looks so nice in bartender black in lieu of his Chef whites and he is trying so hard and— And you cannot say you love him because that would be weird. That would be weird and bad and too soon and stupid. 

And you can’t forgive him either— Well, not aloud, because Carmen wants to prove that he’s done the work— Wants to prove that he’s going to keep doing the work. He’s rendered you with nearly zero options here, to show your affection. 

“Yeah, that’s— That’d be good. I was thinkin’ we’d put your station by Marcus.” Why is he still talking about work? He’s so stupid. He’s wonderful. This is the worst. This is hell. “Coffee machine’s already there, and you’ll tend to share a lot of elements, anyway— I think.”

You shift your butt on the counter, turning to face him head on, he’s just slightly between your knees as your legs dangle off the counter. “Carmen.”

“Yeah?” “I’m going to kiss you.” “Yeah, okay.”

Light, nervous, sweet, lifting, soft— A delicate kick to it. Pink peppercorn bitters. That’s it.

Aperol— Vibrantly orange liqueur, derived from bitter rhubarb. It’s an acquired taste. Some say it’s citrusy and herbal, others say it tastes like cough syrup. Either way, it’s awakening. Then prosecco. A splash of soda— Lemon-lime would be best. Aperol spritz. It’s an Italian cocktail. It sparkles. Everything in it fizzes, almost competing with each other. It’s meant to be enjoyed before dinner. It’s refreshing. Pink peppercorns and grapefruit would only add to that brightness, that light. It’s not for everyone, but it is everything to some. That’s Carmen. That’s your Carmen. Oh, maybe a syrup on the rim?

You try to be delicate, the way you put the palm of your hand on the back of his head and pull him in, but it’s just not possible. It’s the first time in a fucking month you’ve initiated— It's been one-hundred and sixty-eight hours since you've seen his face, let alone touched it— It’s just not possible to be kind.

Thankfully, based on the way he’s leaning you back on the counter, hands on your waist, it doesn’t seem like Carmen wants kind. There's a sigh of relief, to just kiss you. He’s fine with the touch of hair pulling, on your part— Possibly more than fine. Possibly way more than fine. The faint whining and pulling your hips to his seem to indicate it’s a lot fucking more than fine.

It would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon to say I love you, but you can mouth the words against him and he can’t tell what you’re wording but at least you know. It’s funny that he can do the same to you, and despite knowing the trick, you can’t tell either. 

Carmen pulls back, just a centimeter, or two. He wants to say something. He’s opening his mouth to say something. He's all dopey and half-lidded. Man, he’s pretty. He knows that right? Yeah, he knows that. “You’re so pretty.” You tell him anyway, speaking into his half open mouth. 

Whatever thought he had, it’s dead now.“—Jesus fucking Christ.” He moves his hands to hold your face. It’s nice. It’s nice to get peppered with kisses— Yeah, pink pepper fits perfectly with him. 

Carm’s voice is heavier now. Maybe from the lack of oxygen. He’s fighting to revive his brain. He’s so serious, when he firmly kisses you, forehead against yours, lips still grazing, saying, “I’m not a fucking virgin.”

You laugh way too fucking hard for his ego. Your hands untangle from his hair, but your arms continue to rest on his shoulders. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He’s still amped, too bad you’re you, and you have to ruin the mood to poke at him.

“That a recent development?” “Shut the fuck up—” “I’m just wondering, if he was accurate at the time—” “Why are you doing this to me?” “Did you have a tantric affair in Denmark, the people wanna know!” “I— There was no time, alright? It got away from me—” “Remember when you had your first kind of girlfriend like a month and a week ago?” “It was a recent development, okay?” “Darn. Sorry I was late.”

He pauses the banter to just stare at you, take in your features, take in that you’re here and real and half underneath him. “Not forgiven.” You should’ve shown up sooner. You should’ve injected yourself so completely in Carmen’s life eons ago, and made yourself intrinsically impossible to remove. Absolutely not forgiven, for being late.

“Yeah?” Your eyes upturn, deeply amused. Carmen really is the baby brother. Entitled, bratty, cute. You’re planning to say something coy, something playful like ‘Ohoho, how do I earn your forgiveness?’ But you remember something Carmen said, when he was summarizing his Friday night for you— And for Carmen, what you opt to say is so much worse than hot banter, for his brain. 

“I don’t think your mouth tastes bad.” It’s your turn to take in his face and all its features. “I think it’s nice. It’s like the only way I can try cigarettes without getting a headache.”

“I wanna fly you to Paris.” It’s so quick, from Carmen. Choked quick— Like he fought to hold it down but you’ve just opened the Pandora’s box that is his mouth. He keeps going. Your surprised face firmly smushed in his hands.  

“I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since I asked you to run bar— I’ve— I’ve wanted to take you to Paris since you washed my hair— I—I—” Too much affection to contain in words, he has to kiss you, and then he has to keep going, and then kiss you between the ‘ands’, and then keep going. Like a shot and a chaser and a shot and a chaser and a—

“I want you to be permanent and carved in my tables and I want you to wear my jackets and I want you in my kitchen and in my menu and in every dumb fucking conversation I have at Christmas tellin’ family what the fuck I’m doing— I want you in every sentence.”

It’s not ‘I love you’. Because saying I love you would be weird and bad and stupid and too soon. But it might very well be more than that. Trying to avoid saying it might be forcing you both to say something that means more than that.

It’s hard to generate a response as poignant as that. Especially because your cognitive abilities seem to have gone completely offline. Your brain is telling you to kill the moment so you don’t have to face the feeling, telling you to say something stupid like, ‘Why Paris?’, because if you don't, you might say it. But you can’t. You’re totally speechless. 

Eventually, you manage to choke out, “I would like that.”

“Yeah?” “Yeah.”

“Good.” Ah, a smile from Carmen with teeth. What a rare gift you’ve been bestowed. He tries to celebrate this occasion with another kiss that will inevitably lead to a million more but when he goes for his classic move of sticking his head in the crook of your neck to bite you like a cannibal— You get the chance to look somewhere other than Carmen’s face, and realize you are both still very much so in a fucking bathroom at a fucking wedding in New York. 

“Fak is still outside, I’m pretty sure.”

Carmen groans, there’s no way you’re doing this to him again, come on, neither of you have to go this time, you have all the time in the world, in this bathroom. Time isn’t real here. That’s how bathrooms work. “He’s not.”

“Carmy’s right, I’m not.” Says definitely totally not Fak, behind the door. “You guys kissin’ yet?”

“Christ.” You put a hand on Carm’s chest, pushing him back from you as you push yourself up with your other hand. “Mood dead.”

“No—” He grabs your wrist, holding your hand in place against him. “Mood not dead— Mood present and alive—”

There’s some fumbling behind the door. “Wait— Are they?” Oh, so Richie’s here, too? Good. That’s great. “Ain’t no fuckin’ way— Cousin, be a gentleman—”

Carmen leans over and all but screams into your shoulder. “I am being a fuckin’ gentleman, Richard!”

You kiss your teeth, shaking your head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s dead.” Them’s the breaks. 

A slow, heavy, arduous exhale, from Carmen, coming up to lean his forehead to yours for a second. Enjoying the liminal space before it’s permanently ripped out of your hands. “I hate my family.”

You smile, pressing your forehead firmer against his, nuzzling noses. “You love your family.”

“I love my family.” He sighs. He gives you one last kiss, soft, sweet, perfect. “Thank you for taking care of them.” 

You shrug. “They’re mine, too.”

God, you’re so quick and mind-bending, he has to go for another kiss, come the fuck on— “Mood’s dead.” You laugh, so cruel, jumping off the counter, maneuvering past Carmen, but you’re sweet— Cruel but sweet— Carefully switching his hold on your wrist to holding your hand, dragging him with you. 

You might be leaving the bathroom together, but Carmen’s pretty sure a part of him is going to stay there, like a ghost of a feeling, for the rest of time.

“Okay— Is everyone waiting to piss?” Is your first question, for the crowd awaiting you and Carmy outside the bathroom. Not strangers, though—Well, mostly not strangers. Richie, Syd, Fak, some guy that looks like Fak. There’s no way they all need to piss, there were three other bathrooms available, it's not like you were hogging. “Is fuckin’ anyone runnin’ bar right now?”

“Marcus is.” Syd answers, hurriedly, as she runs up on you, immediately enveloping you— Practically an attack. It’s not in her nature to hug, but you’ve forced her hand here. Carmen hasn’t even exited the doorway behind you yet before you’re stumbling back into him from the force of her. 

“Squ—”

The words come out of her like a flood, no spacing between the words. “I’m-sorry-I—  We-finished-serving-and-listened-in-on-everything-super-invasive-couldn’t-help-it— You should’ve called me.”

This— These motherfuckers. Oh well, saves you the trip to Denny’s. And frankly, you would hate to re-explain all that. You return the hug with your free hand, the other one still in Carmen’s. You put your chin on her shoulder. “I know.”

There were so many times where you could’ve just gone upstairs. So many times you could’ve just called your old cat. Should’ve just called Syd. She would have been there. Maybe that’s exactly why you didn’t call. 

“I should’ve called you.” Maybe that’s exactly why Syd never called her guy, when she needed you, too. 

“Well,” You pull her back by her shoulders, “We will next time.”

You can’t let the moment stay sincere for long though, shit-eating grin growing on your face, “You’d give up a star for me?” Nuzzling your face into Syd’s cheek as she desperately tries to get away from you now— Oh how the tables turn.

“Get fucked—” “You love me— I’m all you got, Syd? Woww—” “After my dad I said! After my dad!” “A single widdle tear from me isn’t worth a star?” “It was not widdle— Little— Fuck—”

“This is cute princesses but everyone get the fuck out of the way before I clog an artery.” Richie unnecessarily shoves his way between the Faks to get to you. 

You release Syd to face the man, pensive, waiting for a slap, honestly. Richie just looks at you, now that he’s in front of you he’s dumbfounded, awkward. He knows he wants to say something or wants you to say something but neither of you know what that is. What it should be.

Before he can figure it out, you do. “I should’ve told you.” Besides your therapist, Carmen is the only person you told about the phone call— Well, intentionally, that is. 

That doesn’t really seem to be the thing he cares about. He’s not going to slap you, and you don’t need to grovel. “Am I dead, to you?”

Your brows furrow, for a second. “Wha—”

Richie grabs your free hand, pressing it to his neck. “Check my pulse, am I dead, t’you?”

“First of all, wrong placement.” You have to wiggle your hand out of his grip to take his pulse correctly. “It’s under the chin, align it with your eye—”

“Do I have one?” “Yes, Richie, you have a pulse.” “So I’m not dead?” “You’re not dead—” “Then call me.”

When your breath hitches, he continues. “I’m not a ghost. I’m here. When shit happens, you call me.”

“I know.” Is the only thing you can say without your voice cracking. “I will call next time.”

“You will fucking call, next time.” Richie grabs your face, smushed in his hands. “And you’ll answer my calls, next time.” He forces you to nod— Not that you wouldn’t, but wants to make sure. “Am I heard?”

“You're heard.”

Richie can see over your head, so he barks at Carmen, who’s very innocently behind you, still holding your hand. “Get your weird little hands off my Chip, you perv—”

“I don’t have weird little hands—” 

Syd pipes in, squinting. “Why is that the thing you refute—”

“Why does God let these moments happen to me?” You grumble, words muffled with your face still compacted by Richie’s hands. 

“I think it’s beautiful, actually.” Says some guy that looks like Fak. You just stare at him with your partially forced closed eyes. “Just the vibes, so— like— tender.”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” You deadpan, pointing at Other Fak. “Has this guy just learned shit I haven’t even told my own father?”

“We definitely just got here.” Lies Fak, next to Other Fak. He continues, “We didn’t hear anything about the really sad way you both actually did attend the funeral but didn’t—”

Other Fak astutely interrupts to add, sniffing. “But if we did it’d be like, like really meaningful that you both like, did that.” Is he tearing up? Richie needs to check your pulse, are you dying?

“Everyone please back the fuck up?” Carmen sighs, behind you, then beside you, letting go of your hand to put it on your shoulder. “Like maybe give two solitary fuckin’ seconds?”

There’s a stuttering of apologies as everyone realizes yeah, maybe a bit much to immediately jump you. Richie drops your face, everyone takes a step back.

You keep staring at Other Fak. Squinting, you point to him. “Ted?” Guy who they called instead of you?

He nods, “Hi—”

“No.” You wave your hand in front of his face, cutting him off. You turn to Carmen, just shaking your head plainly. “No.”

“Heard.”

“Y’know how going to a different barber is like cheating—?”

“No, like I got it—”

“This is like times a thousand—”

“I am hearing the note—”

“Fak can— Neil can fix shit, I took his spot, it’s fair— Outsourcing someone though—?”

“Won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t.”

“It was— Should I have called you back in?”

“No, you should have had a broken light until we talked it out or let it be broken for the rest of your life.” There is not much you could ever find yourself getting genuinely jealous about— This, however, is a knife to the heart. Another handyman is a child out of wedlock, practically.

“Heard.”

“I spent way too long stalking you.” Interrupts Syd, she’s looking at her phone, a jumble of aggravated misspelled texts coming from the work group chat. “Fuck, I’ve gotta help Tina with clean up— We’ll—” She sticks a hand out, you reach out and hold it, for a moment. “You’re still— We’re still sharing, right?”

You tilt your head, confused, oh— “I’m still gonna sleep in our room, Syd. You weird pervert.”

Syd lets go of your hand, shaking her own hands around her head, talking just as fast as she speed walks away to the kitchen. “I am not a weird pervert, I’m sexually normal, don’t be weird, goodbye! Love you, fuck you, see you later!”

Richie claps his hands, “We’re closing out, so I’ve gotta go pick up vases or some shit— Faks, c’mon—”

“Y’know we’re just regular guests, right?” Says Ted. They let Fak come on the road trip despite not doing a job? Medals of Valor need to be doled out.

“Pbbt, come the fuck on, here boy.” Richie starts to walk off, and the whistling is condescending, but they listen anyway. Rich looks over his shoulder, snapping his fingers at Carmen. “Probationary forgiveness.”

Carmen nods, “Thank you, Chef.”

“Dee-Dee’s here, by the way.”

Carmen’s relaxed posture immediately pulls into a taught physique, he’s considering chasing Richie to get more details. “Isn’t Sug here, too?”

“Yessir!”

“Have they—” “They got grouped at the same table. Unc and Stevie have been keepin’ the peace.” “How’s that going?”

“Your guess is as good as mine!” And with that Richie fades into the crowd of straggling guests and clean up crews. 

You don’t know much about Donna, which was a very intentional choice on Mikey’s part. And that kinda tells you all you need to know. You turn to Carmen, pensive. “You wanna go find out?”

He itches at his collar, thinking. “I think if I say I don’t, I’m a bad son.”

“You didn’t ask to be her son.”

“Oh, fuck, okay.” He stumbles for a second, you immediately cover your mouth. 

“Sorry! I just—” Inside thought got outside. “I just meant— That was a lot. It’s just like, I dunno, you can’t be bad at something you never opted in for, y’know?”

“No, yeah, that— That’s kind of… a good thought.” He nods, looking at the ground, swallowing the words. “I— I should be a good brother—and—and Uncle, at least. Say hi to Nat.”

You don’t start walking until he starts walking, intent to follow his lead. You’ll stroll casually, until they crop up, making no deliberate effort to find them. You’re both silently hoping you don't. Carmen brings his head back up to you. “You ever meet Mom—? Donna?”

You shake your head, “No, that was kinda one of our few red lines. For Mikey and me. He’d like—” You gesture with your hands as you explain. “He’d talk about her, and I saw like… photos of them from babyhood, but I never met her or heard details— Never like, came over to the house. It was just kinda like a silent agreement. Hard for him and hard for me with the whole— Uh—”

“Drinking thing.”

You nod. “It’s uh— I’m not easily triggered anymore, though, so I think I’m fine.”

Carmen sniffs, scratching his nose. “Well, if you end up not being fine, we can not— Like not talk to her.”

He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s the cat. You nod. “You don’t have to talk to her either, y’know. Could just text Nat—” “She’s right there.”

You whip your head up in tandem with him saying, “Don’t look fas— Fuck.”

You put the back of your hand on Carm’s chest, you both stop walking. “That’s Dee-Dee?”

“Yeah, with the—the leopard print belt and the floral dress.” Carmen’s been growing meeker with each step. You’d think his biggest fear is clashing patterns. This is not the same bear in the Chicago Tribune. “Why, you— You do know her?”

“She looks fuckin’ familiar…” You kiss your teeth, trying to roll back in your memory— Come on, you don’t forget shit, where is she from? You’ve seen photos but those were blurry and she was so much younger. You remember this version of Donna, you remember her from somewhere.

“Fuckin’ — Something with Pete— I saw her with Pete— Nat’s husband—” You point to him, across from Donna, at the table. “Him, yeah.”

“Just them?” Carmen gently pulls your arm down, you’ve gotta remember your manners.

“Yeah, I was— Oh, I was—” You squint. “Did Donna come to your opening?”

“No, she was invited, but she didn’t show.”

“Okay— So, she did, actually.” “Huh—?”

“She was— She was outside, when you were in the walk-in.” You nod to yourself, still thinking through the memory. “Yeah, she was outside— I thought Pete was like her son— It looked like they were fighting or crying so I just kinda— Kinda let it be. You were locked in a fucking freezer so I chose my battles.”

“Oh.” Carmen nods, trying to make it seem normal in his head. It’s not. And he can’t seem to force it. “He definitely didn’t tell Nat.” Because Nat would’ve told him.

You hum, rocking on your heels. “Yeah there's no chance we're going to go say hi now, is there?”

“Yeah, that might be best.”

You fold your lips in a line, still staring at Donna, she looks normal, which makes it feel even less normal. Way too much to unpack, if you go over there. Instead, you’ll stand here in the middle of the banquet hall, and unpack the carry-on luggage, so to speak. “Christmas is in a week.”

It’s a freight train of realization, Carmen drags his hand down his face. “Fuck me.”

“I know.”

“I have to go, don’t I?”

You frown, turning your head to him, not wanting to say what you’re going to say. “Do you think she’ll plan anything?” First Christmas without Mikey. Will she have the willpower to plan something, like she usually does?

“Oh, fuck me.”

“I know.”

Carmen holds his hand over his mouth, words somewhat muffled. “I’ll ask Nat, see what she’s doing. Baby’s first Christmas, or whatever. That’s a thing, right?”

“Baby’s do traditionally experience time, yeah.” “You n’ that smart mou—”

Despite staring at their table, the two of you did not notice Natalie approaching you, baby Michaela swaddled in her arms. “Oh my God, I haven’t seen normal human beings that aren’t screaming or shitting constantly in so long— Please— Say something normal and fun.”

You pucker your lips, trying to come up with something. “Ah— Fuck, I can’t think of anything— Oh fuck, sorry I said fuck— God— I’m just gonna stop talking.”

Nat lifts her hand up for a moment to wave you off before re-supporting her baby. “No! No, don’t! Say fuck so much. Say it all the time. She can’t understand, she doesn’t care. I wish I was her.”

“Will do.” You just nod, holding a hand up to Michaela, waving. She grabs one of your fingers, holding on tight. You can’t help but coo. “Hey, baby! Have you been fuckin’ with your mom’s sleep schedule? Awe, yes you have! Yes you have!”

Nat laughs and hums, “Richie told me you used to babysit Eva.” 

“He’s exaggerating.” You leave your hand with Michaela, but look up to Nat. “There were just some weekends he was working and daycare wasn’t running so I’d take her around the city for a couple hours— More like playdates than actual babysitting.”

“That just sounds like you’re a fun babysitter.” Carmen rebukes, Nat nods. 

“I’m good when you only need a second.” You sigh, half taking the compliment. You glance over Nat’s fatigued face. “You need a second?”

“Yes, fuck, could you?” In the same breath, she’s handing you baby Michaela. “She has in fact been fucking with mommy’s sleep schedule— And no one tells you— ‘mommy strength’ or whatever, needs to be developed— My lats— I think they’re lats? Are insane now. Just from holding her!”

You bounce the baby in your arms, sidling her on your hip. She’s a grabber, that’s for sure. Grabbing your hair, your top, Mikey’s chip— No longer tucked under your clothes. You let her. Well— Not the hair— She could cut off her circulation— Relax, EMS. You’re off duty. “How’s it going with—”

Nat knows what you’re asking before you finish the question. “Better than normal, which makes it feel worse. Does that make sense?”

You nod, “Completely and utterly.”

Carmen’s staring at Pete. He’s not typically a snitch but this is his sister, “Did Pete tell you—?”

“That mom was there on our fucking opening and he told her we were having a baby? Yes, about five minutes before she sat down.” Nat says it with a perfectly practiced smile and a simmering anger.

Your hands slip just slightly, you readjust your grip on Mickey. You and Carmen speak together, “He what?” 

Nat doesn't mean to ignore your both but she does, “How'd you find out?”

“I just told him.” You pipe up, guilt covers your face. “I saw them when I came that night. Sorry, I didn't realize that was your mom— Or husband, for that matter.”

Sug shakes her head, waving off the apology. “Not your fault, his.”

“Yeah.” Carmen nods, “Back to that, by the way?”

“Yeah, he realized it was kind of a hard lie to uphold— Because mom sucks at acting surprised.” She sighs, “She’s taking it well publicly but I’m expecting a full blown meltdown in the bathroom of which I can’t escape, so. Beautiful wedding.”

“Yeah, those are kind of unavoidable.” You just had one yourself. “Fingers crossed you make it out alive?”

“Oh, I’m making it the fuck out, it’s her you should pray for.”

You have to respect the power in that. “Damn.”

“I didn’t ask to be her daughter! If she hands it to me I’m handing it fucking back—” Nat’s brain is always running like a faucet, she cuts off her own thoughts with a new one. “Christmas is in a week.”

“We know.”

“Fuck me.” She sighs so hard it blows strands of hair out of her face. “What the fuck are we gonna do, Carmy?”

“Was gonna ask you.” Carm’s distracting himself with Michaela, she reaches for his hand, she doesn’t grab a finger, she traces his tattoos. God, babies are cute sometimes. “Can we figure it out later?”

“Yeah, like everything else we do, I guess.” Sug groans. But she just as equally doesn’t want to think about it as him. And honestly, she’s just happy to see him acting like a fucking uncle for once.  “Tony, will I see you at work on Monday? You’re onboarding, right?”

You don’t notice the way Carmen’s face stones up, like a secret has been revealed. He’s been preparing for you to say yes. He’s got that Docusign in his inbox, ready to send. Had Nat budget you in. But you don’t seem to be upset about it— Or maybe you just didn’t catch that Carmen selfishly was hoping you’d come right back to him. Maybe it’s just that you don’t think it’s selfish.

“Oh— Uh, yeah, I guess you will.” Michaela starts to smack you for not giving her attention for more than seven seconds. You turn your head to her, bouncing her again, “Pbbt—Pbbbt— Mat leave over?”

“Gonna need to be.” Nat laughs when she says it, like you’re both on some sort of inside joke. Yeah, The Bear’s kind of a nightmare, of course Nat’s always needed. You laugh back, though there wasn’t really a joke anywhere in there.

“Make sure you get your rest.” Sug scoops Michaela out of your arms, rejuvenated from her second of peace. “Your boss is kind of an ass.”

Unfair drive-by, Carmen waves a hand like a white flag, “Alright—”

“I know, I like him anyways.” “Gross.” “I know, it sucks.”

“Okay, okay,” It’s way too obvious how happy Nat is that her brother has someone. “Both of you get the fuck out of here before she sees you, I told her you’d be too busy in the kitchen to say hi.”

She knows her brother, and Carmen’s grateful for it, but, “Are you sure? I can—” 

“I love you, Bear.” Nat gives him a kiss on the cheek, and you a quick hug. “But fucking run, seriously.”

Carmen nods, “Heard. Love you, Bear.”

You quickly dash off together, blending into crowds to go unnoticed. Mumbling plans out as you sprint. “I’ve gotta help Marcus close out the bar.”

“I’ve gotta pack up our equipment.” “You’re on the fifth floor too, right?” “Yeah, you’re rooming with Syd?” “Yeah, you and Richie?”

“I got my own room.” “Okay, rich boy.” “I— It’s a fuckin’ Holiday Inn, it’s not that bad—” “Oooh, Charmin gets his first paycheck suddenly he’s all that—” “You wanna come up to my room or not?”

“Oh?” You practically skirt on your heels when you suddenly stop walking, “He’s bold now—”

“I— That’s not— Like we—” He can’t dig himself out of this one, and his darting eyeline is giving him away. “You told Syd you’d still sleep in your room— I just meant like— Like we could— hang out.”

“We could hang out?” “Stop—” “I’d love to hang out, dude.” “We can watch a movie or somethin’—”

You gasp, thought occurring to you. “Yeah, let’s watch a movie. I wanna watch a movie.”

“I don’t like the look that just happened in your eyes.” 

“Yes, you do.” Your turn to smush Carmen’s face in your hands, kissing him with a comical, all too wet, and in no way seductive muah—

Which somehow just makes it all the more entrancing, for him.  “Yes, I do.”

You smile, letting him go, splitting off from Carmy in favour of your bar. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, go be a good boss.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“How are they not seeing him fuck up the soup— That— A whole pot—” “You’re literally saying exactly what Remy is saying right now—” “I— Good. I’m still mad about the five star thing.”

Carmen likes Ratatouille. Likes it enough to nitpick. He relates to the weird rat with a complex family dynamic and having a brother that means well but fucks with him so much. He relates to the no credit, the starving, the death and desire of feeding the ego, Carmen relates to feeling like a freak in his own kitchen. 

It is weird to feel seen by a rat. 

But it’s nice to have you in his room, in his bed, watching some dinky little red-head try to survive in a French kitchen. It’s nice to occasionally watch you instead, out of the corner of his eye. He thought of roughly… fourteen more recipes since leaving the bathroom with you? Who would’ve thought that watching someone use a makeup cleansing balm would be inspiring?

What? It melted beautifully. Or maybe you’re just beautiful? Whatever. You emulsified it in your hands. Emulsion? Coconut emulsion would be interesting; very similar creme texture. On top of a souffle? Delicate. But it still needs zip. The glitter from your eyeshadow makes him think of zesting. Lemon zest. Needs more scent, though. Oh, maybe Kaffir limes. That’s a weird dish. That’s never gonna work. He has to get better at subtracting around you. 

He’s doing pretty good at not saying I love you, though, so, that’s something. 

“The houndstooth pants are cute.” You hum, as Linguini finally kisses Collette— Though by a rat’s volition. A win is a win. You lean into Carmen’s side, watching the movie pirated on his laptop, because hotel tv pay-per-view was so overpriced for no reason. “Oh, fuck, what’s my uniform gonna be?”

“Chef whites, no?” His arm is around your shoulder, it’s nice. “I can get you a jacket—”

“Well, your servers wear black— And I’m gonna be like, like both right?” You turn your head to him. Bad idea. He’s still very pretty, if not prettier in pajamas. “Like, making drinks in the back and then acting as somme out front. So all black?”

“Hm.” Carmen tries not to frown. Tries not to see you wearing black as you being on the other team. “I guess.”

“Richie’s not getting me in a fuckin’ button up, though.” You don’t notice his expression’s minute faltering, crossing your arms, thinking. “Sleeveless black turtleneck? Maybe black palazzo pants, could do what fuckin— Linguini’s doin—”

You point at the screen. “The bright red converse? Could do all black and then bright blue converse? Would that be cute or is that deeply unprofessional?”

Carmen tilts his head back and forth, trying to let you down easy, “I wouldn’t call it deeply unpr—”

“Heard. Okay, maybe like— Like a red bottom heel—” You kick your foot up in the air, for no real reason. A shoe isn’t suddenly going to appear on it for display. “Like not actual ones, duh— Like a black boot and I paint the sole blue—” 

“What’s with you and blue?” He's deeply amused, or maybe that's just Carmen's constant state, right now, twirling his fingers through your hair without a care in the world.

“It’s like, Bear colours. You do blue. Aprons, baskets— I guess I’m thinking of The Beef, but like, your lighting is kinda blue.” You shrug. “I wanna match.”

He nods, eyes on the movie, thinking far too much— Well, for the average person. For Carmy it’s a perfectly normal amount of thinking. “All black, blue sole, blue earrings, maybe? White apron for when you’re in the back?” 

Please say yes to the white apron. Please say yes to his team. He'll get your initials monogrammed and everything.

“Yeah, that’s a cute look. As long as it’s easy to take off.” You hum. “Oh, y’know, Richie wanted to—” 

Speak of the Devil, and he shall call you for the fifth fucking time. “Fuckin— Pause it, hold on—”

Carmen pauses the wonderful rat chef in tandem with you answering the phone with, “I’m not fuckin’ comin’ to pool, Cousin!”

In one ear, out the other. “Fuck you! When are you getting here?” 

“I am not getting out of bed to play pool— A game I have not played— With a bunch of fuckin—”

“If you’re not down here in five minutes, Chip, on God—” “I’m gonna fuckin’ hang up again you motherfucker—” “And what? You’ll just answer again, won’t you?”

Richie’s tone gives him away. He’s giggling, bubbly, absolutely tanked on dirty shirleys. But there’s a very genuine joy to it. You’ve answered his stupid meaningless calls every time, the last four times, despite knowing they are in fact, stupid and meaningless. And that is rife with meaning. 

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “Yeah. I’ll answer.”

“Good.” You can hear his smile mirrored through the phone. “Sell your Greyhound ticket to Fak.”

“Bitch, fuck no—” “We can go aroun’ the city tommorow! We’re closed! C’mon have some fuckin’ fun before you start working in hell!” “We’re gonna be stupid New York tourists?” “Eva wanted me to get her face on some m and m’s—” “You want me to come with you to the fucking Time Square M and M store?”

That’s when Carmen shoots up, shoulder against yours, panickedly muttering into the phone, “We cannot go to Time Square a week out from Christmas.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When you realize why there’s a pause, you shut your eyes tight, knowing exactly what you’re gonna get. Carmen realizes after watching your face scrunch up, he puts his face in his hands, “Shit—”

“You’re fucking Carmen!”

“No—” “You said you’re in bed! His bed?!” “We’re watching Ratatouille—” “Without me? You’re coming to the fucking M and M store— Also that big ass toy store—” “This is not a betrayal—” “Matter of fact, we’re gonna go see that big fuckin’ tree, too—” “You just want me to drive us home because you’re gonna be too hungover.”

“No, I want you to drive us home because I love you.” Richie’s slurring when he says it, like it’s some sort of gotcha. “So fuck you, actually.”

Carmen bites back laughter next to you, you just shake your head, tutting. “I love you, too, Cousin.”

“If you loved me you’d come play pool.” “I don’t fuckin’ know how to play pool!” “We’ll fuckin’ learn you somethin’ then!” “Fuck off! I’m already coming to fucking Time Square with you, don’t be whiny.” 

“You’ll come?”

You massage your brow bone, “Syd’s not gonna wanna sit next to Fak on the bus, you got room for four?”

“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to sit on the console.” “I nominate Carmen.” “I second the nom.”

Carmen, now with two votes to sit on the console up front, presses his face into your shoulder. “What the fuck—” You peer down at him and whisper, “We’ll do shifts, don’t worry.”

“Put me on speaker phone.” “You’re talking so loud that Carmen can very clearly hear you.”

“Put me! On speaker phone!”

You put Richie on speaker phone. Carmen clears his throat, gruff, “Yo, Rich, can we finish the fuckin’ movie?”

“Patience is a virtue, or some shit. D’you see the resos?”

You mouth to Carmen, ‘Reservations?’ Carmen nods. “Yeah, I saw.”

“Gonna be fucked.” You frown when you hear that, but don’t want to interrupt. You silently word, ‘What happened?’ Carmen puts a finger over his mouth, he’ll explain in a second. 

“Gonna be fucked, yeah.” Carmen sniffs, swiping at his nose. “Good kind, though.”

“Yeah. Good kind.” There’s a sigh from Richie on the other end, that heavy sigh. Practically sobering up with just one sentence. “Christmas is in a week.”

“I know.” Carmen kisses his teeth. This is going to be the worst, for all of you. The missing link is going to be all too apparent.  “Good time to be busy.” 

“Good time to be busy.” Richie echoes. “Only way out is through.”

“Heard.” Carmen nods, what else is there to say? “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Aright. Don’t fuck in a fuckin’ Holiday Inn Chip’s worth mo—” 

That’s when you interrupt, “Alright, what a wonderful phone call this has been goodbye, fuck you, love you, don’t call again, be safe!” You hang up before Richie can reply, head flopping over.

There’s a long silence before Carmen speaks again. “...I’m not tryna do that by the way—”

“No, I know, I’m worth more than a Holiday Inn.”

Snorts of laughter fill the stale air of this shitty little Holiday Inn one bed. Carmen pulls you back into him, arm on your waist. Before you can start the movie again, though, you have to ask. “Reservations fucked?”

He hums, tucking your hair back so he can see the side of your face better. “We started taking reservations last week— Just to test it out. N’ it was goin’ smooth but ‘tuh…” He squints. “Trending today with the whole uh— Chef thing. We’re kinda booked full ‘til the end of the year. And January.”

“Oh shit.” Word on the street is true. Any advertising is good advertising. Even when promoting the wrong fucking website. 

“Yeah, good kinda fucked, but like. Fucked.” Carmy nods, and after a second, grabs your hand. “But Christmas— Christmas Eve ‘n Christmas is off— And New Years— So, so you won’t be overwhelmed, hopefully.”

Your brain is already shooting miles ahead, you’re mentally back in Chicago, already. “We really gotta get on that cocktail menu.” There’s so much to do. New job, new menu, Christmas—

“And coffee.” Carmen sounds calm when he says it, which is deeply unlike him.

“And coffee.” You echo, eyes distant. You shoot back up. “Fuck, road trip is gonna be such a time sink. Okay— Well, okay— We’ll just— I’ll make a list tonight—”

 You’ve gotta figure out your hours. You don’t want to lose Chicago’s Kindest completely— Can’t be available 24/7 anymore, though. Mattina Tony’s gonna hate that. But he’ll be happy for you. Gotta tell Eden’s Club you’re not going to pick up shifts anymore. They’ll say they’re happy about it, but curse you behind your back. That’s fine. 

“List for what?”

“Christmas shopping.” Your eyes flick to him, still thinking. “I win Christmas every year.”

You’re getting Richie new cufflinks— But what of? Can’t just do initials, that’s lame. Fuck, what do you get Carmen? Can’t just do something cooking related— That’s lamer. But it’s also like— His only hobby.

“Don’t think that’s how Christmas works.”

“It fully is. And being in Time Square is gonna widen the fuck out of my search radius. Fuck what do I do for Syd? Fancy knife? They sell fancy knives here?”

Carmen shrugs, “I know a guy in the area.”

“Fantastic. I’ll get a list, you’ll help me out with stores. We’ll get coloured pencils at FAO, we’ll draft up a rough menu on the way home—” “Hey—” “It’s twelve hours of driving, so I think we can get a good chunk done. And then test out and finish on Monday—” “Baby—” “I was thinking we could do a section of house cocktails and coffees named after Chefs—” “I said don’t work on it—” “So like, each one would be themed after what I think of when I think of you—” 

Carmen grabs your face with both hands. “Tony.”

“Carmy.”

“Cannot believe I’m saying this to another person, but loosen your grip.” He strokes your cheekbones with his thumb. It’s nice. “You don’t have to do it all.”

It's a long silence of just staring back at him, so much so Carmy’s worried he has failed at this whole self-help thing. But then, you say, “Sara’s a good fucking therapist.”

“She’s got a pretty flexible schedule, too.”

Your face is still in his hands, you’re basically unblinking. “I think you’re a pink pepper aperol spritz with a slice of grapefruit. Maybe like a cherry syrup rim? Or is that too much? That might be too much.”

Carmen sighs in a way that sounds like a laugh. “How many drinks have you made in your head?”

“Just that one. But I think Richie would be something with whiskey and peaches— And somethin’ about Syd makes me think about figs, I don’t know why, which would go good with—”

Carm pinches your cheek, frowning, though there’s an admiration to it. “I said don’t work on it.” 

You push his hands away, “I haven’t written anything down! I can’t stop my brain from thinking! How many fuckin’ plates do you have in your head?”

He thinks, tilting his head back and forth. “A couple.” It’s a lot more than a couple. “They’re all bad, though.” 

“Bad, how?” 

“Bad, like weird.” Carmen gestures to the dimming screen of his laptop. You shake the touchpad awake. Rat chef is inspiring, and a good reminder of what he's meant to do, as are you. “It’s uh, it’s a good movie. It’s good to make new shit. But like, I need to be controlled.”

You tilt your head, “I don’t think so.”

“No?” Despite the fact that you’re disagreeing with him, there’s a happy hum, in Carmen’s voice.

“No. I think we should make really bad weird shit. At least in like, R and D.” You lean back down, against him. “Gotta try it before you brush off the idea. That’s the fun thing about art, y’know? Might work, might not.”

“I think that’s life.”

“Life is art, art is life, food is both.” 

“Woah.” “That was kind of a bar, wasn’t it!?” “Kinda tough.” “What’s your bad weird idea?”

“Steak with pop rocks.”

“Oh my god.” Your eyes go wide, but with a smile. Shocked but delighted. It's absolutely going in Carmen's top five favourite expressions of yours. You lean into him further, back of your hand slapping his chest. 

“I know, but I was thinking the sugar would be good—”

“Like a sort of maple or sugar curing thing?” God, you just get it. And you give a shit about getting it.

“Exactly, n’ then it makes you like— Like salivate.” “I don’t think it’s that crazy an idea.”

He’s so excited to have someone encourage his ideas, for once. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod assuredly. “We should do it. Try it, at least.”

“Okay. Cool.” Carmen tries and fails to not light up at the prospect of ‘we’. “You’ve still got a hard out at twelve?”

“Syd said she will be knocking violently if I’m not back at midnight on the dot, yeah.” You unpause the movie. “And she’s gonna be pissed when I tell her I’ve volunteered us for a tourist spree, so I gotta be on her good side.”

Carmen shrugs, turning his attention back to the movie, arm around your shoulder. “It’ll be fun, if you’re there.”

It gives you both away.

Every sentence gives you both away. The way you speak, the way you act, the way you pose. It gives you both away. The way he moves your hair out of your face so you can see the movie clearly. The way you lift your head so he can tuck his arm under the pillow, so it doesn’t go numb under you. All without asking. The way you see each other, the way you are constantly doting and thinking of the next thing you can make the other—All without checking in. The Berf shirt you wear for pajamas, your refilled toiletries in his hotel shower. The domesticity comes all too easy to both of you. It gives you both away.

“Remy kinda sounds like Carmy, y’know—” “Don’t.” “My petit chef!”

You say I love you in every way but the way that makes it weird and bad and stupid and too soon. 

“Good God.” Is the first thing Sydney says, when you return to your shared hotel room. Face and voice filled with disgust, that is really only half sarcastic. “You’re beyond saving.”

You push past her, bumping shoulders as you do, smiling all the while. It’s nice that she can see you again. Even if she’s seeing that you’re down bad. “I didn’t even say anything—”

“Yeah, no, it’s that face on your face— God, it’s over—” “Baby, just say you’re happy for me.”

“I—” Syd blinks, rapid, hands in the air. “I’m happy for you— Tentatively.” Pending Carmen. Probationary forgiveness. 

“Thank you. I’ll take it.” You squat down to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge, when you do, you’re able to give Syd a once over.

She’s adorned in an old jazz club shirt from your highschool, boxers, and a long bonnet so old you recognize it. You recognize all of it. It’s nearly enough to make you cry. 

Funny, she’s thinking the same thing. Together, you speak. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“Jinx!”

“Double jinx!”

“Triple Jinx!” It’s on the third one that you decide to let her win and not say it a fourth time. 

It’s on the fourth one that Syd decides she doesn’t want to win. “Quadr— Man, this sucks.”

You know exactly what she means. You fall out of your squat, sitting on your butt with a frown. “It literally would’ve just taken one phone call.” You could’ve been doing this for years.

She sits down next to you, back against the front of the bed. “There were a lot of moments, where I thought to call you, honestly.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like uhm—” Syd’s face scrunches up her face, she’s already opened her mouth so she has to tell you, but she’s realizing she probably shouldn’t tell you. “There was this fucked day at The Beef, where we set up online orders, and I forgot to tick off pre-order—”

You unscrew the bottle cap, squinting. “I feel like that should automatically be off.” 

“That’s what I’m fucking saying!” She slaps your knee with the back of her hand, “But uh, no it was fucking on— And we got like— Like fucked— Said that already. Hundreds of orders. And it was so much and and— Richie was, at the time, kind of a dick—” 

“You don’t have to mince, I know what he was.” You take a sip of water, nodding. He’s a work in progress, as are you all.

“He was being a bitch and— And— I might’ve maybe lowkey stabbed him.”

“Holy fuck?!” You have to laugh, out of sheer shock. You choke on your water. “Syd?!”

“It— Swear to God—” Syd raises one hand, and puts the other over her heart. “Was an accident. Like— Like I was saying I would, and also I was like—  Thinking about it— But I didn’t mean to actually do it— Like he walked into it—”

“Jesus Christ, Manslaughter Sydney—!” “No! …A little. On occasion.”

“You ever wanna stab Carmy?” “Oh, all the fucking time.”

“Fair.” You hand her your water bottle when you spot her looking at it. You see each other, you take care of each other, without being asked. 

“And after a brutal stabbing—” “It was barely a graze, to his ass.” “—You thought to call me?”

“Yeah. You’re like. I dunno. I—” She sighs, taking a beat. “I’ve heard people talk about like— When they’re in a life or death scenario, or panicking, their first thought is like ‘I gotta call my mom’.” Syd clutches onto the water bottle like it’s a life preserver. “But I like— Like I don’t have that instinct, duh, dead mom club— But like, like my instinct when I’m scared is to call you.”

“You should’ve.” You want to take her hand, but don’t. Still working on that hesitation. You’ll both get there.

“You should’ve, too.” Syd lightly punches your knee. She tucks her lips in a line, thinking. “I would’ve been there.”

“I think I kinda got stuck in the same thought Mikey had, with Carmen.” You prop your knee up, hugging it to you. “Didn’t wanna drag you down with me. Didn’t want you to know I— That I’m not really uhm— That I’m not all that great.”

“I didn’t ask you to be great.” Syd says it before she thinks it, and it’s enough to make your eyes water. In a good way. She continues. “I didn’t ask you to be my somme, either. I always thought you were cool. I would always think you’re cool.”

“I…” You clear your throat, controlling your micro-expressions poorly. “I— I know. I think I just… Always do too much? Like I do everything to make myself like— Needed.”

If they need you, they can’t leave you. Though, that didn’t really stop you two from growing apart, so there goes that theory. 

“You are needed.” Syd nearly rolls her eyes at you, but realizes that might be insensitive.

Syd could’ve called Terry, when the walk-in door broke. She called you. Syd could’ve called Claire— They’re not all that close, but she could’ve, when Nat went into labour. She called you. Syd could’ve called Fak, when Carmen’s oven broke. She called you. It’s insane that you’d ever think you weren’t her lifeline. 

But she clarifies anyway, “Not that— Not that you need to be needed though, for me to want you around.”

You snatch the water bottle from her. “Well, I know that now.”

“Good.”

You all but chug the water, God you’re dehydrated. Syd laughs, “It’s not gonna fucking run away from you.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” You grin, screwing the cap back on. Sniffing, you sober up a little. “We’re never not gonna be friends again.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Lest you go full on He Had it Comin’ on your fuckin’ co-workers again.”

She scoffs. “I promise to try to not stab someone in your presence.” 

“Deal.” You both laugh. You put your hand out to her, and without confirmation, do a handshake that must be more than a decade old. Dap, up-down, jellyfish out. Though, for your purposes, squid out. 

Incredible, you’ve hit Syd with love and nostalgia, she has to say yes now. “We’re roadtripping with Richie and Carmen instead of taking the Greyhound.”

“It’s so crazy that you think that’s gonna happen—” “It will be fun—” “Define fun for me, right now—” “We can get Christmas shopping done—”

“Fuck. Christmas is in a week.” “I know!” 

Syd scrunches up her nose. “What do I get my dad?”

“Sounds like you need to do some window shopping.” You could probably recommend something if you thought about it for two more seconds, but then you wouldn’t have an excuse to drag her along. “We could go to a Tiffany’s or something.”

“What and get him a locket?” “I’m honestly just naming stores, at this point.”

She’s thinking about it, really thinking about it. “...Could go to the MET, go through the gift shop. He’s a tchotchke guy.”

You hum, nodding. You can get her to fold. “Look at some expos, get some artistic inspiration?”

Syd’s eyes roll back, and she rolls her head back with them, head on the edge of the bed, in dismay. “...Are we doing gifts?” 

You shrug, “Was thinking I’d get you a little something.”

“So super over the top and extravagant?” “What’s the fun in telling?” “I hate you.” “So you’ll come?”

She sighs, husky. “Yeah…” She says it like she’s upset but you both know Syd is a little excited. 

You pump your fist, delighted. A win.

A comfortable silence fills the room. You flop your back down on the floor, laying on the carpet. “Thank you for helping Carmy.”

“Didn’t do much.” Syd shrugs, lazily turning her head on the bed to you. “He just needs pushing, sometimes.”

You hum, nodding. “Well, thank you for pushing.”

“You’re so welcome, dude.” You both laugh, and after another long gap of silence, she kicks you. “Stop lying on the dirty ass hotel floor, we paid for a bed.” 

“There’s something about laying on the floor, man.” You shake your head. “Get down here. I can see the scope of the universe from down here, actually.”

With a profoundly deep sigh, Syd rolls over to you. Your shoulders touch as you both stare at the ceiling. She hums, pointing to the popcorn tiles. “Oh yeah, secrets of the universe, right there.”

“I told you.” You nod, wisely. You frown. “...When do you think it’s like, too soon, to say ‘I love you’?”

“Oh my fucking God it’s that bad—” “Just answer!” “Definitely right now is too fucking soon!” “Well, yeah, I fuckin’ figured—!” “I’d say like, another month or two, minimum.”

“I think I might explode, by then, if I’m being honest.” You turn your head to her. “I’m really worried I’m gonna forget I haven’t already said it and I’m gonna say it at a stupid moment and it’s gonna be lame and embarrassing and bad.”

Syd turns her head to you. “Yeah, that’s probably what’s gonna happen.”

“Okay, so you’re no fuckin’ help.” You snort. 

“What do you want me to say? You love to the point of embarrassment.” She shrugs, smiling at your demise. But then Syd sobers up a little, turning her body to face you, leaning her head on her hand. “Are you sure, though?”

“I think so, yeah.” You cross your arms, nodding, assuring yourself, practically. “I feel what I think can only be described as emotionally violent— affectionately. And I think that’s what love is. Pretty sure.”

“Hm.” Syd watches you watch her. You’re absolutely getting lost in your own brain. She pokes the space between your eyebrows, you wake back up. “What’s in there?”

You blink, “Thinking of all the worst ways I could say it.” In front of everyone, accidentally while saying goodbye, off-handedly while hanging up, over text, and so on and so forth.

“Okay, that sounds awful and unproductive so let’s go to bed, huh?” Syd grunts, sitting up. She reaches for your hand to help you stand up with her. “Just try saying it normal.”

You take a breath, looking her in the eyes, say it normal. “Love you.”

“Yeah, just say it like that.”

“Oh, so I can say it—” “In two months.”

“Wait, is one more month hard off the table now—” “Now it’s three.” “Fuck, it’s gaining interest?!”

Just try to make it to next year without saying it, you’d take that happily. Just make it to Christmas. Okay, maybe just make it until you get back to Chicago…Maybe just take a vow of silence. 

You shake your head, coming back to reality.

“Wait, what the fuck, Syd, say it back!”

wooooo

was it everything you expected? i hope so. or hope not? suspense and what not. i won't rant too much about it because i'm loopy from staring at my computer at work all day and then answering asks all night. but please send thoughts!!

if you enjoyed, again I have a kofi now! I also just love to hear your thoughts on things, so please send thoughts !! but tips are also appreciated!!

tag list time, fingers crossed it mostly functions! I add ya if you ask and send in an essay ! and if you don't send in an essay it means you don't read my little post scripts and it makes me sad!! please stop making me sad baby!!

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear

Next Part

[lieutenantfloyd]

Rainbow Cereal and Morning Confessions - Cyclone x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Over breakfast, you mention something that you noticed during the previous night, only for Beau to confess something that's been weighing heavily on his mind.

Warnings: Domestic fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of kids/pregnancy, Beau had a bad childhood and is bad with emotions but he's secretly a hopeless romantic.

Authors Note: This was originally a very different fic written with my OC in mind, but I loved this idea so much I couldn't help but rewrite it to post here! Based on some headcanons I posted in January.

Read on AO3

“You talk in your sleep.” You say between mouthfuls of colorful fruity cereal. 

He eyes you sharply over his newspaper and takes a long swig off steaming black coffee. 

“No, I don’t.” He answers dryly. 

You twirl your spoon and give him a toothy grin. “Yeah, you do.” 

He sends you an eye roll before pushing his plate away and returning to his daily reading. 

Several minutes pass by without another word, but the silence between you is anything but awkward—It somehow never is.

 “What exactly do I talk about?” He asks in a low voice, and it takes all you have not to jump up and kiss him then and there. 

“National secrets, mostly.” You deadpan before quickly shoveling another spoonful of cereal into your mouth in a poorly planned attempt to stop your laughter. 

His eyebrows fly up so fast that you nearly choke. He leans across the table, using thick fingers to wipe away a stray drop of milk that escaped your mouth before leaning back into his previous position and waiting on you to regain your composure. 

“For real though, It was mostly gibberish with the occasional mention of pancakes.” You say nodding towards his plate. 

He sends you an annoyingly soft smile as a bit of color returns to his face. 

Your mind runs over his sleeping mumbles of the previous night, and you make a connection between his somniloquy and the handwritten notes you’d seen on his desk. 

“You never told me you speak French.” 

His handsome features shift into a look you’ve never seen before, and you feel his eyes scrutinize yours as if he’s deeply considering something. 

“Cajun French. It’s what my parents spoke.”

You nod softly, feeling suddenly awkward as you pick up on the unusual tone laced through his deep voice.

In the years between your first meeting and now, you have asked countless people—all of various rank and branch, along with a few civilians—about him. Your inquiries had always turned up the same. Nothing. No wife, no kids, and no known background prior to joining the Navy. He didn’t even have any social media to stalk. Aside from these intimate moments only you share with him, he’s a complete mystery. Practically a ghost.

“Were you and your parents close?” You ask softly.

“No.” He says. The finality feels sharp, but his tone falls flat. His voice feels nearly foreign to your ears.

His eyes fall to yours again, only this time they’re a confusing mix of vulnerable and guarded. You know instantly that something happened—something bad—and you choose not to push the topic any further.

You look down at your bowl, stirring the now soggy cereal around the colorful milk. He always chastises you for eating it, but it’s no different than how you nag at him for surviving off of coffee and pent up anger—a simmering rage so intertwined with him that you’ve often wondered where it stems from. Still seated in front of you, he’s staring off into space. You’re too afraid to ask yourself that question now.

“Do you want kids?” He asks suddenly. “With me, I mean.”

You nearly let out a playful—who else do you think I’d let knock me up?—but he still has that far-away look on his face, so you pause. Swallowing air as you gather your thoughts. 

“I… don’t think I’ve ever really thought about it.” You answer honestly, and he nods. 

“I hadn’t thought about it either. Not until you.” He confesses. 

“Having you in my life will always be the most important thing, but I realized that I’d probably like to be a dad.” He says. “And after I realized that, I also realized that I didn’t have anything from my own childhood to pass on to them.” 

You nod, rendered breathless by the conversation. God, he’d be a good dad. 

“Both my parents were Cajun. I remember that my mother was devoutly Catholic, and she raised me to speak French in a time when that just wasn’t what you did.” He pauses, only to resume after taking a deep breath. “I know now that they were complicated people. I choose not to think about them anymore.” He says in a voice so soft you nearly wonder if your mind made it up.

You nod along, giving him space to speak whatever is on his mind. You don’t let yourself question, aloud or otherwise, why he doesn’t speak of his father. 

“That was a long time ago—and a lot of the language is lost on me now—but I wanted something…positive…to pass on if I ever had a kid.” He confesses. 

You give him a soft smile before taking his hand across the table. 

“You’ve clearly thought a lot about this, and while I haven’t yet, I will.” You say. 

The conversation has taken such an intense turn that you felt shaky as you rose from your seat to clean up the breakfast dishes. 

You fall into a lull of comfortable normalcy, though the bits of his history he revealed hang heavy in your mind as you load the dishwasher. 

“Is there anything in particular you want to pass on? Anything I should learn…just in case?” You ask gently as you wipe your hands dry. It was a simple, genuine question, though by the gentle but shocked look on his face, you might as well have gotten on one knee and asked for his hand in marriage.

“I’ll think about it,” he says with the slightest teasing tone. 

You smile, happy to know nothing is weighing too heavy on him, and things are back to business as usual once again. 

“There’s a lot I want to tell you and more that I should, but..”

“Hey,” you say calmly “there’s no pressure. If you want to wax poetic about your entire life story or you never want to speak about it again, it’s fine. Childhoods are weird, and what matters is who you become after it all.”

He settles back into the chair, staring at you with nothing my pure adoration. Still, something has his shoulders tense, and something tells you that it’s the same thing that has words lying on the tip of your tongue.

“You’re a good man, Beau. And you’d make an amazing father.”

He rises to his seat, folds his newspaper—left over right, top over bottom, always—and drops it on the table. Cherry oak. Pretty, solid wood.

He crosses the short distance between you and kisses your head like the good man and partner he is. Without another word, he drops back into his seat and assumes his previous position, though the tension he always holds in his shoulders gives way just a bit. Sunlight has barely begun to stream in through the large kitchen windows, casting the table you are both seated at in a fresh, golden glow. A comfortable silence stretches between you as you finish the last few bites of your breakfast. He’s leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, though his left hand lays casually against the table. As the minutes pass, your hand absentmindedly brushes against his. He glances up at you over his paper, his eyes filled with warmth as a hint of a smile plays on his lips. 

“I know you hate getting up this early, but I like being able to spend my mornings with you,” he says as he encircles your hand with his own, brushing the pads of his fingertips over your knuckles.  You look up at him, your swelling as his words sink in. Aside from the daily ‘I love you’ s, Beau isn’t someone who ever verbalizes his emotions. Though he has never once held back from showing you just how much he cares. 

“Me too,” you reply. Your hand squeezes his gently, a small gesture that confirms you recognize the gravity of his admission.

The smell of his black coffee lingers in the air as you hear the world outside begin to wake up. You sit happily in each other's presence for several moments longer. The world outside the window feels far away and almost meaningless compared to the cozy safe haven of his kitchen.

Suddenly, you feel his shift and reluctantly pull his hand from yours. You glance briefly at the clock, laughing as the numbers confirm that he has only minutes before he needs to leave for work. He rinses his mug and sets it on a tea towel, leaving it to dry. He swipes his bag off the counter and leans in for a full, proper kiss this time. You smile up at him as he pulls away, knowing that no matter what his day ahead holds, the moments you shared together over breakfast will tide him over until he can come back home to you.

taglist: @marchingicenotes7 @bayisdying @princessofglitterland @bella-law @callsignaries @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @shakira-sasha @xoxabs88xox @alexxavicry @madamemelancholysstuff @paola-carter @barbiewritesstuff @dozcan123 @withakindheartx @nyx2021 @teti-menchon0604 @kmc1989

[stardusttealeaves]

ARCANE DRINK HCs

So I was bored at an ungodly hour of the night so instead of sleeping....I did this.

This was written before season 2 came out. Thought this would just be a fun little ting.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jinx - water of the day/ jungle juice

If u don't know water of the day just go look at it rq : here

Yea she does that. It's either that or she makes a cooler amount of jungle juice from random stuff she grabs from the bar and makes that last for a good while.

I don't even think she likes the taste of alcohol that much. Hell I think she airs on the lightweight side. But if she's drinking she's gonna want it to be sweet and taste like juice.

Vander - Whiskey

Cmon, the big guy of the undercity gotta have something that tows the line of sophistication and earthiness. He likes the subtle complexity that it offers. Something to take the edge off after a night of running the bar.

He's not the type to get "carried away" with it but...if he isn't careful he could def chug down a thing of Sir Davis like it didn't cost 90 bucks.

Other than that he's probably gonna keep it cute with a pint of beer on the reg.

Vi - whatever gets her drunk quicker

Cmon....We've seen the season 2 shorts. We know how bad it gets.

Imma be real I wouldn't be surprised if she just got to the point of chugging straight everclear like she does NOT care.

But sure let's give her a normal non angst circumstance. I think she'd develop a taste for whiskey. Ya know as a treat.

I'd like to think Vander gave her her first drink when she was still young, not like a full pour, just a bit for the taste. She hated it at first but over time it grew on her. Now whenever she has it, she's reminded of him.

Cait - Martinis

Cait doesn't drink very often, she's more likely to drink at events her family hosts.

I think she likes to keep it classy with a martini cause it's nice to sip, plus it's a bit stronger so it makes her pace herself. But she's not an olive girly, she's a citrus twist girly. Depending on her mood it's either gonna be orange or lemon.

Mel - That's that me espresso (martini)

Yes I was legally obligated to make that joke.

This would be a fav for her to have when she has an evening to herself. It's creamy, rich, a Lil sweet. It's a nice combination. She'd also have this when she's with Jayce or anyone she considers a close friend. Otherwise she is not bringing this to a function.

Nope at the function she is a pinot grigio haver. It's light, fruity, and keeps her pushing.

Jayce - Beeyah

This dude will have a DAY of being a politician amd immediately hit the fridge for a Modelo and a lime wedge like it's a cold cigarette to ease the pain.

He's like Mr. Boss in that one episode of smiling friends asking the waitress what kinda Lagers they got. But at the same time being very anal about the fact that beers and lagers are not the same thing.

("All lagers are beers, but not all beers are lagers" - Jayce probably)

Bro is one of those guys that care about ipas.

Viktor - Vodkah + mules

No this isn't because he's eastern european.

Ok maybe partially but that's not the point.

First off I don't think his body takes hard  liquor straight up that well, so occasionally he'd have a straight shot of vodka just to feel something. It hurts but not in the usual way ya know.

But in reality if he wants something to enjoy once in a while it's gonna be a classic Moscow Mule, it's not that strong and is nice to sip.

Silco - Scotch

This feels self explanatory like look at him.

Sevika - Whiskey

Similar to Vander she's into Whiskey but she's not in it for the savoring of it. Like in her case she will actively down that sir David and grab another one off the shelf once the first bottles done.

Ekko - dry as a desert

Given the environment that the firefights have curated I don't think he's the type to drink. I wouldn't be surprised if that whole area is dry and honestly good for them.