#get to opt out while you just sit on your ass and pretend you can opt out of the blame!!!

[answrs]

anyway since this apparently needs to be said again, anyone insisting it is immoral to vote in any election, especially not the US Presidential election this year, is getting immediately reported and blocked for election interference on-sight.

get the absolute fuck off my blog if you think "actively campaigning on dictatorship and having me and anyone like me raped and then murdered the moment he's installed" and "not liberal enough but can be pressured into it" are "def the same!!!1!!"

[eccentricwritingbaby]

funny wife, happy life

carlos sainz x wife!reader

summary - the grids beloved couple have begun a prank war, subjecting the drivers and fans to their hilarious antics

masterlist

request by anonnie :) thank you love! - hey you could write about carlos that he and Y/N his wife that they are the funniest couple in the paddock that Y/N has the same personality as carlos that they often play pranks on each other on tiktok

-

your knees were cramping, on the verge of giving out, as you held your hidden position in your husband’s drivers room. charles had told you he’d be back in a few minutes. a few minutes. ha! you’ve been sitting here for ages and you’re about to collapse. until finally you hear the sweet, sweet sounds of your husband's laugh approaching you quickly. you give a quick scramble to collect yourself and pull up your tik tok account in order to record the heart attack soon to be inflicted upon carlos. the door handle jiggles and opens, alerting you of his presence. his footsteps become closer to your hidden position behind a few large items and abruptly stop. you take it as your queue to jump but before you can-

“BOO!” your husband screeches at you with his phone in your face as you let out a mirroring yell and fall backwards on your ass. 

“AYE DIOS MIO!” you hold your hand over your racing heart and carlos crumples to the floor in a fit of hysterics. you can’t help but join in soon, but not without playfully swatting at him in a joking matter of pretending to be angry. 

“mi-mi amor,” carlos tries his hardest to get out in between laughs as he begins to sit up, “you’re too easy!” he falls again, most likely due him replaying the scenario again in his head.

“aye! easy? i believe i remember you begging for a date with me, señor,” you continue to chuckle at his phrasing, teasing him relentlessly felt like a duty to you. 

“whatever,” he brushes off the playful comment and turns his attention to the video he recorded of you on his phone, “y/n, this is too funny,” 

“si, bueno. i wish i got that video of you instead, though” you act out a solemn expression and carlos sees right through your jokes.

“well you didn’t, loser. i’m posting this,”

-

you and carlos had opted for a night in after the race due to his fatigue and your absolute need for a shower. after lando had pleaded with you both for a minute to rethink your decision as you were walking back to the hotel, he ultimately gave up trying and muttered a slight ‘old married couple’ at you and carlos while the both of you just laughed at his mini tantrum. 

once inside your hotel room, carlos headed for the shower, but stopped and turned when he noticed you weren’t following.

“i thought you wanted to shower, amor?” he asked in your direction.

“i do, but i kind of want to shower alone tonight, lo siento,” you respond while biting your lower lip to not give away your amusement. see - you had a plan. while carlos was in the shower you were going to get to the vanity and paint on a fake hickey. set up your phone. and get him back for ruining your prank earlier. 

carlos stands looking at you with a bit of skepticism. you rarely shower separately, only when upset with each other and he was beginning to worry, “aye, are you mad about earlier? me scaring you?”

“love, the only thing that is scaring me right now is how stinky you are. i’m not mad i just don’t need a smelly shower with you,” you shrug off his accusation with a laugh in order to lighten the mood and your husband catches on, chuckling with you.

“okay, you don’t need to tell me twice,” he begins to make his way over to you with his arms out wide, “you do want a stinky hug before i hop in, no?” calling your bluff he tries to latch his arms around you as you scream and try to run away.

“sto-stop!” you giggle as he grabs you in his arms, “eww! carlos!” the whine slips from your lips as he starts planting kisses all over your neck and face, tickling you causing you to let out more laughter. his grip loosens and he backs away towards the bathroom, grabbing his change of clothes off the dresser as he does so. one arm raised and a finger pointed at you he lets go of a very loose warning, “this isn’t over, cariño,”

“oh no!” you gasp in dramatics, “the tickle monster! what am i five?” carlos just laughs and releases a ‘loca’ under his breath as he shuts the bathroom door and turns on the shower. you then quickly get to work with your makeup, planting the perfect looking hickey in a place he hasn’t seen all day, but will very soon. once it was done, you discreetly hide your phone and patiently wait on the bed for carlos to leave the bathroom. 

fresh out of the shower, your husband steps into your room with just a pair of sweatpants on as he continues to run the towel over his damp hair. you take that as your sign to begin your prank and tie your hair up into a bun - giving carlos the perfect view of your neck. walking over to him, you plant a kiss on his lips and step back from him as he turns his attention towards his wife. looking you up and down for a second, making eye contact with the hickey, you feign confusion and innocence by proceeding to ask, “que, mi amor? is there something on my face?” you attempt to turn and ‘check’ yourself in the mirror, but carlos pulls on your arm, spinning you around to face back at him. he quickly discards the towel in his hand, throwing it to the floor, as he looks closer at your neck. 

“did you hurt yourself, cariño?” he asks softly, “maybe with one of your hair tools or something,” he finishes as if he’s almost assuring himself. 

“no? what is this carlos?” you question, trying your damnedest not to let out a smile.

“tienes algo en el cuello,” you have something on your neck uh oh. carlos only spoke direct spanish with you when he was deep in a feeling - lust, happiness, anger. “parece un…” it looks like a… 

“que?” you ask softly.

“a hickey, y/n. it looks like a hickey. y sé muy bien que no fui yo quien te dio esto,” and i know very well it was not me that gave you this

“oh, oh that? ya, um, actually that might be from my curling iron, you were right!” responding lightly only made carlos narrow his eyes at you further. 

“y/n, qué hice mal,” what did i do wrong?

“oh no, carlos, baby, nothing- you did nothing wrong,” you panic at his sadness and hold his face in your hands, “it’s just a prank, los, te lo prometo,” i promise you

he looks down at you, widening his eyes in hope before he says anything, then you hear - so quietly you almost miss it, ‘take it off’. 

“i will, i will baby. come here, come with me,” you lead him into the bathroom, grabbing your makeup wipes in haste and rubbing the fake hickey right off your neck. you hear your husband let out a long and deep exhale before he gives your sides a squeeze. 

“you just took ten years off my life with that stress, amor,”

“lo siento, carlos. i’ll even show you the video where i put it on if that makes you feel better,” you turn around in his hold and give him not one, not two, but three quick pecks to the lips as you drag him back into the room to retrieve your phone. as of that moment, carlos begins plotting his revenge. 

-

the next week, your husband and you arrive early at the paddock for race day due to his necessary media duties. with your hands intertwined, you begin making your way to the ferrari garage - passing a few reporters and fans on the way. while making your way, a few fans had called out to the both of you. carlos always joked that his fans loved you more than him, but every joke has a bit of truth to it. 

“y/n! carlos! over here! can we get a picture?”

your husband - ever the gentleman - turns his attention to the young group of girls at the barricade and leads you both over to them. once carlos had signed a few things and taken a few pictures, you both turn to leave but are prevented by the girls. 

“y/n! can we get a picture with you too!” carlos checks you over, asking you non-verbally if you’re okay with it and you slightly nod in his direction to signify the answer. bending down and over slightly, the girls grab a few selfies with you and speak to you about their love for your tik toks, tweets, and overall personality. with your light ego boost, you turn and chuckle to your husband. 

“isn’t it great that your fans love me more?” you give him a sly smile and a poke to his stomach as he laughs along with you.

“aye, they’re just saying that to make you feel better, amor,” he shoots back quickly.

“nuh-uh,” you scoff back, “they love me so much more, i think i better be the one to race today,” at this point the girls are recording your interaction while giggling at the banter your husband and you have provided. 

“in your dreams, cariño,” he bites back with a smile.

with that comment, you whip around to face the group, “do you hear how he speaks to me? my own husband! he hates me!” you sigh dramatically as carlos pulls you into his arms. the crowd before you erupts in laughter at your antics and your husband bids polite goodbyes, leading you away. you’re both leaving in cackles as you continue to jab each other back and forth.

as you round the corner to the ferrari garage, you both run into fernando walking towards aston martin. 

“hola, nando!” you call out with a wave. he stops curtly and leans in your direction, arms parting for a hug. you receive it kindly, swaying lightly back and forth all while exchanging pleasantries. 

“aye, he oído felicitaciones están en orden,” i hear congratulations are in order fernando presses with a smile.

“porque felicitaciones?” why congratulations? you ask back to him. 

“oh! lo siento, ¿se supone que nadie debe saberlo?” i’m sorry, is no one supposed to know?

your confusion ends when you turn to your now - dying laughing - husband at your left, “¿le dijiste a todo el mundo que estaba embarazada?” did you tell everyone i was pregnant?

carlos can’t even shake out words at this point due to laughter as he just begins to vigorously nod his head yes. fernando takes this as his sign to head back in his previous direction, chuckling under his breath something about ‘these damn kids again’. 

“you’re dead, carlos sainz,” you state matter-of-factly at him. 

“i’m sorry, me or my fathe-”

“YOU KNOW WHO!” you yell back, cutting off his smart ass comment, “does the whole grid really think im fucking pregnant, you ass?” this time carlos’ laughter is cut short and he just slowly shakes his head yes, nervousness now overwhelming his features instead of amusement. 

“do you now realize how stupid that was?” you ask him again. again he slowly nods his head yes, his eyes only meeting his shoes. out of your peripheral, you can see lando approaching the both of you and he holds out his arms in glee.

“there are my favorite soon-to-be parent-”

“SHUT IT!” you snap in his direction, “the only child i will be raising for the foreseeable future is the one in front of me,” you nod your head towards carlos, and his eyes - again - never leave his shoes. lando begins to laugh even louder than your husband did before at his friend being scolded like a child.

“oh i am so tweeting about this,” he lets out between laughs. 

you take a glance over at your husband and whisper a light ‘karma’ into his ear before you kiss his cheek and head off to find his family in the garage. 

-

after the race, carlos is doing interviews and you are searching to find him. not being in the media pen, but instead just along the gates talking to reporters, you easily walk up to your husband and wait over to the side for him to finish. the reporter speaking to him notices your presence and begins to wave you over. you shake it off quickly, wanting your husband to have his shining moment, but instead he also joins in waving you over - causing you to reluctantly head in their direction. 

“hi!” you squeak out to the reporter, carlos pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. 

“hi, y/n! thank you for joining us for the interview!” the young woman starts. 

“thank you for letting me crash!” you reply back with a giggle. 

“not crashing, you’re here by invitation,” your husband speaks up, kissing your forehead after doing so.

“i’m sorry if we were too forward to invite you,” the reporter chimes in fast.

“no, no!” you assure back, “i just didn’t want to outshine ‘ole carlos over here, you know how it is,” you joke, giving the reporter and your husband a laugh. 

“for sure,” the young woman gives you, “we love you two as a couple, you both have been informally deemed the grids funniest couple with all your banter and tik tok pranks, how do you both feel about that title?”

“it’s a heavy weight to carry,” you dramatically sigh, “i have to keep the people on their toes and give them what they want,” the reporter laughs once again at your comments as you shrug before your husband chimes in, “funny wife, happy life - right?” you all share one more laugh before the reporter lets you two depart. 

as you’re walking out of the paddock, hand in hand, you reach up on your toes to plant a kiss to carlos’ lips. he hums back in approval, stopping you, with his hold moving to your waist and pressing deeper. you smile into the kiss and can feel him doing the same. once pulling apart, your husband stares into your eyes, the contact moving from eye to eye to lips. you almost crumble watching him shamelessly adore you. 

“what are you thinking about, amor?” you gently ask, attempting not to ruin the soft moment with loud diction.

“just how much i love you, cariño,” his reply is simple, yet means so much. even though you both are playful with your antics and pranks, your love is something that never falters with seriousness. and you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

[carmenized-onions]

Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you, Amish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

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

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

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

“I just like making my own lunch.”

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

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This fucking guy. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fak.” 

“Carm?”

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

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

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

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

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

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.” 

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

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

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

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

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

“You're the baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Your hair is fucked.” 

“And the food?”

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

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.” 

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye aye, Rich.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin!” 

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

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She had to leave early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

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

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how it starts.”

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

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

“How long you been stable, again?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

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

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

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

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

“What?”

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

“Fuck you mean what?”

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

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

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

“You said she failed him.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same team.”

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

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

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

“Six hours. Same team.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re multiplying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Can you stay after close?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, “Can you do that?”

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

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

“Insane, Uncle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I believe in you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wish you did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“Mikey—”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not?”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“I’m okay.”

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you, Bear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

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

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not negotiable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Part

[nicksolemnlyswears]

TWO IS COMPANY, THREE IS A CROWD

SWEET TREAT

pairing: opla!zoro x reader, opla!sanji x reader

word count: 1.7k

warning: 18+, smut, swearing, penetration (p in v), fingering, slight vouyerism (?), very little spit play, zoro has a biting and pain kink

a/n: i want to preface this by saying that i have never seen the original anime 'one piece'. if you have watched it and you think the character are super ooc i apologize but i warned you.

i watched the netflix live action and i fell in love with it and its characters. i liked it a lot more than i ever thought. as soon as i finished it this prompt came into my head and here i am 24 hours later.

this is my first time writing about opla so please be kind to me :')

With everyone on the crew busy you have the perfect opportunity to slip into the cabin Zoro and Sanji share. Your green haired boyfriend waits for you on his hanging bed. He has an arm thrown around his eyes, pretending to take a nap.

You slide your shoes off and saunter to the bed where you straddle his relaxed body and lean over his chest. The pads of your fingers playfully trace his exposed chest. He calmly removes his arm from his eyes and wraps it around you instead. A soft grin adorns his sharp features.

He heard you coming down the hall, he knows the difference in the steps of his crew mates. That and he noticed your heated stare throughout the day while he practiced with his swords. A book may have been in your hands but your eyes were locked on his figure.

“Hi handsome,” you whisper with a bite of your lip.

“Missed me already?” Zoro smirks, twirling a strand of your hair with his finger.

He's surprised it took you more than ten minutes to seek him out. He had been expecting you to barge through the door as soon as he walked in. Guess he has to give you more credit than that.

“Desperately,” you say, catching his lips with yours in a heated kiss.

He knows what you want. The escape to his room in pretense of a nap was all a ruse to get you in his bed. And you followed the unspoken plan seamlessly. Your absence on deck went nearly unnoticed.

Zoro's hands firmly grasp your thick thighs, pulling you flush against him. You moan into his mouth as one of your hands gets tangled in his hair. The other runs up and down his chest, feeling the scar left behind from a duel and his hard muscles.

You love his strong hands and how they cling to your body whenever you’re near. His touch is hot on your skin, leaving blazing flames of arousal behind. The callouses in his hands add to the sensations coursing through you.

His fingers teasingly play with the hem of your skirt, lifting it to touch the skin underneath. He cheekily gives your ass a squeeze before grabbing a fistful of your dress and taking it completely off your body.

It forces you to break your kiss yet a string of saliva connects the two of you. Zoro watches this with lustful eyes, lips smashing back against yours, teeth nipping your bottom lip.

Zoro sits up with you still on his lap, holding onto his strong shoulders. Against your protests he pulls away, glancing at your nearly naked body.

"Tsk." He should’ve known you wouldn’t be wearing a bra, you tend to avoid the tight garment as much as possible. You smile cheekily at him, playfully arching your back to temp him into taking what he wants.

Just like in his day to day, Zoro is quiet in bed. Opting to make you moan and cry out his name. All you get from him are quiet hums of approval, grunts and the occasional swear word.

With one hand holding you in place, he lifts his other hand to grasp at your soft flesh. Your nipples perk up feeling his warm touch and Zoro takes advantage of that as he lightly pinches them between the pads of his fingers and pulls on them.

You watch his concentrated face with your lip between your teeth, holding back moans. Your breaths are shaky something he can clearly feel as he leaves open mouthed kisses down the expanse of your neck and chest, sucking pretty bruises on your skin.

Your hips begin grinding lightly against his to try and somewhat relieve yourself. Zoro is in no rush though as he takes his time sucking a nipple into his mouth, massaging it with his tongue. That's when he looks up at you and catches your eye. He mischievously shoots you a wink and bites down on your nipple.

"Fuck," you cry out in pleasure as he soothes the ache with his tongue.

Zoro quiets you down by kissing you once more. While you're distracted his touch trails down between your legs.

“Been wanting this a while, huh?” He teases, feeling the strings of your arousal coating your panties.

“All day,” you pant, planting another kiss on his lips.

“Thought you got your fix this morning,” he mentions casually, tilting his head. He's feeling you though the thin material, outlining every part of you as it clings to your skin.

“Not enough,” you pout, leaning your forehead against his.

“Typical,” he scoffs. “Let me take care of you.”

Your underwear easily snaps with a tug of his fingers. You glare at him disapprovingly. He laughs it off, kissing the pout from your lips. Then Zoro dips his finger in your folds, feeling and spreading your wetness without a barrier to hold him back. With your eyes scrunched in pleasure your head drops on his shoulder, begging in his ear to keep touching you. To give you more.

He circles your clit as his other hand touches the rest of your body. His hand grips your side, your chest, your thighs, it has a mind of its own as it does as it pleases with your body. Zoro bites your shoulder as he pushes one of his long fingers in you. He's always been one to play with the limits of pain and pleasure.

"Yes, Zoro. Baby, please." Your begging is chopped and incoherent but he understands what he needs without you telling him.

One finger becomes two and soon your hips rock along to the pace. You've returned to kissing his lips to keep quiet. The crew should be outside, out of earshot but you can never be too cautious. The only noise in the cabin is the squelching coming from Zoro's finger in your pussy and the smacking of your lips.

His digits curve just how you like it, hitting that spot inside of you as his palm hits your clit with each push. He's relentless once his teasing comes to a halt. Over and over Zoro sends jolts of electricity through you.

You're slumped in his lap as your hips ride his fingers. Your forehead falls against his as you try to keep your whines to a minimum. You whisper praises and words of encouragement until that knot in your stomach begins unraveling.

“Gonna cum,” you cry out. You bury your fingers in his hair and his back as your walls begin to contract around his fingers.

“That’s it, baby,” Zoro praises, feeling your pussy clench rhythmically around his fingers. Your thighs shake just the same, wave after wave.

You're flushed atop of Zoro, catching your breath. His fingers leave you but then soon come to rest on your bitten-red lips. You open them willingly, tasting yourself on his fingers as you lock eyes with him.

As he pulls his fingers back you say, “I wanna ride you, Zoro. Can I?”

"You can handle it, baby? All on your own?" He asks, teasing you. He's being a little shit who wants to give you a hard time.

You eagerly nod, unbuttoning his tight pants and taking them off along with his shirt. His cock is hard and pretty. He has a nice length but is more on the thicker side. You release a shaky breath remembering the delicious stretch it provides. The tip of his cock is a dark pink always enticing you to lick it.

“Get it wet for me baby,” he orders you as he lies back in bed with his arms folded behind his head.

You're wet enough to take him but Zoro likes to watch you drool over his cock. Grabbing his cock that lays hard on his abdomen, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, letting a strip of saliva fall down to his cock. His precum and your saliva mix as you wrap your hand around him to spread it.

You look to him for approval and he nods. You adjust yourself over him, pussy hovering over his erect cock. You line him up and press his tip on your entrance, letting it gather your arousal.

With your patience running thin you sink down slowly, taking inch after inch. The sting of him stretching you out unmistakably erotic. Zoro's eyes jump from watching your fucked out expression to your pussy swallowing his dick.

Your eyebrows furrow and your mouth falls agape as you fall flush against him. The dark patch of hair at his base tickling your thighs. You could cry from how good you're feeling and the immense pleasure coursing through your body.

His palms caress your thighs, encouraging you. It's a silent praise for doing it so well. You feel Zoro thrust from under you, a sign you should start riding him.

"Fuck," Zoro silently curses as his eyes zone in on your tits bouncing along with you. His hand instantly reaches out, flicking and pulling on your nipples.

"Zoro," you moan, hands splayed on his stomach, bracing yourself. With each bounce you feel him hitting that spot, again and again.

Unlike Zoro, you are not physically strong. You can't fight for hours without breaking a sweat so it's no surprise you start getting tired. Your thigh muscles ache, making your movement sloppy. Each time you slow down though he spanks you, making you jump and pick the pace back up.

Zoro could do more to help you but he doesn't feel like it. He likes seeing how far you'll go to get what you want. You just want to use him for your pleasure and he's letting you do just that. He has enough controlling himself to not nut so soon from the vice grip your cunt has on his cock.

Getting frustrated with Zoro's spanks you grab his hands pining them down on his stomach with yours. Any other day it would've been far from enough, but he lets you be.

You're no quitter though you won't let Zoro take over so instead you choose to rock your hips back and forth. The pleasure is just the same as your clit drags on his pubic bone. Your eyes close and your head is thrown back as you get used to the new sensation. Chasing your release is the only thing on your mind.

“Came to say dinner is ready but you two seem busy,” a voice speaks from the door. Sanji.

He's watching the spectacle in front of him. He should've known you were up to no good when he noticed your absence in the kitchen. You often like to keep him company and help him out wherever you can.

“S-sanji,” your eyes widen in surprise. Even from across the room Sanji can hear the lewd noises your wet cunt makes with each movement.

“You did a shit job this morning,” Zoro grunts as your walls choke his cock more than before. Sanji watching the two of you will do that to you.

Sanji walks up to the bed saying, “It’s not my fault she’s insatiable. I had her screaming into her pillow this morning. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” He asks, grabbing your chin with two fingers.

"Yes," you breathe out, looking up at your other boyfriend. Sanji rewards you with a slow kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Zoro watches the two of you, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," he mutters, "Good girl."

Sanji inspects you with calculating eyes. His finger follows his gaze as it wanders from your cheek to the mark on your neck he left this morning, it continues to your shoulder where it circles around the bite mark Zoro just created. It continues its descent down your sternum as he avoids touching your chest. As he nears your slit his finger lifts from your skin and a smack is delivered to your ass. How he wishes he can switch with Zoro at that moment. It's of no matter though he'll have you in his bed later in the night.

"Join us," you beg Sanji, trying to chase his lips but he pulls back. "Want both of you."

That same sentence is what got you in this predicament in the first place. Both men were attracted to you and you were attracted to both of them. It was too hard to choose one over the other so you all made a relatively simple agreement.

"I'm afraid I can't, darling," Sanji apologetically smiles, giving you one last kiss. “Finish up soon or Luffy won't leave any food for the two of you.” he says, leaving the room once more.

The last thing he catches is Zoro flipping you over to your knees, your chest pressed against the mattress and your surprised expression as he pushes back into you. Zoro loves when you take the lead, but it's time he takes things back into his own hands if either of you wants to have dinner.

[hannieehaee]

18 + / mdi

content: sub!jihoon x sub!reader (ur just both insane for e/o), smut, riding, cockwarming, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1374

a/n: been working on a longer jihoon fic but im going insane at him so i needed to put out something in the meantime

masterlist

jihoon hated this.

it was so distracting. he had things to do, deadlines to meet. but now he was stuck with his mind at a blank, pretending to work on his computer while he felt the warm weight of your walls wrapped around him.

you had taken the habit of visiting him unannounced at his studio. which he loved! your company provided him nothing but comfort, making him feel relaxed at knowing that you supported his workaholic habits and even egged him on. except as of late, you'd become a bit ... needy, and so had he.

it had all started about two weeks back, when you'd come in wearing the world's tiniest skirt. jihoon was just a man after all, so he couldnt help but ogle at you, inciting you to come sit on his lap for a minute (minute being the operative word here). okay, yeah, maybe he started it by kissing your neck and rubbing his hands up and down your bare legs, but you had driven him all the way home by insisting you sit on his dick. he had reluctantly denied you at first, telling you that he needed to get some work done, but you insisted you could just sit on him, with no further distractions.

and so it began. your streak of cockwarming him whenever you came to visit him. every single time after that, without fail, you'd arrive to his studio, flaunting the legs he so much adored, and take a seat on his cock. it never took him much convincing to lower his pants and allow you a spot on his lap. he adored the feeling of your walls around him. there was no way for him to deny himself the pleasure of a pretty girl sighing in pleasure at the feeling of his cock entering you. except he was now behind on his work; something that was extremely rare.

he could not concentrate with you around anymore. even on the rare occasions in which you'd opt out of sitting on his dick, it was now all he could think about, specially since after every session of warming him up in your pretty cunt, you'd eventually begin whining at him as you bounced your ass on his dick, making him throw his head back as his hands dug on your hips.

that was his current predicament. you on top of him, chest pressed against his as he pretended he was busy with work. all the while you were resting against his chest, playing with your phone while leaning on his shoulders as your walls sporadically tightened around him, leaving him out of air. he needed you to move so badly, needed you to make him cum or else he'd never be able to focus.

he went on a whim, starting the movements himself. he planted his feet harder on the floor and did an experimental thrust up, immediately causing you to yelp in surprise. you didn't seem to be against it, though, as you tightened impossibly harder around him, starting a slow and sensual grind above him.

"baby ..." he couldnt help but sigh at the feeling, hands now running all over your ass, unsure of where to keep his hold.

"hoonie .. fuck, you feel so good. can i ride you, baby?"

yes. fuck. that's all he needed right now; a beautiful girl - you in specific - crying on his cock as he just sat there and took it. he loved the thought of such a gorgeous thing losing her mind on his dick while he just ran his hands up and down your body, not even needing to put any effort into it.

"please, baby. ride me? wanna feel you so bad ..."

that apparently was all you needed to hear to begin bouncing your ass on his lap, alternating between your sensual grinds and harsh bounces against him. less than a minute in and jihoon was already losing his mind, hands frantic as he played with the pretty thong you had worn for him. god, he was so obsessed with you. he couldn't help but close his eyes and lean his head back against his chair, reeling on the feeling of your gorgeous body pulling pleasure out of his.

damn all complaints he had of you distracting him from his work. he'd quit being an idol if it meant having your cunt wrapped around him all day every day. okay, maybe that was just the pussydrunkness talking, but you had him losing his mind at the feeling of his dick being strangled by your walls. there was nothing he wouldn't do in this moment to ensure this pleasure for the rest of his life.

"l-love you so much ... always so fucking good for me. love your cunt, baby. you have no idea," he groaned against your ear, loving how you tightened even more at his words. the effect he knew he had on you made his ego grow immensely. your moans also had the same effect on him, letting him know how much pleasure he gave you with such minimal effort.

"hoonie ... cock's so good - shit. please ... want more, need more ..." you unglued your face from his neck, now face-to-face with him as you eyed his lips. the air in the room grew heavier at this, making him feel a carnal need to kiss you with everything he had in him.

your loud whines against his mouth had him become boneless against you. your sounds were getting the best of him. he couldnt believe such a gorgeous thing could be so affected by him; by just his lips against yours. once you opened your mouth against his, it was game over for him as he licked into your mouth and sucked your tongue with his. the shaking of your body against his as you sped up made him have no option but to begin pistoning up against you, making your cries grow impossibly louder.

he was far beyond losing his mind. his brain couldnt process the pleasure you were giving him, nor the thought of the pleasure he was giving you. to any outsider, this was an animalistic show of two deprived individuals letting their carnal desires take over. by now, you were just humping against each other with no other thought in mind, tongues licking nastily at each other. it was a mess of cum and saliva, but it had jihoon thirsty for more.

there was no way jihoon could go back to work after this. not after your walls almost drew all air out of him as you came with a scream of his name. not when his dick creamed all over your puffy walls. not when your tear stained face was staring back at him, pouty lips begging for yet another kiss.

he entertained your wish, puckering his lips against yours for an uncharacteristically innocent peck while he ran his hands up and down your thighs with a softness that contrasted the previous animalistic fucking.

"i think i need to take some time off."

"hmm?", you were still a deflated version of yourself, probably unable to even comprehend any words directed at you due to your exhaustion.

"yeah. i think im gonna take a few days off and stay in with you. wanna- wanna enjoy this for a few days with no interruption," it was a bit uncharacteristic of him, but he'd been thinking of it for a while. he missed you even when you slept over on his couch while waiting for him to finish working. he wanted to enjoy you to the fullest extent for a week or so, with no work interrupting.

you giggled against his ear, "was the pussy that good, jihoonie?"

"aish. never mind. gonna do overtime now." he jokingly pushed you away from him, cringing at your statement (despite knowing it was true).

"nooo, hoonie. i take it back. take a whole month off. take the year off. i'll make it worth your while," he knew you always did, but he still shied away from your shameless flirting.

"how's two weeks?"

"hmm. two weeks of uninterrupted jihoon-time," you smiled giddily at him, "yes, please."

yeah. nothing sounded better than two weeks of you, him, and no work getting in the way.

[hippiepowrs]

one night lookin' pretty

eddie munson x fem!metalhead!reader

you and eddie hate school dances, but you decide to go to the prom this year--with someone who isn't eddie. eddie does not like that, but can't say anything.

a/n: this is my first longer fic so i hope you like it. prom season is coming up so this is kinda self indulgent (as if all my fics aren't). this one is for all my weird girls out there! title from one night in the city by dio btw. :)

warnings: hurt/comfort. angsty for a while but gets fluffy. swearing. a guy being a total asshole to reader. reader wears a dress. reader and eddie both self-described as 'freak.' eddie being a jealous and insecure idiot. both are oblivious as fuck. eddie is REALLY dorky. eddie's backstory and parents--i did not read that book so i don't care if it's canon. idiots in love in the end. pretty cliche but i don't care!

wc: 3.8k

It’s prom night, and Eddie is sitting alone on his couch. Without you. 

Usually, you guys skip every school event together in favor of watching a shitty movie and smoking half of his stock, but tonight was different. Someone asked you to the prom, and it wasn’t him. 

He’s been acting off for the past two weeks, you noticed. He’s been quiet and snappy, and has been opting to jack up the stereo instead of talk on your drives home. When you asked him what was wrong, he pushed you away. So, you left him alone about it. He made it clear he wanted his space.

He didn’t even want to show up to see you in your dress. You called him last night to see if he would come over–he told you he was sick. He wasn’t fully lying, though. The thought of you going to that stupid school dance with that stupid school boy made him nauseous. It didn’t make sense to him. How did you switch your views on the prom so fast? Months ago, the two of you laughed at the idea of going. Now, you were dressed up all pretty, just like all those popular girls you claimed to hate. He had to watch that sleazy ass car pull into to the trailer park, right up next to his. He’d never admit that he watched you step out of your trailer with that guy, and wished it was him. 

Being completely honest with yourself, your date isn’t even exactly your type. Todd isn’t some freak like you or your friends, but he isn’t a complete asshole either. He asked you in the hallway two weeks ago, and your instinct was to laugh at him. You laughed in his face, but he didn’t budge. He really wanted to take you to the prom, so you told him you’d go. It felt nice to be wanted. It was okay that he wasn’t some rock n’ roll dude like you’re into–it’s not like you’re marrying him. It’s just the prom. 

You and Todd arrive at the Hawkins High gym, hand in sweaty hand. Pushing the anxiety clawing at your throat back down, you give him a smile as you walk to get your photo taken together. The frilly, glittery background reminds you that this place isn’t for you. Again, you push that down. 

The music isn’t really your style, either, but everyone is having so much fun you feel the need to pretend. None of your friends are here, so you’re stuck. Maybe you should have pregamed, you think. Too late now. Todd pulls you onto the dance floor with a fervor you’ve never seen in him. You don’t understand how a person can have so much fun dancing to this shitty music. It’s a lot easier to get through when you pretend that Todd is Eddie, and you’re dancing to mixtapes in his room. You decide not to think about the implications of that right now. When the song ends, you offer to grab punch for the both of you. Maybe it’ll be spiked. 

As you make your way back to Todd, you see him chatting with a few of his friends, and from this distance you can just begin to hear them.

“So, when do I get my twenty bucks from each of you? She’s totally ruining my reputation right now.” He laughs, and your stomach churns.

“Okay, yeah, you proved us wrong. You got her here, you danced, you win.” His friend confirms the fear that’s been looming over you like a dark cloud since Todd first asked you out. 

“You at least better hold onto her long enough to get her home with you tonight, man!” Another friend cackles, and you think you’re going to vomit.

How were you stupid enough to think that he actually liked you?

God, you’re so gullible. 

At least there’s nothing to lose now, you think. Walking over to him, drinks in hand, you dump both of them on his head. They splash on his stupid hair and drench his stupid suit. The music keeps playing. A few people turn to look. The room doesn’t stop for you like some trashy romcom. Everyone just keeps going. 

Storming out to the parking lot, nothing can stop the burning tears from pouring down your face. You slump down against the brick wall, fabric of your dress sticking to the rough sidewalk. The warm spring air feels sticky on your cheeks. You wish you had stayed in with Eddie.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You need to call Eddie. Todd drove you here, so it’s either Eddie or walk, and these heels already hurt enough. Your body feels like dead weight as you drag yourself to the payphone on the wall, punching in the number that’s engraved into your heart. 

“Hey.” You greet, choked up. You’re trying to keep your composure. You know it won’t last long.

“…Hey. Havin’ fun with Mr. Popular?” There’s a bitterness to his tone. Usually he would’ve picked up on the fact that you were crying in a split second, but tonight he was too angry.

“Uhm, not really. Could you, uh,” you sniffle, blowing your thin cover, “pick me up? Like, now?”

You can almost hear his demeanor shift over the phone. A beat of silence passes.

“I’ll be right there.” He’s clearly still upset, because he hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. But his one-sided irritation can’t override the facts: he cares about you so much that he immediately hops in his van and starts speeding to the school, even faster than normal.

You sit back at the edge of the sidewalk, staring into the empty night over the parking lot. God, this is so cliché. Freak gets taken to prom as a joke; left crying outside. You know how pointless it is to cry over this guy. You don’t even care about him, to be honest. But it’s not really him you’re crying over. It’s the extensive disappointment you repeatedly put yourself through after expecting different results—it’s the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about Eddie all night. 

As you begin to probe deeper into the ethical implications of falling in love with your best friend, said best friend whips into the parking lot, tires skidding as he pulls right up to you and parks. He drives just how he lives his life—with a sense of urgency and passion you don’t see in many. His van stops diagonally in the middle of the pickup lane, and he hops out of the driver’s side door, so worried he can’t be bothered to close it before sprinting to your side. 

For the past six minutes—which is Eddie’s new personal record on getting to the school from Forest Hills—his mind has been racing with every possibility of what could have happened to you tonight. Maybe Todd had another girl, or is just boring, or maybe you got totally Carrie’d and some assholes poured pig’s blood all over you. Not likely, but hey, you never know the determination of Hawkins’ resident assholes. At least if you got Carrie’d you’d look metal as fuck. That would be a good album cover. But that’s not the point. What he’s more worried about is the possibility that that dickwad touched you in any way. Just the thought is enough for him to completely light up—he got pretty close to breaking his steering wheel from how hard he was gripping it. 

“What happened?” He tries to act nonchalant, but that’s something he’s never been good at. 

Your head is held between your knees, looking down into nothingness. He’s staring daggers into the top of your head, and you can almost feel the fact that he wants to say ‘I told you so.’ Reluctantly, your wet eyes tilt upwards, the rest of your head following. 

“Let’s just talk in the van.” He sighs. 

You don’t budge. Your legs feel far too wobbly to imagine getting up right now. He has zero patience at the moment, it seems, as evidenced by the fact that he almost immediately picks you up bridal style and carries you directly to the passenger’s side of his van. He fumbles with the door handle for a second before setting you down gently in the seat. You watch him drag a frustrated hand over his face through the windshield as he walks back to his side, and although you know you didn’t do anything wrong, you’re worried that you did. 

The engine roars into life, turning your seat into a makeshift massage chair. Eddie pulls out of the parking lot as quickly as he pulled in, but with a little more focus. He doesn’t turn his music on, which is a bad sign. 

“It was a bet,” is all you can say, voice soft and defeated, “because, of fucking course it was.” You stare out the window, head tapping against the glass as he hits a pothole straight on.

“I told you that asshole was bad news.” His voice is laced with venom. He’s never been good at controlling his anger—especially when it has to do with you. 

You stay silent. Anything you say right now will probably just piss him off more. 

“Why do you—why do you always do this to yourself? You’re always finding these guys that just want to take you out to say they were able to take you out. They treat you like a fucking trophy.” He scoffs. 

You look at him again, tears still silently falling. Even if you wanted to say something to that, you can’t seem to find your voice. 

“I just don’t get it. You’re, like, totally perfect,” he coughs, gripping the wheel harder, “and these guys you find are total douches. You can do so much better.”

“It’s not like there’s anyone better around here,” you mumble while staring out the window, like some kid talking back to their parent for the first time. 

“That’s not my point!” His yell rings out against the hum of the engine, the dull drumming being the only sound left as he hangs a sharp right turn. “I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to find some guy that you throw your morals out the door.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you for a moment before looking back at the road. 

“I haven’t thrown my morals out the door.” You argue softly. 

“Yes, you have! We always said we’d never suck up to the bullshit they want us to do, that we’d never let them turn us normal, and here you are at the fucking prom.”

“Eddie, it’s prom! It’s not like I fucking stabbed my mother!”

“We’re supposed to be the freaks! We’re Hellfire! We piss people off! That’s our whole thing! You can’t just—fuck—just throw that out!” He groans angrily, pulling into Forest Hills, slowing down as you near the Munson trailer. 

“I’m not throwing it out.” You say, much more firmly. 

“You’re throwing me out!” There it goes, the root of the entire issue. He’s always been worried that you’ll find someone cooler, someone less abrasive, someone who will make you laugh and smile more than he can. Logically, he knows that would never happen, but he can’t help his fear. He throws the van into park and slams the door as he gets out. 

Eddie was eight when he met you. He’d been living with Wayne for a little over a year by the time you moved next door, but he was still struggling. His mother left him first, then his father. He missed his mom a lot, but his dad probably caused him more pain, knowing that he had the choice whether or not to stay, but Eddie wasn’t enough. Uncle Wayne was nicer to him than his father had ever been, but that can’t fix a broken kid. 

Then one day, you showed up in your ratty hand-me-downs, a year and a half younger than him. He thought that girls had cooties, but you were different. You didn’t giggle or try to hide your gaze like the other girls did when they made fun of him to each other. Instead, you walked right up to him and said hi. 

You were new, and you didn’t have the best clothes—he could tell you were probably going through something similar to him—so the kids at school kicked you to the curb. You were just as pretty as the other girls, he thought, if not prettier, as much as a seven-year-old can be. But that didn’t really seem to matter to them. Your lunchbox was plain, theirs had characters. 

When the two of you got to be in junior high at the same time, him in the eighth grade and you in sixth, he thought for sure that you would find new, more popular friends. It was incredibly shocking to him that you’d rather hang out with some dorky boy with an ugly buzz cut who’s two grades ahead of you than the other pretty girls, but he wasn’t going to complain. 

He’s lived with that fear constantly since then, always preparing himself to see you walking into school one day in some pastel sweater instead of your band shirts and battle vest. He knows you won’t, he knows you’re better than that, and he feels so guilty for always expecting the worst, but he can’t help it. 

You hop out of the passenger’s side of the van, holding up the skirt of your dress like some elegant princess. But instead of some grand, ornate staircase, you’re simply walking up the concrete steps of the Munson trailer and following Eddie, who’s storming inside. 

“Eddie.” You sound like a scolding mother, tears having dried up a few minutes ago, and you shut the door behind you. “Why do you think so lowly of me?” Your voice cracks with the weight of the question. 

Eyes widening, Eddie never realized quite how much his thoughts could affect you until right now. “I don’t,” he says softly. “You’re the best person I know.”

“You say that, but you always think I’m gonna leave you for someone else. You’re my best fucking friend. I’m not just gonna cut you off at the drop of a hat.”

“I- I know that,” he stammers out, a little shaken. 

“Do you?”

“Look, I,” he sighs, finally turning around, “I’m just scared. I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize how fucking lame I am, and you won’t want to deal with me and all my bullshit anymore.” 

“The world isn’t against you, Eddie.”

He opens his mouth to quip back something snarky, but he closes it as he thinks about your words again. 

“You hate yourself so much that it’s beginning to rub off on me, because I’m friends with you, and if I like you, you think that surely there’s something wrong with me, too.” 

He’s stunned into silence, your words stabbing him straight through the heart. 

“Can you at least tell me why you were being a dick for the past few weeks?” You switch the subject slightly with a sigh. 

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Because of Troy asking you to prom.”

“Todd.”

“Yeah, whatever. He was my problem.”

“Why were you mad at me for that, though?”

“I knew he was gonna hurt you.”

“You didn’t say anything about that, though. You just said he was an ass once and then pushed me away for two straight weeks.”

Standing in the middle of the dark trailer, Eddie is presented with two options: confess his lifelong, undying love for you, or don’t. He knows that the only good and honest explanation he can give you involves a love confession, and he hates lying to you. But one thing trumps the fact that he hates lying to you, and it’s that Eddie is a complete and utter pussy. 

Eddie is, and always has been, a pussy. In middle school, you acted as his bodyguard—self-appointed, and very passionate—which only made him get bullied worse. You didn’t care. You’d defend him until the end of time. You’d take a hundred tugs to your ponytail or face-plants in the lunchroom so that he wouldn’t have to. You weren’t very loud or talkative in school, until it came to defending Eddie. 

To Eddie, you’re this glowing beacon of light and hope in his life. Everything good comes from you. And if he confesses his feelings to you, and you don’t feel the same, that pillar comes crashing down. 

But…what if? What if you did feel the same? That’s stupid, he thinks. Clearly you don’t, because otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to prom with another guy. And he’s sure you already know about his big, fat crush, and you’re choosing to act like you don’t notice.

“I’m sorry.” You can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s fingering riffs on the side of his thigh. 

“You always get so upset when I talk to guys. It’s not like there can be only one guy in my life.” 

“I know that, it’s just–” This is going to be the worst decision he’s ever made, and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. “--I’m jealous, okay?”

“Obviously you’re fucking jealous, dickweed.” As you call him your favorite nickname, the intent behind his words reaches you, and your cheeks begin to heat up. “…Wait.”

“Have you seriously not picked up on this yet?” Eddie is genuinely surprised at your reaction. “You—you’re perfect, you know that? You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how you do it.” His voice is softer than normal. 

“Yeah, but—like, are you serious?” You ask. 

“I wouldn’t joke about this. I’ve been, like, totally into you forever. I’m surprised Gareth or Jeff didn’t say anything to you.”

“They did a while ago, but I thought they were messing with me.” 

“Okay, I honestly can’t blame you for that.”

A moment passes in silence, and you think about how to respond. 

“You know, I didn’t really want to go with Todd.”

“What? Why did you then?”

“I hoped that you would ask me,” you admit, eyes drifting to your feet, “but it was kind of a stupid thing to expect.”

His jaw goes slack as he hears you speak. 

“I guess that I’ve just kinda had this pipe dream where we’d go to prom together, and I’d be able to dress up all pretty, and we could dance together.” You avoid his gaze, until you hear him scurrying down the hallway. 

He emerges back out with his stereo in one hand and a cassette in the other, scrambling to place it down on the kitchen table and shoving the tape inside. He immediately skips to the song he has in mind. The familiar sound of Tommy Lee’s piano starts from beside you, and before you can figure out what’s happening, he’s offering his hand to you. 

“May I have this dance?” 

A smile grows on your face. “God, you’re such a fucking dork.” Your insult doesn’t come without placing your hand in his. He’s bright red, and he’s never slow danced in his life. 

Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home is interrupted occasionally by the sound of feet stepping on feet and the subsequent ow!’s that follow, as well as the flustered giggling of two idiots in love. 

Eddie pulls you a little closer, his hands firmly planted on your waist. “You look really beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, “sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 

He feels extremely underdressed compared to you, him in his favorite torn up pair of black jeans and an Exodus muscle tee, and you in your stunningly gorgeous dress, looking prettier than any princess he could ever imagine. 

“Thank you,” you mumble back, flustered, “you don’t look too—fuck!—too bad yourself, you know.” A playful giggle comes with your words, and a huge grin grows on Eddie’s face. 

“Yeah?” He teases, looking right in your eyes. 

“Yeah.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you giggle, staring right back. 

Leaning in, he lets out a nervous laugh before pressing his lips to yours. It’s not some magical explosion of energy that cures all your problems and fixes world hunger; but his lips are soft and warm, and he tastes like weed, gummy worms and a hint of shitty beer, and it feels right. 

You kiss him a few more times before the song ends, all quick and chaste but completely full of love. Pulling you along with him, not wanting to let go, he pauses the tape and the trailer goes quiet again. 

“Was I better at that than Troy?”

“Todd.”

“Point still stands, fuckface.”

Eddie drags you down the hall to his bedroom, the familiar ambiance warming you like a comforting blanket. Jumping onto the bed with a plop, the boy pats beside him invitingly.

“Can I change first?” You ask, ecstasy of the moment wearing off, allowing you to remember how itchy this damn dress is.

“‘Course. Your shirt is clean if you want it.” He calls it your shirt, but it was his at one point. The old Metallica tee used to be his favorite one, too, which meant it got a lot of wear and tear. But then you started wearing it at sleepovers, and it quickly became your shirt. Eddie didn’t like to wash it afterward because it smelled like you. He always felt like a creep for that.

Your hand tries its best to wrap around and pull the impossibly tiny zipper down, but it doesn’t want to budge. Eddie, watching you as intently as ever, quickly notices and jumps up to help you. His fingers move to your waist, soft and nimble, and gently undo the zipper for you. You let your dress fall to the ground, and he looks away, flustered. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in your underwear before, but now it feels a lot more serious.

Quickly throwing on the hole-filled Metallica shirt and a clean pair of his boxers, both of you hop back into his bed. You’ve shared plenty of nights here before, but once again, now it feels different. You sense that it will become a common theme for your life in the near future. His hands snake back around your waist and pull you next to him, and you allow your head to rest against his chest.

“So… does this mean you’re, like, my girlfriend now, or what?” A goofy smirk is plastered across his face as he asks. 

You try to playfully shove him off of you, to no avail. “Are you seriously fucking asking me that?” You’re trying so hard to act angry, but your giggles give you away.

“Yes, yes it does.” You seal it with a kiss. Then one on his cheek, and the other, and his forehead, and the tip of his nose.

reblogs and notes always appreciated! | requests are open!

[futurecorps3]

can i request a jj x reader where she keeps saying she's sick but jj doesnt believe it and thinks it's just an excuse to not go to the midsummers or whatever u choose, but then when they both go, she passes out and jj gets worried and protective. thank uuu smm!!

𝐑𝐮𝐬𝐞

Masterlist<3

Summary: JJ thinks you're lying Pairing: JJ Maybank x kook!reader Warnings: JJ kind of being an ass lmao, sickness, mentions of headaches, reader faints and I think that's it, lmk if I missed any! Word Count: 2.6K Requested: Yes

A/N: Took me a while to figure this one out cause I think J wouldn't be like that in the first place but let's try!! Hope u like, nonnie<3

Everything sucked. There was no way a human could have this bad luck, and Y/N had begun to think the universe had it against her at this point. She had spent almost a month finding the perfect dress and headpiece for Midsummers' night, two months in convincing her parents to let her bring JJ as her plus one and a solid three weeks in convincing JJ.

Only for a mind bending migraine to come storming its way right in the morning. She tried ignoring it for a while, taking some pain-killers to try to ease the pain, but they did absolutely nothing. Her parents had left early to help the Camerons set everything up (sitting around and ordering people) and the party started around five, so she opted for sleeping to see if the headache would subside.

It didn't; she realized right when JJ's booming voice rang through her ears, waking her up. "Figured I'd come down here so we could get ready together!" Her boyfriend said with a grin, holding the tuxedo she had bought for him in his arms. She incorporated from her bed. Standing up with a little dizziness, she couldn't let slide and kissed him as a greeting.

"For an event, it took me days to convince you to go to, you truly are excited." Y/N smiled, feeling a little light-headed. "Did you shower?" She asked as she buried her head in his chest as JJ's arms wrapped around her waist "'Course mamma, just for you... but by the looks of it you haven't" he smiled as his girlfriend hit his chest playfully.

"You're right though, be right back". Y/N stepped in her bathroom as she heard JJ play some music on her speaker. Hopefully, the shower would help the pain she could no longer stand. She tried massaging her scalp and breathe in the scents of her soaps, relax in the water and whatnot but it didn’t help.

She felt as if someone was pushing her eyeballs into the inside her skull while pounding the sides of her head with a hammer, the worst migraine she ever had. Now, this whole thing was important for both Y/N and JJ, as it was the first time they’d be attending an event of this nature together… but she wasn’t sure the headache would allow her.

The thought made her sulk a little, but in the end, the migraine was stronger. She stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel as well as her hair, watching JJ play around with her necklaces and rings. “J, I-I don’t think we can go” she muttered, disappointment clear in her shaking voice when she noticed how his face fell.

“What do you mean?” he sounded almost shocked. “My head’s been hurting like a motherfucker since I woke up, I-I tried taking some painkillers but they worked for shit and-“ “Y/N you ain’t gotta lie… just say you don’t wanna go with me”.

She couldn’t bear thinking JJ thought it had to do with him “Baby no, I-I’m serious! We could stay in and cuddle if you want, maybe watch Top Gun or-“ then he laughed. “Stop pretending”

“What?” “I know you don’t want me to meet all your kook friends and I know you're kind of ashamed of dating me even though you say you aren’t and-“ “What are you talking about!?”

This was a very JJ thing to think. And no, he wasn’t being manipulative. Y/N knew he meant every word he was saying. And that’s what hurt the most. He could get insecure and honestly, she couldn’t blame him. He grew up in a place that condemned him for the blood running through his veins, hearing things like “he’s just like his old man” or “a Maybank after all” when he fucked up.

Yes, he was reckless and stupid, but he was also kind and a good man. Y/N knew he had some reservations coming into this entire relationship with her because being friends differed completely from being boyfriend and girlfriend. The judgments they were to face were clear, but she always reassured him that as long as they were together they’d be okay.

She could see why he’d think that way. “It’s not like that, baby-“ “Except it is” he said, running his hands through his hair and pacing around the room. “Let’s go then” she gave in. Physical pain hurt way more than knowing JJ thought she was embarrassed to be dating him. She could handle it.

“Oh, so suddenly your headache goes away?” He snapped, throwing air quotes in the word headache which made Y/N, who was already getting her hair done, give him a look of “drop it” and he did, kissing her in the cheek before changing into his suit.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

When they got there, Y/N’s headache was nowhere near better, but she tried paying no mind to it; what mattered was she was walking down to the party with JJ holding her hand. She squeezed his fingers gently as they approached her parents; him squeezing her's back.

“Hi sweetie!” My mom smiles, hugging her tightly with the sweetest grin and then moves to hug her boyfriend. “JJ, we’re so glad you could make it! Go ahead to our table. It’s four over there and I made sure to seat you with Sarah and Kie”. The woman was always kind to J, making sure he felt welcomed in their lives.

Who was really hard to convince was her dad, always wary of the boys Y/N brings home. Now, him being a pogue well… that stir shit up to say the least. “Thank you” the boy answered her mom, then turning to her dad. “Hello, sir”. Her dad gave JJ a stern look and held out his hand “Hello JJ”. And that was it for him.

As they were walking to their table, Y/N realized her boyfriend’s face fell a little at the interaction with her dad. “Hey hey, it’s okay… you know how he gets,” she quickly assured and he directed those sad blue eyes to her “I just don’t get why he doesn’t like me” he sighed, a sad chuckle leaving his lips.

“You don’t usually care what people think of you, J. Why do yo-“ “I care because he’s your dad! I don’t care if Pope’s parents or- or Kie’s don’t like me, I couldn’t give less of a fuck but not with you. He’s your dad and as much as we know he’s unfair with me for being a pogue, I-I would like him to like me”

Y/N’s heart broke at his words, making her feet stop next to the dancefloor, her headache pulsating at the strong wave of emotions. “We can’t make him like you but when we get married…” JJ laughed at that, placing big hands around her waist and smiling “When we get married, he’ll realize I couldn’t wish for a better person to be with me forever. Because you love me, and I love you.” She grinned, pecking his nose to then resume their way to their seats.

When a waiter approached them and Y/N ordered water instead of some champagne, JJ looked at her funny. "Water? Who are you? Kie?" He joked, the aforementioned throwing a small napkin to his head "At least I'm not going to die of some weird liver disease like you J!" Kiara countered, giggling slightly. "I told you I'm not feeling well" Y/N mumbled, and before he could say anything, she joined Sarah and Kie's conversation.

As the conversations flowed and laughter filled the air, Y/N valiantly pushed through the discomfort, not wanting her condition to dampen the joyous occasion. Engaging in lighthearted banter with her friends, she managed to mask the underlying pain she felt. Yet, behind her radiant smile, an unrelenting throbbing persisted, casting a shadow on her otherwise vibrant spirit.

As Y/N's voice intertwined with the playful chatter, a sudden surge of dizziness overwhelmed her senses. Her head felt heavy, as if wrapped in a dense fog, and her vision blurred around the edges. The familiar pain that had been nagging her intensified, clawing at her temples.

She desperately clung to the facade of normalcy, but her body betrayed her resilience. Y/N's grip on the conversation faltered, her words becoming muddled as her mind struggled to keep pace. Her friends noticed the change in her demeanor, a fleeting flicker of concern crossing their faces. "You 'kay Y/N/N?" John B asked.

In that moment, Y/N's world seemed to spin out of control. Sensations of disorientation and weakness cascaded through her body, leaving her feeling adrift and vulnerable. The sounds of her friends' voices morphed into a distant echo, as if they were calling to her from a great distance.

The once vibrant party faded into the background, overshadowed by the overwhelming intensity of Y/N's migraine. Her focus narrowed to a single point of struggle, her every instinct urging her to find solace and relief from the torment that gripped her. "Baby?" She heard JJ mumble as her consciousness teetered on the precipice. Y/N's body succumbed to the overpowering sensations, causing her to lose consciousness.

A profound stillness enveloped Y/N as she drifted away, suspended in a momentary limbo between wakefulness and oblivion. Time became a fleeting concept, and the outside world ceased to exist for those brief moments.

In that suspended state, Y/N's body rested, unaware of the commotion that unfolded around her. JJ held her full weight in his arms, shock written all over his features. "Y/N! Baby, wake up!" he hopelessly pleads, the attention of the nearby tables focusing entirely on him. Kiara rushed over to her as well as Sarah and John, all in a frenzy, knowing nothing of what was going on.

"John, go get the twinkie! Ambulances will take a while to come to this side of the island." JJ hurried, feeling everyone's gaze on him but caring only for the peaceful look on his girlfriend's face. John B nodded and left quickly to get the van as close as he could. Then, guilt came rushing through J's veins like injected adrenaline; this was hois fault.

Y/N had tried to tell him she wasn't feeling okay, but he was too petty and way more inside his head when she was just being honest. He felt a sting in his eyes and as soon as he blinked; the tears stained Y/N's dress. "I'm so sorry baby" he whispered, Sarah and Kie looking puzzled at him asking for forgiveness at a time like this.

"JJ, this is not your fault" the blonde said, rubbing his back reassuringly but before she could continue, he began shaking his head "Y-You don't understand, she told me her head was hurting but-but I was stupid and thought she didn't wanna be seen with me and-" a sob interrupted his sentence, making Kie hug him tightly. "It's still not your fault".

He cried for a few more seconds, holding Y/N close so he could feel her still steady heartbeat against his ear until John B came rolling down in the twinkie. JJ noticed Y/N's dad approaching when he lifted up his girlfriend, but he needed to get her to the hospital quick. "I'll get her to the hospital sir, meet you there," He said in a panic, his friends and him getting in the van and speeding off to the emergency room.

He felt his heart sink as John drove and he could notice Y/N's breath quicken, then falter. JJ rarely felt guilt, but this was the way the universe was punishing him, he figured. "Hurry" he mumbled, knowing his best friend was doing his best not to crash while getting his girl to the hospital as soon as he could.

Eventually they got there. Everything from when the car stopped to him sitting next to her bed was a blur for JJ; he had a vague memory of the doctors saying she passed out from the migraine and dehydration, nothing fatal but if JJ hadn't been there to catch her when she blacked out it could've caused a concussion.

The pogues stayed there against the professional's advice, saying they should go home and sleep, that Y/N would be awake by morning and they would be able to talk to her then. They refused. Kie and Pope (who got there as soon as he heard the news) cuddled on a couch. Sarah and John did the same as JJ just sat next to Y/N's bed, holding her hand.

The doctors instructed her boyfriend to give her water as soon as she woke up and notify a nurse that would help her immediately, but in the meantime, all they could do was wait. Her parents walked in to find a room of teenagers sleeping at around eleven. Her mom woke JJ up so he could fill them in.

"Mrs. Y/L/N... hi" he sleepily mumbled, rearranging the wild mess his hair was by brushing it back to later rub the sleep out of her face. Her father was standing behind her with an angry expression, and before Y/N's mother could speak, he approached JJ menacingly. "You explain to me right this second why you didn't ask me what was to be done as soon as she passed out! We were so-" the man whisper yelled so the others wouldn't wake up.

"I'm sorry sir, and with all due respect, I could not care less about what you thought would be appropriate other than bringing her to the hospital. I couldn't care less about how you both were feeling; she needed help, and she needed it right that second. I'm sorry if I crossed any boundaries but, as you would be able to tell if you gave me a chance, I have no limit when it comes to your daughter's well being" JJ declared, not once getting his eyes off Y/N's dad.

And he was telling the truth, too. He would go to the ends of earth for her and if her being safe meant her dad would hate him more, it was okay for him. Suddenly, Y/N's mother engulfed him in a tight hug. "She couldn't be with someone better than you. We're just glad she's safe and to know our girl is with someone who will look after her. Thank you, JJ" she smiled.

He smiled wide, returning the hug. "No problem, ma'am. The doc said she'd be just fine. Apparently she had a migraine and hadn't drunk enough water... we're all just waiting for her to wake up". When the blonde raised his eyes to the man behind her, there was something different. Respect, maybe. He didn't really care in this moment.

Her parents stayed in some chairs outside, and, at around midnight, Y/N woke up. JJ was the first one to notice when her hand moved to wrap around his finger while he mindlessly scrolled through twitter. He dropped his phone, almost falling to the ground when he tossed it somewhere as he turned to look at Y/N. "Hi, hi baby" He cooed, pretty y/e/c staring at him just like he needed "Mmm, my hero", Y/N's voice was hoarse.

JJ giggled, handing her a bottle of water and stroking her cheek softly. "I'm sorry baby, I-I should've listened to you when you tried to tell me" He sighed the apologies he repeated like a prayer hours ago "S'okay J" "It's not. Shouldn't have let my mind get in the way. I'm glad you're okay" "Yeah me too... I'm also glad to see you, baby... Dreamt about you while I was out" "As you should," he jokingly said, both of them laughing and sharing a sweet kiss.

The story after that is short. Y/N recovered, JJ was finally allowed at family dinner (and exchanged pleasant conversations with his soon to be father-in-law as he called him). ♡

˚ · • . ° .

The ending feels rushed, I'm sorry ahhhh. Tysm for reading! Hope you enjoyed

Remember, the best way to support writer’s works on here is by REBLOGGING WITH TAGS. I’d very much appreciate it if you did!

Thanks again, stranger. Hope you have a nice day<3

NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO REPOST AS THEIR OWN/TRANSLATE/OR COPY MY WORK IN ANY PLATFORM OR SPACE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT CONSENT.

[tojisbbygworl]

Just For The Night - Hobie Brown x Black!Punk!Reader pt. 2

Summary: Two anarchists meet at a concert and decide that one night just isn't enough...but one night is all they have

Words: 5,697

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Mutual Pining, SMUT, Oral (f receiving), Degradation, Marijuana, High Sex, Pussy Whipped, Slight Accent Kink, Slight Angst, Yandere if you squint, Reader and Hobie are 21+, Canon Divergence (Doesn't follow ATSV events/Hobie's universe is present day instead of 1978), Mentions of protesting and Cop City in Atlanta, I tried my best with the British slang

author's note: Here's part 2! This one is muuuchhh longer so you can really skip the part before the page break if you're just here for the smut. It's mostly just her (your) backstory.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

"Shit, it's brick out here."

"You're telling me." The difference in temperature from the sweltering venue to the city almost made Hobie want to go back inside and fuck her in the bathroom instead. But Y/N did say that she had a blunt at home and she seemed very eager to smoke it. Or fuck him. Either one was good.

He took a moment to admire her. He was right about her Demonias. They were long with lot's of large buckles and he loved that he still towered over her even though they were platforms. Now that they were out of the dark building, he could see the various tattoos that littered her arm and thigh. Fuck him, he was going to have fun with her.

She told him that she didn’t live far and they could walk there. That was fine with him, he didn’t want to get on a cramped train anyway. He did wish that he could just swing them there, but then he wouldn’t see the way her ass moves while she walks.

He would be lying if he said she didn’t intrigue him. From his knowledge, Atlanta, Georgia was considered the Deep South of America. It had to have been hundreds of miles away. And this area doesn’t seem like a place someone who was swimming in money would be living in. Not that it was terrible, more so humble. Like where he lived.

“So, tell me,” he calls out to her. She was walking a little ways ahead of him, courtesy of Hobie wanting to ogle her. She turned around when he spoke. “How does an Atlanta babe find herself at a Rico Nasty concert in Brooklyn?”

She waits for him to catch up to her then starts walking by his side. “Huh, it’s a…long story.”

“I don’t mind.” He answers honestly. Since they’ve left the concert, Hobie has felt a strange pull towards her that exceeded his feeling of lust. He wondered if she felt the same.

She went quiet and opted to look thoughtfully towards the ground. Hobie began to backtrack. “Or, I could shut up and let you sit on my face instead. Whichever one you want.”

She squealed and hit his chest making him laugh. It wasn’t really a joke, but Hobie’s glad to see that he didn’t make her uncomfortable. “Nah, your good,” she reassured him. “I can do both.”

“Oh?” Hobie raised his eyebrows and gave her his full undivided attention. She takes in a deep breath, let’s it out, and begins to tell him her story.

“Well, you seem like someone who can appreciate a rebel.”

“Yeah?” Hobie bemused. What would this girl be rebelling against? “So, what your like a runaway? Parents, maybe?”

She looked away. Ah, he read her like a book. Then she dropped a bomb on him. “Eh, kind of. More so the Atlanta Police Department.”

He froze. She giggled to herself pretending to not notice and turn around when she was some feet away. She knew he wasn’t expecting that. No one does. She could count on her hand how many people up here she’s told and he was one of them. She trusted him, and she doesn’t know why. She hoped he felt the same.

Hobie couldn’t take his eyes off of her. When he realized how far she was, he ran to catch up. “You're on the run from the Atlanta PD?” She couldn’t contain herself enough and she let out a snort and nodded her head. Hobie shakes his. “No. I don’t believe it. You’re having a laugh.”

“I’m deadass.” She answers still laughing. Hobie drops his head in utter disbelief.

“Well what in bloody hell did you do?” The both of you start walking again.

“...You might not know but, a couple years ago there was a huge uproar of protesting here. In the US, I mean.”

Hobie did not know. He assumes something terrible must have happened, and he’s sure that something like that would have reached London. Maybe it didn’t happen on Earth - 138.

He gingerly shook his head. “I was a part of them. I would organize with some close friends and hand out water and snacks while we were there.” She explained.

“My parents weren’t too happy about that. I had just graduated and I wasn’t going to college. I had a job at a tattoo parlor so…they thought I was a failure.” Hobie listened intently to every word she said. “They would say I just love to bring trouble and always used me going out as an example.”

“They were afraid an officer would come to the door next. And then one day shit went left and we were getting sprayed with tear gas. My stupid ass picked up a can and threw that shit. I guess it hit one of them in the face, I don’t know. I couldn’t see shit.” She giggles and he laughs with her.

“I was pinned down and put in a holding cell for about a week.” She continues.

“Shit.” Hobie knew a few people who that’s happened to. Every story shares the same thing, it’s fucking terrible.

She nods. “Yeahhhh…then my parents kicked me out.”

“Shit,” he exclaims. She continues to nod. “So is that how you got here?” She shakes her head. Hobie gasps. “There’s more?” Nod. He gasps again making her laugh at him. “Tell me.”

“Okay, Okay,” She waits to calm down a bit. “I was just staying with friends after that. Then, maybe some months ago, there was this project announced for the city.” Hobie frowns noticing how much more dejected she had become. “They were going to cut down a forest to create a ‘training ground’ for emergency services.”

“What the fuck…?” Hobie was appalled.

“You can imagine how that sounds to civilians, right? A mock city for law enforcement to play cops and fucking robbers.” She spits out. “I was part of the groups of people who stayed in the forest to prevent construction.”

Just like before, he stopped again. This time, in complete and utter admiration. She smiled at him. “That’s…amazing.”

“Thank you.” She nods her head back to the path so they can continue walking. Hobie stands just a little bit closer to her now.

“So...did shit go left again?” He asked only half joking. She grimaced.

“It was bad. There were a lot of gunshots, and screaming. And fireworks.”

“Fireworks?”

“Fireworks.”

He stared at her expectantly. “And what did you do with them?”

She looks around cutely while smiling. Hobie knows that whatever she did, she didn’t regret it for a second. “Maybe I lit up and threw it at one’s foot. And then it lit the leaves on fire.”

He can’t hold back the laugh that kept from his throat. “Ha!” He clapped his hands and looked at her. “What happened after that?”

“I think he recognized me from the protests or maybe I’m just a hot topic, because the way that man came at me and mowed me down.” Hobie jerked his head back.

“What?”

“Boy, yes. That man tried to beat me with his baton.” The story just kept getting wilder and wilder.

“How did you get out of that?”

“I stole his taser and shot it at his chest.”

“No, your taking the piss,” he shouted excitedly. “No you didn’t.”

“Hold on now because he was still holding me so I got shocked too.” Hobie cackled at her. “It worked though. He let me go and I ran away with some of the others. Only a few people stayed behind. I went back home and woke up to my face on the news the next day.”

The the emotional rollercoaster that Hobie was one was something for the books. He had never felt such quick changes in such little time. He was shocked, then sad, then impressed, then elated, then sad again. What is this girl’s life?

“Man I had to get the fuck out of there. My friend took me up to Maryland where her family lived. Then they brought me here. I got a lil’ ugly ass apartment and a new tattoo job. Made a couple friends, and now I’m here. With you.”

That last part wasn’t expected for either of them. It just came out. But it felt nice.

The two of them looked at each other and basked in their presence. She could feel the pride and admiration for her coming off of him in ways. She could see it in his eyes just as brown as hers. Good. He wanted her to.

A car pulled up from down the street. The both of them were released from their trance and looked. They recognized those kinds of headlights anywhere.

Hobie fought the urge to try and hide before the cop car got to them, as he didn’t want to scare her. There was no reason for her to run from NYPD, right?

Wrong. She grabbed his hand and slipped into the alleyway.

Hobie just let her pull him along. She clearly knows what she’s doing. After coming out on the other side of the street, she begins to keep her eyes alert. She lets go of his hand and continues walking. She just won’t stop giving him reasons to want her, huh?

“And what was that about?” He teases. She smirks at him.

“I didn’t come to New York to be a good girl.” And it was as simple as that.

She walks a few more feet then turns wondering why he’s not saying anything. But when she meets his eyes her heart start beating in anticipation. He was staring her down hard. His smirk was small and his eyelids were low. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

Hobie uses her surprise to his advantage. He walks up to her and pulls her into a tiny space between two buildings. It wasn’t much of an alley, but it did enough to shield their bodies from the street light; it only shining his wicks as he towers over her body and presses her against the wall. He nudges her chin up, winks at her, then meets her lips. Her hands rest on his shoulders as his arms trap her in. He resists putting his tongue in her mouth, as she still had her makeup on and this sweet but desperate kiss would turn sloppy.

He’s the one who has to pull away, her eyes were still closed when he did. “How much longer do I have to wait before I can have you?”

She catches her breath and tells him, “We’re only a couple minutes away, Hobie.”

Hobie leans down again and kisses her neck. She shudders and moves her hands to the back of his. Hobie gives her soft smooches, one lick, and a bite. Then, one more kiss, before he finally pulls away. He tugs her back onto the street and nods his head down the path. She starts to pick up the pace.

~

Her building wasn’t too shabby. At least the walls looked freshly painted. The inside of her apartment looked very cozy. She had rugs wherever it made sense to put them and low beam orange-yellow lights. She was walking ahead of him and turned around to speak. “Get comfortable on the couch. I’ll be right back.” Then she disappears down a hallway.

Hobie pulls off his boots and places them against the wall. Then he takes off his jacket and a few extra accessories that were a bit uncomfortable now that he had no adrenaline. He walks into her living room and plops himself onto the comfy, leather couch. Faux, he hoped.

He rests his arms and hangs his head backwards over it, eyes closed. Before Y/N disappeared down the hallway, she had flicked a little device on the wall. It must have been the heater since Hobie had just heard something blowing air in the walls. He lifts his head up and takes in his surroundings.

It was a bit small, but perfect for one woman living alone. There were unlit candles on almost every surface, and a beats pill sitting in the side of the room. His favorite sight, by far, was a fat bong sitter right on the coffee table. He chuckled to himself. She could probably live here with a significant other.

It was times like this that he wishes he was normal. He wishes he could wake up to a beautiful face, smoke something, leave home to work, dismantle corporations, or just spend time with his friends, then come back home to that same face, light some candles, and enjoy the rest of his night in her arms. He doesn’t understand why he’s thinking of her when he imagines this, but he invites it.

She comes back with a burner and a small Bic lighter. She uses the burner to light the various candles and Hobie admires her. She still had her clothes on except her shoes which he was happy about. He really wanted to see her tits in those fishnets. Her makeup was off. Her skin was glowing. Her Bantu knots were still in her head. He wondered if she would let him help her take them out, but he���s sure she just wants to fuck and get it over with.

He stops watching her to think about it for a second. When they’re done smoking and having sex Hobie would leave. Not just leave, go back to his own dimension. The thought that he couldn’t keep tabs on her, maybe follow her Instagram or even get her number hadn’t even crossed him. He didn’t like it.

His face must have seemed troubled, because she stopped and looked at him in concern. “You good?” She asks getting his attention.

“Hm? I’m fine, love.” She nods and reaches into her pocket and throws a condom onto the table, then behind her ear to take the blunt out. Then she sits next to him on the couch.

“Want some music?” She asks. Hobie nods. “I’m all punk’d out. Can I play RnB instead?”

“Please do. I feel like chilling right now.”

The pill begins to play soft drums and a bass before Erykah Badu starts singing. He liked music from Miles’s universe, regardless of the genre.

It’s like an unspoken agreement that they would be hanging out for a while. She lights it up, takes a couple puffs, then hands it over to him. He does the same. He takes longer drags producing a much larger cloud then breathes it all in. She looks at him incredulously.

“Ay? Problem, love?”

Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re so cool?”

He takes another drag. “I am.”

She grabs it from him and does a French inhale. Hobie couldn’t stop looking at her. He reaches his hands behind her back and pull her even closer to him. Her legs rested on his. She hands it to him.

“I told you everything about me. What about you? Did you travel to America just to see Rico?”

Hobie shook his head, trying to rack his brain for a proper explanation. “I travel around a lot. Had a pen pal who lived here and I came to see him. He told me about the concert so I went with him. Not as interesting as your journey.” He takes a drag. “Although I’ve had my fair share of trouble with cops.”

“Is that why we click so well?”

He smirked at her. “Yeah.” Another drag. “But, as banging as you are, you’re not on my level.”

Raising her eyebrow she sits up. “And why the hell not?” She jokes.

“Haven’t killed a cop yet.”

It was her turn to be shocked. She gave him the same fascinated look he had. “You’ve killed a cop?”

“Check the laces, innit?”

She stretches her head over the couch to look at his shoes and sure enough, his laces are blue. Speechless and filled with admiration, she freezes. Her neck is exposed, and Hobie doesn’t stop himself from licking it then giving it a smooch. She gasps and shudders. Slowly she smiles as she sits back down and stares at him.

“Does that excite you?” Hobie asks. She nods. He shifts, his pants beginning to get uncomfortable. He puts the blunt down on the side table, grabs her and pulls her into his lap. Her center collides with his crotch and they both groan. Hobie picks up the blunt, puffs on it to light it up again, then hands it to her. “Hit it nice and slowly. And lift your head up.”

She does as he asks. Hobie pulls her neck down to his mouth and his begins to bite and suck on it. She whines and takes the blunt out of her mouth, not being able to focus on it. Hobie hums in desperation when she starts grinding on him.

“You’re a proper sket, aren’t you?” He whispers. He’s sure she has no clue what he means, so he brings her face down to look at him. “Just a big fucking slut.”

She bit her lip and nodded. Hobie smirked, takes the blunt and drags, then kisses her. The smoke escapes their conjoined mouths as they explore them with their tongues. She starts to suck on his, making him hold her tighter to his body. Hobie makes a sound of pleasure in his throat that ripples through his chest. He pulls his face away from hers and they pant while staring at each other.

“Take this shit off.” He lays her down onto the couch and stands up to pull his shirt and jeans off. She takes off her shorts and fishnet bottoms at the same time. Before she could take off her top, Hobie holds her thigh and squeezes it. “Only take off the shirt.”

She nods and pulls the crop top off. Her tits fall in unison constrained by the fishnets. Hobie could moan at the sight of them. He was right about how good they would look. He doesn’t waste anytime in getting between her open legs and grabbing them. He lets his thumb flick her nipples, enjoying the feeling of fabric and skin. Her small moans go straight to his member, and he decides to take his underwear off completely. She braces herself.

He is long and curved. She knew he would ruin her when she got him home, but she underestimated how nice his dick looked.

“Don’t get scared. I’ll take good care of you.” He tells her.

“Yeah you better,” she tells him. She begins looking around. “Hey, where is it?”

“This?” He pulls out the blunt from seemingly nowhere then the lighter lighting it up once more. He hands it to her then leans over and takes a nipple into his mouth. Her moan was lethal, and Hobie loses his resolve. He was going to tease her, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure shooting through his body as he licks her nipple through the small diamond hole. She begins humping the air.

“You’re desperate to be played with aren’t you, love?”

“Uh-Huh” she says breathy. Her eyes are red and lidded. Hobie gets an idea.

“Hand that over,” he takes a couple more puffs giving her a kiss afterwards. She reaches out for it and he smirks at her. He holds it away from her, rubbing her thighs. She lets out an exclamation.

“Excuse you. That’s my weed.”

“What’s yours is mine.”

“Um, what’s mine is mine.”

Hobie trails his finger to her wet center, playing with her thong before pushing it to the side. He puts his thumb on her clit and she flinches. “Oh…”

“Yeah. Stop talking all that shit.” He begins to rub his thumb around it, his finger getting wet with each pass over. She’s whimpering and jerking her hips into his hand. “You like that?” All she can do is nod.

Hobie slows down and switches fingers. He smokes while inserting his middle finger into her. As it sinks further and further, she lets out a satisfied moan. He pumps it in and out of her pussy, a squelching sound filing the air.

He leans down and puts his tongue on her clit not letting up on fingering her too. She lets out a loud moan. Hobie puts the blunt on the floor, obsessed with the way her pussy gushes in his mouth. She starts to hump his face. Hobie watches her hand begin to reach out to him, then he grabs it and puts it on his head, wrapping her fingers around his wicks. He moans when she begins to pull him further into her pussy. He pulls his drenched finger out grabs her thighs and grips them tightly. He shakes his head back and forth, sucking and spreading her juices across her vagina.

“Ooo, I’m gonna cum.”

When he hears that he lifts his head and wipes his mouth. She whines but he shushes her by taking the blunt, holding it to her mouth, and she takes a drag from it. She is completely relaxed as she breathes it out, her eyelids lidded and eyes fluttering into the back of her head. He thought it was the sexiest thing you had done that night.

“Fuck, you’re peng.” Shit, he has got to start learning American slang. “That was sexy. I want to see you do it with my dick inside you.”

He takes the condom and rolls it on his dick, groaning under his breath from how it feels. He aligns himself with her hips.

“Ooo,” she lets out. “But wait, you don’t want some head?”

Hobie shakes his head and jerks himself. “I want you now, beautiful.” He keeps the blunt in his mouth and slaps his dick on her pussy. Her juices splash onto their thighs. Hobie grunts.

Keeping his head down, he looks at her face. Her eye lids are still low, but he can see her beautiful brown cornea staring at him full of lust and want. With the blunt in his mouth, he talks out the side of his mouth. “Beg for it,” he says.

Her eyelids widen, but the promiscuous look on her face doesn’t change. “What, baby?”

“Mm,” he says pleased by the pet name. He takes it out of his mouth and smiles at her. “Beg me to fuck you like a whore, love.”

She scrunches her shoulders up and tries to close her thighs, but she smiles and bites her lip. She liked the degradation and embarrassment of it all. Hobie liked it too. He pulls her thighs apart again. Placing his dick on top of her pussy, he waits for her to follow his instruction. “Come on, I know you can, pretty girl. You want this dick don’t you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Call me baby again.”

“Please fuck me, baby.”

Hobie pumps his dick even more. He places the tip right at her hole, becoming evermore impatient. “Fuck, now say my name.”

“Hobie…mmm…” he slowly sinks himself into her.

“Fuck, say it again.”

“Hobie…” They sigh together when he’s fully sheathed inside of her. Her walls are already clamping around him. She’s so wet, and ready for his dick. Hobie keeps himself inside her and lights the blunt again reveling in her desperation. He takes his precious time to smoke some more while she begins to whine and grind herself onto him.

“Hobie, please fuck me.”

“Wait.” She whimpers for him, tears begin to form in her eyes from the depravity.

“Hobie…”

“If you keep saying my name like that I might stay inside you like this.”

“No, please don’t. I need it so badly.”

He inhaled a ghost. “Yeah?” He slowly unsheathes himself then slams back into her. She yelps.

“Yes, daddy,”

Hobie whistles. “Oh, I didn’t know you had that in the vault. You wanna keep calling me that, Atlanta babe?"

“Start fucking me and I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Hobie chuckles. “You got a mouth, don’t you?” He holds the blunt to her mouth again, grabs her hips, then starts fucking her. "I like baby a little more." She blew out the smoke the same way, it coming out in puffs from Hobie’s humping.

“Shit, love. You’re amazing.” He takes the blunt away and places it on the side table. Hobie grabs both sides of her hips and begins to fuck her harder. Their moans fill the apartment. Hobie stares at her beautiful breasts bouncing in her fishnets. Hobie’s too tall to lean down and suck on them, so he grabs one instead and squeezes it. She looks into his eyes and grabs his face. She smiles at him. Hobie’s eyes fill with curiosity.

“You can smack them if you want.”

Hobie slows down in disbelief. Then he smiles and starts fucking her harder. Hobie takes his hand and smacks one, as she requested. She moaned with a permanent beam on her face. Hobie is completely and totally enamored. He stops fucking her and pulls himself out.

“Come sit on me.”

“Okay, baby”

Hobie sits upright on the couch. She climbs on top of him and grabs his dick, loving the little grunt he let out She inserts him back inside her. They moan together while she sinks down onto his curved length. She pauses when he’s fully inside, his dick hitting places she didn’t even know could feel so good.

She grabs his face and pulls it up to meet hers. They stare into each other’s eyes for what felt like forever. Hobie lost himself in hers. He couldn’t move or speak or think. All of his emotions were portrayed in the way he looked at her. He wanted her, badly. In this moment she became everything to him. Then she started to rock.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered embarrassingly. The sounds that left his love’s mouth were lilted and pleasured. It didn’t take long for her to go faster. “Just like that, babe.”

Hobie’s breaths are loud and raunchy, while she lets out small pleasured hums. He takes his hands and rubs up her torso. Hobie wraps his arms around her waist and embraces her tightly. His head rests in her neck as he shifts down the couch the begins lifting his hips up into her. She doesn’t sound so quiet anymore.

“Oh…Y/N…” he whines.

Something inside of Hobie broke and he felt completely vulnerable. If she were to ask him anything, he would answer truthfully. He wanted to tell her everything. About the spider society, him being a spider man, the multiverse and everything within it. He wonders if she would accept it. Hell, he felt as though he could, she reacted better than he imagine she would when he told her he’s killed a cop.

For some reason, he felt like he could trust her. He thinks if he did tell her the whole truth, she wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. How would she react if he opened a portal right then and there and brought her to his own apartment in his own universe? Would she be okay with it? Would she even come in the first place?

He liked the idea of keeping her with him. He liked the thought of seeing her all the time without the risks of inter dimensional travel. Just coming back home, after the most tiring and troublesome day of working for Miguel, and seeing her beautiful body and even more gorgeous face.

Mm, he really liked it.

“Ngh…fuck, Y/N,” he whines into her ear, holding on to her body for dear life.

“Hobie, I’m gonna cum,”

He smacked her ass then pulled her face towards his. "Call me baby."

"Baby, I'm gonna cum." He bites down on her shoulder and begins to really pound into her forcing quick breaths from her lungs.

When the both of them come undone, they stare into each others eyes, not saying a word. She slowly grinds into him, and it overstimulates the both of them.

“Fuck, doll,” he whimpers looking between their stomachs. He was completely seated inside of her, and made him want to go for a second round. It normally would take him a minute to get himself back up, but with the way she was yearning for him with her eyes, it won’t take him long before he flips her around and takes her from behind.

As the both of them were coming down, Hobie began to feel an overarching sense of anxiety. This wasn’t Spidey-sense as there wasn’t any feeling of danger. No. Hobie was feeling…grief.

Grief from what? Why is it that he didn’t want to stop humping into her? Making her whisper curses into his ear? Was it because if he did, that would mean what they were having was over? If he pulls out of her, he’ll put on his clothes, find an alley, and travel back to Earth-138. Hobie can’t see or contact her. He would be gone forever.

Did she feel the same? Is that why she refuses to let go of him? Why she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears as she continues to milk his dick?

He could use some rest. He wanted nothing more than to finish smoking and fall asleep. But, when he thought of his bong at home it felt…wrong. As if there was a question and that wasn’t the right answer.

Why is he instead thinking about finishing what they were smoking then falling asleep on her bed? He needed to get a fucking grip. So he knocked out of his stupor. It felt like a bucket of cold water splashed over him and he came back to reality

She felt the shift. The thought they both shared that it was time to stop. Their time together has come to an end. The toll of a bell rings through her chest, and she fights the tears as she climbs off of him, kissing him sweetly before she goes.

Hobie sits there and looks at her standing up. He enjoyed that kiss. He wanted another one. He needed another one. He swallows his spit and asks her, “How was it?”

She smiles at him shyly. She was just the prettiest thing he had laid eyes on. “Amazing, Hobie.”

He smiled in content and relief. “I live to please,” he joked. It was otherworldly for him.

She giggled and walks by him, but before she could go, Hobie grabs her arm and pulls her down towards him. He captures her lips in a blissful kiss, then lets her go so she can walk to her room for a minute. Hobie isn’t sure what she’s doing, but while she’s gone, he lets his mind run. Tonight, he had found a perfect woman. She was beautiful and disruptive, not performative in anyway. All the qualities of a superhero in one civilian body. If anyone deserved the spider bite, it was her.

This…can’t be the last time he sees her. And why does it have to be? No one cares about the casual travel rule; everyone visits each other’s worlds all the time for whatever reason. The only thing was doing it sparsely so Miguel doesn’t catch on. Hobie could pop in here and there, right?…but would she want that?

How could it even work? He has no way of contacting her, so she’ll never know when to expect him. Is she just supposed to wait for the one day he can finally show up?

This was frustrating. Hobie always breaks the rules. He does what’s not supposed to be done, but he can’t figure out how this relationship would ever work. He can’t bring her with him, lest her particles stretch, bend, and spread across space and time, and he can’t stay here. His people need their spider man.

Damn, he wants to keep her so bad. She is perfect. Even if he could get to America back home, he would never be able to find her. The story is different in every universe. Hell, she probably wasn’t even in America.

She comes back into the living room adorned with pjs to see Hobie standing with his clothes back on. The condom had long been thrown away. Some of his belts and accessories were off as well as his jacket, but he looked as though he was ready to go. She felt…broken. And she didn’t know why.

This wasn’t her first one night stand, but she doesn’t think she’s ever clicked with someone like this before. Definitely not a stranger. Definitely not a fine stranger like him. He was perfect to her, in every sense of the word.

And she to him. Certainly, this was his Gwen Stacy. “You goin’?” She whispered. She cleared her throat and held up the roach. “Thought you would want to finish this.”

Hobie could feel that she was just as desperate to get him to stay as he was inclined to. He looked into her longing eyes with some of his own feelings, and considered a possibility. If Miles can have his Gwen from a different universe, why can’t he have the same? It worked for Miles.

And he knows the answer. It’s because she’s a regular person. Hobie is Spider Punk. He doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t belong with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to dream of getting what he wanted.

He clears his throat. “I, um…” he couldn’t find the words he wanted to convey. How does he say, “I’m a spider man from a different universe and we will never see each other again.” without scaring her from how clinically insane it sounded?

Luckily, she speaks for him. “I’m saying…you can stay the night.” She finishes confidently. “If you wanted.”

He did. He did want to. He wanted to stay with her so bad. But he shouldn’t. He’s spent way too much time here, and he has no idea what would alert Miguel…he should go. He should go. He really should go.

Hobie…

Go.

“I would love too.”

Her beautiful smile makes its appearance and the doubts that Hobie had melted away. He drops his things and start to take off his shoes. When he walks towards her, he notices how badly she’s struggling to contain her excitement and he knows he made the right choice.

“…Just for the night,” She says, giving him the roach.

“Yeah.” He takes it from her and grabs her hand to walk down the hall into her room. “Just for the night.”

He’s gone before the sun is up the next morning.

ending a/n: I hope y’all liked this. I love writing angst so much y’all don’t even understand I had to put some in here. And yes, he takes her hair down for her.

I am cursed with writing way too much and I apologize for all that reading. I hope you still enjoyed it. It was very fun to write and it’s probably one my most favorite things I’ve ever written. I love Hobie so much, maybe I’ll write for him again idk chile. Maybe I’ll write these two again in an unrelated fic. Or maybe I’ll continue this and y’all can get y’all’s happy ending. Maybe. I don’t rly write those lmao.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

Taglist: @otaku-degenarate

[a-killer-obsession]

Brat [Kid x Killer x OC Nina]

Commissioned by @dissvicious

CW: third person pov, intox, recreational drug use, spanking, brat taming, blow job, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, threesome (f/m/m), very light bondage, double penetration (v + a), creampies, multiple orgasms, inappropriate use of devil fruit

WC: 4k

Masterlist || Comissions Info

The Kid Pirates gathered in the dining hall of the Victoria Punk, celebrating an overwhelming win against a ship full of marines who dared to think they could defeat the crew of the great Eustass “Captain” Kid. The raised platform where the commanders usually sat to dine had been cleared off, replaced with various instruments being played by a rotation of crewmates, filling the hall with music ranging from punk rock to heavy metal. Some of the usual dining tables had been cleared as well to make space for dancing and drinking, some crewmates opting to position their chairs in circles for drinking games and conversations, while others sat at the remaining tables to pick at the scraps of the feast or lose their share of the loot in gambling games. The four commanders sat together, passing around a joint and retelling their perspectives from the battle just been.

“Where's pinky?” Heat asked, before taking a hit of the joint and passing it along to Wire.

“Nina?” Killer replied, “she wanted to get the blood off her chainsaw before it got too dry and crusty, she should be out soon.”

“Maybe she finally fucked off,” Kid grumbled. It was no secret that Kid had a stick up his ass ever since Nina and Killer had gotten together. “Good fuckin' riddens.”

“Kid we're in the middle of the fucking ocean,” Killer sighed, “where would she go? Can you at least pretend to like Nina? For me?”

“They're a bratty little friend stealing bitch,” Kid snapped, yanking the joint from Wire's hand and hogging it, “should've kicked her off the ship when I had the chance.”

“Like you could get rid of me if you tried,” Nina teased, pinching the joint from a surprised Kid and making herself comfortable in Killer's lap. Killer wrapped his arms around her waist to steady her, bumping his mask softly against the side of her head in a makeshift version of a kiss. “Sorry I took so long, lion,” Nina cooed, scratching Killer's goatee, “fuckin’ chains were all gunked up with some asshole's brain matter.”

“Do you have to do that PDA shit here?” Kid rolled his eyes, trying and failing to snatch back the joint. Heat sighed and pulled another from the tin he kept in his pocket, handing it to the disgruntled captain.

“I'm literally just sitting,” Nina feigned innocence, taking a long hit of the joint. She held it up by the burning end so Killer could lean forward and slot it through one of the holes in his mask, leaning back as Nina returned the joint to her own lips, clouds of smoke filtering out of several of Killer's mask holes.

“On Killer,” Kid grumbled, “you look like a common whore.”

“First of all, thanks,” Nina said with an exhale of smoke before handing the joint to Heat, having caught up to the others with a nice buzz now, “secondly, would you say the same if I was on Heat's lap?”

“You're not keeping Heat away from my bed,” Kid complained.

“Heat goes to your bed?” Nina laughed, while Wire and Killer stifled their own snorts, “Nice.”

“No that's- that's not my fuckin point!” Kid replied in a fluster, a flush of red on his cheeks.

“Maybe I'm colourblind,” Nina teased, “cos you're lookin real fuckin green there, Kid.”

“You sayin’ I'm jealous?” Kid scoffed, “Of you?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying,” Nina replied confidently, “you just can't stand that Killer wants to spend his time with me.”

“You're fuckin hogging him!” Kid yelled.

“Kid…” Killer warned, exchanging a concerned look with Wire and Heat as they felt the tension in the air rising.

“He's a grown man,” Nina shouted back as she got up, getting ready to fight, “he can do what he wants.”

“And you're a thieving fucking bitch!” Kid barked as he stood too, trying to look intimidating, not that the comparatively tiny woman was at all frightened by him.

“KID!” Killer got up in a hurry, putting himself between the two.

“No, it's not fair!” Kid complained to Killer, “Ever since you two shacked up you spend all your time with them! You haven't fucked me in weeks!”

“Maybe you're just not as special as you thought you were,” Nina replied cruelly. Killer took a deep breath, knowing that the argument had just hit the point of no return.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch?” Kid snapped, trying to get at Nina but held away by Killer, “I'm the future King of Pirates, you're nothing but some discarded bratty bitch playing at pirates!”

“You're about to be King of the Shark Shit, you thick skulled cunt,” she spat back, “when I send you to the fucking seabed!”

“Okay can we calm down and talk about this please?” Killer sighed. It's times like this he wished he wasn't wearing his mask so he could pinch the bridge of his nose where a headache was quickly forming.

“Like this bolts for brains would understand a word I say,” Nina scoffed, “Hey Kid - Me, Killer girlfriend. You, pigheaded cunt. Got it?”

“Fuck you!” Kid screamed. Now Wire and Heat had to get involved as well, struggling to hold the redhead back.

“Bite me!” Nina bit back.

“Stop it, both of you!” Killer yelled, “You're acting like fucking children!”

“Just fucking bang already,” Wire said under his breath, “fucking hell.”

“What did you fucking say?” Kid's head snapped in Wire's direction, the taller man not at all phased by his angry expression. Wire was observant, perhaps the only one who had noticed that it was Killer the captain was jealous of, not Nina.

“Nothing boss,” Wire replied flatly, “just that maybe you and Nina would get along better if you put that energy elsewhere.”

“He's got a point,” Killer hummed. He too had his suspicions about where Kid's feelings really lay, “it would solve the sharing issues…”

“Like this brute could make me cum,” Nina scoffed with a heavy eye roll. Did she want to fuck Kid? Absolutely, but she'd rather fuck her chainsaw than admit her attraction to the goop-brained asshole. “I doubt he even knows where the clit is. Probably why Killer prefers me over you, bet that mouth isn't good for anything except talking shit.”

“Oh I'll make you fuckin’ cum alright,” Kid purred, liking the idea of fucking the attitude out of Nina more and more by the second, “I'll have you screaming my fuckin’ name, just like Kil does.”

“Like I'd let a caveman like you get a taste of me,” Nina teased, turning to wiggle her ass in a seductive manner at Kid, knowing it would rile him up. She wanted to see how far he'd go with his threats. Her hands teased down Killer's front, looking over her shoulder at Kid to challenge him, hands moving possessively over Killer's toned chest as though to say ‘this is mine, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Alright, that's quite enough out of you,” Killer sighed, picking Nina up and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as she squeaked in protest. He didn't like being used as a pawn in the middle of whatever this weird sexual tension going on between her and Kid was. Killer began walking away with his angry passenger, looking back at Kid who stood in the same spot as he had been, trying to not let it show that Nina's teasing had in fact had an effect on him. “You coming or not?”

“Ey?” Kid replied, confused.

“You got her riled up, you're gonna deal with her,” Killer replied sternly, making Kid forget for a second who the captain was. “She's being a fucking brat because of your inability to keep your mouth shut, and I don't have the energy for that right now, so you're gonna fix it.”

“He's the fucking brat!” Nina shouted, trying to fight her way off Killer's shoulder but unable to compete with his strength.

“You and I both know that's not true, princess,” Killer replied, continuing his warpath to his room. Kid followed behind, not getting to close since Nina was facing him, and she looked like she wanted to claw his eyes out. He followed Killer inside the first mate's private quarters, closing and bolting the door behind them as Killer dumped Nina unceremoniously on the bed, her body bouncing slightly on impact. She scrambled on the mattress like she was making to attack Kid, but Killer quickly grabbed her, pulling her by her ankles until she was bent over his lap.

“You weren't being nice out there,” Killer sighed, yanking down Nina's shorts and panties without warning. She and Kid suddenly went shy as Nina's ass was laid bare, the two of them not looking at each other. “Count.” Killer said plainly as he raised his hand and brought it down on Nina's ass, the clap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Nina whimpered in pain and arousal, Killer knew exactly what he was doing. It was punishment, but it was also foreplay to get her more comfortable with Kid. “Nina,” Killer growled when she didn't reply.

“No!” She spat back. Killer smacked her again, harder this time, leaving an obvious handprint on her soft ass. “One,” she whimpered. She knew better than to say ‘two’, when she hadn't correctly counted the first smack. Killer administered four more, Nina obediently counting each. At five he pushed her off his lap and stood, leaving her confused, and a little under sated. “You usually go to ten?” She asked, disappointed.

“Kid will do the rest,” he explained, gesturing for Kid to take his place on the bed. The captain hesitantly did so, and Nina was immediately bent over his lap by the blonde. She could feel his large erection under her belly, but it only served to flare her aggression. Killer saw the spark of rebellion in her eyes, and knelt in front of her face, running his fingers through her fringe and making a fist to pull it tight, forcing her head up. “Behave,” he warned. Nina furrowed her brows and spat at him, the saliva dripping down his mask. “Ten more it is then, on top of the five you have left. Kid.”

Killer had been careful to make sure Nina's ass was facing Kid's flesh hand, and he brought it down eagerly, his cock twitching as Nina whined. She refused to give in though, and Kid growled at the lack of counting and spanked her twice more. She squirmed and whimpered, but refused to give up on her defiance.

“No good,” Killer clicked his tongue, squeezing Nina's face between his thumb and fingers so her lips pursed, “we'll just have to fuck it out of her, till she's too fucked dumb to have an attitude.”

He grabbed Nina by the hair again and threw her on the bed, pulling off her goggles and shoes, pulling her shorts and panties the rest of the way off, and tearing her shirt open to free her tits. He was being rough, but he knew Nina would use her safe word if he went too far. He wrapped his hand around her neck as he climbed onto the bed, using his other hand to unfasten his sash and binding her hands with it. “Fuck, Kil,” Kid grinned, “you sure the tiny thing can take this sort of treatment?”

“She'll say ‘chainsaw’ if she wants us to stop,” Killer replied, unfastening his pants and pulling his hard cock free. He grabbed Nina by her hair again and pulled her onto all fours, her ass pointed at Kid, who had to hold back a groan as he got his first look at her cunt. “Put that mouth of yours to better use,” Killer instructed, tapping the head of his cock against Nina's firmly closed lips. She scowled up at him, refusing to give him what he wanted. “Nina, open,” he commanded. When she refused still he pinched her nose shut with a frustrated sigh, until she had no choice but to open her mouth to breathe. He forced his cock in her mouth as soon as her lips parted, making her whine, but she accepted her fate and started to bob her head on his cock. She was so addicted to him that once she got that first taste, she couldn't deny him any longer. “See there, Kid?” Killer hummed, “you just have to be firm with her. Quit standing there gawking, play with her cunt or something. You wanna fuck her or not?”

Kid, who had been not so casually palming himself over his pants, eagerly stepped forward, climbing onto the bed and kneeling behind Nina. He admired the red prints on her ass, giving her a softer, more playful slap that made her groan on Killer's cock, before soothing over the flesh with his cool metal hand. He spread her cheeks apart, labia shifting as he did so, exposing the glistening folds between. He ran two fingers down her wet cunt, before giving her no mercy and pushing two thick fingers inside her.

“Fuck!” Nina cried out, pulling off Killer's cock, “fat fucking fingers, be careful!”

“Yer fuckin’ dripping,” Kid gawked, “needy fucking slut.”

“No shit fuckass,” Nina bit back, "you gonna do something about it or not?”

“Keep talking shit and I'll show you fuck ass,” Kid warned, making her pussy squelch as he pumped her with his fingers, enjoying the way her gummy wet walls squeezed around him.

“Bet,” Nina struggled to get out between stifled moans, “I wouldn't even feel your tiny baby carrot fucking me, I've taken shits bigger than your cock.”

“What, is that a challenge?” Kid growled, “Cos I'll fuck yer ass till you can't sit if you don't watch yer fuckin’ mouth. You'll be feeling it for the next three fuckin’ weeks.”

“Then I guess I'm gonna keep talking shit,” Nina spat back, using her bound hands to jack Killer off, not wanting him to feel ignored. Killer would have forced his cock back in her mouth by now, but he wanted to see where this was going.

“You want me to fuck your ass?” Kid asked with a raised brow.

“How else am I gonna take both of you?” Nina replied, like they were both fucking stupid.

“I just assumed we'd spit roast you,” Kid exchanged a questioning look with Killer, who shrugged in response.

“Spit roasting is for pussies,” Nina growled, “do you think I'm a pussy?”

“No..” Kid replied sheepishly.

“Good, so shut the fuck up and fuck me already,” Nina spat, rocking backwards to fuck herself on Kid's fingers since he'd momentarily stopped moving them, “I want my holes filled, get to it, I’m gonna dry up from old age over here.”

“Fuckin brat,” Kid grumbled, pulling his fingers out of Nina and smacking her reddened ass, “Kil, you got lube?”

”Who do you think I am, of course I have lube,” he rolled his eyes under his mask, leaning back to rummage in the top drawer of his side table, “You want plain or strawberry?”

“Plain is fin-” Kid started.

‘Strawberry!” Nina cut him off.

“He didn't ask you, brat!” Kid complained, “Yer getting plain!”

“I wouldn't fight her if I was yo-” Killer began to warn, already grabbing the strawberry.

“I want strawberry!” Nina pouted, “I want a strawberry scented ass!”

“For fucksake,” Kid grumbled, holding out his hand for the lube.

“STRAWBERRY! SCENTED! ASS!” Nina shouted.

“OKAY FINE, FUCKING HELL,” Kid shouted back, “I'LL GIVE YOU YOUR FUCKIN’ FRUIT ASS YOU FUCKIN’ FRUITASS!”

Killer took the opportunity to remove his mask and tie his hair in a low ponytail as Kid squirted a generous amount of lube above Nina's asshole, letting it drip down before spreading it with one finger around the ring of muscle. Killer took his place back in front of Nina, who took his cock back in her mouth with no argument this time, looking up at him with half lidded eyes that closed as Kid sunk a finger inside her. She moaned on Killer's cock as Kid worked her open, and Killer grabbed her short pigtails to guide her movements as she got lost concentrating on Kid's fingers in her asshole as he added a second. His fingers were thick, she was probably stretched enough from just two to take any average man's cock, but Kid was far from average and knew he would need to work more to get her prepared to take him. He wanted to fuck the attitude out of her, but he didn't want to actually hurt her. His metal hand came up underneath her, and he pressed one finger to her clit and used his devil fruit to vibrate the metal, making Nina pull off Killer's cock with a surprised whine. “Fuck, Kid!”

“That's more like it,” he purred, “now we're getting somewhere. Go ahead and scream my name when you cum for me, little spitfire.”

“N-no!” Nina cried out. Kid replied by increasing the intensity of the vibrations and bullying a third finger into her ass, pumping her hard and fast.

“Then I guess you'll just have to not cum, aye?” Killer spoke in a voice that was so low it was almost terrifying, “You can scream your captain's name, or we can leave you here wanting. Maybe I'll just fuck Kid instead. Tie you to the bed and make you watch.”

“No! Please don't stop!” Nina whined, she felt like if they stopped now she might combust, “I'll be good!”

“Scream for me, bitch,” Kid growled, pressing his metal finger hard against her bud.

“Fuck, fuck!” Nina groaned, “cumming, fuck, Kid!” Her whole body shook as she let out a choked roar of a moan, Kid giving Killer a pleased grin as he pulled his fingers from her ass and she all but collapsed against the bed.

“You're not done yet, princess,” Killer purred, “we haven't gotten ours yet.”

“She's blissed out already and she ain't even had a cock yet,” Kid grumbled.

“She can take more, can't you princess?” Killer cooed as he squeezed Nina's face. She gave a weak whine and nodded, and he gave her face a soft appreciative slap. He let her lay back against the bed while the two men undressed, and Nina's eyes flicked between both of them hungrily as she rolled onto her back, thighs rubbing together as her need grew again at the two thick erections presented to her.

“Meow!”

“Oh for fucksake, ZAP!” Killer groaned, chasing the cat around the bedroom.

“Where the fuck did he come from?” Kid growled.

“My son likes to sleep in the laundry basket,” Nina replied matter-of-factly, “Zap! Come to mama!”

“No! Not to mama!” Killer complained, trying to grab the cat as it jumped up on the bed. He scruffed Zap and carried him out of the room, ignoring Nina's sad whines, placing the cat firmly on the hallway floor and shutting the door quickly before Zap could sneak back in. “Fucking cockblock.”

“Aw, Zap doesn't mean it!” Nina replied, before Killer grabbed her and made her giggle by flipping them both so she was laying on top of him. Kid took his queue to climb up on the bed behind her, settling between Killer's legs. Nina bit her lip as she reached between her legs to position Killer's cock, sinking down onto it with a relieved sigh. “Ah, doesn't get any better than that,” Nina grinned.

“We'll see about that,” Kid grunted, fisting himself to coat his cock in lube and applying more to Nina's ass. Killer held her flat against him, keeping her from squirming while Kid lined himself up. Nina squeaked as he pushed the head of his cock against her asshole, only pressing in the tip before pausing as he met resistance.

“Breathe, princess,” Killer soothed, “relax sweetheart, let him in.”

Nina whimpered against Killer's clavicle as Kid slowly pushed in further, attitude entirely forgotten as both her holes were filled and she clawed at the sheets either side of Killer. She let out a low whine as Kid fully seated himself, stilling inside her as she adjusted to the fullness. “Fuck yer tight,” Kid groaned. He made an experimental pull almost all the way out, before pushing back in again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nina groaned, “yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me!”

“Say no more,” Kid replied, grabbing her hips and giving her a hard thrust that made her scream. Killer exchanged a shit eating grin with the captain over Nina's shoulder as she buried her face against his chest, before he too began to move, making thrusts up into Nina's cunt to match Kid's harsh pace. Nina screamed like a bitch in heat as both men fucked her hard, making Killer grunt as she took out her overstimulation on him, biting and sucking at his chest and leaving marks all over his tan skin. Kid's hands were leaving bruises on Nina's hips as he held them tight, showing no mercy with his pace.

“Good girl,” Killer cooed, “does that feel good? Your holes nice and full now?”

“Yes!” Nina cried, “so- so full! Gonna cum again!”

“Cum for us then, princess,” Killer purred. Nina immediately bit down on his shoulder, making Killer swear as she let out a muffled moan against his skin and clamped down around their cocks. Killer's thighs grew wet with her release as she quivered, but neither man let up, prolonging the orgasm. She went boneless between them, a ragdoll for them to fuck, completely dick drunk and making weak moans.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Kid groaned, “can I cum inside her Kil?”

“Fill her up,” Killer replied with his own grunts, close to cumming as well, “fuck, I'm close.”

“One more from her?” Kid asked.

“Aye,” Killer agreed, the two of them working in tandem to hold back their own peaks while they forced Nina to another. “Come on Nina, one more sweetheart, I know you can do it.”

Nina shook her head against him, but the coil in her stomach was already pulling tight again, she couldn't deny it. She made a surprised gasp as Kid smacked her ass, feeling a rush of electricity through her body that reignited her. “Fuck, do that again,” she moaned. Kid complied, giving her a series of smacks, alternating which cheek he focused on as he kept up his brutal thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, cumming!” She screamed, seeing stars and shaking hard. She had a blissed out smile on her face as she collapsed against Killer, who groaned at her pussy still fluttering around him from the aftershocks of her orgasm and couldn't hold back any longer. He swore as he emptied his balls, and Kid quickly followed suit, giving one last hard thrust before stilling deep inside Nina's ass and painting her walls white.

“Fucking hell,” Kid panted as he pulled his cock out and collapsed next to them.

“Say thank you, princess,” Killer forced out between hard breaths.

“Th-thank you,” Nina stuttered, half asleep.

“Maybe yer not so bad,” Kid teased, patting Nina's bare ass playfully as he groaned at his stiff joints and climbed out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Nina asked in a sad tone that surprised both men.

“Oh I- I thought we were done here,” Kid replied unsurely.

“Go get a wet cloth from my bathroom, then come back,” Killer told him, “you're staying with us.”

“You sure?” Kid asked, eyes flicking between them as Nina rolled off Killer, who quickly untied her wrists and threw his sash to the floor.

“We're sure,” she confirmed, reaching out to hold his hand, “stay.”

“Okay,” Kid replied softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “I'll stay.”

Like my stuff? Consider buying me a ko-fi

Want your own commissions? Get the info here

[multifanhoe99]

Kinktober Day 2- Biting

Here we go with day 2!

Pairing: Chanyeol x gn! reader

Warnings: minor cheating (reader kinda flirts with Baekhyun and Sehun), nicknames (Chanyeol calls reader baby), implied foursome at the end.

=Let me know if I missed any warnings and I will put them in.=

18+ MDNI ~ Hope you all enjoy this one it's not as spicy but I am keeping it chill for now.

Everyone assumed that because Chanyeol's personality was a gentle giant it meant your intimate time with him must not be so crazy. That would be the wrong assumption because when you two are alone and things start getting hot and heavy he jumps right into his stage persona. The one that is dominating and aggressive but not in a scary way and you find that side of him very sexy. On multiple accounts, you have been known to draw that side of him out on purpose whether it be by walking around the house in one of his shirts knowing that some of the other guys would be there and pretending you forgot or those times when you would send him pictures while he's at the studio begging him to come home and give you what you wanted.

The former option is one you found yourself doing tonight. It was his weekly game night with Baekhyun and Sehun and while he was setting up you told him that you were going to shower real quick. He sent you off with a gentle kiss on the head and a light spank on the butt as you turned to leave. Little did he know you were setting another one of your traps in motion. You loved Chanyeol and really only liked to tease him there has never been nor will there ever be anyone else for you but him. That being said lightly flirting with his friends to bring out his possessive side always means a good time for you. This was the plan you would shower and then once you were done you'd put on one of Chanyeol's shirts and his favorite underwear to see you in. Black ones that really accentuated the curve of your ass just the way he likes it. After that, you would adorn Chanyeol's favorite scent the one that drives him wild the one he got for your anniversary last year. Hopefully, by then the guys will already be here and settled in playing and you can put the rest of the plan in motion.

When you were done with the first steps of your plan you walked out of your shared room to see all three boys gaming away on the couch. You were glad you had been able to time it perfectly. Now to initiate the second part of the plan. You waited to greet the other boys until their match was done. When they had won the match they high-fived and took a break to get something to drink.

"Hi, Baek! Hi Hunnie," You said giving each boy a lingering hug.

"Hey (Y/N) you look," Baekhyun said pausing and looking over at Chanyeol before continuing, "comfy."

"Yeah it was a really long day so I just wanted to come home shower and relax. I honestly forgot you guys had your game night tonight. Should I change," You asked feigning innocence.

"NO, I mean no that's alright," Beakhyun flashed his signature smile and you knew the plan was working. After saying your hellos everyone settled back into their spots. Chanyeol motioned for you to come sit in his lap but instead, you opted to lie down in the spot between him and Baekhyun with your head in Baek's lap and your legs in Chanyeol's. He gave you a confused look but that was all. You continued to sit like this and cheer them on while they played their game. Every now and then you'd compliment one of the other boys or play with Sehun's hair since he was sitting on the floor next to you. You would occasionally run your fingers along Baekhyun's arm which you knew he liked. This continued until everyone got up again to refill on drinks and snacks. At this point when you got up Chanyeol pulled you back down so now you were sitting in his lap where he wanted you in the first place and you knew you had him. "What do you think you're doing huh," he whispered in your ear.

"Nothing, I am just relaxing," you replied trying to hide the devious smile on your face.

"You like them looking at you like this? Maybe I should just take you right here in front of them so you all know who you belong to hmm," he growled, "As a matter of fact I have a better idea." He leans in closer and starts kissing behind your ear. Then he moves down your neck. The sweet kisses start turning into long sucks making big purple marks all over your neck. Just when you thought he was done you feel his teeth bite sharply into your neck. It hurts but it feels so good you can't help but let out little moans every time you feel his teeth dig into your flesh. "Shhh, baby don't be too loud or they'll hear you, or is that what you want," he says darkly before continuing what he was doing. He lays you down on the couch and moves lower to start biting at your inner thighs. This was his favorite part on you so it was no wonder he wanted to mark them up too.

It was so hard to keep quiet now with how surprisingly good it felt to have his teeth bite harshly into the sensitive skin of your thighs. You kept moaning and mewling the presence of the other two men in your house being long forgotten. That is until you hear a throat clear and Sehun's voice pipe up saying, "Uhhh, are we interrupting? Should we go?"

Chanyeol's head rises from your thighs and he laughs darkly, "No, stay I think a lesson needs to be taught. What is mine is mine and if I wanna share then I will, but you have to prove you deserve it first baby." He says the last part looking at you. This was not the intended outcome for the night but you like where it's going.

************************************************************************

A/N: Damn I think I got a little carried away on this one but I am not mad at it. Let me know if you'd like to see what happens afterward in a part two sometime. Also HERE is the link to the prompt list for Kinktober and here is the link to the MASTERLIST.

[moonlightjam]

haikyu boys when you fall asleep on them

characters included: kageyama, atsumu, hinata,

(established relationship!)

kageyama tobio:

ok he’d definitely be sosososo obsessed with making sure you get a good sleep

see you play a sport (if you don’t, pretend you do cause it’s cute), and you got tired after training

he came to find you at the gymnasium cause he wanted to go for dinner together

but you were practising late

and he found your commitment and passion to your sport endearing (cause he relates ya know??)

so he decided to join you in practice

even if that sport isn’t volleyball, i’m 100% sure he would learn the rules and about the sport in general just so he can talk about it with you

so he helps you in practice

(if it’s not volleyball) it’s cute even if he sucks ass at it cause you’re laughing together

but if it is volleyball you just find it hot how good he is

anyway i digress

so y’all are panting and done with training, ready to go for a fulfilling meal

and you do! you eat your fill.

then get lazy to walk home and get a taxi to drop you at one of your places (the other stays over!)

andddd in the taxi, you yawn a few times, then rest your head on his shoulder

he puts his arm around your waist and rests his head on your head

tobio knows you’re tired cause of your training that day, so he doesn’t disturb you and let’s you rest

and a while later, the taxi arrives at the destination

he’s tired from HIS training too, so as he sees the taxi coming to the end of the last stretch of road, he sighs out in relief, “finally, we can bathe and sleep.”

only to be met with silence

he turns to you, only to see your eyelids closed, chest rising and falling steadily

a slight smile tugs at the corners of his lips

yeah, he loves you a lot

BUT there’s now a difficulty

how was he going to wake you up to get out of the taxi…

like, you’re so tired and he doesn’t wanna disturb you cause he loves you so much but like you’re kinda at your house and you kinda needa get out of the taxi??

just as he’s pondering, the driver pulls over and stops the meter, telling tobio the price of the ride

like the sweetheart he is, he pulls out his wallet and pays for y’all, with no thoughts to ask you to pay half the bill

as he hands the cash to the driver, careful not to move his shoulder too much, he glances at your restful figure

and he makes a split second decision

so, he swings both yours and his bag over one shoulder each

and then he has one arm under your knee, the other supporting your back

he then shimmies his way out of the taxi, standing up with minimal jerking of his body to make sure you don’t wake up

he opens the house door with great difficulty, but he manages

your gym bags get chucked to one side, and he forgets about the shower he was gonna have

he sits on the couch, resting your head on a pillow on his lap

the rationale for this, because i’m pretty sure he’s thought of it:

he doesn’t wanna let you sleep on the bed while in your dirty clothes, because ew??

but like he can’t shower you while you sleep because 1. that’s weird 2. you’ll wake up

so he opts for this

and it’s not too bad because he has a great view of your face that he loves so much

and you two may very well spend the night like that

when you wake up, you both stink, but you’re just touched that he slept sitting up on the couch making sure not to move his legs just so you could get a good rest

ps he secretly loves having you sleep on him i GUARANTEE it because he’s such a physical touch kinda guy hehehhahahha

miya atsumu:

alright we already know he has a shit ton of fan girls right

imagine how jealous they all are when they see you sleeping on him LOL

you’re both waiting for your respective practice to start

you’re just scrolling through your phones, enjoying each others company

it’s been a long day, classes are tiring

and who doesn’t wanna have max energy for practice?

so, you begin to doze off while sitting on miya atsumu’s solid ass thighs….

he notices you’re asleep when you don’t respond to him when he shows you a tiktok he found funny

and his fan girls who are there to watch his training just to obsess over him see you on his lap

and they freak out (out of jealousy ofc)

“miya-san, why’s she sleeping on you?” “cause she’s my girlfriend, ya pig.”

“miya-san, shouldn’t you be going to practice? why have her on your lap?” “practice ain’t for another ten minutes. and why cant i have her on my lap?”

“all of ya go away. your squealin’ and badggerin’ ‘s gonna wake my girlfriend up.”

and when he manages to shoo them away, kita comes and says that practice is gonna start soon

“few more minutes”, atsumu says

the rest of the team starts streaming in, and when it’s right on the dot starting time of practice, he goes, “i love volleyball and all, but look at her. don’t wanna wake her up.”

osamu smacks him, telling him he has to do tough things sometimes

and then comes voice of reason, captain kita

“anyway, isn’t her practice gonna start now too?”

atsumu’s eyes go wide, remembering you had a friendly match today and it’s probably time for warm ups to be in session

so there’s no easy way to do it. he shakes you awake, and in the most urgent tone he could muster in the comical moment, he tells you it’s training time

when you realise, you kiss his cheek, and scramble off his lap, sprinting to your gymnasium

osamu smacks his brother the moment he’s up off the floor

“never thought my brother would be one lovesick sucker, eh ‘tsumu?”

and his brother is right, so for once, atsumu is left without a retort

the team is laughing at him, and suna is ofc recording this moment

hinata shoyo:

OKAY picture this

it’s class time, class is boring.

you’re tired, you’re dating him, your seat mate

so you lay your head on his shoulder

the original plan wasn’t to sleep, it just happened since his shoulder wasn’t too high for your head to reach (sorry lol but #shortking)

with the droning of your teacher as white noise, it actually made for quite a decent sleeping environment

hinata soon realised you had been on his shoulder for quite a while, and when he notices your steady breathing (the kinda breathing that people only do when they’re asleep yk what i mean??), he realises you’re asleep

and instead of what some studious guys would do, he goes, “sleeping in class what a great idea”

but before he does the same, he notices a few goosebumps had appeared on your arms

so he takes his jacket off, putting it over you and tucking it over your shoulders

and then rests his head on yours, both of you dozing right off

neither of you so much as batted an eyelid when the school bell rang at the end of lessons

just two kids in adjacent seats in front of an empty worksheet that should have been filled

an end only came to that moment when it was time for practice

it was like he had a sixth sense for when it was time for practice

like he just woke up, checked the clock, realised he had to go, but panicked when he realised he didn’t want you to lose your comfortable head rest

he gently poked your head, and said, “hey, i needa go for practice. keep my jacket, but wake up and go for your practice too! i know it starts in half an hour so rest here first!”

then, he sets an alarm on your phone to make sure you wake up on time

one last kiss on the temple and he’s off

he texts you telling you you fell asleep on him in class and you can keep his jacket first and that he set the alarm for you just in case you’re too disoriented to make sense of why you’re slumped over in your chair sleeping while hugging his jacket when you wake up

he’s just very sweet to you

like he wants to make sure you can wake up on time but wants you to be comfy while you can rest…. yk

[neo-nymph]

Johnny and Jaehyun going 50/50 to adopt Bunnyhybrid!reader. A sweet and shy bundle of sunshine and cuddles who opens up little by little to unveil a bafflingly perverted nympho-maniac with an exhausting and insatiable sex drive.

She was never good at hiding how horny she was. It showed obviously in her body language and facial expressions from the first time she began to experience arousal. Something about her first kiss, done with purely innocent intentions, woke something within her that she simply couldn't hide. Jaehyun could see it when he pulled his lips from hers, opening his eyes to see her brows scrunched together and her nose twitching with nerves. The fluffy ears on her head were flat against her hair and she stared at him somewhat scared, confused at the sudden presence of an aching and throbbing on her private parts.

"Are you okay, baby?" He asked her with a slight smirk.

It was hard for her to get the words out of her drying throat.

"I don't know. It feels.. weird.."

Jaehyun leaned his body forward, letting his nose brush hers as he continued with a whisper. "What feels weird?"

Unable to convey the thoughts she couldn't really understand herself, the bunny opted to grab her owner's hand and move it to the warm, throbbing spot between her legs. His fingertips barely grazing the middle seam of her denim shorts. He let out a puff of air, smile growing subtly at the situations he's found himself in.

"Do you want Daddy to make it feel better?"

She's had a non-stop craving for cock ever since that day.

When she's alone, both her daddy's asleep or out of the dorm for a schedule, she sits naked on Johnny's bed and uses his laptop to quench her undying sexual curiosity. She'd hump pillows while watching hybrid porn she found in Johnny's search history, or rub her cunt on table corners while reading smutty fanfiction and wearing Jaehyun's sweaters. When she wanted to be filled, she'd use anything to stuff her little pussy, desperate to find something that could satisfy her like her Daddy's cocks. They caught her one day on the bed fucking herself with an empty beer bottle, and that's when they decided they should probably buy her some toys.

Bunny was always bashful to ask anything of her owners, but the two men were forever ready to give their little bun anything she could possibly ask for. You want Johnny to feast on your pussy while Jaehyun eats your ass? You got it baby. You want your Daddy's to wear bunny ears and a fluffy tail just like yours while they fuck you? We'll do it tonight. Hell, they even let Mark jerk off to you giving them blowjobs in the recording studio because "you want him (specifically) to see what a good bunny you are". There's literally nothing the pair wouldn't do for her.

Still, they were just a little bit shocked by the next sinful request floats out of her pretty mouth.

"...can I watch you rub your parts together..?"

How could they ever muster up the audacity to deny her? Or make even a feeble attempt to pretend that her nasty requests, growing more and more vile with the passing days, did anything other than fill their cocks with blood.

Her hips gyrated in the air, working against her plained fingers swiping violently across her clit. Her pussy felt so empty it was almost painful, but she could deal with it if it meant taking in this sight a little longer. She watched them from the couch in the living room with her eyes trained on the men's hips rutting together, thighs and abdomens squished and sliding around with nothing but a mess of cum and sweat between them. The skin on their hips was red from their hands grabbing at each other in frustration. Both men were so used to grabbing their bunny's tiny body and forcing her still that the uncontrolled movements of the other's hips became an irritant fueling the speed of their thrusts. The tips of their cocks were flushed and leaking after edging themselves for an hour, trying their hardest to stretch the performance until their baby decided she was satisfied.

Her whiny voice grew louder and transitioned to pained, gasping cries as she gazed upon her Daddies actions. Their bodies were so muscular and toned, always making her feel safe and small and helpless under their grasp. Her tight hole winked at them spilling liquid across her folds, encouraging the panting men to continue. Johnny's dominant hand reaches down between himself and Jaehyun, taking hold of both their twitching girths, halting the stutter of their hips to pump their members simultaneously in his fist. Jaehyuns head rolls back with a groan, raising his face just in time to watch the bunny on the couch begin convulsing with pleasure. Her face contorted, mouth agape, and thighs shaking as they clamped shut. The added pressure on her clit further shocked her, a mess of liquid squirting out of her, reaching far enough to land on the cocks of the men before her. Such a filthy and irreplaceable sight.

Johnny's fist squeezed harder and pumped faster as he stared at his precious whore falling apart in front of him. Her glossy eyes opened as she began to calm down, returning Johnny's loving gaze. The bunny bit her lip as a smile broke onto her blushing face, giggling before she slipped off of the couch to crawl over to her owners. She took comfort kneeling between their bodies, tilting her head back with her eyes half open, sticking her tongue out just inches beneath their jerking cocks. Her lovers looked at her in awe and allowed their bodies to relax, deep grunts of pleasure emitting from their chests when their hot cum finally released, spurting across their bunny's happy face.

[vesuvianhermitcrabs]

The Arcana M6 Learning How to Crochet

Asra:

This man does not have the attention span to crochet.

Sure, they love to lay in bed and watch you do it, sure, he'll try, but after about thirteen and a half stitches he gets distracted and decides it's naptime, or he needs to reorganize the spice drawer, or that you don't have enough pumpkin bread, or–

Once you sit his ass down and make him actually retain knowledge they actually do pretty good

Has tons of ideas for what he'll make next, will probably never get to any of them, he is the ultimate procrastinator

Loves to buy you the most random yarn, if it catches his eye it's going with him. Even though they aren't necessarily aesthetically pleasing, you love your drawer of tie dyed, bejewelled, and glittery yarns

He makes Faust a snake sweater (sock?) and declares she will never be cold again

Nadia:

Listens to you intently, super eager to learn and immediately become the best

Completely silent. Doesn't say a word to you until she's figured it out, determined to please. She keeps trying, an ambitious fire in her eyes. You ask her if she needs help a couple of times but she's insistent that she'll be okay

That is, until the middle of the night when she crawls into bed with you, seething

Why did the hook keep slipping out? Why did her knots keep coming undone? This was clearly a defective ball of yarn, what even is a "factory knot"?

The next time she's free you sit on her lap and talk her through the process

Unfortunately as much as she adores the countess, Chandra wouldn't be caught dead in anything either of you make

Julian:

Please, MC, I have the steady hands and patience of a doctor. I appreciate what you do but really, how hard could it be?

Oh, how wrong he was

Skip to him sobbing into your lap and profusely apologizing for underestimating you and your talents, you are so, so, talented and he wants you to know that, can you ever forgive him? Do you st-

Oh and Portia, he realizes he's been doing that to her oh God what has he done to you both he's so horrible and oh no oh no oh no

You and Portia sit through several one man plays, ballads, and interpretive dances featuring the both of you (or rather, julian in wigs pretending to be you)

Malak doesn't care for crocheted bird clothes but he certainly likes to steal your buttons and shiny metal hooks, forcing you to opt for the wooden ones

Portia:

Oh, she already knew how to crochet

Believe me, if you were crocheting she would be doing it right next to you if she had the time to

The thing is, Portia isn't just okay at crocheting. She's good. Amazing, even. The first time you crochet together, one glance at her soon turns to you dropping your hook (and your jaw)

Even though she is the supreme crochet champion, she still showers you with compliments and adoration

The type to crochet and read at the same time, gets super into the book and stops focusing on her project completely yet somehow manages to crochet flawlessly

Pepi loves to roll around in your buckets of yarn, whenever you want to make something all your yarn is frizzy and full of cat fur (you will have to physically wrestle Pepi to get a garment on her)

Muriel:

Convinced he'll be bad at it before he even tries

Begrudgingly accepts your offer to teach him anyways, he mumbles something about having clumsy hands and looks away

He takes a while to learn, but after he gets the hang of it he does really well. At heart, he's an artist, no matter how much he tries to deny it

He had watched you crochet before, but now he watches you extra, extra carefully to learn more without intruding

There is now a shelf designed for all your amigurumi plushies placed just next to the one for his wood carvings

When winter hits, you notice all the chickens have been tucked into sweaters, as well as an extra toasty looking Inanna, which is enough to make your heart melt and send you into cardiac arrest (rip MC)

Lucio:

OOOOOOH MC WHAT ARE YOU UP TO??

After a brief explanation and a quick tutorial he picks up the hook and gives it a go

Holy mother of what is this trickery

He's shocked about how difficult it is, and yes he is being resilient for you but god he wants to scream and chuck the hook into the woods and never see it again

He can snip yarn with his metal arm for you though so that's pretty sick

You're pretty sure you catch him glaring at the hook when he thinks you aren't looking

He's super proud of you for being able to crochet though, he thinks you're the coolest ever and brags about it to everyone who will listen

Mercedes and Melchior love the sweaters you inevitably make for them and Lucio pulls all sorts of shit so you'll make him one too

[stagefourlovenote]

★ ANSWERING QUESTIONS ABOUT MY OC ;

i’m struggling to find motivation and such in writing about my characters again, and dot is one of my favorite ocs. it’s mostly because i graduate in a few days and haven’t been able to focus on them in general, so i have some time now and i want to just :3 rant. ramble. my blog bro idk. i’m answering just random questions i found online that sort of help flesh out characters <3.

★ HOW IS THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH FAMILY ;

dot was raised by a single mother, who was basically disowned by her own family for getting pregnant. their relationship is complicated, her mother resents her for stealing away her ‘youth’ , yet she still tried to provide for her at least until she was old enough to work. her mother would repeat the cycle of disowning when dot turned 17, kicking dot out for being ‘selfish’ for wanting to achieve her goals. in reality her mother was jealous that she was planning for college, that she’d be able to make something of her self. plus the fact that she relied on dot to help with rent and such. her mother was also a hypocrite, being a strict catholic woman who got pregnant at 17 and now acts like a saint. though!

★ WHAT WERE THEIR PLANS FOR THE FUTURE ;

dottie had planned on becoming an archivist of some sort, maybe being a librarian at the very least. her plans were cut short during her 3rd of college when she died. she always regrets not being able to graduate, the whole fight with her mother was pointless then if she was always going to end up a ‘failure’. it hurts her feelings to think about it, so she avoids really talking about school itself — rather opting to just speak about the things she’s learned.

★ WHAT DOES YOUR CHARACTER LIKE IN OTHER PEOPLE ;

in general, she likes to keep company around those that are funny. she enjoys the fact that they still can make life seem so humorous despite the consequences. those who are also good listeners are nice, but she is one to be a listener herself, she’s good to rant to. to her, it’s nice to be known and remembers the smallest of facts, even if idiotic — she looks for those that can do the same.

★ HOW QUICK IS YOUR CHARACTER TO TRUST OTHERS ;

for a while after becoming a proxy, she didn’t really trust anyone. being betrayed by a childhood friend really does something to you, especially if you wound up dead from it. actions speak louder than words when it comes to trust, unless you’re defending her in a situation, then she may take your side a bit more. as she grew used to her situation, she’s more of a respect me and i’ll respect you person. she’ll be kind for the sake of it, treat others who you want to be treated ! but when others go against that, it’s hard for her to really trust or care. unless you help her understand why you act the way you do.

★ BELIEFS / RELIGION ;

she may not consider herself as a devout catholic, but she still respects the saints. there are times where after a particularly harsh mission, she’ll find herself wandering to the nearest cathedral. she doesn’t pray, or participate, she just sort of sits. she knows she’s so far deep in the hell of it all, but it’s nice to just pretend sometimes. or maybe she just misses the comfort of a higher power.

other than that, she can be a bit superstitious. even if she knows it’s ridiculous, she sort of gets antsy or anxious at the thought of someone ‘jinxing’ themselves. (“go knock on wood right now”).

★ ON A NORMAL DAY, WHAT WOULD YOU FIND IN THEIR BAG ;

a copy of her favorite book maybe, heavily annotated as a way of comfort (frankenstein, she knows it’s a known classic she just finds it too relatable and latched onto it from a young age). good luck charms made for her, she’s sentimental. a few cds maybe; kate bush, early mcr (emo 😞), misfits , thursday , fleetwood mac — it really depends. polaroids , if she’s away for a bit of a mission she yearns. and her journal. maybe random ass items as well. like why do you have a finger trap in there.

★ HOW DO THEY RESPOND TO CONFLICT ;

depends on the situation, but a lot of the time she sits back and watches anxiously. other times she tries to mediate, she worries what will happen if others fight for too long (mostly if they’re being defiant to the operator). she does it because she cares, but sometimes people really just see her as a coward. if she’s directly involved in the conflict, even if she isn’t in the wrong, she has a way of convincing herself she can be. unfortunately, it is very easy to do so. though, if a boundary is crossed expect a full cut off.

★ CHARACTER INSPIRATION ;

people / characters that sort of inspired dots personality : spencer agnew (humor wise, smosh) , gerard way (personality , him outside of the stage acts), ben hargreeves (umbrella academy), the demo man (mcr, devotion) , hank (swiss army man), frank (little miss sunshine), courage the cowardly dog (😭). there’s probably others i just don’t remember.

songs : highway 9 — barnaby bright. the devil wears a suit and tie — colter wall. being cool — kimya dawson. abbey — mitski. bigmouth strikes again — the smiths. early sunsets over monroeville — mcr. hounds of love — kate bush. do you know what i’m seeing — panic!. east coast — alex g. golden — fall out boy. this close — flyleaf.

random : deer , foxes , the back of the library, ambient / warm lighting, willow trees, water stained books. i feel like she just sort of resembles these things.

★ END ;

erm that’s it :3. just really random questions to answer about dot cause i’m bored, and want to think about her more.

[abyssalcunters]

um . yippe ? e

-

This, Andreana thought, absently poking at the scattered parts on her workbench, is a pain in the ass.

She sighed, swiveling on her workshop stool before reaching for a pair of needlenose pliers, trying to remember where she had left off experimenting with this Lethanian Arts unit that W had brought back from God knows where before her mood had soured and distracted her. 

Pain. In the ass.

ao3

Andreana hated being in a bad mood. 

It was useless! It was counterproductive, it was distracting, and it was useless. 

Yet here she was! She rolled her eyes at the internal irony. It shouldn’t be grating on her this hard that her Shark was interested in someone else- she knows very well where she stands with Laurentina, and it wasn’t like that little Inquisitor was interfering with Andreana’s time with her other Hunters, but still. 

It stung.

Skadi coming to see her that evening had taken some of the bite from it- a frisson of heat shivering up her spine at the memory of Skadi over her, face dark with Andreana’s blood, wet with her ink, the sharp pain of the jagged bite in her thigh knitting closed fogging her mind as her Orca pressed into her -but, annoyingly, didn’t dispel it entirely.

Andreana sighed, giving up for the moment on making any progress with the Arts unit and instead opting to push her magnifying visor up and lie her head on her folded arms, letting tired eyes slip closed as the events and emotions of the past few days settled like a weighted blanket of fatigue over her shoulders. 

Then the door slammed open. 

Andreana jumped a mile, the edge of the bench groaning under the strain of her fingers before turning, irritation plain on her face, “Fuck, W, I told you not to- oh. It’s you.”

She released the bench, swearing quietly in Ægirian as she noticed the outline of her grip was imprinted into it.

Andreana sighed, sitting back down at her bench, picking up the Arts unit and pretending to be arrestingly interested in the circuitry as Laurentina’s Inquisitor bristled at the dismissal behind her. 

“Well?” She said, not looking back, tentacles twitching, tense at having someone unfamiliar watching while she works, “Are you going to say anything, or just stare at me? Because I have work to do.”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Irene started, hotly, “You were looking at me weird that whole operation, what the fuck is your deal?”

“You smelled weird.” Andreana hummed, squinting at the unit before pushing her stool back, brushing past the bristling ex-Inquisitor to peek into a supply closet. 

“Excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?” 

Andreana let out an exasperated puff of air, ducking deeper into the closet, There’s no way there’s none left, right?

“It means,” Andreana grunted as she stretched to reach a tub tucked on the back of a high shelf, “I could smell her blood on you. Which is weird.” She gave up on reaching it, instead opting to rip the shelving unit off the bolts securing it to the wall and tilting it so the tub she needed came sliding off, catching it with two deft tentacles. “I’ll fix that later.” 

“Y-you,” Irene stuttered, a dusty pink settling high on her cheeks, “you could smell- what?” 

Andreana exhaled a long, annoyed breath, and made to brush past Irene again, but this time Irene fixed her hand to the wall, blocking her way. “Listen,” Irene says, frustration leaking into her voice, “If you don’t want to talk to me because I came from the Inquisition, I get it. A lot of Ægir feel the same. But at least give me the fucking chance to know what your deal is before writing me off.” 

“I don’t care,” Andreana started, pivoting to face Irene, pressed back against the wall, “that you’re from the Inquisition.” she took a half step closer, eyes so quick to smile smoldering with contained anger, tentacles fanning out behind her in a threat display, “You’re not one of us. Shark’s blood is not for you.” 

Irene furrowed her brow, trying to appear calm despite the uptick Andreana can hear in her heartbeat, “Shark- Laurentina? But nobody except-” her eyes flicked up, a startling swirl of surprise, realization, and… something else Andreana can’t place, “There’s another one of them?” She blinked, tentative flush deepening as she ventures, quieter, “Cuttlefish?”

Andreana’s smile was all teeth. “You are not allowed to call me that. But yes,” she said, leaning close, “I’m an Abyssal Hunter. Shark, Orca, Captain- My blood is theirs. And theirs is mine.” 

A complicated little noise slipped from Irene’s lips.

Andreana blinked. “Are you-”

Irene shifted impotently from where she was pinned to the wall, tanned skin flushing a deep red.

Andreana blinked again, then sighed. “Whatever.” She dropped her hand from where it was planted next to Irene’s head then crouched, retrieved her supplies, and brushed past Irene out the door.

[starlostastronaut]

DAY 07 | BUT A TROUBLEMAKER GIRL

PAIRING: seo changbin x reader

GENRE: crack, fluff

WC: 0.76k

CW: attempt at humour, playful banter/insults (they're besties so its fine haha)

PROMPT: "your hand looks heavy, can i hold it for you?"

i picked out the prompt and my first thought was "from how many things can i make fun of?" lol. so this is where it ended. i honestly have no explanations for this, so just enjoy haha <3

title from troublemaker - olly murs

general masterlist here

<< previous | mctc masterlist | next >>

"Your hand looks heavy, can I hold it for you?”

You almost choked on your drink when you heard that. When your cough had eased enough for you to be able to speak, you managed to get out a strained “What?” before you launched into another fit, though this time it was a laugh.

“Have you calmed down now?” Changbin grumbled after having to listen to your laugh for another few minutes. If you were to ask him, he would swear the last two minutes were only pretended, because no human could possibly laugh for that long.

“I’m sorryyy Binnie,” you said, wiping imaginary tears from your face. However, upon seeing his unpleasant expression, you straightened your back and stopped the charade. "Yeah, I’m done. Sorry,” you muttered, this time truly meaning it. You didn’t think he took it that seriously, but apparently he did after all, which made you feel genuinely sorry. Sometimes you would simply take your jokes too far without realizing it. “It’s just… since when do you use pick-up lines?”

In the years of knowing Seo Changbin, you had never heard him say a single pick-up line. Sure, Changbin never passed up an opportunity to shamelessly flirt with just about anyone, but he never resorted to something so “primitive” (as he himself once said) like pick-up lines. That was more up Bang Chan’s alley.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Chan-hyung swears it works. He said the fans go crazy whenever he uses one.” He gave you a curious look. “You’re our fan too. Why didn’t it work?” he pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. Despite the situation you found yourself in, the sight of him sitting like that opposite you was just so adorable. Of course, you would never admit it to him, but the thought was still there, making you smirk before you caught yourself.

You opted for standing up from the couch and going to refill your glass, not wanting your face to betray you, given the fact that Changbin was taking this situation seriously, at least to a certain degree.

“My dear Changbin, you’re forgetting one very small but also very important detail,” you called from the kitchen. While waiting for a response, you opened the fridge to take out a bottle of juice.

“What, that I’m not Chan-hyung?”

“No! Well… I mean yes, but that’s not my point,” you yelled back and put the juice back. Walking out of the kitchen, you stopped at the door and leaned your side on the doorframe, with a clear view of Changbin still pouting in the other room. He didn’t exactly look like he had figured it out yet, so it was up to you to give him the hint. “Do you know what the difference is between me and a regular STAY?”

He shook his head and looked up at you, waiting for an answer.

“I’ve met your dumb asses.”

With a smile on your lips, you watched Changbin’s reaction. As if it were slow motion, he furrowed his brows in confusion, but then it got replaced by annoyance. “Yah! What do you mean by that?” he shouted, but there was only pretend anger present in the tone of his voice. You got pretty good at guessing when he was joking, and right now you were sure you were both on the same page.

“That any fan who would spend just a day in the presence of any of you would think twice before falling for you,” you answered with an innocent grin and drank from the glass, making it seem like a neutral conversation. Which it was, theoretically. There was no real malice behind your words, you just enjoyed teasing your best friend.

“Or you just have poor taste, because Stray Kids are totally boyfriend goals,” Changbin retorted, raising an eyebrow as if saying “what’s your response to that, huh?”

But you were ready for him. You two bickered so often that your replies were basically autopilot. Without missing a beat, you scoffed. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” With a victory smirk, you watched Changbin freeze. He was trying to think of some witty reply, but it seemed like you got him there.

“Wait a minute, doesn’t Jeongin have that friend from school who is also a STAY?” Changbin asked after a moment of silence. You just looked at him, head tilted to the side and confusion written all over your face. “Let’s call them and settle this once and for all,” he explained, already standing up and going to his room for his phone.

taglist: @stayconnecteed @saintriots @vivioluh @ivaneedssleep @jazziwritesthings @darkypooo

©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission