#i’m in hysterics over all of them

[je-lurk]

I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

I always smh at people who dub Jason as “whiny” “and therefore ooc” in tt 29. If you died and all everyone did was taint your legacy, and not a single person remembered you fondly or deemed you worthy of commemoration after your death, wouldn’t you be a bit upset too?

[possum-playground]

So I know I don’t post very often, but it’s actually fucking astonishing how many people voted for a man who WILL take their rights away and make this actual shithole of a country into a living hell for anyone who isn’t white, straight, or wealthy.

[m0rceauuuxxx]

obsessed with getting a bunch of hysteric glamour kids shirts to wear while lifting at the gym 🧸

[leviiackrman]

I just found out what happens to dabi at the end of mha. Don’t talk to me.

[h20]

if my abusive ins*nely controlling parent didn’t randomly just show up to our place of residency WHOLE STATES AND MANY HOURS AWAY from where they live with absolutely no warning other than “I had a change of plans, we’re coming up there and you’re coming to breakfast with us” and when I say “that actually doesn’t work for us can we plan something in advance?” I’m met with “no. I’m coming, it’s not a big deal” that would be great if this could fucking end

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Bitches be fighting (it’s the head children 😘☺️)

[scarletenvy]

.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three.

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”

[noisilyscreechingsong]

“The what?”

Danny and Duke had been having a pretty okay day. Duke got a ridiculous packet to complete from his professor, and Danny tripped down the stairs in the library, causing a ruckus that got everyone’s attention.

So yea, everything was going well until they decided to push their luck and go to a new coffee shop a bit further away. It wasn’t the coffee shop itself, but the goons that came out of nowhere to kidnap Tim Drake-Wayne who was getting an order to go, which turned into a gang fight in the middle of the street.

Danny and Duke, along with Tim, ended up sheltered behind a car and missed the opportunity to bunker down inside the shop.

“Well, this isn’t what I planned today,” Tim comments.

“Same,” Danny agrees.

“Maybe we can wait it out?” Duke suggests.

The other two give a look that says that it was not going to happen.

“Rock, Paper, Scissors for peeking,” Danny says, already holding out his fist.

“Bet.”

They look at Duke.

Peer Pressure works and he groans with clear discomfort at the situation.

Duke loses. A bullet whizzes past his head.

“Nope! Nope. Not doing that again.”

Tim rolls his eyes at the dramatics, but with Danny still there he bit his tongue.

“What’d you see?”

Duke looks at Tim like he’s crazy.

“Lots of people with guns,” he answers hysterically.

“Need a hand?”

Red Hood had swung down from the nearest rooftop, hand gun in both hands. He pops off three shots before having to duck behind the car with them.

“Hood, what are you doing here? This isn’t Crime Alley,” Tim asks like they bumped into each other at the supermarket.

Hood shrugs, “Close enough.”

“Oh sweet, can I borrow that?” Danny randomly asks.

Before anyone can question what he was talking about he was already reaching out to take the handgun off of Hood’s thigh.

“Whoa-“

Danny turns to look over the car’s hood and pulls the trigger. Nothing happens.

The others pull him back quickly. He winces at the hard fall to his tailbone.

“Holy crap! Danny!”

“Dude, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Hey!” Danny interrupts their freak out. “It’s not my fault his gun is broke.”

“The safety is still on, idiot,” Hood tilts his head.

“The what?” Danny asks in genuine confusion.

The three brothers all pause and look at him.

“The safety? On the gun? So there isn’t a misfire?” Tim explains. He was stuck between shocked and judgmental.

“This is why people who don’t know how to shoot shouldn’t touch guns,” Hood says in frustration while reaching to take it away.

Danny pulls it back out of reach.

“I know how to shoot, thanks. My parent’s weapons just don’t have safety things. I’m not used to it,” he grumbles.

“What do you-“

But Danny was already finding the safety and flicking it off before trying again. This time he hits two goons, one in the shoulder and another in the leg.

The batboys glance at each other.

“So,” Hood tries to be casual, “what do your parents do?”

“They’re scientists,” Danny answers, mainly focused on shooting another person dressed in a mask, “but they make their own weapons.”

“Are they by any chance mad scientists? Or borderline rogues?” Duke asks as half a joke.

“Of course not,” Danny answers. Then he pauses to actually think about it. “I don’t think so.”

“Cool. That’s fine.”

**

After that Danny had a few more ‘meet and greet’s with the local vigilantes and saw some lingering shadows around their apartment. They had the weirdest questions about his family.

[ellecdc]

spiked woes and revenge

poly!darksun x fem!reader who is slipped a love potion [2.1k words]

prompts: from my darksun disciples @butt3rnugg3t : "darksun (I'm obsessed and I'm not sorry) with a reader who gets slipped a love potion without knowing?", as well as @underoospeterparker : "could I request poly!darksun x reader where they're both really protective over her"

CW: drugging someone, anxiety and concern, friends responding perhaps violently, hurt comfort, hateful and disgusting men being publicly shamed :)

James and Barty were just making their way up the stairs to the 7th year Gryffindor boys dormitory when they came upon a peculiar sight.

The door - which was notoriously ajar should any number of friends or acquaintances want to drop by (with the exception of first thing in the morning when they were dressing for school, the end of the day when they were getting ready for bed, or when there was a very pointed tie hanging by the handle) - was not only closed, but there were the telltale plumes of smoke indicative of a potion being brewed within the dorm room walls trailing beneath the ancient wooden door. 

“But what if he doesn’t like me?” Came your muffled voice then; painted with worry and…tears? 

“Hey, it’s alright, Trouble.” James heard Sirius counter, though he didn’t miss the anxious tilt of his voice. “You’re impossible not to like.”

“You know who likes you an awful lot?” Remus added then, though it sounded as though his attention was split between you and whatever else was happening in the dorm room. “James and Junior.” 

“So much, Y/N.” Lily agreed quickly, before her voice dropped as she hissed “where the sodding hell are they!?” to someone else in the room. 

Yet whatever James thought he was about to walk into didn’t even compare to the chaos that was their dorm room. 

Regulus, Lily, and Remus were all hovering in front of a makeshift potions station in the centre of the room; Remus dutifully checking and rechecking the brewing instructions from a heavy tome, Regulus chopping and prepping the ingredients with an efficient precision, and Lily expertly stirring the potion whilst keeping an eye on the heat and adding the ingredients as Remus read them out and Regulus handed them to her. 

Marlene and Dorcas stood to the side of the room, muttering angrily under their breaths as Marlene paced back and forth, though she kept her eyes trained dutifully on you, and Sirius had you wrapped up in one of their throws - so tightly that James wondered if it didn’t actually hurt - like a muggle straight jacket as he rubbed your back and rocked you back and forth, Peter hovering over you with a tissue in one hand to catch falling tears and a fan in the other to keep you cool. 

“What in the buggering fuck is going on here?” Barty spat then, apparently having come to his senses faster than James.

“Hey! Hey Trouble, look! Look who it is!” Sirius started with forced enthusiasm, rubbing your back with new vigour as he tried to get you to turn your attention to your two boyfriends. You hardly spared them a glance. 

“What’s the matter, angel? What’s with the tears?” James asked cautiously, easing his way over like the scene was a live wire ready to explode with one wrong move. 

“I’m scared. I don’t feel good Jamie.” You admitted, which James could very well see, though you immediately followed it up with “and what if he doesn’t like me?” 

“What if who doesn’t like you?” Barty asked then with a hard edge to his voice that saw James swatting at him warningly and Regulus hissing “would you take it easy, Junior?” 

“McLaggen.” Marlene answered for you; muttering the name with so much disdain that James almost wondered if it was the delivery itself that saw you burst into tears. 

“McKinnon, please.” Peter whined then, working overtime with both his tissue and his fan, looking like he was sweating nearly as much as you were and just as close to hysterics. 

“James?” Remus whispered, his eyes widening in warning. “A word, please?” 

Both James and Barty wretched their attention from you to join the impromptu potions class. 

“Listen, you cannot freak out; we’re brewing the antidote right now, but-”

“What antidote?” Barty interrupted darkly, causing Regulus to scoff at his oldest friend.

“Junior, what did we just say?”

“Listen, the two of you have one job right now.” Lily spat then; her tone taking on a no nonsense quality that had both boys unintentionally standing up straighter. “And that one job is to help keep her calm, got it?”

“Okay. Alright.” James agreed breathily, but Lily’s fiery gaze turned to Barty as she raised one perfectly arched auburn brow at him expectantly.

“Merlin,” He groaned, though they all watched him take a steadying breath, “okay, okay. What antidote are you brewing?”

“The Love Potion Antidote.” Regulus responded quickly, handing Lily the wiggentree twigs that Remus directed him to prep, watching over the cauldron as the potion turned green.

“Love Potion?” James hissed.

“She was slipped a Love Potion!?” Barty added.

“Looks like it.” Remus muttered darkly, though his face turned soft and pitiful when he looked over his shoulder to watch Sirius and Peter trying to keep you calm. 

“Alice overheard him asking her to Hogsmeade next weekend after Astronomy class yesterday. She declined, obviously.” Lily explained.

“Looks like he’s not used to rejection.” Regulus spat bitterly.

“Oh, he’s going to get used to rejection alright.” Barty muttered threateningly as he reached for his wand and made to storm out of the room, only for Marlene and Dorcas to block his exit. 

“One job.” Marlene demanded then, gesturing roughly in your direction. 

“It’s orange, now what?” Lily asked, and Remus flipped the page in the tome. 

“Add castor oil until it turns blue.” 

“I…I think maybe I should go?” You whimpered then; sentence dotted by hiccups and sniffling as you seemed to be staring unseeingly into the room. “I should go, right?”

“Hey, angel; you’re alright. I think you’re good here, huh?” James tried as he kneeled in front of you, and Peter seemed more than happy to step aside and make room for your boyfriends. “What do you say? We’ll just…hang out for a bit?”

“But I think I should go see McLaggen.” You pouted, and James had to remind himself to tamp down the anger threatening to boilover at the sight of your tearstained face. 

“Or,” Barty started then, and James prayed to the gods that he kept his wits about him, “why don’t we try to relax for a bit, and if you still feel like seeing him afterwards, we’ll all go pay him a visit?” 

Dorcas let out a humourless snort at that. “I vote for option number two.” 

“And….we’re blue.” Lily announced then, snuffing the flame out from beneath the potion and transferring it to a vial. “We’re gonna get you feeling better, Y/N.” She promised. 

“Okay, thank you.” You all but sobbed in response.

“What’s with the restraints?” Barty asked then as he pulled at the blanket wrapped around your being. 

“We didn’t handle being told to sit down very well.” Sirius responded for you, tightening his arm around your shoulders comfortingly as Peter rubbed a quickly growing red welt on the side of his cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” You nearly wailed as Lily made for you. “I just feel like I’m supposed to go find McLaggen!”

“Don’t worry, Treasure.” Barty assured you with a disturbing amount of composure. “We’re absolutely going to go find McLaggen, okay? Why don’t we take the potion Lily made for you, hm? Get you feeling better first.”

Barty spoke over the discontented grumblings of Regulus and Remus who ‘also helped make the potion, thank you very much’ as he took the vial from Lily and held it up to your mouth. “Big drink, okay Tres?” 

James was glad that you were as agreeable as you were in your discontented state, simply wrapping your blanket clad hands around Barty’s and allowing him to hold the vial as you drank the entire potion down. 

“It reads here that she’s probably going to be very tired and more than a little confused for a while, but the anxiety and lust should be gone.” Remus explained; James could kiss the sod. 

“Good. Good, yeah? That’s good, right angel? Do you feel better?” 

You sucked in a deep, shuddering breath as you licked a droplet of the potion from your lips and considered your answer before nodding slowly. “I…yeah. Yeah, I- I think so. I think I feel better.”

No sooner had the words left your lips did Lily grab her wand. “Great! Ready to go?” She asked no one in particular, but both Marlene and Dorcas answered in the affirmative immediately. 

“Where are you three going?” James asked cautiously. 

“You know,” Dorcas drawled casually as she began rummaging through Sirius’ trunk, though the long-haired boy hardly seemed to mind, “we just realised that we haven’t caught up with our old classmate in so long.” 

“A shame, really.” Marlene agreed as Dorcas filled her bag with various dung bombs, charmed firecrackers, and other various pranking paraphernalia. “All this talk about inter house unity, and we neglect a vast majority of our peers.” 

“We’re going to change that.” Lily declared as she swiped the Marauders Map from Remus’ desk. “Starting with McLaggen.” 

And with that, Lily shot you a wink, Dorcas a salute, and Marlene blew a kiss before the three witches closed the door to the boys’ dorm behind them.

“Can I take this off now?” You asked then, wriggling under Sirius arm as you tried to free yourself from your blanketed prison. 

“Only if you promise to keep your hands to yourself.” Sirius teased as he unravelled the blanket, causing you to fluster as you shot Peter your best doe eyes. 

“I really am sorry, Pete.” 

“Oh…it’s alright.” Peter offered with a nervous laugh, though he winced as he prodded the tender portion of his jaw that was well on its way to bruising. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” 

“What the hell happened?” Barty asked then; shoving the offended blanket off your shoulders and taking the fan from Peter (rather roughly, though Peter seemed more than glad to be effectively dismissed from his job) and started fanning you off. 

“I…I honestly don’t even know? Professor Slughorn was handing out chocolates to us after class today for a job well done, and whilst he was doing that, McLaggen approached me again asking if I wasn’t entirely sure I didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade with him.”

You were interrupted by James and Sirius grumbling, Remus scoffing, and Barty muttering something along the lines of “ask first, respect the answer, fuck face” under his breath. 

“And I said no, and left. I didn’t drink anything or-”

“Did you eat the chocolate?” Regulus interrupted then, ignoring his best friend’s murderous gaze for daring to speak over his Treasure. 

“What?”

“The chocolate that Slughorn handed out. Did you eat it?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Before McLaggen spoke to you, or after?” Regulus continued, inching closer and closer to being hexed straight to hell by Barty. 

“After…”

“You think he tampered with the chocolate?” Remus asked then, earning him a shrug of Regulus’ shoulders, though his head moved side to side in semi-confirmation. 

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“The only thing that makes sense,” Barty spat venomously, “is a fucking dementors kiss for attempted…what? What was his plan?”

No one had the chance to answer, though, when the castle walls shook with the force of a boom coming from outside. 

The seven of you all stood and crammed your heads into the alcove of the window to see almost an entire acre of the castle grounds coated in a thick, sludgy yellow substance and one individual slipping and sliding as he tried to make his way out of the mess. Hexes and jinxes were being shot at him from three sides - clearly the doing of Marlene et al., if James recognised her duelling strategies correctly. 

“Well…” You offered cautiously. “I guess none of us have to go find McLaggen now?” 

Barty seemed wholly unconvinced, but by the time the group of you got to the Great Hall for breakfast the following morning to find McLaggen unable to speak to any femme (student or faculty alike) without first announcing “My name is Tiberius McLaggen and I am a sexual predator.” for all to hear, Barty relented on his insistence to defend your honour. 

“The girls beat you to it.” You’d whispered into his cheek before stamping it with a kiss.

James figured this was probably the only time Barty would ever allow himself to be outdone.

[fairyofshampgyu]

☆ Drive you mad !

genre: racer au, smut, e2l, rivals , crack

Pairings: sub ! race car driver ! beomgyu x dom ! gn race car driver reader (afab when comes to smut)

Warnings: kinda public sex, bratty beomgyu, sub beomgyu, grinding/palming, edging, creampie, riding, hand job, degrading, sex in a car, clubbing, alcohol, hair pulling, tit sucking, use of names ‘good boy’, ‘whore’

Word count: 4.7k

The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result:

Second. Fucking. Place.

You grit your teeth, rather aggressively slamming the door shut, and getting out of the car. Yanking off your helmet, you storm over to where Kang Taehyun, your ever-calm, teammate, was leaning casually against the pit wall, sipping on his water bottle from the last round he had just raced himself. You on the other hand, are seconds away from combusting.

“Fuck him.” You seethe and grumble, arms crossed as both of your gazes switch to focus on Choi Beomgyu in the centre, soaking up the spotlight a few metres away, gesturing animatedly for the cameras with sparkling eyes, a stupid smirk and very satisifed look on his face as he tucked his helmet under one arm. He’s surrounded and swarmed by reporters with god knows how many microphones shoved in his face who hang onto his every single word like he was some goddamn deity.

He basks in it, always loved the attention. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to win every race solely for the purpose of being met with cameras and praises at the end. It’s like he got off on that shit. Attention seeker.

“What a fucking nepo baby.” You scoff and taehyun laughs, always amused for your hate towards Choi Beomgyu. But it was true, he was only here because his father was a famous legendary racer back in the day, his racing career practically gift wrapped by him at a young age. Choi Beomgyu had everything handed to him on a silver platter whilst you had to claw your way through to get where you are now. But, it seems to be that you’re the only one who has a problem with him. Everyone else adores him, the 'golden boy'.

“Oh—hehe. Stop it. Thank you! Yeah, honestly it’s all about hard work.” You hear him gush and chuckle in faux shyness and humbleness, waving his hand dismissively, eyes shaped into little crescent moons and running a hand through his long soft brown hair. “But I don’t think I’m that good personally heh.”

You can’t help how hard your eyes roll at that, muttering more insults under your breath only taehyun can hear who's certainly more than entertained. “Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. The audacity. You have half the mind of walking over there and strangling him right in front of the cameras. That surely wouldn’t end your career right? Or worse yet, put you in prison.

As the crowd around him finally disperses and fizzles out, Beomgyu confidently saunters over to you and taehyun, helmet still tucked under his arm and still grinning annoyingly.

“Oh no.” Taehyun chuckles, throwing a knowing look your way and nodding to the direction of beomgyu, “Incoming.”

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, taking a big breath in, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fan.” Beomgyu’s grin widens as he reaches you, snickering. He ignores your scoff in return, turning to taehyun instead with a smile and clapping his back. “Hey, Tae. Drinks after this? A bunch of us are going.”

“Yeah, I’m in. Congrats on first place today by the way.” Taehyun replies giving him a bro hug. To this day, you still can’t understand how taehyun can stand him. But Beomgyu has a lot of friends, and like you said, you really are the only one who dislikes him.

“How can you even hang out with him?” You make the most disgusted face you can muster towards Beomgyu to show the pure utter hatred you feel to him.

Beomgyu practically puffs out his chest, already expecting to be backed up and stood up against by taehyun.

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.”

“Yeah, like a nasty mould.”

Beomgyu deflates, taking great offence, mouth hanging open and frowning, pouting at the both of you now laughing and high-fiving each other.

Beomgyu’s intense gaze then returns back to you. Taehyun, addressing the situation, and knowing how both your bantering can escalate, sees it’s best to leave, walking away to leave you alone with the cockroach. “Right, so as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to go now…preferably anywhere else...”

“What about you, y/n? No congratulations?” Beomgyu mocks and sighs boastfully once Taehyun has left. His voice dripping with that sickeningly playful lilt that always makes your blood boil. “No heartfelt speech on how I inspire you to be better? But hey, second place isn’t so bad.”

You narrow your eyes, standing up straight. “You won by, like,” you scoff, “a millisecond at best. Don’t get all cocky. It was just pure luck.”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on, I didn’t think you were such a sore loser. It’s called strategy.”

“Strategy?” you repeat incredulously, “The only strategy you have is relying on your last name to get you ahead.”

“God, you’re still on that? I feel like you’re just using that as an excuse to use still. Just admit I’m as good as you. Better, even. I’ve won one more race than you now~”

The two of you kept a tally of how many races you both have won, you’ve had the same exact score as him for ages now, obviously, not anymore. But you’ll win next time, just he waits.

He takes a step closer to you, waiting and expecting you to make a snarky comeback at him like you always do as you angrily stare him down and he does the same.

For a second, just one second, your eyes flicker down to his lips and suddenly, you’re brought back to an incident that occurred a few months ago. A memory you’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night.

⸝⸝

THE SAID AWFULLY UNLUCKY NIGHT YOU AND CHOI BEOMGYU MADE OUT:

The nightclub was packed with racers, sponsors, and fans celebrating the after party of a big end of season race, air heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat. You nursed your drink, leaning against the bar.

Of course, Beomgyu was at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of admirers, his laughter ringing out over the music. He was never hard to spot, the centre of attention always.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, taking another sip of your drink.

“And you’re still staring?” Taehyun had teased, sitting beside you.

"I’m not staring.” You snapped, rolling your eyes. "I’m wondering how he manages to be so insufferable and stupid all the time."

“Sure,” Taehyun stifles a laugh, raising his glass to you. “Just don’t kill each other before the next race.”

You down the last of your drink, slamming it on the bar counter and ordering another, “Can’t promise that.”

The rest of the night is a blur to you. Too many drinks, too many spinning lights, and far too much proximity to Beomgyu.

You’re not one to get shitfaced drunk. You prefer the comfortable state of slight tipsiness and anything other than that is not fun for you, because why would someone want to be so drunk off their ass to the point of throwing up and not being aware of their surroundings? Usually, you’d chastise people like that, wondering how they can’t even manage how much they drink. But on that night, you’d had one too many to count, you were drunk, too drunk. Not the comfortable tipsiness that you’re used to.

You know that at one point, either you or Beomgyu had come up to the other and the normal bickering had ensued. You know he was just as drunk as you so whatever you both were arguing about probably made no sense at all.

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club.

How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes.

He looked different that night, too. Not the usual racing suit and helmet, but a stylish black suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver necklace glinting against his skin.

All in all, beomgyu was a pretty boy. You get why he had a lot of fans.

He was still going on about something to you, slurring his words, probably insulting you, and the only logical solution to shut him up in your inebriated state at that moment, was to kiss his pouty lips. Luckily, you both were at the very corner of the nightclub shrouded in darkness, everyone else too busy dancing and whatnot to see you both.

You remember him gasping when you grabbed the collar of his black shirt, yanking him down and pressing your lips aggressively against his, but he kissed you back almost instantly, without a second thought.

You weren’t very gentle with him, pushing him forcefully against the wall even further and tugging at his necklace. The way you were making out with him was just pouring out all your anger you’ve felt towards him for years. But, he just let you. He let you do anything to him and you were surprised, so different to the cocky and confident beomgyu you knew. And that sheer control he let you have over him for once felt so good, you didn’t want to stop.

That, and the fact Choi Beomgyu was also just really good at kissing, he made it so difficult to pull away at all, lips so soft and plump and addictive, making you want more and more and more.

But, you never spoke an utterance of it afterwards, he never brought it up, neither did you. And honestly, it felt so surreal, making out with the Choi Beomgyu, the one who you no doubtedly hate his guts and him kissing you back so pliantly? You’d believe it more if it was all just a hallucination. You were so drunk you wouldn’t be surprised if you made it all up, dreamt it even. Maybe it was someone else you made out with and you were so drunk you can’t remember. It’d make more sense than Choi Beomgyu.

Although, you do find yourself thinking about the makeout session often times than not, his lips on yours just felt so good. Too good. It was like, the best makeout you’ve had in your life and you curse it for being him. Why he had to be the one whose lips you still thought about? you don’t know. You’re certain he had forgotten and you wish you could have just like he seemed to.

But anyway, fuck that and fuck him.

⸝⸝

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Beomgyu is still sneering at you, awaiting your comeback but you can’t think well at the moment.

Your face heats, and you shove past him. “Go to hell, Choi.”

And his laughter follows behind you as you walk away. Oh, how he infuriates you.

You have one goal: beat Choi Beomgyu. Today is the day you finally get to race against him again. He’d held that last victory over your head, taunting you endlessly, with that invigorating, stupid smirk of his and you’d had more than enough. Today was your chance to shut him up and kick his ass. You’ll put him in his place and win. You’d been waiting for this.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another thrilling showdown! All eyes are on the two front runners y/n and Choi Beomgyu. These rivals have been neck and neck all season. Beomgyu won the last race but will he win again? Will today decide who’s truly on top?” The commentator’s voices boom over the loudspeakers.

The flagman waves the green flag, you slam on the gas pedal and you’re off, surging forward.

It wasn’t an easy race, beomgyu seemed motivated to win too. He was always either just ahead or just behind, not far enough for it be satisfactory, but nail bitingly tense, as anything could happen any moment. And right now, ahead, just barely, was him, blocking every attempt you made to overtake him.

“Y/n’s looking for an opening,” the commentators shout. “But Beomgyu’s defensive driving is flawless so far. Look at that precision!”

Loud noises of the engines are all you can hear, filling your ears as you manoeuvre around sharp turns, tires screeching against the asphalt. The laps all blur together but you’re nearing the end now.

You managed to get alongside him on the straight, your cars almost touching, crowd going wild as you both enter the next corner side by side, dangerously close.

“Neither driving is moving an inch!”

Suddenly, beomgyu’s car swerves towards yours, bumping and hitting at yours with such force, a dirty, blatant attempt at running you off the track and then he overtakes you. You gasp, fighting to stabilise your car, narrowly avoiding a spin. That was a new low, even for Choi Beomgyu. He’d never cheated like that before and you’re absolutely enraged.

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before.

The last stretch looms ahead and he’s just razor thin ahead of you, in the last second, you see your opening. Beomgyu had oversteered slightly on the turn, just enough for you to slip past him, you speed ahead.

“AND Y/N TAKES THE WIN IN A SPECTACULAR FINISH! THEY’VE DONE IT! WHAT A RACE!”

You crossed the line first. By a hair.

Everyone erupts, but your satisfaction is short-lived. Beomgyu’s cheating had completely soured your victory. The fucking nerve of him.

You barely register the reporters swarming you, bombarding your face with microphones. “Y/n! how does it feel to take first place?!”

“An incredible performance today, what was going through your mind?!”

The post race interview is a haze of forced smiles and generic answers. You’re barely listening as the reporters barrage you with questions. You’re still so pissed off at Beomgyu.

When it’s finally over, you make your way to the garage and that’s where you spot him leaning casually against his car, arms crossed in a nonchalant way. You clench your fists, blood boiling as you storm over to him. He’d crossed the line, well, not literally this time, but definitely fucking figuratively.

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him.

“You intentionally tried to cause a collision with me. You should have been penalised. I don’t know how you weren’t!”

“Yeah, and you still won. So why are you even mad?” He crosses his arms and shrugs, ridiculing you. “If you can’t handle that maybe you should switch to something lighter like go karting instead.”

"Can’t handle?!" You splutter, looking at him in pure disbelief, your voice rising. "You arrogant, nepotistic, spoilt brat!-” Each insult punctuated with a sharp poke to his chest and, yet he still finds it all funny, bursting out into laughter at you.

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands.

And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal.

The kissing becomes heated fast, sounds of your mouths smacking filling the echoing garage as he lets you take over his mouth completely, letting you bite and pull at his bottom lip, emitting soft little gasps at this.

Even for the second time, it was disorienting seeing Beomgyu like this, nothing like the beomgyu you knew on the track or in the spotlight, and now with no alcohol in your system, neither of you could even blame whatever was going on right now on that. It’s all too intoxicating. It takes everything in you to pull back for air.

You push him against his car with more force than necessary, and Beomgyu stumbles slightly before sitting down on the top of the hood. His eyes are blown wide, flustered as you stand between his splayed legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him again, him responding immediately. This is how you like him. Your kisses trail down his jaw and the column of his neck, when you suck on his adam’s apple, he lets out a sharp intake and gasp, tilting his head back to give you more access, he already seems worked up from just a few kisses. Was his neck really that sensitive?

When your hand slides down to palm him through his trousers, his breath hitches and his jaw goes slack. “Oh…b-but we’re in public…” his cheeks flush a deep red and he protests weakly, plump lips all swollen and glossy and wet from the intense making out.

You raise a brow. “So you want me to stop?” You keep grinding your palm against his very hard length now, sucking on his neck and he shudders and whines cutely, very clearly enjoying it.

“W-wait no….” So you continue, he’s panting as you palm him, rutting into your hand himself. You pull back just enough to look at him, so dumb and lost in pleasure, lips parted with soft breathy moans and gasps as he chases the small friction you give him, his brows knitting together.

You roll your eyes at the sight of him, “Trying to run me off the track? You’re pathetic, beomgyu.”

“Pathetic?” He scoffs, still having the nerve to act like a brat when it’s all crumbling. “h-hah, if anyone’s pathetic it’s you—s-shit y/n—please. I need more, please.” Completely contradicting himself, because if there was only one word to describe him exactly right now, it would be pathetic.

“Admit it. Say you’re nothing but a dirty cheater first.”

“You wish.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you like this. All hard and horny.”

He hesitates, scowling, debating whether or not to challenge you, but when you stop all contact of palming and kissing his neck, starting to step away, he caves in.

“Wait!” He blurts, grasping at your wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m…fine. Fine! I’m nothing but a dirty a cheater...” His face burns, embarrassed, humiliated, his pride hurt. The admission sends a thrill through you, he’s always been so full of himself, but now he’s just a needy pathetic mess for you. You’re having so much fun.

You grin. “Aw. What a good boy.” You coo sarcastically. The words have an instant effect on him though, whole body tensing and cheeks blooming into an even more impossibly vivid red and he whines, hands clutching at your hips to bring you back as he still sits pliantly on the hood of his car.

You unzip his pants, flushed pretty cock already leaking, slapping at his tummy and you brush your thumb over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there slowly, watching his reaction and he looks down at the action himself, drawing out a helpless shudder and whimper from him. He groans, eyes half lidded when you wrap your hand around his cock, moving up and down with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch every few seconds and whine.

“God, you’re so easy, beomgyu. Are you this much of a whore all the time?” You murmur and tease, dragging your teeth over his cute earlobe, ears all red, feeling him shiver.

“Shut”, he whimpers cutely, “up. I-i could…ah…fuck you stupid right now.” He retaliates or attempts to, but his hands grip the edge of the hood like he’s barely holding himself upright.

You laugh. “Oh, really? Because you look pretty wrecked already.” He was so fucked out right now, you wonder if he’d even be able to take it when you actually fuck him.

He’s still trying to keep up the pretense of resistance. “I’m not wrecked. You’re—” You pump his cock at a ruthless pace, jerking him off fast, occasionally toying with the slit on the head of cock and his body goes limp under you touch, moaning out prettily and loudly, eyes squeezing shut and panting, chest heaving. He clings to you now, head buried in your neck, practically drooling, body jerking with every stroke. He still attempts to bite back at you but they come out as dumb babbles and mumbles of nonsense, mewling and gasping, completely at your mercy.

Beomgyu whines and moans deliriously. “F-fuck! Oh—need to cum. C-can’t.” He removes his head from your neck to look up at you with glossy doe eyes, so wrecked and hanging on by a thread. You move your hand up and down his dick unrelentingly and before he’s just about to cum, you pull your hand off him.

The pained, frustrated cry that escapes him is deliciously pathetic. His hips jerk into the air desperately to chase the sensation, but it’s long gone now. He looks at you in shock, eyes wide in utter betrayal and devastation, and now wet with tears of frustration. But then he frowns and scowls, annoyed he didn’t get to cum. “What the fuck was that for?” He pouts.

“I could think of a lot honestly. But, don’t you want to cum inside me?”

His jaw hangs open. “Please. Yes.” Beomgyu breathes out, nodding fervently and looking at you with puppy eyes, pupils dilating and dazed at the thought alone.

Sliding off the hood, beomgyu takes your hand like an obedient puppy, and you open the car door. He sits in his driver’s seat, his flushed face tilted up to watch you as you climb onto his lap. You rid yourself of your own clothes, watching as his gaze drops immediately to your bare tits, breath catching and lips parting as he stares, seemingly captivated. He’s so stupid.

You grab his dick and use the head to rub your clit, making him let out little stuttered gasps, sliding him over your entrance and folds a few times before you sink slowly down completely. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed as he groans, sucking in air and throwing his head back, grasping at your waist, furrowing his brows and mouth in an ‘o’ shape, you beginning to ride him.

It’s so hot and cramped and sweaty in the car now as you bounce on his dick continuously, being able to hear the obscene slapping and sticky noises so loudly. Beomgyu looks in a state of absolute, pure bliss, moaning like a bitch, mind all fogged up and mushy at the feeling of your pussy, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes so all you can see is his very glistening round lips, still in that sustained ‘o’ shape, just so dumbed and fucked out.

He’s a gorgeous wreck, thick doll-like lashes fluttering. If only everyone else could see Choi Beomgyu like this right now. It feels so empowering and satisfying after all these years of him being so infuriating. You love how, despite his attempts at being bratty, he’s so docile and such a simple whore.

You tangle your hands in his hair and tug and pull every so often, which he clearly very likes if the high and strained moans are anything to show for this. His hands squeeze at your tits when it feels too good for him. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, tongue flicking over it and sucking and kissing as he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. When you deliberately clamp your pussy tightly around him, he moans out your name in response, muffled from him still sucking your tits needily, body slightly jerking.

“You remember, don’t you?—at the club?” You ask, although it was probably obvious by now.

Beomgyu pauses for a moment, popping his wet droolly mouth off your boobs, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to look at you, nodding vigorously, “of course I remember…l-liked it.” You cup his cheek again, kissing beomgyu hard, hands still tangled in his hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he moans softly against your lips. “Oh god, m’ sso close. Can I cum?”

You nod, kissing him some more, “Cum for me, beomie.”

“Holyy s-shitt—” Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head, squeezing one of your tits as if for support, his back arches, his tongue lolling out dumbly, whole body trembling and shaking. You bring one of your hands to your clit, rubbing and riding yourself on him harder. With a choked off scream, he spills so much of his cum inside you, and the gorgeous sight brings you over the edge too, cumming as well.

He doesn’t pull out though, burying his face in your neck, gasping for air, groaning and clinging to you tightly, he’s still shuddering and you can feel little spurts of his cum still dribbling in you, pussy completely milking him.

The two of you sat in the car still afterwards in a slightly awkward silence. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs, left to fully take in what had just happened and also how thoughtless it was. Fucking Choi beomgyu in the garage? You’re incredibly lucky no one walked in. It wasn’t even like both of you were trying to be quiet either, none of that running through your mind at that moment. What if someone had heard?

Beomgyu, for once, was quiet, his usual smirk replaced with a dazed expression, so far gone. He leans slowly towards you though, looking as if he was about to kiss you again.

“This…this doesn’t mean anything by the way.” You mutter, beginning to button up your shirt.

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hands through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. At all.” You roll your eyes, trying not to freak out, you open the car door, wanting more than anything to just get out. You walk away, leaving him there, disheveled and barely clothed, still slumped in the driver’s seat. And you don’t see it, but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face.

A/n: happy new year !!<3 please give this lots of love it was such a bitch to write idk why but I really struggled with this 😭 also I’m so sorry to all the racing fans if makes no sense, I just made up my own kind of racing competition thing. Also the cars do not look anything like f1 cars 😭 more kind of like the nascar ones so they can actually fuck in it 😭 idk bro. I know no nothing about cars or racing. Also I’m sorry if the smut seems rushed and messy, I haven’t edited it and I was lowkey rushing to get this out

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run pt 2

By the time the five of you are in the house, you’re soaked through once more, teeth chattering when the cool air of the house hits your skin as Gaz opens the door, holding it open long enough to let the dogs trot in.

“Hey! Shake over there!” He shoos, flinching when Maggie sprays him with her shake off.

“Let’s get you taken care of pretty.” Price murmurs, and you push weakly at his chest, struggling to get down. Your mind is foggy, exhaustion fighting to take over, but there are four strange men now standing in your living room, and that seemed more pressing.

Price grunts, but finally gives in, setting you on your feet, and you put as much distance between yourself and them as you can. “What do you want? What is going on here?” You demand, trying to ignore the shake of your voice.

They glance at each other, having a silent conversation, and you glance towards the stairs. You had an old cell phone, and the service this far out was absolutely shit, but it was a chance-

“We would like a place to stay.” Price’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and your eyes shoot to look at them, and a shocked laugh tumbles past your lips.

“A place to stay? After what just happened? For god’s sake I don’t even know you!” You laugh, slightly hysteric, and Price takes a cautious step towards you, holding up his hands. “We didn’t mean to scare you sweetheart, honest. Didn’t think anyone lived here by the looks of it.” His tone is soft, comforting. He approaches you slowly, and you back away until your back hits the wall.

“How did you even know we were in there?” Ghost speaks this time, eyes trained on your face and you try not to crack under his gaze.

“You spooked Sebastian. In the six years I’ve lived here nothing has ever spooked that horse.” You glare, anger flaring when the four of them laugh. “You think scaring my stallion is funny?”

“No little bird, just…” Ghost trails off, chuckling and you can feel your eye twitch ever so slightly.

“It’s cute how protective you are over some animals.” He finishes, and he can tell his words are winding you up, the crinkle around his eyes indicating he finds this amusing. Bastard.

“They might just be animals to you,” You start, your frustration seeping into your words as you straighten your back. “But when I found this place they were starving and on the brink of death. I worked my ass off to make sure they made it. I worked for their trust after some asshole abandoned them here to fucking die. They are my herd, this is my land!” Your shoulders heave, sucking in a deep breath as you try to calm your racing heart.

They stare at you, quiet and you close your eyes, clenching your fist as you struggle to maintain yourself. “You broke into my barn and scared my animals, held my own knife to my throat and invited yourselves into my home. Why is god's name should I let you stay here?” You ask, opening your eyes to stare them down, and for the first time tonight, they seem to crack under your gaze for once.

“Have you… Do you have any way of hearing the news?” Price questions, wincing and you frown. “The radio when I’m cleaning the barn. Why?”

They hesitate, looking between themselves as they shuffle their feet. Your eyes bounce between them, trying to think back to anything of importance that a reporter has broadcasted as of late.

Missing sheep from a town more than four hours north of you, a four way pile up down one of the highways,a break out at the prison, a wheeler transporting 60,000 gallons of wine tipping near the river…

A break out at the prison.

You freeze, all air leaving your lungs as you stare at them, four wanted criminals standing in your living room. You feel your knees buckle.

They notice your realization, hesitation crossing Price’s face when he notices your stiff figure.

“Please. Let us explain ourselves.” He all but begs, and you feel your hands shaking.

“You are wanted criminals!” You hiss, and they cringe, their previous bravado has disappeared.

“We will explain everything to you, we swear. Just… Please give us a chance.” Soap steps forward this time, big wide eyes trained on you. They’re just as soaked as you are, and in the light of the living room you see the bags under their eyes, the tension in their shoulders. They look exhausted, and not just from this night. There’s a haunted look behind their eyes, and you curse yourself when you feel your heart ache ever so slightly.

You make a noise at the back of your throat, turning to head up the stairs.

“Pretty where are you-“

“You’re soaking my floor. You can explain it to me after I’m out of this damn gown.” You mumble, hearing one of them mumble ‘damn shame’.

“I heard that!”

After a few moments you come back, a box of clothes in hand and they all raise a brow. “Thought you said no one else lived here?” Gaz asks suspiciously when they notice it’s a box of men’s clothes. You roll your eyes, shoving it into his hands.

“They’re my ex-husbands, I took it by mistake when I moved my boxes.” You huff, crossing your arms. It’s your turn to raise a brow at their shocked expressions. “What’s with your faces?”

“What kind of eejit divorces such a gorgeous lass?” Soap asks, and you feel insulted, till you realise he’s not joking. They all look you over, and you feel your face warm at the way their eyes darken. Turning away, you clear your throat, pointing up the stairs.

“The guest room is down the hall, it has a bathroom and towels. Leave your clothes in the tub.” You order, making your way towards your bedroom. You feel the stairs shake as they bound up them, and as they pass, Price give’s your hip a little squeeze and you swat at his hand.

“Thank you pretty.”

“I haven’t said yes yet. You were just ruining my hardwood floors.” You sniff, smacking his hand once more when he doesn’t let go.

“You are testing my patience most of all.”

“You haven’t made us leave though.”

“I can change that very quickly.” You snap, pulling his hand off your side and he takes the opportunity to pull you close, leaning down next to your ear.

“But I don’t think you will, will you sweetheart?” He whispers, and you bite your lip, pushing at his chest. “For god's sake, go change you old perv.” You hiss, wiggling in his grasp and he flashes you a grin before letting you go.

You slip into your room, locking the door before pressing your head against it. What have you gotten yourself into?

You quickly take a hot shower, letting the scalding water bring warmth back to your stiff joints. You towel off quickly, slipping into an oversized hoodie and some old pajama pants.

You can still hear the shower running down the hall when you step out, a boom of thunder sounding in the distance. You slip down to the kitchen, grabbing one of your mugs. You had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

How could you be so foolish as to be letting escaped convicts use your bathroom?! God the feds were probably spread to every point in the world trying to track these men down. You can’t remember much the broadcast had said, just that there were four dangerous men on the run from one of the maximum security prisons a couple of hours away. How on earth did they wind up here?

You’re so lost to your thoughts you don’t hear the stairs creak, staring out into the backyard as you mull things over in your mind.

“‘Ppreciate the clothes lass, loads better!” A cheerful voice spooks you and you jump, dropping your mug to the floor. “Shit!” You curse, a matching ‘ah hell’ leaving Soap.

“Didn’t mean to scare you again bonnie, I’m sorry.” He sighs, running a hand over his face. You’re surprised to find genuine guilt there, and he gives you a sheepish look. “I’ll clean this up for ye.”

“Gone and lost us our chance Soap?” Gaz asks, frowning at the glass on the ground but Soap just waves him off. “Accident, scared the poor lass.”

“We keep doing that, she'll never give us a chance.” Gaz smiles at you, soft and sweet but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the bags under them worse after having cleaned up, and you feel that strange ache in your chest again. You glance at Soap, who is picking up the shards with his bare hands and you frown, swatting his hands away as you kneel beside him.

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” You scold, and he gives you a surprised look before smiling, shrugging as he gently stops your hands from piling the remains of the mug. “Could ask the same of you bonnie, hands like these are much too pretty for such sharp things.” He mumbles, scooping up the shards without a care.

The two of them eye you nervously, and you can feel knots in your stomach. Taking a deep breath, you motion towards the living room. “Sit. I’ll make something to drink.” You offer. They raise a brow and you glance at the ground.

“I’m sorry, I just thought-“

“No need to apologize, it’s just…” Gaz starts, trying to find the words and glances at Soap.

“We’re honestly surprised you didn't run for the nearest house possible when you had the chance.” Soap says bluntly, and you wince.

“No one around for miles.” You admit, and their faces fall slightly, shoulders tensing and you clear your throat. “I said I would hear you out. I plan to.” You say firmly, turning to walk into the kitchen, just to bump into a large chest.

“I gotta worry about you keeping your mouth shut little bird?” Ghost asks, arms crossing over his chest as he stares you down.

“I do have a radio that connects me to the closest ranger station. And another for the Police station in the little town 3 hours north.” You admit, and you see his eyes flash, but you hold up your hand before he speaks.

“No. You aren’t taking it.” You snap, and his eyes narrow, exhaling sharply.

“If they don’t hear from me periodically they get worried. It’s a small town, everyone knows one another and I do have to take trips to the store every month or so.” You don’t back down from his dark gaze, but your palms feel clammy.

“They ever check up on you unannounced?” Price is last to arrive, voice stern as he levels the same cold glare as Ghost and you swallow, standing straighter, Gaz and Soap looking between the three of you nervously.

“Not unless I ask them to or I haven’t called in a few weeks. Takes too long to get out here.” Your voice shakes towards the end, slipping between the two looming men.

“You’re all here, you can start talking anytime.” You quip, and Ghost scoffs. “Got a mouth on you don’t-“

“You are asking to stay in my home. Watch it.”

He snaps his mouth shut, glaring at you and you turn your back to him. Price clears his throat, his gaze heavy on your back as you turn on the stove.

“Listen. There has to be some type of trust for this to even begin to work. You haven’t hurt me, and besides that oaf holding a knife to my throat,” You and Simon glare at one another, but he breaks first, eyes crinkling in the corners. “You’re a feisty little thing.” He laughs, crossing the kitchen to plop down at the kitchen table like he owns it.

“Besides that, you haven’t given me any reason you’re here to harm me or rob me, considering you have no car. You could easily overpower me and keep me locked in one of my own rooms and you haven’t. That’s a good start.” You finish, hands shaking slightly as you start to make your tea, and Price gently takes the kettle from your hands.

“But you’re still scared.” He states, and your shoulders stiffen. “Four men are in my kitchen asking to hide from the police. I’ve only put together who is who with your little code names by listening to you talk to one another. I’m sorry for being a little frightened.” You spit, jumping when you feel his large hand on your hip.

“Oh if you don’t quit that-“

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you pretty.”

“Okay! I think we all need to take a minute, yeah?” Gaz announces, him and Soap staring at the three of you nervously. You pry Price’s hand off your hip, again, pushing him away.

“Start talking, now. Before I let Soap and Gaz stay here and let the two of you rot outside.” You huff, taking a seat at the table and they seem surprised.

“I told you, I put together who is who, and those two,” You point, glaring at Price and Ghost as you speak. “Have been very respectful and kind.”

The two of them perk up, lapping up the small praise like thirsty dogs as their chests puff out.

Price frowns, keeping eye contact with you as he slips into the chair opposite of you. “We’ll behave.” He mutters, cutting a look at Ghost when he makes an offended noise in the back of his throat.

“We’re sorry. We didn’t mean any of the harm or fear we have caused you, really thought this place was abandoned. The boys and I appreciate you hearing us out when you have absolutely no reason to. And I… apologize.” He clears his throat, casting you a glance over before meeting your eyes once more.

“Haven’t been around such a gorgeous little thing like yourself in a long time. Forgot my manners.” He grins now, causing heat to bloom in your chest and you splutter, narrowing your eyes at him as you fight the heart crawling up your neck.

“Story. Now.”

“Oh come on pretty, am I at least forgiven?” He asks, and you know he’d deny that he’s pouting, but it still makes a small smile tug your lips.

“I’m thinking about it.”

“I could sweet talk you some more.”

“Much more interested in why you were in prison.”

Price sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he relaxes in his chair.

“Better settle in. It’s a bit of a tale.” He crosses his arms, settling back.

“I’ve got all night.” You shoot back, resting your chin on your hand as you get comfortable.

What have you gotten yourself into?

[mossangelll]

stray cat rescue

vi x reader

i’m so down bad for vi i could write like 20 absolutely filthy fics about her I NEEEED HER… ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

tw: detailed smut, reader is fem - 18+ mdni!!

Strobe lights flashed in the dingy club as you sobbed hysterically into your watered down martini.

Life was going great! You got a new job, adopted a cat and were even looking for a house with your boyfriend - you hated to brag but you knew you had hit the jackpot.

And then you found out your boyfriend of two years cheated on you. Two long years down the drain in the blink of an eye.

That was that. Your perfectly curated life was crumbling before your eyes and there was nothing you could do to make the situation better. No matter how loudly you protested, your friends, bless them, decided to drag you out of your depression-induced hibernation in order to lift your spirits. Needless to say, the night was a major fail.

You down the rest of your drink and stand up from the booth, resigning yourself to another night of sobbing into your poor cat’s fur.

Before you could make your escape, you bumped into a charismatic, muscular, attractive, no, very attractive woman - Vi.

She had a wicked smile and cocky demeanour as she told you she’d been watching you for a while, that she hated to see a pretty woman cry, that she knew the best way to cure a broken heart.

Now your makeup was running for a whole other reason.

Vi’s strong arms had manoeuvred you into a mating press, ankles dangling precariously over her shoulders as she lay off the edge of the bed and you watched her tattooed biceps bulge under the low light. Shit, she was so hot that just watching her made you wetter by the second.

“Fuck, princess,” she groaned into your pussy, the vibrations forcing another wail from you, making your eyes roll back into your head, “you’re absolutely dripping wet. Think you can squirt for me again, cutie?”

Her own low pants grew louder as she lifted her head from between your legs to look up at you. Her chiseled face was flushed a deep red, eyes glazed over and, fuck, the lower half of her face was drenched in your juices. If you didn’t know any better, you would think she was the one getting ate out.

But you weren’t one to question a gift horse in the mouth so you settled for roughly tugging tufts of her cropped hair in your hands to guide her mouth back to where it belonged. She groaned at this and you felt another pang of arousal hit deep within your core.

Her mouth returned to your sopping cunt but instead of eating you out like you hoped, her scarred lips left teasing, feather light kisses on the insides of both your sensitive thighs before plunging two thick digits inside of you without warning.

“Shit, you’re so tight, cupcake.” She hissed as her wrist flexed from the force of pistoning inside and out, fingers curling up towards the spongy spot with a come-hither motion that had you drooling from the mind numbing pleasure.

“Right there! Please, please don’t stop!” You keened and writhed, unable to keep still which made Vi chuckle, dark and full of sensuality.

“Can’t believe your ex just gave this up. Sure as hell can’t complain though.”

A rough hand manhandled your left tit, squishing and squeezing it in the palm of her large hand before she flicked your pebbled nipples, making you squeal in surprise.

Her eyes shot up from where they were glued to your heaving chest and a devious smirk spread across her face. She quickly yanked out the hand that was finger fucking you, blue eyes rolling playfully at your noise of indignation, to give attention to your neglected tit.

“You’re such a slut for me, crying out for me like this and I barely had to touch you.”

Her wet fingers left behind a trail of your sticky arousal that she promptly licked up so she could lather wet, sloppy kisses all over your chest that turned into sharp nips when she reached your delicate neck - you moaned breathlessly at every kiss and the thought of the dark marks you would find blooming tomorrow, only having enough energy to stroke her silky hair.

Once she had her fill, she dove back down to continue lapping up your wetness like a man starved. The way her tongue flattened against your crying pussy to lick a wide trail up to your clit made you feel like you were on the verge of passing out, nothing could feel better than this. Mounting pleasure built up inside of you, snaking up from the tips of your toes all the way to the top of your head like a pressurised can under a flame - you’re all but ready to burst.

But then she pursed her lips around your swollen clit and sucked down so hard your vision went white and you were convinced you must be convulsing as you came so forcefully.

You knew you squirted again as Vi’s pleased chuckles and loud slurps were a good enough tell tale sign for you - where had Vi been your whole life?

Her gravelly voice called out to you from beyond the thick fog that smothered you, the only thing that tethered you to the waking world, borderline snarling in the throes of satisfaction, “Think your little boyfriend could’ve fucked your brains out like this? Bet he didn’t know the first thing about making you feel good, doll.”

You started to come down from your high, thighs trembling and so, so sticky. The world had finally stopped spinning and you think it must be over, that you can turn over and go to sleep content and happy for the first night in a very long time.

It seemed that Vi had other plans as in your haze, she had enough time to put on an impressive a strap-on. Well, know you had proof she definitely wasn’t overcompensating for anything.

You gawked at the sheer size of the strap but somehow your pussy had became slicker at the thought of being pounded by her huge dick. Her sharp teeth flashed ravenously in the dim room as her well defined and sweaty body loomed over you- it was clear she was proud at the cum-drunk reaction she elicited from you.

She leaned down and tapped the side of your cheek and you instinctively opened your mouth, watching in morbid curiosity as she spat inside and claimed another part of your body. You yelped as she easily flipped you over and positioned you in doggy with a warm hand on the small of your back to arch it further.

You felt hotter by the second and another gush of arousal leaked from your pulsating core as you felt her plush tits and hard body drape across your back. Her hair tickled the side of your love-stained neck and you could feel the faintest touch of her chapped lips against the shell of your ear.

There, she whispered so lowly you had to strain just to make out the words, “God, I love ruining innocent girls like you that don’t know the first thing about a good fuck.”

masterlist

[clockwayswrites]

For the Birdicts. Part 27

Masterpost

There were gentle fingers in his wings.

Danny muffled the sleepy, hysterical chuckle at that thought into the soft surface that he was tucked against. He really had hoped that he wouldn’t have wings any longer when he woke, but when had he ever been that lucky.

The fingers stilled.

“Danny?” The person rumbled.

Very much did not wanting to be awake, Danny replied with a disgruntled grumble.

A chuckle answered him back. The finger picked back up the gentle touch to Danny’s wings. As Danny’s mind continued to come online, he realized that the fingers were fixing and straightening the mussed feathers.

It actually felt rather nice.

Danny let himself continue to drift for a little longer. Let his wings be cared for. The soft, unflinching touch helped make the new limbs feel less unnatural, even if the weight of them were still heavy on his back. He felt unsteady as he sat up.

The hands moved from his wings to help brace Danny.

“Careful, you might be a little disoriented. It’s been quite a day.”

Bruce. Apparently he’d fallen asleep on top of Bruce. He hadn’t needed to embarrass himself any more that day and yet there he was, falling asleep on Bruce Wayne after a panic attack.

Danny pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes and hoped he wasn’t blushing too horribly. “I am so sorry.”

“For what?” Bruce asked. He sounded genuinely confused.

“Falling asleep on you, apparently.” And really on Bruce it seemed. Even sitting up and back he was still practically on the other man’s lap.

(Worse, Danny really just wanted to curl back up and sleep some more.)

“Oh,” Bruce said with a chuckle. “With how large a family I have, that’s nothing to worry about. I’m very used to being a pillow for others. Besides, you needed the rest and after today it’s more than understandable that you’d want someone close.”

That was… fair enough, Danny supposed. He took a deep breath and lowered his hands to cross them over his bare chest. He offered Bruce an apologetic little smile. “Still…”

“Still nothing,” Bruce said and waved the matter aside. “Now, Jason and Dick are back from your place. They weren’t able to find any clothing that would work around your wings there.”

Danny rubbed at the back of his neck. “Ah, they wouldn’t. I haven’t… it hasn’t been long enough to deal with that even if I knew where to start.”

“Luckily for you, we haven an Alfred,” Bruce said as he leaned forward and and grabbed something fabric from off of the coffee table. “He worked his magic and modified this into something that should work around your wings.”

“Really?” Danny took what looked like just a well worn Gotham Knights sweatshirt and turned it over in his hands. Oh, Alfred really had worked his magic. Danny ran his fingers over the cut and stitched splits in fabric and the snaps under them. “Wow, he just went and made this?”

“Alfred is a man of many skills and not to be underestimated,” Bruce said with a chuckle. “I’m sure that he’ll ask you if it needs any changes before he does any other versions.”

“Other versions?”

“Something to sleep in and another shirt at least ,” Bruce said as if that clarified much of anything. “Since we aren’t sure how long the wings will last and you should be comfortable here.”

“He really—I mean I appreciate it so much,” Danny said as he pulled on the sweater quickly, “but Alfred doesn’t need to put all that effort into this for me.”

“You really can’t stop him. The comfort of people in this manor are paramount to him and he has something in his mind now to improve your comfort,” Bruce said. “He will think that this is the least that he can do.”

Danny blinked at that. “I’m a little scared of what he thinks I the most he can do then.”

“You should be. He is a force of nature. If you’ll turn, I’ll do up the snaps for you,” Bruce said.

Danny gratefully twisted, glad he was turned so that Bruce didn’t see his wince.

“I imagine that your back must be sore from this,” Bruce said, ruining Danny’s hope that he hid his pain. “I will find where one of the heating pads are for you to use later.”

“It’s fine,” Danny said quickly. “I don’t want to—”

“Danny,” Bruce spoke over him. His hands gently smoothed down the fabric under Danny’s wings. “You saved my family today. Even beyond that, my children seem to have become quite fond of you. You aren’t a bother. While you are here to have the help, let us take care of you a little, please?”

Danny chewed on his lip.

“If nothing else, it will help the children worry less.”

There really was no refusing that, was there?

“Only so people don’t worry,” Danny said. “And I do mean ‘people’. Don’t think that you’re hiding your worry.”

Luckily Bruce chuckled a that. “Hiding my worry is something I’m not very good at. And yes, I am a worrier. My children have told me that enough times that I accept the title.”

“Well, as long as you know,” Danny said as he stood. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks between the conversation and Bruce’s hands against his back and just needed to take a moment to just breathe. The wings shifted with the deep breath, rising and falling into a relaxed fan.

“I know that you have understandable issues with the wings,” Bruce said softly from behind Danny, “but they really are quite stunning.”

Even the back of Danny’s neck felt hot now and he rubbed at it as he cleared his throat. “I, um, thank you.”

Bruce gave a soft hum. He must have stood too because a moment later a hand brushed over Danny’s wings and then Bruce was beside him. “Let’s go track down some of my children so we can make sure they brought everything you need.”

“Right, yeah, that’s a good idea. Lead the way.”

[teaspacebar]

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit. 

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?” 

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again. 

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head. 

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain. 

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago! 

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge  Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?” 

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth. 

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!” 

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register. 

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.” 

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!” 

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron. 

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal. 

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.” 

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” 

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!” 

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous. 

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips. 

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

 A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns. 

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick. 

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor. 

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?” 

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn