#he should've stayed away from Natalie

[lizardboiii]

XOXO, UR DUFF♡

꒰ ft. Kuroo Tetsurō x reader x Bokuto Kōtarō, slight Oikawa Tōru x reader

synopsis: finding out Aoba Johsai High School's volleyball team refers to you as the school's duff sends you into a teenaged panic. your two childhood friends take it upon themselves to help you out. the opposite of a duff? a slut.

cw: NSFW, 18+, hurt/comfort, threesome, dom/sub undertones, dumbification, slut shaming, non-con coercion, double pentration, all characters are represented as 18/19 yrs old

wc: 2.7k

"Like any unloved thing, I don't know if I'm real when I'm not being touched." - Natalie Wee

Maybe you soared too high - beared your teeth too wide. The fall from grace was longer than the climb, allowing scotching shame to burn away any feelings you still carried. Oikawa Tōru had played you for a fool. 

Otherwise, after a week of walking you to class and buttering up your fragile heart. He wouldn't have asked you if your best friend, Emi, was single. 

Propping himself up on your desk, Oikawa’s thick hands supported the bulk of his weight. His form seemingly dripped with unease. If you listened closely enough, you could hear the sound of his sneakers shifting beneath him. 

You hated every moment of it.

The star volleyball captain had just made it clear he never had any intentions of courting you. All he saw was a gateway to Emi. An easy in.

You paused for just a moment. Thoughts of confronting the man above you ate at your skin. You wanted to scream. Rage at him. Ask him why he led you on. He could have easily asked out Emi without your assistance. Was there a reason to ask you other than to be cruel?

But you didn't. 

Instead you smiled warmly, swallowing your pride, “Ya, Emi’s single.”

Oikawa’s grin brightened, “You can put in a good word for me right? Since we're friends n’ all?”

The corner of your mouth twitched.

“Of course.”

・❥・

A kick to the front leg of your desk rattled the metal. You flinched at the noise. Body tensing, you refused to greet the offender. Finding it easier to stay hidden in your arms on top of your desk.

“What’s up with you?”

Teary eyed, you finally looked up from your crossed arms to the deep voice above you, Iwaizumi Hajime. You internally groaned at the sight of him. Iwaizumi was the last person you wanted to see right now, aside from his flamboyant captain.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “I think Oikawa likes Emi.”

Iwaizumi huffed, “I ​​could've guessed that.”

“What?” You searched his eyes for an answer, “You knew?”

“Ya,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “Whole team does.”

Clenching your teeth, you balled your hands in frustration, “Then why did he even bother talking to me? He should've just went straight to her!”

Iwaizumi shrugged, “It's probably because you're her Duff.”

You felt the pit in your stomach drop, “Her what?”

“Ya know, her Duff. Designated Ugly Fat Friend,” he said it as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

The information hit you like a truck, “Excuse me!? I am not her “Duff”!”

Iwaizumi shifted uncomfortably, “Hate to break it to you, but…I think everyone is aware you’re Emi’s Duff other than yourself.” 

You fake laughed, “I think I'd know if people were calling me that.”

“It's not that big a deal. Just means you're more approachable,” he searched for his next words, “I mean it's easier to ask you if Emi’s single rather than face the embarrassment if not.”

Iwaizumi’s statement left you breathless, “Face the embarrassment? What about me!? Oikawa led me on for a week just to ask if Emi was single!”

He brushed you off, “It’s not like you're the only one. Girls come up to the team all the time to ask about Oikawa.”

Seething, you stood up from your chair haphazardly, “You know what? Screw you!” The screech of your chair echoed across the room, “I’m not just some thoughtless NCP you guys can use to help get laid!”

Iwaizumi frowned, “You know I didn't mean it like that.”

You didn't bother to respond, favoring to storm out of the mostly empty classroom. You’d prove to them all you could be more than just Emi’s Duff. You just needed to figure out how to first.

・❥・

“Can you believe he said that to me?!” Sitting on top of Bokuto’s bed, you straddled the pillow you were holding in anger, “I am not a Duff!”

Bokuto hummed below you, focusing more on the controller in his hand rather than what you were saying, “Didn’tcha only go on one date?”

Cackling, Kuroo bumped shoulders with Bokuto, “There wasn’t even a date. He just walked her tah’ class.”

Your face burned, “He carried my books! Who does that other than someone who cares!?”

Kuroo tilted his face back at you, resting his head on the bed, “Yer’ joking, right?”

Frowning, you swiped at Kuroo’s face with the pillow in your hands. The comb head merely caught the pancaked pillow with his dominant hand, ripping the fabric away from you. Then, he shot the pillow at your head, hard. You reacted quickly, lifting your hands up in defense. The pillow thumped pathetically against your forearms. 

Flipping him off, you tossed the pillow back at the headboard, “You always play too rough!”

A wild grin plastered itself on his face, “What? I thought girls liked it rough?”

You threw him a disgusted look, “Don’t be a freak.”

Chuckling, Kuroo’s already large smile grew impossibly wider. Clearly satisfied at your obvious discomfort.

Groaning at Kuroo’s smug smirk, you flopped backward on the bed, “It’s not fair! Emi always has a boyfriend and I’ve yet to have even one.” You emphasized the number with your finger.

Passing off the controller, Bokuto stretched his hands above his head, “Who cares? Ya don’t need a boyfriend anyways,” He pointed a thumb at himself, “You got us!”

“Says you! Both you and Ku have had girlfriends,” You flipped onto your stomach, “I feel like I'm missing out.”

Lip curled, Bokuto threw himself on top of the bed and grabbed your smaller form, “Aww, our poor sweet (y/n)!”

You wrestled against his tight bear hug, “Lemme’ go, Airhead!”

Bokuto smiled, “Never!”

Your legs intertwined as you tried to slither free from Bokuto’s relentless hold. However, the older male easily subdued you. Pushing and pulling you every which way. Eventually, Bokuto relented and slid you into his lab, wrapping his arms around your midriff. 

You huffed at his antics. It wasn't the first time Bokuto forced you into his lab - and you were sure it wasn't the last. Yet, that didn't stop the way your heart squeezed when his chest pressed up against your back. Or the way you shivered when he slotted his head into the crook of your neck.

It certainly didn't stop the way you secretly liked how Kuroo watched.

Face burning, you chewed on your lip. You were sick. Friends shouldn't be thinking this way about each other. Especially not when you have known eachother since diapers. You internally sighed. It's not like they'd be interested in you anyways. Who’d want to be with a designated Duff?

“Sometimes I wish I was more like Emi...”

The thought slipped out of your mouth without your brain's approval. Meek and mild. Your quiet voice sent the room into an abrupt silence. You had little time to curse at yourself before Kuroo’s uncontrollable laughter broke through the stillness. 

Dropping the gaming controller, Kuroo moved calculatedly. His toned body slowly crawling its way on top of the bed, joining you and Bokuto. Your breath hitched at the sight. If you didn't know any better, you thought you might be eaten alive.

Kuroo reached you at an agonizing pace. His hands moved to rest on your knees while Bokuto’s stayed on your waist, “Ya wanna’ be like Emi, huh?”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you ignored the close proximity, “She always gets so much attention. I just wanna know what that feels like. Just once.”

Sulking, you missed the subtle glance Kuroo and Bokuto exchanged. Sly and cunning. The grip of their calloused hands tightened ever so slightly.

“Ya know why Emi keeps gettin’ so much attention?” 

Sinking back into Bokuto, you swallowed, “Because she's pretty?”

“Nope,” Kuroo’s grin widened as he slotted himself between your legs, “It’s ‘cause she’s a slut.”

Slut.

The word made your heart pang, “E-Emi’s not like that!”

Kuroo let out a scoff, “Course’ she is. You wanna be like that? A slut?”

Squirming, you tried to remove Kuroo from in between your legs. An action proving to be difficult very quickly, “No! I just don’t wanna be the school’s Duff anymore!”

Unimpressed, Kuroo’s large hands hooked under your knees and wrapped your legs around his waist. You only struggled harder. The thought of being trapped between the two large men was starting to make your head spin. 

Writhing in Bokuto’s hold, you halted when he groaned softly in your ear, “...Bo?”

“Look at that, Kitten,” Kuroo kneaded the fat of your thigh, “Already practicing.”

Bokuto buried his face deeper into your neck, nipping at the skin, “Ya wanna practice that bad, sweetheart?”

“I think she does, Bo,” Kuroo laughed cruelly, “Just look at her. Gettin’ ya hard already.”

Bokuto whined, “Can’t help it. She keeps rubbin’ that plump ass against my dick.”

On que, Bokuto’s hands shifted from your waist to your hips. His thick digits dug into your skin as he began to move your hips for you. Grinding his half hard cock into your clothed ass.

Your face was a molten red at the action, “Stop!”

“Please, sweetheart. Feels so good,” Bokuto’s words slurred as he grinded your bodies together.

You mewled, “We can’t!”

Kuroo snatched you chin, forcing your attention back on him, “Thought you were tired of bein’ the Duff?”

You could feel the beginnings of tears brimming your eyes, “I am!”

He smiled sickly sweet, “How are you gonna prove um’ wrong if ya can’t even do this?”

Swallowing thickly, your lips quivered, “I’m scared.”

Kuroo bore a mocking expression, “Sluts don’t get scared.”

Your whimper was cut off by Kuroo’s plump lips. The kiss was sloppy, desperate even. Kuroo’s tongue exploring your mouth like he owned it. Immediately, his hand found its way into your hair, tugging you further into the kiss. You cried against his mouth. Clutching at his wrist, you held on as he devoured you. 

Below you Bokuto shifted. His hand plunged its way into his sweats, pulling out his weeping cock, “Ku, lemme’ lift her up.”

Kuroo pulled away from your mouth, a string of saliva following in suit, “So impatient you owl bastard.”

You had little time to gasp for air as Bokuto’s hands replaced Kuroo’s. His hands wrapped under the pits of your knees swifty. Lifting up your legs, you gasped when his exposed cock made contact with your thin shorts. 

“Bo, wait!”

Bokuto ignored your small pleas. Sliding his cock against the fabric, he traced the shape of your pussy, “Sweetheart, you’ll lemme’ put it in, right?”

You squeaked when he tried to push up, the fabric of your shorts keeping him out, “You can’t go in raw!”

Bokuto groaned when Kuroo clutched his length, rubbing him harder against your slowly dampening shorts. You whined at the attention. Your hole clenching everytime Kuroo massaged your clit with the head of Bokuto’s cock.

Kuroo purred, “Ya feel that, Kitten? See how good yer makin’ Bo feel?

A sobbed rocked through your chest, “No.”

Clicking his tongue, Kuroo pulled at the hem of your shorts, “Still playin’ difficult, slut?”

You suddenly regretted wearing such short shorts. Kuroo managed to pull them off you in record time, only readjusting Bokuto’s hold on you once. As quickly as the shorts were off - Bokuto was on you.

The head of his cock slid against your folds with an obscene sound, “Please lemme’ put it in, sweetheart. Please, please.” You could feel his hips snap against your ass every time he slid up and down your pussy.

The cord in your stomach slowly began to pull. The feeling of his cock rubbing against your clit was almost enough to send you over the edge. You wanted more. No. You needed more.

Whimpering, your breath hitched as his cock prodded your entrance, “Bo, please!”

“Ya hear that, Bo?” You could hear the smirk on Kuroo’s face, “Slut needs a fat cock to fill ‘er up.”

Growling, Bokuto wasted no time before shoving his cock into your entrance. You cried out at the intrusion. Unprepared, your tight hole stretched painfully around his cock. It felt as if he had split you in two.

Kuroo hushed your cries, “Poor, Kitten. I’ll make it better.” His fingers made their way to your dripping pussy, circling your neglected clit.

“Ku!” You moaned at the touch. The burning sensation in your torn hole was slowly replaced by dull pleasure.

“So tight for me, Sweetheart,” Bokuto slowly pulled out before slamming back in, “So fuckin’ perfect.”

You shuddered at his words, “Too much!”

Sucking on your neck, Bokuto groaned, “Just gettin’ started.”

You flinched when Kuroo’s fingers traced down from your clit to your entrance. His caloused pointer nudged at your puffy hole.

“Look how much yer’ stretchin’ her, Bo,” He slowly added a finger to your already stuffed entrance, “Bet we can stretch it further.”

You sobbed at the invasion, “It won’t fit!”

Kuroo’s darkened eyes made you squirm, “We’ll make it fit.”

One finger soon turned into three as Kuroo worked your already sore pussy open. You wailed loudly. Finally, the feeling of fingers leaving your hole made you sign in relief. The full feeling in your stomach slightly dissipating. 

Until you felt something much larger.

Kuroo placed his hand on your waist as he lined the head of his cock against your hole. You tensed at the sight. Bokuto hissed in your ear, surprised by the sudden clench of your pussy.

“Loosen up, Sweetheart,” Bokuto kissed the crown of your head

A small mewl escaped your lips, “There's no way!”

The men above you rubbed small circles into your skin, attempting to relax your tensed muscles. You moaned at the affection. Body loosening, you shoved your face into Kuroo’s chest as he pushed in.

“There we go, Sweetheart. So good fer' us,” Bokuto hummed against the back of your neck.

The initial stretch of your walls burned intensely. Even with prep, you still felt like you’d tear up the middle.

 “So full,” you mumbled incoherently. Unable to focus on anything other than the cocks filling your already bullied hole.

“Gonna start movin’, kay?” Kuroo’s cock bottomed out before you could even respond. 

They moved opposite of eachother. Bokuto’s cock slamming deep into your pussy while Kuroo’s dragged out of your weeping hole painfully slow. It was enough to drive you insane. You moaned shamelessly, far too drunk on cock to care how slutty you looked.

“Yer’ takin’ us so well, kitten,” Kuroo bit into your neck, leaving a trail of marks, “Like you were made for this.”

You quivered under his touch, “Want more, please.”

Bokuto’s hands slithered under your shirt, “Ya already want more?” His hands moved to unclasp your bra, “Such a slut.”

You bit your lip as Bokuto found his way to your sensitive buds, “Yes, sir.”

“Sir?” Bokuto licked up your neck, “Ya hear that, Ku? She really was meant tah’ be a slut.”

You could barely comprehend Kuroo’s response. Your ears felt like they were filled with cotton as the pressure in your stomach increased. Instinctively, your hips jerked against their movements. You were so close.

“Need tah’ cum, Kitten?” Kuroo fisted your hair, “Ya gotta ask nicely.”

Hot tears streamed down your face at the unreleased pressure in your abdomen, “Please let me cum, sir. Please, I wanna cum so bad.”

Kuroo traced his tongue up your cheek, savoring the salty taste, “Whaddya’ think, Bo? Should the slut be allowed to cum?”

Bokuto traced his fingers from your breast to your clit, “Maybe just this once.”

The chord in your stomach snapped as soon as you were granted permission. Head thrown back, a porn star moan fell from your lips. Your vision went white with pleasure. Long and intense, you trembled in Bokuto’s hold. 

Your chest heaved as your legs gave out, yet Kuroo and Bokuto remained relentless. Continuing their abuse on your sloppy pussy, they pushed you further over the edge.

You whined in overstimulation, “No more.”

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Bokuto ran his fingers through your hair, “We ain't done yet.”

Your eyes widened, “W-what?”

Kuroo smirked, “We haven't cum yet, Slut.”

・❥・

[currymanganese]

Richie's journey is not over

I've done my fair share of hating on Richie, but @caiusmarciuscoriolanus 's and @post-woke 's meta on him has gotten to me. As a companion piece to this post about Carmy's future in the culinary world here, here's why I think Richie may be the one to actually leave the industry someday, or at least that he may find a fulfilling secondary vocation by the end of the series.

1. Along with Marcus, but to a greater extent, Richie is Carmy's narrative foil, if Carmy stays in the restaurant world, as Carmy's foil, Richie may want to leave someday:

Before the start of the series and in season one, he was the dutiful "son/brother"-figure that stayed in Chicago and stuck it out with Mikey (since Mikey pushed Carmy away) while Carmy globe-trotted and became a master at his craft. He resents Carmy for not coming to Mikey's funeral and for being MIA after his death, and perhaps also for being absent from pitching into the family business even prior to Mikey's death and the business' decline. He also resented the changes Carmy, and by extension, Sydney, made to the restaurant during season one, and by the beginning of season two expresses insecurities about his place in the restaurant, and by extension, his place in Carmy and the Berzattos' life. Hence, in season two Richie goes out of his way to have Carmy's reassurance that he would not be "dropped" and he also apologized to Natalie for some unspecified long-standing slight or slights, and enjoyed a much improved relationship with the surviving Berzatto siblings until his argument with Carmy in "The Bear".

During this war of words, after Richie called Carmy, Donna, Carmy retaliated by claiming that he should've cut Richie off, that Richie wouldn't be able to make a living or support his child without him, and accused him of being a leech with an obsession with the Berzatto family. Regardless of whether Carmy truly believes these things about Richie or not, and regardless of whether they are true or not, the venom behind this outburst may have left Richie questioning his security at The Bear, and the sincerity of Carmy's earlier promise to not abandon him, which has silently been one of Richie's greatest fears since season one, with his admission to Carmy in Braciole that,

"You're all I have left."

Also, keep in mind, season two already began with Richie questioning his purpose and place at The Bear, while Carmy ended the season questioning his vocation and his place at the restaurant,

"Maybe I'm just not cut out for this."

Similarly, their love interests / the women from their pasts are associated with one another, Carmy's (now ex) girlfriend , Claire, and Richie's ex-wife, Tiffany:

"Tiff used to babysit Claire!"

Since both Richie and Carmy reached a turning point professionally and experienced upheavals in their relationship(s) in season two (with each other and with their love interests a la Claire breaking up with Carmy, and Tiff informing Richie that she's moving on and getting married), we'll have to wait until the dust settles in season 3 or beyond to see whether the words Carmy spoke in anger to Richie may push him away, even if only temporarily, to the point that Richie may be moved to "abandon Carmy / The Berzattos / the restaurant before they abandon me", or even to see if he has truly found the answer to his question of what his purpose and vocation is in life, and whether that lies in customer service and working the expo or overseeing the front of house at The Bear, or elsewhere.

It's also interesting to me that the book Richie is shown reading in Season 2, 'Unreasonable Hospitality: The Remarkable Power of Giving People More Than They Expect', by Will Guidara, apparently stresses the value of imparting a sense of excellence and care for one's customers and peers / working relationships no matter the industry, and highlights that the lessons the author learned in the restaurant/hospitality industry can also be applicable to other fields.

Which leads me to my next point;

2. I believe that Richie serves as an author avatar for Christopher Storer himself on some level, and Storer ultimately left the food service industry to become a writer/ director and work in the film industry, hence it's another reason that it would not come as a surprise to me if Richie ends up leaving The Bear, even if it's only temporarily:

C Storer has expressed before in podcast interviews that Richie's character is based on his older male cousins growing up, with whom he enjoyed spending time with in his teens as an escape from his own dysfunctional home life as a child of divorced parents that lived with a mother struggling with addiction. This explains the "Cousin" moniker and surrogate brother role Richie occupies in Carmy's life clearly enough. However, I also think that Richie and Mikey to some degree, (as Storer also struggled with substance abuse in the past) may be partially based on Storer's own life before he found his vocation and settled into a relationship with his long term partner, Gillian Jacobs, who, interestingly, stars as Richie's ex-wife Tiffany in the show.

This is just speculation on my part, but there is something in Richie's dynamic with The Berzattos that may be a reflection of, or at least partially inspired by C Storer and his younger sister, Courtney's, real life surrogate family, the Zuccheros; which is the family that owns Mr. Beef, the Italian sandwich shop that show and The Original Beef of Chicagoland is based on.

According to Joanna Calo in this podcast, see around the 48 minute mark, Chris and Courtney Storer worked at Mr. Beef when they were younger, before Chris left the food industry to become a writer/director and moved to LA. However, Chris Storer has maintained a friendship with the current owner of Mr. Beef, Christopher Zucchero, since kindergarten, and the pilot of The Bear was filmed on location in Mr. Beef, the rest of season one was filmed in a set that was a faithful recreation of Mr. Beef's premises, and Chris Zucchero also had a cameo appearance as ChiChi, Carmy's meat connect that haggled with him in the season one pilot.

As if all this wasn't enough of powerful testament to the bond that the Storers have with the Zuccheros, Chris Zucchero has stated in interviews that Chris Storer used to direct him and their friends to do recreations of movie scenes when they played together as children, and that there was never a doubt in his mind that Storer would've become a film director someday, a level of faith which mirrors Carmy's faith in Richie's people skills and his aptitude for a new role front of house. Chris Storer also promised Chris Zucchero to make a show about Mr. Beef years ago, and The Bear is a fulfillment of that promise.

The former proprietor of Mr. Beef, Chris Zucchero's father, Joseph Zucchero, also seems to have had a fatherly relationship with the Storers (Chris Storer has disclosed that he and his siblings did not have a close relationship with their own father after their parents' divorce), and particularly with Courtney Storer. Chris Zucchero has even joked in interviews that his father loved Courtney more than his own children, and that Zucchero Sr. served as a surrogate father to many in his community.

In my opinion, even if Richie shares no other connection to Chris Storer's life and personality, beyond Richie being an amalgamation of the cousins Chris Storer grew up with; the tight-knit bond of devotion and affection between Richie and Mikey and The Berzattos certainly appears to be somewhat reminiscent of Christopher Storer's own loyalty to his longtime friend, Chris Zucchero's family.

As such, this may be completely off-base, but hear me out;

3. What if Richie's character journey eventually mirrors Christopher Storer's personal career trajectory and takes him on the path of becoming a writer, perhaps even to the point of publishing a heartfelt article about, or story inspired by: his life, his job, Mikey, The Berzattos, The Original Beef and The Bear?

Since we are unfamiliar with much of Richie's backstory and skillset beyond his time in the restaurant, I'm basing this possible career shift on one aspect of Richie's personal interests we are privy to; Richie appears to be surprisingly well-read, and it is generally assumed that excellent authors tend to be avid readers, just as renowned filmmakers tend to be cinephiles themselves.

In the pilot episode - when the creators took time to create character establishing moments for Carmy, and most of the regular cast, despite Richie's initial abrasive interactions with Carmy, Richie is shown to also be affable and well liked, or at least respected, by the staff and prompts them to have an informal icebreaker over Syd's family meal by asking them to express what they are thankful for.

This moment establishes Tina's (at the time hidden) sentimental heart of gold when she answers, "I'm thankful for all y'all mfs! 😜", and Marcus and Ebra's sense of humour and easy rapport with Richie /their irreverence and lack of fear of him when Marcus makes a joke at Richie's expense and Ebra chimes in to mock his body odour. However, when Richie's turn to express what he's thankful for, out of all the possible people or things the writers could've used to telegraph what is important to Richie, and who he is as a person, in this moment Richie says he's thankful for the classic sci-fi author, Philip K. Dick; who famously wrote the dystopian novel 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?'' which ultimately served as the inspiration for many sci-fi works, including the Blade Runner films. Even if he intended for his answer to be light-hearted or flippant, it may be a case of "the truth being hidden in jest" that he expressed gratitude, not for his daughter, not for any other relationship or personal possession, but for Mr. Philip K. Dick.

In season one Richie makes another offhand/indirect reference to this sci fi author and his story, by addressing the crew as, "replicants" (a term for lifelike artificial humans from Blade Runner, i.e. robots) when he shows up late to the staff meeting wherein Carmy is about to initiate the brigade system by delegating Syd to lead the crew. Since these are two sci-fi story references that Richie makes within the first 3 episodes of the show, after season one would be forgiven for just thinking that Richie may be a fan of classic sci-fi books or films and nothing else, however, season 2 shifted this understanding of Richie's characterization for me when, again, he references yet another renowned writer/novel in the season 2 pilot.

Thanks to fans on The Bear's subreddit - it appears that the writing he referenced this time was Haruki Murakami's 'Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Year's of Pilgrimage' as he paraphrases the story, including the main character being deserted by friends because of a lack of a 'life /interest' besides "trains". Richie uses the book to effectively articulate his own feelings of aimlessness, and fear of abandonment to Carmy. This conversation with Carmy where Richie uses the book as a tool to communicate his own anxiety/ need for reassurance to Carmy also ultimately served as a catalyst for Richie being sent on the opportunity to stage at the 3 Michelin star restaurant in season 2 episode seven.

It is during this episode that Richie undergoes some much needed character development, and is shown studiously reading Unreasonable Hospitality in a montage as he undergoes his metamorphosis into the earnest, professional, and essential FOH/BOH team member with renewed confidence that we see him as in episodes 8-10; apologising to Nat, helping her to vet the new FOH potential hires, even taking over the expo on the soft opening night and helping Sydney to avert disaster as she takes over functioning in Carmy's stead in the season finale. When addressing the new FOH staff prior to the soft open he again quotes a novel by a renowned author with existentialist themes, 'Siddhartha' by Herman Hesse as he urges the new staff to, "listen better".

Whether Richie eventually leaves the industry or The Bear or not remains to be seen, but I'm looking forward to seeing where his character development will take him, and I'm looking forward to Season 3 and beyond.

It is now clear to me, underneath all Richie's machismo bluster and bravado lies a surprising level of perceptiveness, a philosophic/existential curiosity and sensitivity that, in addition to his love for reading and gift for gab, may potentially lend itself to him developing a compelling written voice should he ever have the desire to write stories of his own.

Perhaps he may be steered to do so if he seeks out counselling for himself, whether via Al-anon or otherwise; as journalling / writing and tapping into a creative pursuit is often recommended as a coping mechanism for processing trauma/grief?

I also think that, much in the same way that Carmy confessed to seeing his cooking as an art and a means of communication in his Al-anon monologue in Braciole in Season 1; it is telling that Richie repeatedly uses what he has read as a means to express himself and communicate with others in some of the moments that he is most happy, uninhibited, sincere, and/or vulnerable.

P.S. @thoughtfulchaos773 Thanks for the nudge - I dug this out of my drafts because of you - stay wonderful 😊❤️

If you've read this, thanks for reading and feel free to chime in!

[hopeintheashes]

been trying to swim with both my hands behind my back

The Bear. Sydney and Carmy. Immediately post-2x10. for the @badthingshappenbingo square "Caught in a Storm"

"Oh," he says, voice distant. "It's really fucking raining." "Yeah," she says, instead of I told you so. Wraps her arms around herself. The wet bandana is still in her hand. She's going to have to do something with it. She can't for the life of her imagine what. It feels like she's thrown up all of her resolve. Like gravity has given up. Like she's untethered from the floor. He turns around suddenly. "You can go, you know. You don't have to—" He's a mirror of her, arms wrapped around himself— "Stay," he finishes like it wasn't what he wanted to say. She can see the headache in the pull of the muscles of his face. "Well," she says, and it's quieter than she'd meant. "It's raining. So." He looks up from under his hair where it's falling in his eyes; looks impossibly young; looks like all of the sinews of his entire self have been wound tight like over-tuned piano wires and at least a third of them have already given way.

Read it below or on AO3.

The rain comes all at once. Without warning, if you haven't checked your phone in the last three and a half hours.

She decides her stomach is going to have to be able to handle going inside.

Tina hands her water on her way in the door and pats her shoulder sympathetically, then goes back to making sure the last touches of the kitchen cleanup are done. Gary's shaking hands with a guy with some sort of… chainsaw? and showing him out the door. Marcus and Richie are nowhere to be seen.

Natalie appears around the corner, and she's smiling but her eyes and her mouth are complicated, a little bit sad. She wraps Sydney up in an unexpected hug and then pulls back like she's afraid she might have gone too far, and Syd smiles at her reassuringly.

"We fucking did it," Nat says. Sydney nods, holding her gaze and then breaking it to look at the destroyed walk-in door.

"Carmy's out?" she says, even though obviously Carmy is out, because it's easier than any of the other questions she could ask about that.

Natalie presses her lips together, worrying them between her teeth. "He is." Eyes flicking toward the office.

"Okay." She can see Pete through the window into the dining room, waiting for Nat. Infinite patience, that guy. Baffling, but in a sweet way. Sydney looks at the office door, then back at Nat. "I've got him. You go."

So uncertain, so young: "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Yes." She can still taste the stomach acid on her tongue. "Go. I'd say try to beat the rain, but I guess it's already here."

Nat blinks at the front window like she hadn't realized. "Oh. Yeah. Okay."

Pete holds up two umbrellas through the window in the door, smiling like he would be happy to wait there all night.

"Go," she says insistently, and Natalie pulls her in to kiss her on the cheek, and then she's back through the door and Pete's got his arm around her and is trying to put up one of the umbrellas before they're even out the door. Nat swats it down and she's laughing, head tipped against his, arm in arm on their way out into the rain.

The kitchen is clean. She should've helped. Guilt twists in her gut, and she breathes through it, because she does not want to end up back out in the alley again.

Tina appears beside her again and Sydney starts. "I'm going to go," Tina says, and Syd nods on autopilot. Somehow everyone else has disappeared. "They're predicting floods and shit. Make sure you get out of here safe, okay?"

"Okay."

"You did good, Chef," Tina says, peering up at her until Sydney meets her gaze.

Sydney makes herself nod again. "You too, Chef. Good night." 

-- -- --

She hesitates in front of the office, and then goes inside.  

Carmy's pacing. One hand in his hair, the other holding an unlit cigarette. Putting it to his lips like he's gonna risk burning the whole place down. Pulling it away again.

"You're out," she says.

"I'm out." Doesn't look at her. His ears and his eyes and his nose are rimmed in red. "What the fuck happened out there?"

"We made it work." She's going for confident, but the panic is back, the acid in her throat and the shake in her hands and the goddamn fucking ticket machine printing again and again—

"Syd." He touches her arms between her wrists and her whites and it's the ice of his skin that pulls her back, grounds her, eyes locked with his, and she swallows hard and breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Yeah," she says, "No, it's okay, I just, I was just—" she gestures with a grimace— "throwing up everything I've eaten in the last three years and I thought for a second it was gonna happen again, which doesn't seem like it should be possible and yet here we fucking are, but. Yeah. I'm good now. So." She breaks off and he's still got his hands on her, his eyes on her, and she swallows hard and bites the inside of her lip to keep from rambling any more.

"Syd." Impossibly serious. "You have my full attention. This has my full attention."

She blinks at him. They're the right words, and yet something feels wrong. "Okay?"

He doesn't say anything else, just looks toward the doorway like he's not sure whether it's safe to leave the room.

"Everyone else is gone," she says, stepping back from his touch and running a hand over her hair. It catches her bandana, wet from the alley. She pulls it off. Shakes out her braids. "It's raining."

He looks at her like that explains nothing, but pulls a hand down his face. The cigarette is still between his fingers. Waiting in this uncertain in-between.

"Okay," he says. She's still a little dizzy from nausea, but he looks a little dizzy like he hasn't been breathing right: shallow, barely getting any new oxygen in his lungs. It's the carbon dioxide, says some far-off voice in her head that for some reason sounds like Richie. When you hyperventilate during a panic attack. Not enough carbon dioxide. Counterintuitive but true.

She steps away from the door and he goes out like a man in a dream into the empty kitchen. The empty dining room.

"Oh," he says, voice distant even though she'd followed him there. "It's really fucking raining."

"Yeah," she says, instead of I told you so. Wraps her arms around herself. The wet bandana is still in her hand. She's going to have to do something with it. She can't for the life of her imagine what. It feels like she's thrown up all of her resolve. Like gravity has given up. Like she's untethered from the floor.

He turns around suddenly. "You can go, you know. You don't have to—" He's a mirror of her, arms wrapped around himself— "Stay," he finishes like it wasn't what he wanted to say. She can see the headache in the pull of the muscles of his face.

"Well," she says, and it's quieter than she'd meant. "It's raining. So."

He looks up from under his hair where it's falling in his eyes; looks impossibly young; looks like all of the sinews of his entire self have been wound tight like over-tuned piano wires and at least a third of them have already given way. 

-- -- --

She changes into the spare clothes in her locker; puts the gift from Carmy (fuck, Carm, what a gift) away carefully and doesn't close the door, just drapes her bandana over the top of it to dry. Goes back out to the darkened front of house to watch the downpour.

Carmy's back, cigarette smoke and the smell of rain on pavement clinging to his clothes. "My shoes got wet," he says, and Sydney looks down and he's in his socks; shoes left at the door between the kitchen and the front. The sidewalk is a river in front of their door. Lightning flashes in the distance and they wait, breathless, for the thunder, and exhale when it finally comes.

She steps out of her own shoes. Feels the floor through her socks. Clean enough to eat off, right? That's the deal.

The rain gets louder. The lights flicker, but stay on.

The walk-in is fucked. More fucked if the power goes out.

Carmy steps up to the window with her. Shoulder to shoulder. She can hear him breathe.

Another flash of lightning, and the eerie blue light of a transformer in the distance blowing to hell.

"Fuck," she says, at the same time as Carmy pulls in a ragged breath and the same time as the thunder hits.

They're in the dark.

Carmy's hand brushes hers, his knuckles against the back of her hand, just this quick reassurance that he's still here. Still freezing. Still here.

She's mentally going through all the food they've got stored but there's nothing they can do. Only good thing is that there wasn't that much left after service. If the power's still out when their next shipment is due, that's when they'll really need a plan.

"Fuck!" He's clearly just finished the same calculation.

She doesn't tell him it's okay.

He jackknifes at the waist, both hands in his hair, breathing still ragged and getting worse; comes back up dizzyingly fast; turns to pace and runs right the fuck into a table and a chair, the corner of the table sharp into his hip and the chair leg unforgiving against his unprotected toes.

She holds her breath against the oncoming scream-shove-crash of furniture to floor, but there's just a bitten-back moan. He curls in on himself away from the table and sinks to the floor, backlit from the kitchen by the dim emergency lights. He sucks in a breath and drinks in the pain like it's medicine, bitter on his tongue but nonetheless what he needs. What he thinks he deserves.  

Same table.

The one from before.

She lays a hand on the wood, stepping carefully through the darkness between it and him. Sinks down beside him as he lays onto his back: knees in the air, hands clasped over his eyes, elbows out. She sits down cross-legged and leans back on one hand, studying him in the little bit of light.

"I fucked up," he says, and she just nods, even though he can't see her through his hands. "I fucked up," he says again, like she's supposed to say something, here, and she just sighs and slips down next to him on the floor, sliding forward toward the kitchen until they're mirrored like puzzle pieces. Rotational symmetry. That's the word.

"I mean, yeah, calling the fridge guy would have been a good idea." There's so much more she could say. She bites her tongue.

"No." He's digging the sides of his clasped hands into his eyes. "Before that. And after that. Just like— everything." He takes a breath, and lifts his hands so he can open his eyes, and rolls his head sideways to look at her. "I wasn't there, and I should have been, and I'm sorry." He looks back up at the ceiling and drops his hands back onto his eyes. "It won't be a problem again."

She wants to give him shit about it but there's something in his voice those last few words. "No?"

"No. Claire and I are done."

"Oh."

"You don't have to pretend you're not happy about that."

"I want you to be happy, Carm." Spoken to the ceiling. Barely audible over the driving rain.

A sound of disgust, but not directed at her. "I don't think happiness is compatible with what we're working toward, here."

"Yeah." She flips her gaze over to him. Still covering his eyes. "Hey." He doesn't look at her, so she taps his elbow. Once he's looking at her: "But what if it was?"

He just shakes his head and puts his hands over his eyes again.

Silence, for a while. The place feels weirdly empty without the background hum of machines. The only sound the cars sluicing by on the street. Honking at each other at the intersections where the traffic lights have gone out.

"I couldn't do it," she says into the darkness. Feels him shift beside her. Moving his hands behind his head. Looking over at her sideways. "Richie had to expo. I just…." She shakes her head. "Froze." Another breath. "Drowned."

"I'm sorry," Carmy whispers. All those promises. I'll be there. You won't be alone. I won't let you fail.

"He was fucking good at it, too. Which should make me feel better, but…"

But somehow it's just salt in the wound.

"Not sure if Richie's gonna be talking to me anytime soon." He picks his head up and scrubs his fingers through his hair. Pulls his palms down his face.

She waits. Just more silence. "Say more?"

"We both said some shit through that door that there's no taking back." Tucks his hands into his armpits like he's trying to stay warm.

"You're family. He'll come around."

"You say family like it means something other than pure fucking chaos. Than the people who know exactly where to where to slide the knife to cut you wide fucking open and leave you bleeding out on the floor."

She rolls onto her side, one arm tucked under her head. He's trembling, just a little, in the low, low light. "Nat's not going to cut you open."

"No, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't sew me back up."  

She puts her free hand on his shoulder, tentatively at first and then with some weight when he reaches up across his body, other hand still tucked in against himself, and catches her fingers with his own. Still far too cold.

She wills warmth through the touch, and takes a breath. Lets it out. "I think maybe this is something we either do broken or we don't do at all."

He blinks fast through threatening tears. Bites his lip. Another car swishes by through the rain.

He squeezes her hand. Sirens in the distance. Out on the bridge.  

She squeezes back. The tracks are flooding, all the trains called off. Who knows what the city will look like at morning light. Maybe better, maybe worse.

She watches shadows on the ceiling of this place, this island in the storm, and breathes, and listens to him breathe beside her.

They don't let go.

[bobmckenzie]

The Kiss-Thing

word count: 1173 blurb: Richie's been avoiding Caitie since she kissed him on the cheek, and she thinks she knows why. author's note: just wanna shoutout @lovesick-rambles who wrote the amazing commission that gave me the inspo for this follow-up piece!! 💙 thank you Natalie for helping me piece together the backstory of this ship lol 😆

Caitie stood in the cereal aisle, eyes mindlessly scanning over the plethora of granola options while her thoughts were far, far away from grocery shopping. 

For the past week, all she'd been able to think about was Richie. Richie, who the last time they'd seen each other, she'd kissed on the cheek in a rare moment of boldness.

Richie, who hadn't spoken to her since.

She should've known better than to think he was interested in her. He stopped by her job to find a cologne and ate lunch with her as a friend, nothing more. She'd read too much into it, got caught up in optimism thanks to her own silly little crush on him.

She just had to convince herself to make the first move, had to step out of her comfort zone and kiss him like that. He was just so… sweet. So cute. And god, she needed to stop thinking about him. As far as signals went, this one was crystal clear: he wasn't interested. And why should he be?

With a sigh, she picked out her usual bag of maple flavored oats and dropped it in her cart. The truth was, they hardly knew each other. Hell, that was probably half the reason she’d misread the situation, thought maybe he felt the same way, that all that shy awkwardness from the first time they'd met had been an indicator of something more than just… well, Richie being shy and awkward. 

It was fine—she'd get over it, she’d be mature and they would stay friends. But she couldn't deny there was a part of her heart that'd been hopeful.

Caitie started out of the aisle, turned her cart, and wheeled right into a clanging, head on collision with someone else's cart.

"I'm so sorry!" The words escaped her automatically before she even looked up—then her eyes met the ones she hadn't been able to get off her mind. "Richie—!" She wasn't sure what to say, especially not with him staring wide-eyed at her like he'd just run into the last person he wanted to see. "Um—Hi. Sorry."

The reality was that she was half right about him avoiding her. Richie's heart sank when they locked eyes, not because he didn't want to see her—God did he want to see her—but because he wasn't ready. He'd spent the last week trying and failing to be ready.

He shook his head after a few more awkward seconds, snapping out of his daze. "No!" The word came out too loud, too enthusiastic. "No," he tried again, "My fault. Hi."

"I didn't know you shop here. I mean, I've never seen you before." Her fingers fidgeted on the handle of her cart. 

"Only every now and then—they have a certain cereal Howie likes. My brother," he added.

She nodded, giving a small smile. "I remember. You mentioned him at the movies."

"Right!" He exclaimed a little too enthusiastically again, pointing at her as he trailed off, "Good memory. I… Yeah. Forgot about that." All he could really remember from that night was trying his hardest not to embarrass himself. That and the way her perfume smelled, the brush of her hand when he passed her the popcorn, and how his heart pounded every time she got close to him. Sitting next to her for the entire movie nearly killed him.

"I'm sorry," Caitie blurted, gaze dropping from his. "For, um, what I did at the mall. Kissing you, I mean."

And there it was. The regretful words, the rejection he'd unconsciously been avoiding. He wasn't putting off seeing her just because he didn't know how to ask her out. He'd been putting it off because deep down, he knew she'd probably written off the whole thing as a mistake right after it happened.

He forced himself to shrug. "Uh… That's… You don't have to apologize." He prepared himself for the speech: she hadn't meant to lead him on, it was just a friendly kiss. All the things he'd tried to convince himself she wouldn't say.

"I didn't mean to make things weird," she continued. "I think I just got the wrong message, you know, mistaking kindness for flirting. It's my fault."

"You—Huh?" He blinked, repeating the words in his head, trying to make sense of them. She couldn’t possibly mean what it sounded like she meant.

"I know, it's stupid." She ran a hand through her hair. "I guess part of it was wishful thinking that you felt the same, or—" She grimaced, shaking her head, placing her palm against her forehead. "Sorry. Making it awkward again. It's just—we have mutual friends, and I don't want things to be weird. So they won't be, is what I'm trying to say. I'm fine with just being friends. We can just forget the kiss-thing ever happened, if you're not upset."

"Upset? You think—" He had to let out a laugh, but immediately felt guilty for the obvious confusion on her face. "I was not upset by the kiss-thing. I was very much a fan of the kiss-thing." 

"You…” Her furrowed brow softened, tense shoulders relaxing. “Really?" 

"I know I kind of disappeared, I just…" He flushed at the embarrassing truth. "I’ve been wanting to ask you out, but… didn't really know how. Then I sorta psyched myself out. Thought you'd turn me down."

She shook her head, smiling softly. "I wouldn't." 

"Well, in that case…" He looked up at her with a sly, playful smirk, though his body was swaying side-to-side with restless nerves. "I know you got an invite to Gus' barbecue, so… What if we went together? As a date?"

She couldn’t hold back a grin as she nodded, cheeks flushing with color. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.” He held her gaze for a few seconds, realized he was staring, and cleared his throat as he turned to gauge the check-out lines, attempting to look nonchalant, as if this wasn’t the first time anyone had agreed to go on a date with him. “I’ve got practice with the guys in an hour, so I should get out of here. But I’ll see you Saturday?”

“I’ll be there.” She gave him one last smile before wheeling her cart past him—but when she got close he couldn’t help thinking of the last time they’d parted ways, and couldn’t resist placing a hand on her shoulder, stopping her just long enough for him to lean up and plant a quick peck on her cheek.

It all happened fast enough for him to not overthink it, until he backed up and saw her flushed face and smile of surprise. Then his head seemed to catch up with his body, and all the suave confidence he could muster evaporated into thin air.

“Um—” he squeaked out, pointing to the registers at the other end of the store with a nervous laugh. “Okay. See you. Bye.”

She watched him wheel his cart away, face warm as she bit back a laugh. Apparently, she hadn’t misread his awkwardness after all.

[berkmansimagines]

Would've, Could've, Should've

A/N: Ok so a very long time ago I wrote a fic called tolerate it and I never really intended to do a follow up to it. But I recently got this idea and at almost 2.4k words later here it is! You can read this fic without reading tolerate it, exposition is provided. And I'm sorry this fic is so long! I let my imagination run away with me....

Summary: Barry seeks revenge.

Pairing: Barry Berkman x hitman!wife reader

Barry has been quietly seething for the past few days. It all started when Barry refused to do a job for a powerful cartel leader named Del. In response, Del sent two of his goons to beat you up. He wanted to hit Barry where it hurts. And it worked.

Barry’s heart nearly stopped when he found you after you got jumped. You were bloodied, bruised and laying barely conscious in the bathtub. You were beaten so severely, you couldn’t even walk. Barry had to carry you to bed.

You’ve been kinda skittish and on guard since the attack. You’re still badly bruised and in pain. Barry is really worried about you. You’re his fearless, badass wife. He hates seeing you hurt and scared like this.

Barry desperately wants to get revenge on the guys who hurt you. The only reason he hasn’t looked into who did this is because you didn’t see their faces, they attacked you from behind. You couldn’t describe the men to Barry. Even if you had, you begged him not to go after them. You didn’t want Barry to get caught up in cartel shit. It’s way too dangerous. 

But Barry can’t let this go. Del’s goons hurt you badly. They could’ve killed you. Your husband’s fucking pissed and his anger is only growing.

Barry just returned home from acting class. He did a scene with Sally and Natalie where he played an angry character. Mr. Cousineau told Barry to think about something that gets him mad. His mind immediately went to you getting jumped by some faceless goons. Barry was so pissed off, he blacked out. He doesn’t even remember performing the scene. Afterwards Mr. Cousineau said that he did a good job.

A tense Barry walks in to find you sleeping on the couch. You fell asleep watching some movie on Netflix, which is still playing faintly in the background. Your husband takes a deep breath and his body relaxes when he sees you. 

Barry doesn’t want to wake you up from your nap. You look so cozy and you need the rest. Barry knows that you haven’t been sleeping well since the attack. He hasn’t either… 

Barry grabs the remote and shuts the TV off. Then, from the corner of his eye, he notices you shivering in your sleep. Barry takes the throw blanket on the couch and covers you with it.

You suddenly flinch and wake up with a jolt.

“NO! Get off of me!” you cry out.

Barry jumps back. He wasn’t expecting you to freak out like that. 

You stay on the couch, anxiously running your fingers through your hair and trying to catch your breath. Barry sits down beside you and gently cups your face in his hands, trying to calm you down. 

"Hey! Hey relax! It’s me. You're okay! It's just me," Barry says softly. 

You’re in shock for a moment until you look into Barry's eyes. 

"I'm sorry. I thought.... I…. I don't know what I was thinking..." you stutter breathlessly. 

Barry pulls you into a hug. You bury your head on his shoulder and hug him back tightly. While holding you, Barry’s face just drops. He’s trying his best to be there for you but he feels himself getting angrier at the people who did this to you. 

After a moment, you pull away from the hug and slowly rise to your feet.

“I’m gonna go out for a smoke,” you tell Barry. You need to clear your head.

You’re about to start walking towards the balcony when-

RING, RING, RING

You look down at your phone resting on the coffee table. It’s your handler, Diane. You have several missed calls from her. She gets annoyed when you don’t pick up.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself.

You grab your phone and answer the call.

“Hey Diane! Sorry I missed your calls. I, uh -” you begin before getting cut off.

“You can tell me in person. I just arrived at your building. I’m walking over to your place now,” your handler informs you.

Your heart skips a beat. This can’t be happening. You never told Diane that you got beat up. You knew that she would get upset and you didn’t want her to see you like this…

“What?” you gasp.

“You’ve been MIA for days now. I know something’s up with you. I’m checking in. Okay, I’m outside. Let me in.”

Diane abruptly ends the call.

“Fuck!” you curse to yourself, tossing your phone down on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Barry asks.

“Diane’s here,” you shrug.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

Barry’s body tenses up once again. Your handler doesn’t like Barry. He’s bracing himself for a confrontation. You slowly limp past Barry, making your way toward the door. Barry follows closely behind.

“You should take it easy,” he tries.

You turn back to your husband and shake your head. You look so serious right now. Barry stops himself. You answer the door. Diane is in complete shock when she sees you. You’re badly bruised and look like hell.

“Y/N, what the fuck happened to you? Who did this?” Diane asks you as she lets herself in.

“It’s, uh, it’s a long story,” you shyly reply.

Diane puts her hands on her hips, rocking that power pose she does so well.

“I’ve got nothing but time. Talk to me,” Diane insists.

You reluctantly tell Diane everything. Diane is someone who always has something to say, but she’s eerily quiet as you talk about what happened. She doesn’t speak up until you finish your story.

“Those guys who jumped you… did you see their faces?” Diane questions you.

“No,” you quickly shake your head.

Diane’s eyes narrow in on you, looking you up and down. 

“You’re lying,” she calls you out.

You clench your jaw and give Diane a cold, threatening look. Don’t even fucking go there. 

Barry stands in the background, silently watching this conversation between you and Diane play out. He scrunches his forehead at your reaction to Diane. You told Barry that you didn’t see your attackers faces. Did she lie to me? 

Diane snickers. She changes the conversation and shifts her focus to Barry.

“So all of this happened because you didn’t do a job for the cartel?”

Diane takes a step towards Barry and he steps back. He’s already pissed off. If Diane sets him off he might explode his anger out on her. He’s trying his best not to snap.

“Diane, please don’t…” you attempt to mediate the situation.

“Don’t what? I’m just stating facts here. You got beaten to a pulp because of Barry. He caused all of this,” Diane says.

You shake your head. 

“Don’t do this,” you warn Diane.

Diane keeps approaching Barry.

“How could you let this happen, Barry? You can’t just say ‘no’ to a man like Del. You should’ve protected Y/N and made sure nothing was going to happen,” she yells at Barry while jabbing his chest with her fingers.

Barry’s eyes widen. He takes another step back.

“Stop it!” Barry pushes her hand away.

Diane gets right in Barry’s face.

“This is all your fault and I blame you!”

You step in between Barry and Diane, aggressively shoving your handler away from Barry.

“Hey, don’t talk to him like that! It wasn’t his fault,” you defend your husband.

“Of course it’s his fault! The only reason Del’s goons jumped you is because of Barry,” Diane scoffs.

While you and Diane argue, Barry quietly backs away from you two. He goes to the bedroom and grabs a handgun from underneath the mattress. He holds the gun up, checking if it’s loaded, as he rushes past you and Diane. You’re both so locked in the argument, you don’t even notice Barry storming out with his gun.

Barry drives off angry. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, he has no plan. He’s just pissed off and out for blood. Diane struck a nerve.

BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ

Barry feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulls it out and sees that Noho Hank is calling. Barry raises his eyebrow. What the fuck does Noho Hank want?

Barry would normally ignore Noho Hank’s phone call but something in his gut is telling him not to. He puts in his earbud and answers the call.

“Hello?”

“Oh Barry! Thank sweet baby Jesus you picked up! I need you to do a job for me R-E-S-P-E-C-T. It has to be done today,” Noho Hank pleads.

Barry shrugs. Noho Hank probably meant to say ASAP but Barry doesn’t correct him.

“What job?”

“Some troll from a Mexican cartel is trying to break up my partnership with Cristobal. Cristobal thinks this guy is so suave, but he’s not even that good looking!” Noho Hank complains.

Barry’s face perks up when he hears Hank mention the cartel.

“What’s his name?” Barry asks.

“My partner’s name is Cristobal. C’mon Barry! You know this,” Noho Hank answers.

“No, not Cristobal! What’s the name of the target?” Barry asks impatiently.

“Oh his name is Del. He’s a leader in like the second largest drug cartel in Mexico,” Noho Hank explains.

Noho Hank continues going on about Cristobal and Del, but Barry isn’t listening. His mind is racing. From everything Hank said, the target sounds like the same guy who ordered the attack on you.

“I don’t even know what Cristobal sees in-” 

“I’ll do the hit,” Barry interrupts Noho Hank.

Barry hears Noho Hank let out a sigh of relief.

“And that’s why you’re best assassin in all of America.”

Barry rolls his eyes. That’s far from the truth…

“Where’s Del? I can do this right now.”

“He’s flying to LA. He’ll be landing on a private airstrip in a few hours. You know the place,” Noho Hank tells Barry.

Barry nods. It must be the same private airfield where he was supposed to take out Cristobal. He can sniper Del from a distance as soon as he gets off the plane. 

“Yeah, I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

Barry ends the call with Hank.

Fuck! Barry realizes that he only has his handgun on him. This job is going to require a lot more than that. He needs to go home and get his sniper rifle. Barry turns the car around and heads back to your place.

BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ

Barry’s phone starts vibrating once again. He looks down to see who’s calling. It’s you. He immediately answers.

“Y/N?!”

“Barry! Where are you? Are you okay?” you ask. You sound worried.

“I’m fine. I’m just driving around. I needed to get out of there…” Barry says.

“I’m so sorry! Diane shouldn’t have said those nasty things,” you apologize.

Barry takes a deep breath, staying quiet for a beat.

“But she was right. It was my fault,” he sighs.

“No, no, no. Babe, I don’t blame you for what happened,” you reply.

Barry shrugs. 

“I kicked Diane out. She’s gone now. Please come home,” you try.

“I’m already on my way,” he tells you, and then, “Did you really see those guys’ faces? Was Diane right about that too?” 

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out the right words to say. You told your husband that you didn’t see their faces because you didn’t want him to go after them. You were trying to protect Barry.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you… I just… I don’t want them to hurt you like they hurt me…” you quietly admit.

Barry’s heart sinks.

“I’ll be alright. But, uh, I need to tell you something. Don’t freak out! Noho Hank called and he hired me to kill Del…” 

You gulp.

“Are you sure it’s the same-” 

“It’s him,” Barry assures you.

“Okay,” you sigh, “And Noho Hank? He’s one of the Chechens, right?”

“Well yeah, but this job isn’t for them. It’s for Hank. Del is trying to interfere in his partnership with Cristobal,” Barry explains.

You shrug. You don’t know any of these people and you don’t want to. You only care about Barry. You feel uneasy about this job but you’re not going to fight your husband about it.

“I’m coming with you.”

Barry’s jaw drops.

“Really?!”

“Yeah. We should do this together,” you answer.

You wanted so badly to just move on from everything that happened but you haven’t been able to. Then you had that fight with Diane. She got you riled up. Now you’re starting to believe that you can’t move on from this without getting closure. You want revenge.

“Okay. I’ll be back home in a few minutes,” Barry tells you.

“I’ll get the rifle ready,” you reply.

Barry picks you up and you drive to the private airfield together. When you arrive, Barry takes you on top of a hill right next to the airstrip. It’s a great hiding spot. Barry will be able to get the perfect shot.

The two of you wait for a couple of hours before you hear a plane flying overhead. Barry gets himself in position with his rifle as the plane lands.

You’re watching with a pair of binoculars. You didn’t bring your own gun because your arm and shoulder are still pretty fucked up from your attack. You’re not one hundred percent sure you could make the shot.

Two henchmen get off the plane first. You let out a small audible gasp, recognizing them almost immediately. Barry is focusing on his scope but hears your reaction when the first two men step out. He puts the pieces together.

“Are those the guys that jumped you?” he asks in a low, serious voice.

“Yeah,” you quietly answer, “The guy on the left lashed me with that belt he’s-”

Barry pulls the trigger before you even have a chance to finish the sentence. He shoots Del, who just stepped off the plane, first. Then he shoots the two goons. He shoots one of them in the head, killing him instantly. He shoots the man that you called out in the kneecap. He falls to the ground screaming in pain. Barry wanted this guy to suffer. After a beat, he shoots the goon in the head.

You can’t help but let out a small smile. You turn to your husband, giving him an appreciative nod. Barry looks at you and his face softens.

“Let’s go.”

[overnightheartbeats]

continued from here // @cursivebloodlines

It was a bad idea. She knew as soon as the words left her lips. There were many reasons, of course - and to no surprise, she was listing them in her head. One, lying. Danielle was lying about one more kiss. She didn't want a final kiss or one more and we're done. There was too much going on, and they both had to know that it wouldn't magically be solved with a kiss or fifty. Two, asking for a kiss meant teasing. She should've known. It was meant to be a serious question, a final request before giving him space. The teasing didn't help retain the seriousness. Her lips broke into a smile, softly smacking his shoulder. "You are impossible," she said, shaking her head. "I suppose...you're right though." For the record, it was true. Crossing this line with him made her realize she couldn't have enough of him. Not right now at least. Danielle had to get it together though, they were not free to just be together and figure it out as they go. She hated her past self for saying that nothing could ever happen between them. Hated that it took his relationship for her feelings to awaken.

She had feelings, but now what? Were they strong enough, that it was worth asking him to risk everything? To leave what was certain for him, to throw it all away for her? Natalie didn't deserve it, what happened to solidarity between girls? But, on the other hand, couldn't Danielle be selfish for once. Selfish enough to fight for what she wanted rather than let everyone around her be happy. At her own expense. Still, doubt plagued her. Danielle didn't want to suggest it, what if Logan did put it all on the line for her and things didn't work out? If there isn't enough love, she would have ruined his life twice. Broken his heart more than once. She couldn't lose him like this.

Time was passing by, the clock behind them making more noise than both of them combined. He didn't answer, and Danielle wondered if she should backtrack. Call herself lucky for even receiving one kiss, lucky that he didn't push her away after all she had put him through. She looked up at him, trying to decipher an answer in his eyes. Impossible. Although, she was quick to spot the smirk on his lips. Oh god, she was in for a rollercoaster ride, wasn't she? Danielle knew that smirk. Knew it too well. No space between them, her breath quickened at the realization that she might be getting her kiss after all. "Really?" she whispered, shock evident. His touch was electric, eyes involuntarily closing as he drew closer. She edged closer to him, lips almost touching. It took everything in her to not just kiss him. Anticipation was growing, her hands resting on his shoulders in an attempt to stay close. But nothing. Was he regretting this?

Oh, he was evil. Her eyes closed involuntarily as his lips brushed her skin. "You...are," Words interrupted. Her lips broke into a soft giggle, his lips tickling her skin. Her right hand trailed up, softly running a hand through his hair. Learning every piece of him, maybe for the first and last time. One more attempt to finish her sentence, "you're...such a tease." Danielle breathed out a sigh, trying to keep herself from holding his face in her hands and crashing their lips together. She nodded, silent permission for him to ask his question. Though, his breath so close to hers didn't guarantee the best answer. Impossible to concentrate like this. "What I...want," she whispered. Her hands once again rested on his shoulders, her gaze remaining on his to ensure Logan knew this was her saying the truth. Good or bad, it was what was on her mind. He deserved to know. She had so much to make up to him. "I want to discover more, to really understand what I feel for you. My feelings came like crashing waves, bursting through a door. It's a lot." For the first time in minutes, her head hung low - hiding in his chest. This was what she didn't want to admit. "I want what I can't have...I want you, but I'm scared. I know that's impossible now though. That's why, you know...that's why, I had this request. Because, I know this is my fault. If I would've listened to you back then, maybe thought about it instead of..." well whatever, she did that day (quickly reject him, cry, then ignore it). "If I would've listened and maybe not ignore my own buried feelings. I wouldn't have made a mess..." Complete defeat the more she spoke. The more she realized that she was dragging him down a slippery slope, asking more than she deserved. "I know it's my fault and I don't have any right."

[blckbarbiedoll]

Ghost Of You (M.B.)-Chapter 22

Run Away Fast As You Can

2020-Chicago, Illinois

It was the calm before the storm. The Beef was two hours out from opening for the day.

"Hey, Angie." Marcus walked over to her. "Try this garlic bread."

Angie took a bite and her eyes widened. "Holy shit. Marcus, this is really good."

"Thanks. I've been working on it all morning."

"Put some on the table for family. We'll be out to eat in a minute."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Don't mind if I do." Richie grabbed a piece of bread and shoved it into his mouth.

"Good, right?"

"Fucking delicious."

"Mikey should try one."

"Where is he?" Marcus asked.

"I saw him in the alley earlier, but that was like twenty minutes ago." Sweeps said from across the kitchen.

"He's probably holed up in that office again." Angie sighed. "You guys set up. I'll get him."

Michael sat in the office, his eyes glued to the small plastic baggie in his hand. He moved around the small white pills and and held them out in front of his face. Almost as if he was trying to convince himself that they were real.

"You ready to eat?" Angie asked, opening the door.

"Fuck." He quickly closed his hand around the baggie. "Knock much?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry." He huffed.

"You good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You ready to eat?"

"Uh, yeah. I'll be out in a second."

She leaned on the desk. "What's in your hand?"

"Huh?"

"The thing you just tried to hide from me."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Michael." She sternly said.

The look she was giving him was piercing. He met her gaze and sighed before opening his hand.

"I don't need you yelling at me."

"Where the hell did you get that?"

"And there it is." He rolled his eyes.

"If you had a relapse, you should've just told me."

"You know how pathetic it is to go crying to my wife?"

"It's not pathetic." She knelt down in front of them and held his hands. "You were sober for seven months. That's amazing."

"Yeah, sure." He scoffed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"It was seven months, right?"

"Ange-"

"When did it happen?"

"November."

"Three months ago?" She quickly stood up.

"I told you now, didn't I?"

"Only 'cause I caught you!" She looked down at his open hand and quickly grabbed the baggie from him.

"Hey!" He stood up and reached for it. "Gimmie that back!"

"You don't need them!" She placed her hand behind her back and moved towards the door.

"Angie!" He grabbed her wrist to try to slow her down. Her grip on the bag tightened as she used her free hand to hit his arm.

"What's going on?" Tina asked.

"Let go of the fucking bag!" Michael grabbed Angie's shoulder and pushed her against the wall.

She kicked at his legs and clawed at his face until Richie and Marcus pulled him off of her.

"The fuck is wrong with you, man?!"

"Fuck you!" Angie exclaimed. She went over to the bathroom and emptied the pills into the toilet.

"Angie, what the fuck?! I fucking needed those!"

"I can't do this anymore!" She cried. "I can't fucking do it!" She walked out the door and slammed it behind her.

Richie copied Mikey's earlier actions and grabbed Mikey's shirt, pushing him up against the wall. "What's your problem, man?

"She fucking took 'em. I just got 'em, and she flushed 'em down the fucking toilet!"

Richie raised his hand up and slapped Michael across the face. "You don't ever touch her like that! Ever!"

"I fucked up, man." Tears fell from Michael's eyes.

"You need to get your shit together, and go fix things with your wife before it's too late."

🤍

"Hello?" Natalie spoke into the phone.

"Can Soph and I stay with you for a few days?"

Angie was shoving clothes and other necessities into some bags for her and Sophia.

"Yeah, of course. Are you okay?"

"Can I tell you when I get there?"

"Angie, what happened?"

"I just don't know if I can do it anymore."

"Did some happen with Michael?"

"I gotta get Soph from school, and then I'll tell you everything when I get there."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too." She hung up and gathered the bags for her and Sophia.

The apartment door quickly opened and Michael stepped through. "Baby." He had an apologetic look on his face and he held his hands out for her. "Baby, I'm so sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough for me anymore, Michael."

"What're you doing with those bags?"

"Me and Sophia are gonna stay somewhere else for a few days."

"No, Angie." He walked closer to her, causing her to take a step back. "You can't do that."

"It's just until I figure out what to do."

"Stay here. That's what you can do. We're a family."

"I can't stay. We can't stay."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm scared of you." She whispered.

"I'm sorry." He gently placed his hands on her arms. His touch so different than it was half an hour ago. It was like he was scared she would break. "Honey, we can fix this. We always fix it."

"I don't know if we can this time."

"Please." He got onto his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Please, baby, don't go."

"Michael-"

"I'll get better. I'll get sober again." He cried into the fabric of her shirt. "I'll do whatever you want, Angie. Just please don't leave me. I need you."

"Michael, get up."

"You make me a better man. I'm a mess without you."

"You're a mess with me." She grabbed his arms and pried them off of her. "You're a mess no matter what."

"I can change." He stood up. "I can make it better."

"Michael, you don't wanna get better! That's your problem! You just want me to keep putting up with you, and for me to stand by and watch you ruin your life! Ruin our life!"

"I'm so sorry, baby." He sobbed. "I don't deserve you. I know that." He hugged her tightly. "But please don't leave me. I can't live without you."

"I'm so sick of watching you turn into someone I don't recognize." She pulled away from his embrace. "You fucking exhaust me."

"I exhaust you?"

"Yes! Every time you use, I get anxious, and stay up all night watching you to make sure you don't overdose in your fucking sleep! Every withdrawal and detox you went through, I was the one holding your hand while you cried and puked just for you to relapse again and again! You are like a goddamn fucking leech that sucks the life outta me, and leaves me with nothing!

"Fuck you!" He pointed his finger at her. "You said that you would stick beside me in sickness and in health. You promised me!"

"And you promised to be my rock!" She turned her head and wiped her eyes. "Fuck."

"Angie." He cupped her face and turned her head to face him once more. "I'm begging you. Don't do this."

She placed her forehead against his and took a deep breath. "I don't know what else I can do."

"Stay. I love you. I need you."

"But you need drugs more."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" She pulled away and grabbed the bags before walking to the door.

"Please?"

She didn't have the heart to say anything else. She reached for the doorknob and looked back at him one last time before exiting the apartment.

[mellicose]

Peter Carlisle, fingernails, smut

This wasn’t filthy. There was a hint of smut.  A healthy dash, but nothing explicit. I hope it’s enough.

“Could I get a large basket of chips, please?”

Peter was patrolling the beach eating a 99, but he trashed it just as soon as he saw her. She pouted, ever so slightly, but he couldn’t tell whether it was irritation or simply that her lips were made that way. Full. Plump. And bare, with just a bit of gloss from the condensation on the straw she sucked.

“Hello?” he said softly. Her eyes focused on him. She straightened, but slowly.

“Yes?” She looked upset that he had disturbed her.

“A large basket of chips, please,” he repeated, smiling. She hesitated for a beat before turning around to drop the uncooked potatoes in the hot oil. She was in street clothes, and her jeans were skin tight. The cleft of her ass made him sigh.

“Lovely day, this,” he said, leaning against the booth. The sun was beginning to set, and a different crowd was filtering into the boardwalk - the kind after booze and booty.

She sat back down. Her top was cut low, and the cotton hugged her breasts. A small gold medallion was nearly swallowed by her cleavage.

“St. Catherine,” she said, and plucked it from between her breasts. He flushed. She kissed it and let it fall.

“What’s she the saint of?” he asked.

“The arts,” she said, then turned back to the chips to shake them.

“Are you an artist?” he asked, looking at her bum. She bent over deeply, and he saw the seam of her jeans go up into the plump cleft of her cunt.

Jesus he whispered. Although a cool breeze blew in from the ocean, he sweat. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

“No,” she said simply. She stared at him from the floor, where she refilled a bottle of malt vinegar. She was just as observant as him.

“Then why wear her?” he said.

“It was my grandmother’s,” she said. “You’re that cop that’s investigating Holden,” she said bluntly.

“It’s ongoing,” he said.

“And his wife,” she said, sucking on the straw with a mischievous look in her eye. He took a step back.

“I could leave no avenue unexplored. It’s part of the job,” he said, regaining his composure.

“I’m sure you’re explored her thoroughly,” she said. He blinked. “And her husband, of course. It’s all very elementary.” She pointed across the boardwalk, where Holden’s arcade was lighting up in the twilight. She shook the fresh fries into a basket and pushed it across the metal counter. “1.99, please.”

He dug it out of his pocket and laid the coins on the counter. The woman started to turn things off and put things away.

“You done for the day?” he asked boldly.

“Yeah. Ordinarily I work the late shift as well, but the fryer’s getting replaced tonight,” she said, doing some spot cleaning and closing the cart.

Wheels started to turn in his head. “Do you mind if I walk you home?”

“Who says I’m headed home?” she said, walking away. He ran after her.

“Then how about if I walk you to wherever you’re going?” he said, and swallowed his mouthful of chips. She looked at him. He was a bit rumpled, but his eyes were promising. And she wasn’t irritated by his boldness.

“I’m going to my car,” she said, and started walking again.

“Okay,” he said. He stuffed another handful of fries in his mouth, then threw the rest in the trash.

“Didn’t like them?” she said, eyes forward.

“Yes, they were tasty. But I can’t keep talking with my mouth full,” he said, cleaning the salt from his fingers on his pants. They arrived at the busy parking lot, where her small car was parked in a reserved spot.

“Perks of the job,” she said, and slid into her car. “Get in.” She started the car, then turned to him. “You want to ask me if I saw something while I was working?”

“Where are you going?” he asked. His long legs were cramped against the glovebox.

She smiled. “Home, detective. The sun makes me woozy, and the pubs are full of assholes this time of night.”

He looked out at the horizon, where the ocean finally swallowed the last of the day.

“Is it far?”

“No. Just about 5 minutes.”

He shifted. “Then why take the car?”

She rolled her eyes. “For the sweet parking space, of course. Are you staying or going?” She rubbed the round plastic head of her stick shift.

“Staying,” he said.

She turned on the radio to some jangling rock and pulled out, swerving dangerously around the crowds of people.

“Fuck!” he said as she passed a couple so close the man slapped the side of her car.

She giggled.

“What are you doing?!” he asked. “I’m tempted to write you a citation.”

“Pfft,” she said, sharply turning into the main road. “I dare you.” She was going the right way - there were barely any cars headed inland at this hour.

Peter was still panting. She squeezed his knee, then caressed. “You’re safe. Barely anything to hit now.”

“What’s your name, officer?” she said.

“DI Peter Carlisle. I’m here for the summer.”

“Aren’t you all,” she said, smiling as she turned into a side street.

“What?” he said. Her hand still rested on his knee. He liked its warmth.

“With the summer come the suns. A lot of them, all lovely, all hot,” she said, and parked on the curb in front of a small apartment building. “Home sweet home.”

“What was that?” he said, unbuckling his belt.

“What was what?” she said as she walked into the building. She unlocked her apartment and stood aside for him to walk in. Just as soon as she turned on the lights, he understood.

Her walls were covered in bookshelves. And they were bowed with books. She stepped over a pile of paperbacks to get into the kitchenette.

“Would you like something to drink? Those chips must’ve made you thirsty.”

“A cola if you have one,” he said, and sat down on her plaid sofa. He looked around, but he didn’t see a telly. A glossy green peace lily sat by the window, nodding in the breeze. Fronds of ivy wove along the ceiling and around the corners of the room. A bleeding heart plant swayed near her head in the kitchenette.

“It’s a greenhouse in here,” he said as she came with two ice cold bottles of cola.

“It reminds me of home,” she said. She sat down close beside him.

“So is this temporary digs?” he said, and drank deeply.

“Well, no. I’ve been here for three years. I meant my actual home. Country. Place. Etcetera,” she said.

“Ohhh. You’ve most probably never heard of it,” she said, shrugging. “So. Ask me questions. Drill me, detective.”

“Never heard of it? Try me,” he said.

“Martinique,” she said, staring a challenge.

He snorted. “‘Course I’ve heard of it. A little island near South America, right? French?”

“Ouai,” she said, smiling. “I was born there. My grandmother came to the UK when I was still small, though. I’m losing my French.”

“Quel dommage, madamoiselle,” he said, draining the bottle.

“Your French is lovely,” she said, surprised. It was, for a Scot.

“I’m pretty good with my mouth,” he said. She laughed. He winked.

“I meant, it’s my job. To talk, and get people talk.”

“I’m sure you said exactly what you meant, detective,” she said. She sidled closer to him and touched his hair. He lay his head back.

“How’d you get the ivy to do that?” he said, looking at the ceiling.

“Time, and love. And I’m pretty good with my hands,” she said. She traced his jawline. His five o’ clock shadow prickled against her fingertip. She wanted to feel that burn between her thighs.

His gaze drifted from the plants to her face. “Did you see anything strange at the arcade on the night of the murder?” It sounded cursory. He was no longer on the clock.

“Nothing special then. But since…” she kissed him, and when he kissed back, she straddled him.“I’m glad you finally stopped for a basket of my chips.”

She stopped to lick the salt from the corner of his mouth.

“Mmm,” she said. “Your mouth is very good.” She rose and pulled him to standing. “Come on.”

He nearly fell over more than once on her books as she led him to her bedroom. He was surprised to see it was bigger than her living room, and spartan compared to the clutter there. Her bed was in the center, large and inviting.

“Where are your books?” he said as he unzipped his pants and kicked off his shoes.

“No books - at least, not nearly as many. It’s a different kind of poetry in here,” she said. They fell together, kissing and tugging at each other’s clothes until they were in their underwear. She wore a pair of pink cotton panties and a plain white bra. It was endearing. She was no siren, but here he was. Thoughts of Natalie arose at the sight of her flat, firm belly. But this woman’s skin and hair were darker. And she was warmer. She. She who?

Dear God.

“What’s your name?” he said in between kisses. She pulled him into bed and on top of her. Her thighs squeezed enticingly around his hips.

“Does it matter?” she said. She ran her fingers down the valley of his spine.

“Of course it does,” he said.

She was hesitating. “Why? You’ll be gone in the morning,” she said, and twisted around until he was on his back, with her on top of him. She caressed the soft hair on his chest. He was slim, but there was taut muscle underneath.

“That may be true, but still.” He held her wrists. “Tell me.”

“Tell me why it matters. You’ll come, then go. You’re ruining the mood,” she said, pouting.

“I’m not like that,” he said. And he wasn’t. He liked to think he cared about the women he bedded, even if it was just for one night.

She smiled and tugged on the medallion still around her neck. “There’s power in a name,” she said pensively. He caressed her belly. Her skin was silky. She dropped forward, putting her hands on his shoulders. He reached up to squeeze her breasts through her bra. They were maddeningly firm. He groaned.

“I gave you mine,” he said.

“Detective Peter Carlisle. Just the name opens all manner of doors. It inspires trust,” she said. She started to grind against him. The cotton of her panties began to dampen the front of his underwear.

“Indeed.”

“It’s a sort of … a skeleton key. I’m sure you know all sorts of secrets,” she said. He tugged on her panties. She moved so he could pull them off completely. He threw them aside, never losing eye contact. She started to grind again.

“Tell me,” he said, smiling. She sat up to unclasp her bra. He sat up when she pulled it off and buried his face between her breasts, squeezing them with both hands.

“You are beautiful,” he said into her sternum, then took one of her nipples in his mouth.

“Then call me that,” she said, raking her fingers through his thick hair. He stopped. He would not go on until she said it.

“Fine,” she said. She pushed him back into her pillows. “If it’s so important…”

She raked her fingernails lightly down his chest. He arched, but squeezed her thighs. Her nails were long, but unpolished. She bit her lip as she lightly scratched something on the skin of his chest. Red bloomed where her nail scraped. He gasped and looked down. The letters of her name rose on his skin, and although there was no blood, they would remain there for a while.

“Of course,” he said, giggling. “I don’t know why I didn’t guess,” he said. His hand moved between her legs, where she was slick and hot.

“And now you won’t easily forget,” she said, and playfully bit his shoulder as his fingers sunk into her.

Natalie called two days later, asking to meet at their usual place.

He waited patiently for her, and his heart jumped as her heard her familiar steps on the landing. Every time felt like the first time, and could be the last … and although at first the feeling was thoroughly exciting, it was souring. The ups and downs made him more queasy with each day.

And now, there was someone else. He had not been able to get her off his mind since their night together, although they had not spoken since. Not for lack of wanting to - she was out of town, in London, for her other job.

The humble chip merchant wore many hats. Student. Chip seller. And, apparently, prize-winning poet.

They came together wordlessly as soon as he opened the door. She kissed him desperately and tore his clothes off. Usually, he would echo her hunger, but he moved slower today. His touch wasn’t as eager. As she pulled him to bed, she noticed something else strange.

She rubbed his chest and squinted.

“What is that?” she said, pointing to the fading red swirls on his skin.

Oh shit! He forgot. But it was too late to hide it now. She moved him toward the window, where the bright morning sun shone into his room.

“Cath?” she said. Her mouth was a straight line cut into the bottom of her face. “Cath?”

He touched his chest. “Catherine,” he said softly. She stepped back. Her face reddened.

“That’s disgusting,” she said.

He felt strange. He cared for Natalie, but Catherine’s touch had made the love he thought he felt for her dissolve into something more believable. He desired Natalie - he did since he first saw her. He still did. But he could love Catherine and her books, her plants, and her beautiful words. She whispered poetry to him as they made love, and breathed promise. She put out a different kind of beauty into the world. His trysts with Natalie held no promise. Just lust and aching disguised as romance.

She slapped him back to the present, then again, because she was puzzled.

“Really? What about the love you swore to me?” Her ego was bruised.

“Does it matter? Do you love me?” he said, pulling his shirt back on. She took another step back.

“Does it matter?” she said, but she wasn’t echoing him. Did it? She pulled her sweater over her breasts - different breasts, softer breasts - and grabbed her bag. “I’m gonna go.”

She thought her declaration would shake him from his freeze frame, but he didn’t move, or say a word. Tears dripped off her chin as she slammed the door behind her, but still, she waited for 60 beats, hoping he would go after her like he had done before.

She would not, could not leave her husband, but Peter was was fun, when he didn’t pressure her.

Nothing happened. His door remained closed. She nodded to herself and walked down the stairs. Despite her unspent lust, her chest bloomed with relief.

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Miracle

(AO3 link)

Day 9

"Your Mum asked what we're doing tonight?" Robert says, dropping his keys on the table and the shopping on the counter. “She’s doing a Boxing night buffet because Marlon ordered too much food.”

"And what did you tell her?"

"That you were a lazy arse who had done nothing but sit on the sofa so long I doubt even a JCB could move you…" He shook his head at his husband. The previous day had been one long sugar rush from Seb, from the moment he’d jumped on their bed at five to the moment he finally crashed, two hours after bedtime, and the two of them had spent the day recovering.

"Ha ha, you're just pissed I made you go out for food."

"Yeah because we already have enough in to feed a small nation. And that's because every time we went to Tesco’s you added just 'one more thing' in the trolley."

"Ha bloody ha. Did you get the crisps? "Robert threw them at him. struggling not to laugh as they landed on his head.

"Yes I got you crisps your highness. So, What are we doing tonight? Fancy the pub or what?"

"Not really. Rather just stay in with you. Seb's having a sleepover at Vic's, we've got the house to ourselves why would we go out." He turns to look at him a shy smile on his face and Robert's amazed that he still gets that way after all this time.

"Mr Sugden-Dingle are you propositioning me?"

"Clearly not very well if you're still over there."

"So I'm doing all the work then?"

"It’s boxing day. you're meant to laze about."

"You do you mean. Come on up. If we stay down here I guarantee someone will waltz in." Aaron's still laughing as Robert pulls him to his feet. Just as their feet hit the bottom step Robert's phone bursts into life.

"Leave it." Aaron mumbled, hands already bunched in Roberts t-shirt.

"I can't. It might be Seb. Two minutes, promise."

"Fine. I'm starting without you if you're not up these stairs in five," He's pottering around, waiting for him despite his words when he hears Robert's feet pounding up the stairs. "In a hurry are we?" He calls.

"No..." He's out of breath when he comes in the door and Aaron's instantly worried.

"Is it Seb? What's happened?"

"Natalie...She’s in labour." He’s rifling through his wardrobe before Aaron can form a single coherent thought. "Aaron we have to go! Get dressed."

"She...it's early."

"I know, so we have to go." Aaron can't move, he's stuck, can only sit on the bed as his knees buckle. "Hey..."

"We’re having a baby."

"Yeah. You alright?" He sits beside him, pulling him close and he instantly feels better, and nods. "Good. You ready to get dressed?"

"Yeah...just needed a minute. Have you got the bag?" Robert nods. "It will be alright won’t it. The baby I mean."

"Course. Seb was early, and look at him. Come on, sooner we go, sooner we meet our baby."

_____

"Robert slow down."

"I don't want to miss anything.” His knuckles are white he’s clutching the steering wheel so hard and Aaron reaches over and puts a hand on his knee.

"And I don't want to miss it because we're wrapped round a tree." He breathes as Robert takes his foot off the accelerator a little,

"We should've got Nat something, to say thank you.”

"What on earth would be enough?' Nothing would be. I s'pose flowers but..."

"We will. And we'll make sure she knows how grateful we are." He pulls the car to a stop outside the hospital "Ready?"

"Let's go. I've text Mum and Vic, said we'd call later,"

_____

"How much longer?" Robert asks and Aaron resists the urge to strangle him. They'd been in the waiting room for hours and he hadn't stopped pacing.

"However long it takes. Come and sit down.” He holds out his hand. "You're making me dizzy. "

"I'm just worried."

"I know, and so am I. You've done this before though, I haven't."

"Don't." He pulls his hand away and Aaron instantly regrets his words.

"Oi. I didn't mean anything by it. It's all in the past you know that. But, well, you have been here before.” It doesn’t hurt anymore, he doesn’t even think about back then now but he’d expected Robert to be the calm one of the two of them.

"I didn't want to be though. I wanted to be with you not in there with Bex. What does that say about me that I didn't want to see my son being born."

"That you were in a mess back then. It’s done. It doesn't matter. You stepped up and you're the best Dad to Seb like you will be to this little one,"

"Second best. To you."

"No..."

"Yes. It's not a bad thing. Aaron you're an amazing Dad." He’s about to argue when the nurse appears in front of them and they’re both on their feet in front of her in seconds.

"Mr and Mr Sugden-Dingle, are you ready to meet your son...and your daughter."

"What?" They both say together.

"A bit of a surprise but it happens."

"Are they alright?" Aaron recovers first, Robert’s hand still gripping his as if his life depended on it.

"Absolutely fine. A little small but that's nothing to worry about, follow me."

"Twins Aaron." Robert says in awe as they make their way through the corridors.

“Yeah." He can’t make his brain focus, can’t answer him with anything other than one word.

"I mean twins. Two babies,"

"I know." He stops looks at him. "You alright?"

"Yeah. just..."

"Twins. I know. Seb's going to freak. "

"So’s your Mum. Better make sure she’s sat down when we tell her."

"Here we are. "The nurse stops outside a room. "Ready?" They both nod. "Congratulations."

They go inside, eyes immediately falling on the two cribs side by side, then on Natalie laying in bed smiling exhaustedly.

"Surprise!"

"Nat...thank you.” Aaron says going over to her. "You have no idea...”

"I think I do." The door opens as they hug her. "Time for me to go."

"Oh, er yeah. We'll see you later...if that's alright." Robert says, feeling unsure suddenly. It feels like he should say something more, something profound, they have their babies because of her and all he can say is see you later.

“Course. I need to sleep for hours. You two need to meet your children." When she’s gone they just look at each other as if they’re too nervous to look at them.

"On three?" Robert finally speaks and Aaron laughs quietly.

"Idiot." But finally they do, one of them over each crib.

"Oh my god look. Robert look."

"I know, perfect aren't they." He gently picks up their little girl...handing her to Aaron. "Here you go...Papa."

Aaron can't speak, he's too busy staring at her, eyes full of tears. He drags his gaze away to see Robert in a similar state.

"Do you think we can do this?" He asks after a while. They haven't spoken, too busy gazing at them. "Three kids Rob."

"Course we can, we can do anything us.” His mind probably should’ve been full of the fact that they only had stuff for one baby and that he’d need to go shopping really soon but all he could think about was the tiny little scrap of a baby in his arms.

"They're perfect. Didn't think we'd ever get here not after everything.”

"I know. Our little miracles. You two are going to be the luckiest little ones in the world you know, and your brother and Nana and everyone can’t wait to meet you.”

“Just us for now though, eh?” Robert whispered and Aaron nodded.

“Just us.”

[iamknicole]

Just the Two of Us (17)

HAHN AU

(I put all 3 together and hopefully it all makes sense)

When Melissa called Benny in a frantic and he heard all the commotion in the background, he jumped up and woke his brothers up. He sped all the way from Savannah to Maxine. When they got to the house, they saw Melissa trying to pull Marcie away from the big confrontation and the others around them arguing. They jumped out of Benny's truck running over to them.

"Aye, my man, you might wanna back the fuck up," Benny barked pushing Brad away from Melissa.

"She needs to butt out of this, I need to talk to Marcie!"

"I said," Benny snapped pushing him to the ground, "Back the fuck up."

The yelling and arguing was giving Zion a headache and he was already pissed that he had to get out of his bed.

"Everybody just shut the fuck up! That yelling ain't doin shit! Shut up and talk like some fuckin adults! Got damn!"

They all got quiet and stared at Zion, who was glaring and huffing. The fact that these people were arguing in the middle of the night was irritating all three brothers. They went to stand in front of Marcie and Melissa.

"Aight now since yall act like yall got some got damn sense," Cam fussed, "What the hell is going on?"

Natalie stepped forward. "Who are yall and why are yall here? We got this, we don't need help."

"Look, lady, you clearly don't have it or all hell wouldn't be breaking loose," Cam said staring directly at her. "So I'll ask again, what the hell is going on?"

"That bitch has been sleeping with my husband for months!" Marcie yelled trying to get past Cameron.

Benny turned to the women and spoke softly, "Take Marcie in the house and help her pack a bag. Get yall shit and come back out. Aight?"

Melissa pulled her friend to the house, trying to get her to stop cursing. "Why the hell are yall here? I dont know who the hell you think you are. That bitch aint goin nowhere with you three."

Cameron didn't think about it, he just punched Randall in his temple knocking him out then looked at the other people. "Anybody else wanna try and stop me?"

None of them said anything just slowly backed away.

"That's what the fuck I thought."

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

Once she was sure Marcie was asleep, Melissa snuck out of Lainey's room where they were sleeping and went to Benny's room. She closed and locked his bedroom door behind her before creeping over to his bed. Crawling into the bed, Melissa got under the cover and cuddled up under him.

Being a light sleeper, Benny woke up a son as he felt her touch him. "What you doing in here?" He asked sleepily.

"Couldn't sleep. Figured your bed would be better."

"Is that right?"

Melissa rubbed her hand down his bare chest, "Yes. Can I stay?"

Benny knew he should've said no but he was tired and he honestly didn't want her to leave. He pulled her closer to him with one arm and got comfortable trying to ignore her hand and go back to sleep. Her hand continued to explore his chest after he'd closed his eyes, when he didn't stop her she moved her hand lower to his briefs.

"That's not something you wanna do," he warned her with his eyes closed. "Don't do that."

Taking a chance, Melissa pushed her hands into his briefs grabbing his dick. Benny opened his eyes looking over at her then at the ceiling praying internally for forgiveness. He removed her hand then flipped them over so he was on top.

"You asked for this just so we're clear," he mumbled.

Melissa smiled up at him feeling vindicated. "I know I did."

"You better know how to be quiet too."

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

The sun shined beamed down on Charles and Lainey. Charles watched her sleep for almost thirty minutes, he took a few pictures as well setting one of them as his background. He kissed her shoulder a few times before getting out of bed. He pulled his pajama pants on and left the bedroom heading downstairs. On his way to the kitchen he heard laughing and talking coming from the den.

A less than pleasant grunt escaped him seeing his cousin talking with two of his staff members, Oliver and Ramsey.

"Well, well, nice of you to finally join us."

"Its 8am and you're in my home. What do you want?" Charles asked with a frown on his face.

"Is that any way to talk to your favorite cousin?"

Charles glanced at his staff, "Leave us. Come back in four hours not a minute sooner or later."

Both Ramsey and Oliver nodded before bowing out of the room talking quietly amongst themselves.

"What do you want, Nas? I won't ask again."

"I see you found yourself a bedmate. She's a beauty but looks way too innocent for you."

Charles chuckled softly, staring up at the cieling before looking back at his cousin. "You know I'm not something to play with so answer my question or leave."

Nas walked around the den, touching a few of the things Charles had on the shelves.

"You've made quite a few enemies."

"I could say the same for you."

"Charles, do you remember what happened the last time you made an enemy?"

Charles nodded. "I do. And does it look like I give a damn about making another. Say what you need to say then leave."

Nas approached him once more, looking his cousin in the eyes. "Cryer ... that name ring a bell?"

"It might. Why?"

"You're not very well liked by him. Apparently you pose some type of threat to him becoming governor. He heard whispers of you backing his running mate instead."

Charles folded his arms across his bare chest, "Is that right?"

"It might. He's reached out to a few people."

"Which would be who?" Nas stood quietly for a moment making Charles roll his eyes. "Who besides you, Nas? You're ruthless but you're not stupid."

"You might be right," he chuckled. "He reached out to the Malones, this Williams guy and the Parkers."

Charles sucked his teeth. "Mama Rose loves me, she'd kill her own for me. Williams? I've heard of him but I doubt he'd even entertain Jim. The Parkers? They're low level, they couldn't get close to me without my detail."

"That's true but they're looking to come up."

When Lainey realized Charles wasn't in bed, she got up brushed her teeth and went downstairs in search of him. She heard him talking and started to pull at the bottom of her night dress before she rounded the corner.

"Good morning," she said softly.

Charles turned quickly to greet her. He went to her hugging her tight and kissed her forehead. Nas eyed the two of them. Now that he's seen her actual face, he recognized her.

"Morning, beautiful. This is my cousin, Ignacio. Ignacio, this is Lainey." Charles introduced puttong a protective arm around her.

"Nice to meet you, Ignacio," she said giving him a small wave.

Nas took her hand and kissed the back. "Call me Nas, everyone else does, sweetheart."

Charles grabbed her hand away from his cousin and turned to her smiling. "Why don't you go wait on me in the kitchen? And don't start cooking, just wait on me."

Nodding, Lainey said bye to Nas then left the room. Once Charles was sure she was out of earshot, he continued his discussion with his cousin.

"I saw the face. What was that?"

"That's Alaina Parker," he pointed out.

Charles thought for a moment then shook his head. "No, must be a coincidence. I've met her brothers and been around her parents. That's not them."

Nas started at his cousin in disbelief. "You didn't have them check her? You must really like her."

"No, I didn't look her up. There was no need. You saw exactly what I saw, she's innocent. She doesn't even have a car."

Nas moved closer to his cousin. "We may not like each other so that much but be careful. I did my own research on the Parkers and the Williams guy. She is from the Parker family but when she was about six she started to spend a lot of time with that Williams guy and his family. Her and one of her brothers."

"What are you saying?"

"Williams and his wife adopted her and her brother when they were younger. Their family has been trying to get Williams back for taking their kids. This gives them even more reason to do this. 2 birds, one bullet."

Charles' jaw flexed as the wheels in his head started to turn. "You let me know if you hear anything else."

"Of course."

"But don't bring your ass over here unannounced again."

"Only if you promise to look into this so you're not blindsided."

Charles nodded slapping hands with his cousin.

[musicatheart12]

A Chat with a Bassist: Natalie Kim from Old Joy

Old Joy is an indie/alternative rock band that released their debut album on September 7th, 2018. They come from the underground New Brunswick scene and have played many basement shows around the area, with their most recent performance being for a student-run charity club at Rutgers University. This week, I got the chance to interview Old Joy's bassist, Natalie Kim, also a student at Rutgers University.

The interview:

What kind of music do you guys play?  How do you, as a band, characterize it?

It's kind of under the umbrella of Alt Rock and Indie just because we're in the local New Brunswick scene. So it's kind of like Indie, DIY kind of music.

How did the band get together?

So my two bandmates who started the band started it before I got to Rutgers. When I came here as a freshman, I met one of them, Phil, and he told me they were looking for a bassist so they kind of adopted me. And then we had no drummer, so we had to go out looking for a drummer. So yeah it started with those two people. The other two of us kind of made our way in.

How long has the band been together?

I joined at the very end of summer before freshman year, and back then we had a like a different drummer like every month.

That's interesting.

Yeah, it was kind of weird since I play bass. Bass and drum really have to work with each other so I would change what I played for like every person. It was kind of rocky to start with, but we found someone about 3 months in, who ended up staying for the rest of the next summer. So when we all decided we were in it for the long run, that's when we recorded our first album.

Wow, that's very cool. Yeah, but he decided to go back to school, so literally the day of our release party, we got a new drummer.

Oh wow! Fun fact, drummers are like the hardest people to find because if you're going to be a drummer, you have to be good because everyone can hear you. There was a really big shortage of drummers, and this is a problem that every band has.

I didn't know that.

So in this current state, we've been together about 2 months.

So even though the current band is fairly new, are you guys still playing songs from the first album?

Our new drummer, he didn't make his parts, he had to learn it. But obviously, from now on, it's going to be him.

Are you guys going to make any new music?

We've started making some new stuff, but we're probably going to record, I don't know, not for a while.

That makes sense.

Maybe sometime next year. But it's also a lot different, because the two members that started the band found me after everything was already written so like, in this case, it's everyone. It's more democratic in the way we're making music. It's like everyone is developing it together, rather than it being the work of two people.

So, I know you're a full-time student. It must be difficult to find time to practice.

It's f***ing hard. The good thing with my band is, they're really good at planning ahead. We'll set up a date for a rehearsal a week or two weeks in advance, I'm so grateful. The worst is definitely when we're recording an album. It was so hard last winter. I'd have to go down to the recording studio like twice a week, and it's like an hour away, so like what I ended up doing is bringing my homework and doing it in a dark lit basement. It was hard work, but it definitely paid off because now it's just basement shows and events, which are just a weekend sort of thing. Sticking it through recording was definitely a good idea.

Were you taught music/playing or writing? Are you self-taught?

Kind of, so like, I think I developed an ear for music growing up from piano lessons as a kid. Even though that only went up until like fifth grade, that's what taught me how to read music. And then through middle school, I played French horn, I played flute.  And when I got into high school, that’s when I picked up bass and I really should've taken lessons then. I regret not taking lessons when I had the time to when I was like 14. I kind of just learned bass by ear. And the internet's fantastic.

I have other questions, but I'm trying to think of a question based on what you just said.

I mean I can keep talking if you want.

Yeah, go for it if you want!

I mean, here's the thing about bass, so like I've had my friends ask me to teach them before. A lot of people have this conception that "oh I have to start the same way I learned piano" with all the scales and fundamentals, but I think for bass it's heavy on intuition. Of course, you'll be a better musician if you know all the techniques and fundamentals but like you cannot be a bassist if you do not have some kind of musical intuition. Like over the first year I picked it up, by the end of the year, I listened to music differently. I never noticed bass parts before I started playing. And then once it like really clicks you start to listen for it, and that eventually grows into the intuition. Especially playing in a band versus an orchestra. I play in an orchestra every year, and it's much more technical. Playing in the underground music scene, its more about what sounds good, what works versus what doesn’t work.

So it's more about understanding the vibe?

Yeah, kind of. It's like what people say about writing, how you can't be a good writer unless you read a lot, it's the same way. You have to listen to a lot of music to be able to play well.

Do you guys ever spend time experimenting with different kinds of music, or do you stick to the same kind of genre?

Right now, most of our rehearsals are geared toward preparing for shows. But in terms of being experimental, I'd say there are 2 parts to that. Number one, there's a lot of cover songs. We'll just like jam sometimes and go off of each other and play whatever. But also we're like trying to be different for our second album… now that we're trying to follow up to our first album, we're trying to be more advanced in terms of adding more atmospheric sounds and big picture stuff. We're going to add some synth, maybe some more keyboard stuff. I think like in terms of experimenting, I'd like to do it more, but we're not going in the wrong direction.

I know Old Joy plays a lot of basement shows. What other kinds of gigs do you guys play?

Just last Friday we performed at the student center for the Seeing Eye club, I forget exactly what the event was called. Yeah so we did that, it was a fundraiser. And in a month we're going to be doing Overnight Sensations which is like a program run by WRSU, which is a Rutgers radio station. So every week they have bands come late at night. We've also done a lot of other charity shows.

And as far as setlist goes, do you have a specific order you play in?

Our album is 7, 8 songs. There are some songs that we all love, and some that we all don't want to play. So we'll play 4 to 5 songs and we'll do like one cover.

So it's short.

Yeah, it's usually like a half hour set. Also a lot of these songs, we recorded them in the winter so almost a year ago. Now that we're more mature musicians it's kind of like, I wish we recorded this differently or played this differently.

Do you guys tease new music in your shows?

Yeah we played a new song at our last show, which was last Friday… but yeah definitely.

Do you need to think about the audience, or do you just do you (as a band)?

It depends. We don't have very many songs yet, so there's a skeleton that we have to follow. It's usually the cover that we'll very. And then the other thing we'll mix up is the order. Sometimes it’s the energetic songs first if everyone seems dead. The hardest part is definitely when everyone's like "one more song!" and we don't have any more song.

What's your response to that? Do you guys play a song from the album that you wouldn't normally play?

We'll play another cover song, we have stuff that we kind of keep in the back in case we need it. But I wish we had more stuff.

How does recording working?

So basically what happens is, first everyone plays, to get a scratch track for timing purposes. Then everyone will go in on their own and we'll put it into the computer and do it as many times as it takes to get it right. It can take forever sometimes. And so the way we did this album was each time we went down there, we'd record one song. It took a while, but it turned out ok. The recording was less than half. The rest of the time was just mixing and then sending it out to get it mastered. Honestly, I'm not a fan of recording because sometimes I can get really perfectionistic. That’s why I really like playing basement shows. I don’t think I've ever played the same song the same way twice. Like this kind of goes back to the experimental thing. Thank god we play live shows because that's where you get to be creative as a musician.

How did you guys come up with the order of the album?

It's weird, I don’t think we discussed the whys of it. We all kind of came to a consensus. It might be a little bit subconscious, and it kind of goes back to the intuition of it. There might be some legitimate reason to it, like songs being in the same key. From what I can observe, I think the biggest things are tempo and mood. As an Alt rock, indie almost emo band, there are energetic happy songs like typical Alt Rock songs, but there are also songs that are really emotional. Like we have this one song "Rover Shore". Watching Phil do the vocals for that was literally spiritual. Like I've never seen anyone put so much emotion into one song. So obviously you wouldn't put that first. We put that sort of in the middle near the end. We never discussed the explicit details, it just flows somehow.

Yeah, it just feels right.

Do you guys plan on making music videos?

We filmed a music video last year, but because we switched drummers, we had to scratch all of that. I really wanted to because one of the girls in the band is a film major. It's definitely possible, the only issue is we all have no time. 3 of us are students, and one graduated but he has a full-time job. Yeah, the biggest issue is definitely time. I understand why some bands buy a house and live together like it definitely makes sense.

Do you have any other interesting stories? Anything cool!

The most exciting moment of being in this band was this Friday. We were at a house for a show and me and my bandmate we were just walking from one side of the room to the other, and we heard a group of people talking and they said Old Joy. It was the coolest thing 'cause it was like people actually know us. That was so exciting even though it was such a small thing because people actually recognize us. Like last week someone was at work and they said some of our music was on the radio. It was really cool!

What's weird is that the style of music that we play is not my style.

So what is your style?

I've never really gotten into indie music, but I figured I'd try it out. When I play on my own, I play a lot of Jazz and Funk. So this is very very very different. And this type of music isn't what I listen to but it's so interesting because the number of things you can do on bass is infinite. I do appreciate it, it's definitely grown on me. Before, all indie music sounded the same. Like to the average person, all classical music sounded the same. It's cool that I've learned so much through this.

Does it make it hard, not having listened to indie music beforehand?

When I first started, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I was sticking to the root notes, keeping time. Super simple. By the time recording rolled around, I got the hang of it enough to create my own tracks, but looking back on it now, I would do things 100% differently.  

Natalie Kim is a talented young artist making her way through with her bandmates. With the first album already out, and another in the works, Old Joy is already paving their path into music. It's cool to see the beginning of a band that is transforming into something bigger, especially coming out of a local music scene.

Check out some of their songs: