#me also the only consumer for this Little Guy reading my own writing: what do you mean? what do you mean you're giving my guy an existentia

[sonodaten]

So I finished A Starstruck Odyssey, so obviously I had to read the comics/graphic novel, so OBVIOUSLY I had to get the script to the original play and now I am obsessed.

Anyway. Look at my Little Guy. They are having their Best Worst Life.

Re-upload because wow I goofed that first one.

[nnight-dances]

REPETITION / RARE LOVE

pairings: kim mingyu x fem!reader (ft. yoon jeonghan)

genre: fluff, angst, suggestive & sexual content

tropes: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (except mingyu's the only idiot), pining, flirting

warnings: explicit language, banter, alcohol consumption, borderline jeonghan slander but it's okay because i would die for the man, has been proofread by me once but only barely. kazuha (le sserafim) is your roommate, huh yunjin is present.

WHAT TO EXPECT

it's simple enough: you and mingyu are perfect for each other. you've told him as much but after years of him avoiding the topic, you leave him alone. but when your long-time infatuation with jeonghan gets rejected, you have nothing to distract you from your desire to be with mingyu. all it takes is you making out with the wrong person and a can of beer for mingyu to come to his senses. (about 11k)

OR: maybe you don't hate repetition as much as you claim to.

SEQUEL OUT NOW!

“why are men on tinder actually vile?” you question out loud, not quite expecting an answer as your eyes continue to read the offensive opener you’d received from a recent match. mingyu, who’s crouched on the desk across from you, frowns.

“y/n, we’re meant to be studying,” he points out, “but also i thought you were over tinder?”

you look at him blankly, “i am! i just gotta finish what i started you know…”

mingyu looks deeply disappointed in you and you slide your phone across to him, “look at this message i just got! it’s disgusting! i don’t need to know if someone’s wet at the thought of—”

“god, y/n, do you have to scream?” he asks as he takes hold of your phone, busying his fingers probably with blocking the guy. you momentarily look back at your screen where the black document meant to be the outline for your final art history paper taunts you.

you sigh, looking down at your phone when mingyu returns it. “i paused your account and deleted the app.” you sigh yet again, “man! if you were gonna uninstall it without my permission you should’ve just deleted my account.”

“you’d just make another one anyway,” he shrugs, “plus, this way when you go back you’ll remember why you left in the first place.”

you grumble something under your breath but resume your attempts at writing. mingyu smiles a little as he goes back to his own work. a beat passes before, he puts his pen down again and when he sees you’re staring at your screen distantly, he asks, “did you talk to jeonghan yet?”

you gasp at the mention of your years-old crush, glancing around you as if you weren’t in a private study room (because apparently the only way either of you could get anything done was while talking to each other). “what?” mingyu continues, “one of us had to address the elephant in the room.”

“wow, you’re just the worst friend ever, aren’t you? it’s like you can’t read rooms at all. i clearly did not want to talk about jeonghan.”

“well, now you are. so you might as well be honest with me. did you think about confessing to him?”

you deflate, stomach suddenly uneasy, “no. i don’t think i will. i don’t need him to know.”

“you kinda do. y/n, look at me,” mingyu knocks on the wood to demand your attention, “it’s the only way you’ll ever have an answer.”

“i don't want an answer.”

“…”

"because i'm going to move on from him!"

"..."

“okay, well, i’m starting to! just watch me, okay? i have the agency to not be completely consumed by my very shallow attraction to a very attractive and impressive man.”

“right. you just used attractive twice in a sentence— and no, i don’t care if it wasn’t the same form of the word, you absolutely hate redundant things. and yet, you refuse to recognize the way out of this pattern of yours.”

“you are so tiring, mingyu, you know that? exhausting, even. i don’t want to do this anymore.” you shake your head at him, suddenly invigorated to finish this damn preliminary proposal of yours.

—

yunjin cackles as she plops down across from you in the dining hall, finding you scrolling ever so dedicatedly on pinterest. “what’s this?”

you look up at her with a pout, “i need a dress for hoshi’s little party. it’s in two weeks and i have zero options.”

“fuck, i knew i was forgetting something,” she grimaces in her typical huh yunjin way and shifts closer, “i need to find something for that too. can’t just wear a corset and call it day since he’s labelling it a formal and whatnot.”

“he really is the worst,” you agree, pausing to muse over a pretty white dress with red roses all over it. “hmm, what about this one?”

yunjin tilts her head and nods as she looks between you and the dress, probably imagining you in it. then, you sigh, “it’s just i don’t think red is my color like that.”

you’re about to elaborate when you hear a gasp from behind you, “that is simply not true!” you don’t have time to react when a figure slides in next to you. goddamnit, it’s jeonghan, you realize, trying hard to keep it together when his shoulder comes to sit next to yours. “you absolutely fucking rock the color red.”

“i do?” is all you can muster as yunjin chokes out a badly covered laugh. you glare at her, “what’s funny, jen?”

“hah, nothing, i agree with jeonghan, you’d look lovely in red.”

you frown, unconvinced as you scroll some more, feeling dizzy from jeonghan’s presence.

“preparing for hoshi’s party i presume?” jeonghan asks and you nod. “i’m so stressed, i have nothing and it’s approaching so fast.”

“you have time though,” he reassures but you’re quick to protest, “i’m not going to have any time next week because we’re organizing that night flea market. i’ll be running around campus so i need to take a trip this week.” the beauty of going to a college with an isolated campus: peace and you gotta plan every time you leave campus because there’s a singular bus that takes you to the city. it’d be a whole day trip for you if not for mingyu, who thankfully has a car that he can drive.

“ahh, tell me when you’re going into the city, y/n,” yunjin pats you, “i gotta go too.”

you nod and then remember, “right of course, i just remembered kazuha saying she wanted to come too.”

“nice,” yunjin approves, “we need all the opinions we can get. did you get mingyu to agree to drive you yet?”

“i texted him earlier but he hasn’t replied, which is slightly concerning because he may not know how to spell but he does write back very fast.”

jeonghan chuckles, “mind if i join you guys too?”

you stop in your tracks, turning to face him, “you wanna come shopping with us?”

he nods, that sweet smile of his plastered across his face, “yeah, i could use a new formal outfit. i’m tired of wearing the same black suit to everything.” he nudges your side, “plus, you guys could help me out. i can never decide on anything all alone.”

—

“maybe i should just not go,” you groan with your head in your hands. mingyu rolls his eyes, slapping your back, “why would not go? if your problem’s with jeonghan, he should be the one to stay back. not you.”

you sit back up, staring at the eggs in your plate. beside you, mingyu chugs his glass of orange juice, and you lean against him. “god, i hate him so much. do you wanna go see if the playground’s free?”

“right now?” mingyu looks at the time. it’s 11 am on saturday, still an hour from the time everyone agreed to meet in front of mingyu’s car, which is conveniently parked right across from the playground. as if following your line of thought, he grins, “alright. but you finish your food first.”

you sigh, “okay, mom, i will.”

five minutes later find you racing mingyu for the best swing in the playground— months of visiting the place had taught you the first swing was the only one that didn’t creak too loud and experienced the least amount of bumps during the ride. mingyu’s fast but you’re stubborn so you reach out for his arm midway, sticking your nails into the skin, knowing how dramatic he is about these things.

he gasps, “DO NOT CLAW ME.” strong as he might be, he slows down to rip your grip off. you seize the opportunity, getting a headstart and laugh when you reach the swing before him, sitting down firmly before mingyu can pull you away.

“that’s cheating, y/n, you know it!”

“hey, you’re the one that has an advantage. you go to the gym like eight times a week. i go like thrice a month.”

“sounds like someone’s lazy and whiny to me.”

you smile, “someone lazy wouldn’t win that race. and you’re the one that’s whining,” you point to his stance, his arms at his hips like an affronted toddler. he loosens his body with a pout as he walks over to the second swing. “whatever.”

time passes a little too fast for you two when you’re fighting like this because kazuha’s running over to you, breathless. “y/n! what are you guys doing?”

“zuha, hi! did you—”

“yep, i got your lip gloss.”

you chuckle, throwing your arms around her, “why are you the best roommate ever?”

mingyu scoffs, “what about you being the worst roommate ever?”

kazuha laughs, too nice to agree with him, “hey, that’s not true.” you hit him in the side, “you’re just jealous that you’re in a single. i guess money really does make people lonely.”

“i’d go for a double even if i was that rich,” jeonghan’s voice pops up from beside you. he sure has a knack for appearing out of thin air. “i couldn’t handle being alone.”

“not everyone can love themselves as much as i do,” mingyu shrugs, smugly as crosses his arms. “i’m self-sufficient like that.”

“if you guys are done, we should start moving,” comes yunjin’s voice from near mingyu’s car, “it’s already fifteen past 12.”

“i call shotgun!” yunjin shouts and you’re quick to fight back, “no way, i already called it.”

“if i didn’t hear it, then it doesn’t count,” she teases, leaning against the passenger side. you glare at mingyu, “i called it in front of mingyu! the driver is the one that counts.”

mingyu laughs at the petty fight, “y/n did call it earlier this morning.”

“that’s not fair! mingyu’s obviously going to take y/n’s side, you guys spend every breathing minute together. the rest of us don’t stand a chance.”

you smirk, “don’t be a sore loser, huh yunjin, you can call it when we’re coming back. if you remember to.”

“i hate you,” she mutters as everyone settles into the car.

“i’m open to music requests, dear friends,” you announce once you’ve started off. “but i reserve the right to reject any tasteless songs.”

“isn’t this the textbook example of a tyranny?” jeonghan breathes and you shoot him a look over your shoulder, “hey, the power comes with the seat. it’s natural selection.”

mingyu groans through laughter, “you know you don’t make any sense. just play some music.”

you roll your eyes, “he says as he laughs his fat ass off.”

“she’s just salty my ass is fatter than hers,” he mutters under his breath. the three in the backseat break into laughs at that, all at your expense as you gape at them. such betrayal.

“i don’t know why i call you friends. you’re monsters.”

kazuha pipes in, “y/n, are you calling your sweet roommate a monster right now?”

jeonghan is quick to join in, “honestly, i’d say kazuha is the nicest friend among us here.”

“fine, everyone but zuha’s out to get me right now.” the screaming continues for a little bit longer until yunjin and kazuha tire themselves out and pass out. you chuckle when you look at them, yunjin’s head bobs in the middle of the three until it hits kazuha’s shoulder, whose head then rests on top.

swiftly, you pull out your phone camera and capture the moment, sure to tease them later. as you’re clicking the photos, jeonghan’s face sticks into the corner with a sneaky grin and you shift the angle to include him. enjoying the attention, he shoots the camera a peace sign, followed by a little heart, and then a cheek heart and now he’s a bunny and then—

you pull yourself away abruptly with a shaky laugh, “god, jeonghan, this isn’t a photoshoot.”

he laughs back, “ha ha, sorry, i can’t help myself. it’s so fun to tease you like this.”

you feel the blood rush to your face at that, so you turn to face the road completely, a weak, “fuck off” on your tongue. mingyu silently observes the interaction, not without a little side-eye that you don’t know what to think of. “you should get some rest, y/n, you didn’t sleep last night.”

you frown, surprised mingyu knows that and you don’t get to ask him why he knows that because jeonghan interrupts, “you guys sure are close. i was talking to hoshi the other day, he misses y’all a lot.”

“he does? he can just come talk to us whenever though,” mingyu replies, doubt tracing his tone. “i don’t think we’re exclusive like that.”

“right?” you agree, “we used to be so close to hoshi, too, and then he moved to the other side of campus this semester and now i have like one class with him.”

“i don’t know,” jeonghan says, “you should talk to him about it, but there’s always been something stronger about the two of you together.”

you shrug, “we always end up together. it’s not that deep i think. it’s just how it is.”

the topic ends there as jeonghan agrees and dozes off himself too. you, however, feel eerily awake. awake? no, more like unsettled. something in your nerves is off and you feel on edge. you’re a little spaced out after that, as you finally reach the city circle with all the shops crowded next to each other with a little mall in the center.

as everyone gets off and gathers their things, mingyu pulls you aside with a concerned look, “are you okay, y/n?” his grip on your elbow grounds you a little. you inhale, knowing better than to pretend in front of him, “yeah, just a little uneasy. i don’t know why. probably just tired.”

mingyu looks like he knows something more about your condition, “are you sure? we can take a break at one of the restaurants before shopping if you want?”

“nah, i’m okay, don’t worry. i’m a strong girl,” you smile, reasurring him with a pat to his chest, “i feel better now. thanks, mingyu.”

he frowns, hand loosening against your skin, “you never thank me, weirdo. don’t be so formal.”

“man, there’s no winning with you, is there?”

he chuckles as he pulls you after the others, “no, i’m insatiable.”

—

an hour into shopping, you realize why you hate doing this. everything is so overwhelming when you’re in the city, so many people, so many clothes. at least you have friends with you as you scan racks after racks, ending up with three potential dresses on your arm. you mutter a prayer in your head that you can find something nice here so you don’t have to walk more. this is already your third store.

the first one is a classic: a little black dress. it’s satin so it sits smooth against your skin and feels soft when you twirl around. it’s a little short for your liking, perhaps too tight against your ass. you turn to the side to get a better look. you take a photo and send it to mingyu, who you’d been going back and forth with. he’d last sent you a photo ten minutes ago: him in a stupid minion onesie. you’d cursed him out real well in response telling him to stop fucking around. he writes back fast.

big gyu: u look good

big gyu: kinda basic tho

you: yea i thought so too

you agree with that, putting the dress aside in case you don’t find anything else at all.

candidate number two is more over the top: a long red dress with little black patterns on it, with a leg slit on one side. getting into it was a whole struggle but you get it on finally. it fits well thanks to the slit which also shows off some skin. you’re hot in it: like literally. the long sleeves don’t help at all. but you look good too, the flare doing wonders for your figure. you pause, sending a photo hoping mingyu would be of help.

however, when mingyu takes longer than a minute to reply, you groan, already sweating a little. concluding that he’s probably changing or something, you peek out your curtain, hoping yunjin was still in the stall next to yours. you call out her name, straining your neck to see if there was anyone else you could ask for help.

you spot jeonghan walking around the shelves near the fitting rooms and before you can hesitate to call him over, he notices your head poking out. he raises an eyebrow, sending your heartbeat into a spiral. “y/n? do you need help?”

you clear your throat, “um, yeah, i need a second opinion on this dress.” jeonghan approaches your corner and you panic when he reaches for the curtain to draw it back. his eyes question you, “can i look?” you let go of it to let him in, a tiny little rational part of you wondering he needed to come inside the room to see.

“ohhh,” he exclaims as he takes you in, “you look amazing. told ya red was your color.”

you turn away from him a little, “this dress is hot.”

“it sure is,” he agrees and you blush harder, “no i meant, like literally. i’m so hot right now.”

jeonghan presses his lips together, giving away the fact that he understands but being the little bitch he is, he chooses the option that makes you wanna combust. he presses two fingers to your cheek and mumbles, “yeah, you are.”

you push his arm off, “yoon jeonghan! you’re such a damn flirt! get out of here.” you force him out of your space and he’s uncontrollably laughing as he lets you. “i’ve another dress to try so wait outside for me.”

“sure you don’t need a hand changing—”

“no, thank you very much!” you scream, greeted with more pleased chuckling. your phone buzzes, catching your attention. you lean down to look at it.

big gyu: niceee thats hot

big gyu: u should get this dress

big gyu: pls

big gyu: pls

you: …girl why are u begging me

big gyu: because.

big gyu: you’re getting this dress right

you: no i’d die of overheating in it

big gyu: and it’d be worht it

you: i dont like how enthusiastic u are about this...

you: wtv this one's rejected.

you: i still have another dress to try

you put your phone down to try the final dress. this one was a purple slip dress with white flower detailing. it was skin tight against your boobs and a little transparent, giving away your black bra underneath. and to contrast, it sat a little loose on your hips which was honestly not the worst look, keeping from the dress becoming too scandalous. you enjoyed this dress the most so far. that was enough, given the track record.

“you done, y/n?” you’re startled when the voice outside is mingyu’s instead of jeonghan. you pull back the curtains in confusion, “gyu? what’re you doing here?” mingyu stops short, “fuck, i like this one.” you flush a little when you notice his eyes settle on your chest for a beat too long. “that’s stunning, for real.”

you laugh. “look at you using big words. but yeah, i think this is the one.” you look over at him, “did jeonghan leave?”

“um, yeah, he said he had to use the washroom when i ran into him on the way,” he mumbles. you nod, a little relieved because you think you’d die if he saw you right now. “anyway, i’m offended you were showing him your dresses and then all i got was a photo.”

“hey, you were taking so long to reply that i had seek someone else out. he just happened to be her.”

mingyu ignores that and tells you to hurry up, “i need your help choosing something for myself.”

“ugh, alright, give me five.”

in the end, you decided you’d get both the classic black dress and the slip dress, you needed more dresses in general. wouldn’t hurt to have more. when you’re done checking out, you find mingyu in conversation with kazuha who’s smiling with a shopping bag in her hands.

“zuha, you get anything?” you ask. she nods eagerly, “yeah! i got this pink dress that jeonghan helped me find just now. it’s really pretty, i’ll show you later in the room.”

you falter a little at that, glancing at mingyu who’d told you he went to the washroom. ignoring the growing unsettling gut feeling, you inform her you’d found something too. “nice, we should have a try-on in the room later.”

“you guys!!” yunjin joins the group, “this is insane. i hit the jackpot and found the sexiest green dress ever.” you laugh, linking arms with her, “you should come over later and try it on with us.”

“ah, the beauty of womanhood,” mingyu grumbles beside you, and you shove him. “you’re not invited, pervert.”

his jaw falls open, “excuse me? what did you just call me?”

you press an index finger into his bicep, “don’t think i didn’t notice you checking my boobs out earlier.” mingyu’s cheek redden at the light-hearted accusation, worsening when jeonghan appears right at the climax of the argument.

“okay, okay, first of all, i wasn’t checking anything out!” he complains, “and-and well, they—”

jeonghan cuts him off, patting his back with an amused smirk, “it’s alright, buddy, it happens to the best of us.” everyone laughs at that, much to mingyu’s chagrin who then becomes pouty for the rest of the walk to the next shop.

“c’mon,” you pull him into the store, “my turn to stare at your tits.”

“god, would you drop it?” he groans as he follows you in. “it won’t happen again.”

you giggle, “it’s okay with me, gyu, because that just means the girls look good.”

he groans again, “i really don’t need to be a part of this.” he wanders off into the store, embarrassed. you let him go, looking at clothes for him separately. turns out shopping for mingyu is harder than the concept of it sounds. it doesn’t help that he’s an expert at criticizing the small detail in every item you choose for him. half an hour later, you’re tired of him.

as if on cue, kazuha calls you to tell you to come over to an asian restaurant nearby to grab lunch. you thank the lords as you pull mingyu away, “there’s nothing here for me anyway,” he grumbles as you meet up with the rest.

entering the restaurant, you spot kazuha and jeonghan at a table nearby. yunjin’s still on her way it turns out as you sit across from them, heart in throat for the worst reason possible: you’re jealous. you may be down bad for jeonghan but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your ability to take a hint. trying to keep the thought from completely forming in your head, you make conversation with everyone, wanting to be better than this.

you want to avoid thinking about it so you’re quick to shut jeonghan off. he’s his usual self, joking around with everyone but he picks up when you’re not as receptive as usual. you hope he just thinks nothing of it, but you know that’s not possible when he approaches you after lunch as everyone else is washing up in the bathroom.

you’re outside alone, waiting, when he slightly pushes your shoulder to draw your attention. you gasp lightly. “jeonghan?”

“can i talk to you for a sec?”

you frown, “yeah, you’re talking to me right now.”

“come on, y/n, don’t be cold. let’s go for a walk.”

“but, the others—”

“i let mingyu know we’ll be back in a few.”

out of excuses, you silently follow jeonghan’s stride through the busy street. he makes conversation really well, easing you up in no time as he distracts you from what was on your mind. it’s illegal how smoothly he then proceeds to drop the act.

you’re laughing about what he’d said about hoshi’s drinking habits just now, when he suddenly goes serious, “i think i like kazuha.”

you freeze up at that, fighting the frown that itches closer, looking at him like you didn’t hear him. heart’s out of control right now, but at least you were already expecting this outcome. “huh?”

“sorry, i just thought you should know. i’m really into her and i was planning to ask her out sometime this week.”

you would love to pass away right now. immediately, you think you hate jeonghan for doing this to you. it’s clear from his behavior that he knows you like him and that he’s apologizing— he’s rejecting you before you have a chance to confess. he likes kazuha. he’s going to ask her out. you should know that.

you sputter awkwardly, “that’s great! good for you, jeonghan. and um, you really didn’t have to tell me. i’m sure kazuha would love to be with you.”

you never want to speak a word to anyone ever again and you're sweating ever so profusely, so you speed up a little, “and we should get going, no?”

sensing your mood, jeonghan follows along but says, “i’m sorry, y/n. i- i know you…”

you don’t let him finish because it would genuinely kill you to hear him say he knows you like him. “you don’t have to be sorry.” with that, you essentially leave your body. you move fast enough to reach the car, wordlessly getting into the passenger seat and yunjin somehow knows better than to fight you.

the car ride back is filled with music. not much chatter. you realize it’s partly your fault and silently dread being back in the room with kazuha, but to your relief, when you reach she doesn’t bring anything up. you’re too tired to do a try-on like you promised and when mingyu asks if you want to come over to his place, you tell him you’re feeling sleepy. and for once, you actually sleep after telling him that.

sleep is not as much of a comfort as you’d hope for it to be: less of an escape, more jeonghan-themed content. something about heartbreak and living the rest of your life, lovelessly.

—

the next week starts off hectic and you’re thankful for it this once. you could use the chaos of organizing an event to take your mind off things. a small part of you wonders if jeonghan was being merciful by letting you down and timing it so well. knowing him, that doesn’t seem so impossible.

you feel better than you’d imagined you would. you cried like once since the rejection. you didn’t need to worry much at this point, having realizing that it was less important that you’d made it out to be. mingyu, on the other hand, doesn’t give up his worrying, especially when he doesn’t see you until three days into the week. and that, too, because he gave up and thought it would be a good idea to invade your room, at one in the night.

his knocking wakes you up fairly quickly, since you’d only put your phone down a few minutes ago. you rush to the door, afraid of waking kazuha up. “what the fuck, mingyu?” you ask at the sight of him.

“what the fuck yourself! stop ignoring my messages maybe?”

you groan, stepping outside your room, feeling the cold air hit you in your night clothes. “why’d you have to confront me so late at night? can we do this tomorrow? when i’m coherent and not half-naked?”

mingyu falter as if he just realized the time, noticing your tank top and shorts. “i don’t care. i’ll give you my jacket but we’re doing this right here and right now.”

you sigh, knowing this was coming. “forget it, keep your jacket. i’ll go change and be right back.”

mingyu grabs your arm when you try to go back inside, “how do i know you’re not just gonna leave me here to die?”

“dude, my room’s right here. you can come watch me change if you fucking want.”

he lets you go, flustered when you offer and you laugh as you rush back in. in the darkness, kazuha’s voice startles you, “y/n? is everything okay? are you being abducted?”

“oh god, zuha, you scared me. and no, it’s just stupid little mingyu who wants to have a talk. i’ll settle this. go back to sleep.”

she groans, “god, you guys are just like my parents sometimes.”

you laugh at that as you slip into a hoodie and exchange your shorts for pajamas. when you return, mingyu’s sitting at the stairs in front of your room and you hit him in the back.

“ouch! fuck you!” he stands up with a glare, “also i heard what you said about me. why am i stupid and little? can you just choose one insult?"

“let’s go down if we’re gonna argue. zuha can hear us, too. and did you hear what she said after that?” when he seems clueless, you go on, “she said we remind her of her parents sometimes.”

he coughs, “her parents?? what are we, married?”

you roll your eyes, “married and sick of each other, apparently.”

“being zuha’s parents doesn’t sound so bad honestly. she’d be the easiest child to raise.”

“i feel like zuha would raise you if you were her father,” you laugh, “me too, probably.”

“who’d be the father then?”

your smile falls when an answer occurs to you, you mumble, “jeonghan,” sitting at a bench outside your dorm. mingyu joins you, equally solemn now.

“did something happen between you two?”

“yeah. he rejected me when we went shopping that day.”

mingyu’s eyes widen, “what? you confessed?”

you shake your head, a strained smile, “he already knew. i guess i was obvious, but it’s still driving me insane that he rejected me without even giving me a chance to confess.”

“i can’t believe he did that. that’s conceited as fuck.”

“conceited or impressive, i can’t decide. but he told me likes kazuha and that he’s sorry. i genuinely wanted to die when he said that. he was cool about breaking my heart, too. lowkey fell a little harder for him.” you laugh at your own joke, but mingyu looks unhappy, jaw clenched like he’d tasted something bitter.

you hit his arm, “it’s not a big deal, dude. i was thinking about it the past few days and i realized i barely knew the guy. i just knew what he told me over the last year.”

after a pause, “and he’s one beautiful man, so there was that.” you smile a little.

“but he didn’t have to do it like that. he could just stop flirting with you, you know, or wait for you to come around and confess like a normal person,” mingyu says, “he’s such a little jerk.”

“hey, it’s okay, a little flirting didn’t hurt anyone.”

“yeah but he was leading you on, leaving you in ambiguity by doing that. he should’ve been flirting with kazuha, not you.”

“okay, now that’s starting to hurt,” you whine, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, “but i can’t really blame him, no? kazuha’s so precious.”

“don’t be like that, y/n.”

“what? be like what?” you look up, “didn’t you also used to be into kazuha?”

mingyu bites his lip when you bring his years-old crush up, “when will you forget about that? that was so long ago and it was barely serious. she’s too nice to be my type.” (what does that even mean? you wonder but don't have the time to ask.)

“sure, you didn’t want to change residence halls to be closer to her?”

“alright, how many times do i tell you that i did that because of you? why do you never believe me?”

“it just makes more sense the other way,” you mumble, suddenly feeling teary-eyed and hating that you were feeling teary-eyed, which only intensified the teariness in your eyes. “god, this is stupid.”

mingyu’s arm is around in no time when he notices you curling up, your lip tucked between your lips in anticipation, “hey, hey, c'mon, i thought you said it wasn't a big deal. so how come you're crying?"

“because! i feel lame. and because kazuha’s perfect, by the way. she’d probably cry too if she knew i was crying.”

he pulls you closer, “you’re not lame, y/n. you think i’d keep you around so long if i didn’t think you were insanely cool?”

you breathe through your tears, “you just keep me around because i’m insane?”

“insanely cool! open your ears, idiot.”

“you just called me an idiot. idiots are pretty lame.”

he sighs when he feels his tshirt get damper, your body so weak under his hold. he pats your hair softly, “sorry, that’s not what i meant. but seriously, y/n, you know i’m bad at saying this stuff but i seriously cannot stress enough how highly i think of you.” his hand moves to rub your back, “and you’re so much more than perfect, you know? like sometimes you don’t do a paper till three hours before and still get an A. and then, you come up with comebacks to my arguments in your own unique ways, and trust me, nobody can argue with me like you do.”

you pull away, “all right, now you’re embarrassing me. why do i sound like a bossy nerd or something?”

“you can be that at times. hey, but you forgot the part where you’re hot as shit. and also pretty.”

“i feel like that last part was an afterthought, mingyu,” you bite back a laugh, “you really only keep me around for my tits, don’t you?”

“dude, can you let me wholesome for once? i’m trying to console you, so would you stop playing devil’s advocate?”

“sorry, i’m just,” you hesitate with a heavy sigh and then, you blurt out, "i’m scared i’ll never fall in love. i’ll never find it at all.”

“now that’s some stupid thoughts you’re having,” mingyu shakes you by the shoulders, “you’ve just been blinded by your crush on jeonghan for so long that you haven’t explored anyone else at all.”

“are you volunteering to be my crush right now?” you ask, jokingly.

mingyu’s smirk catches you off-guard, “what if i am? it wouldn’t be the worst thing if i was your boyfriend.”

you feel yourself heating up a little for some reason, head in a daze from his earlier shower of compliments and now this. so instead of trying to make sense of it all, you press yourself into him in a hug. “yeah, it wouldn’t.”

—

“hoshi, you little shit!” you throw yourself around the guy when you spot him on the night of the flea market, the product of a long and actually insane week. he laughs when he realizes it’s you, pulling you into a hug, “bro, y/n, why is this my first time seeing in you in literal years?”

“i don’t know, i just kinda see you walking around sometimes. maybe if you actually showed up to econ class, i’d see you more.”

hoshi flinches, “you can’t be bringing econ up right now. that class is kicking my ass. i can’t keep showing up to that kind of humiliation.”

the two of you catch up at last, as people swarm around the different stalls set up along the college street. you were relieved after having finished this damn event. cheers to sleep, right?

hoshi tells you all about his new situationship with a guy in another class and how he’s regretting inviting him to the party tomorrow night. “why? believe it or not, people are more fun when drunk.”

hoshi rolls his eyes, “yeah, well, i couldn’t get any more fun. so instead i become incontrollable. an absolute animal.”

“right, i remember that. so you’re scared you’re gonna drive him off? i wouldn’t worry honestly. and if you want, i can keep you in check.”

he narrows his eyes in distrust, “you? you’re not much better than me drunk, okay? i feel bad for mingyu who’s gonna have to take care of you the whole time.”

you gasp, “wow, you’re taking mingyu’s side now? over mine? i thought we had something special.”

“you thought wrong,” comes mingyu out of nowhere, slinging his arm around hoshi’s shoulders.

“why are you here suddenly?” hoshi looks between the two of you, “i couldn’t not come to an event my lovely y/n herself planned, could i?”

hoshi laughs, “nice to see you two as jolly as ever. but also i must take your leave. i gotta go grab dinner soon.”

“hey, why don’t you come with us? we were gonna check out the new outlet the college opened.”

“oh, i would love to but i have plans with someone already.”

you nod your head in realization, “right of course, have fun. not too much, though. leave some for tomorrow.” he leaves with a full-toothed smile and you face mingyu.

he playfully pinches your cheek, “you confront him about missing us yet?”

you raise a shoulder in response, and as the flea market starts to fizzle out thanks to the darkening sky, your stomach grumbles. “let’s eat, please.”

ever since that night— you don’t want to say anything had changed between you and mingyu because your friendship had been long enough that even the slightest shift in dynamics would harmoniously just become the new status quo; the two of you had been through a lot together. but ever since that night, you’d been fooling around with him more, if that was possible.

it was along the lines of: less banter, more flirting? although one might argue that the former was just a derivative of the other. but semantics aside, this is what you know to be true: friends flirt with each other all the damn time.

that’s what you’re telling yourself when mingyu asks you to feed him some of the fried rice you’d gotten on your plate. and it was true: you’re almost a 100% certain that you’d flirted with every friend of yours, and that was just how it worked.

but intimacy came differently to everyone and mingyu’s just manifested in clinginess. he was pressed to your side for the entirety of dinner, and you couldn’t complain about the proximity. it was welcome, even, this form of friendship.

“you’re thinking too hard.” mingyu’s voice pulls you out of your little reflection session. “what’re you even thinking about? you should be all burnt out from all the work you did this past week.”

“i am,” you affirm, “but some things just don’t let up.”

he chuckles, patting your head affectionately as if to persuade your thoughts to let up for a while. it doesn’t help really, only gravitating the direction of the said thoughts toward kim mingyu even more.

“maybe repetition isn’t as bad as i always make it out to be,” you say, chin propped up against your fist on the table. mingyu had chosen a corner table of the newly opened eatery, next to a low window that glowed behind you in the remains of sunset as he shifted to completely face you. the sun had finally set. again.

“you’re right. routine is good for people.”

“but it doesn’t have to stay the same forever, you know?”

“hm?” mingyu can’t help but feel like you’re edging toward some underlying topic. you were like this since he could remember: you’d start off with some abstract and vaguely relevant concept (that had no doubt been plaguing you for a long time) and slowly circle around till he caught onto what you meant. you love playing games with him.

“repetition doesn't have to be redundant? i think there's something more subtle about it.”

he doesn’t know where you’re going with this, “but repetition is literally the same thing over and over?”

“yeah, but the ‘same thing’ itself can evolve,” your fingers knock against his, “i don’t know, i was just thinking about… us.”

“us? i guess we would be a good example of repetition.”

your gaze falls from his to find your hand instead, your fingers wrapping around his wrist until you’ve forced his palm open. his hand in your lap upside down, you pull at the fingers, ��yeah, but we’ve changed a lot. for one, we fight a lot less. sometimes when i’m going to tell you a thought, you understand mid-sentence what i mean.”

“yeah, well, that’s what we get for knowing each that long. but really, what’s this about, y/n?” he captures your hand in his expertly, pulling your attention back to his face.

“do you ever think we should be more?”

mingyu breathes a laugh at that, a shiver running down his spine when he spots the solemn look on your face. and then, his smile turns grave. “y/n, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?”

“have we? every time i’m the one who brings it up and you kinda just shrug it off. no, don’t even try to argue with me. you shrug the serious stuff off. always.”

it’s true, mingyu admits in defeat, mind racing as he considers why you’re bringing this up now. the answer is easy: you were finally available. but he doesn’t say it out loud, like he never does. you’d confronted him about the state of your friendship before, unafraid to wonder out loud what it would be like if you started dating. you’ve received all forms of shut-downs from mingyu before so you figured you were the only one in an ambiguous place about your feelings for him.

if someone was to ask if you like mingyu, you’d probably say yes, but it’s more than that. you know better than to blindly fall for him. witnessing him in his relationships before, you know he can be ruthlessly cold to his partner once he’s out of love. you practice romantic love for mingyu: carefully because too much would definitely be dangerous.

“i have my reasons, y/n.” there it is. the strict mingyu. the rigidity in setting his boundaries was something you admired and aspired for when he exhibited it in the past. right now, you want to punch him.

you’re without a filter with him so it’s unfair when he treats you like this. you let him know as much: “i want to punch you right now. i’ve hidden nothing from you, and yet, there’s this wall you keep yourself behind. is this really one-sided?”

mingyu doesn’t know what to do with you right now, “y/n, why are you—”

“no, because it's not like i can't take a hint. so one minute you're flirting with me and then, you push me away like right now,” you point to his estranged fingers, “but then you act like nothing happened and go right back to being all intimate and touchy.”

“i just…” mingyu lets out an exasperated sigh, “i just don’t see the reason for labels. why do we have force ourselves into a restriction like that? we’ve always been above conforming.”

it’s your turn to sigh heavy enough your head hits the wall behind you. wasn’t this just his way of friend-zoning you back into silence? you’ve always been too embarrassed to push him this far because you don’t mean to hurt him. but you feel as though you’ve hurt yourself long enough now.

“so why’d you say that the other night? that it would be nice if you were my boyfriend?”

this leaves him speechless for a few beats and you continue, “that was just because i was heartbroken from jeonghan? you’re playing prince charming for me so i can go back to being your trusty little best friend?”

“y/n, you know that’s not true. i’m not playing anything in your life. i’m just being myself.”

you scoff, “you really are so fucking—”

“why are we actually fighting right now?” mingyu asks through an incredulous laugh, “this is actually so petty, dude, let’s stop. you know i love you, right?”

mingyu’s last resort makes its presence: a non-committal i love you. because at the end of the day, you’re still best friends. what was a little ‘i love you’ in today’s economy? nothing. especially when you’d hear him throw the phrase around all the time.

you stand up in defeat, “fine, let’s stop. you win.” you gesture for him to move to the side and he does so reluctantly when you glare at him like you’re genuinely mad. (you are.)

he follows you out the door, catching your elbow to slow you down. “don’t be like this. i know you’re mad at me.”

“i’m not mad. i'm tired and i just want to go back to my room,” you seethe, walking faster than him. he grabs hold of your shoulder turning you around.

“if you’re gonna storm off, at least go the right way.” you huff softly and let him steer you the right way to your dorm, hands still on you. you spend the way to the front of your room silently, waiting for mingyu to say something but he just does what he does best: take care of you.

as you reach the door of your room, he pauses, apologetic smile on display. “listen, let’s talk more tomorrow? get some sleep.” he reaches for your hair, tenderly running his fingers through the locks. there it is: the soft mingyu, his eyes wide as he stares you down for signs of stress.

his warm arm pressed againsts yours, you realize you don’t want him to just leave. you know the drill: tomorrow morning, he’ll text you to meet for lunch and everything will go back to being unsaid. maybe he’ll bring along seungcheol so you don’t bring anything up again. either way, it’ll be so natural you’ll think nothing ever happened. but you want something to happen.

so your hand settles around his bicep to hold on and partly to keep him in place. you lean in, “let me do one last thing and if you want to stop, i’m never bringing this up again. i promise.”

you don’t give mingyu a moment to react to your words and instead raise yourself up to his level, other hand on his chest, and press your lips to his. you kiss mingyu after the thirteen years that you’ve known him and the ten that you’ve wanted to. you counted the years just as you count the seconds that it takes for him to come to his senses and pull himself away.

he looks less upset than you imagined: more dazed. like he can’t believe what you’ve done. he looks at you with his lips parted and you have to tear your gaze apart, lest you should tear yourself apart with longing.

“y/n, i…” he looks away and that’s enough evidence you need. you step away from him, your easy smile back in its place, not before you pat his arm as it falls from you.

“it's okay. i understand. let’s be friends, mingyu,” you declare suddenly, catching him off-guard. you'd pulled all the stops and if he genuinely was uncomfortable with pushing the line between platonic and romantic, you would respect that.

he begins to say something but you don’t want to hear him speak, at least not right now when the sound of blood rushing to your head is the loudest it's ever been, and you certainly don’t want to falter again. you’ve decided. “good night."

—

mingyu should feel relieved. he really should be happy that you’re back to normal around him, friendly and playful like you’ve always been. he should count his blessings that you’ve accepted the status of your relationship with him as it is. but as he falls asleep that night, all that comes to his mind is the smile you’d sported as you asked to be friends.

it was all wrong: your lips against his, that was something of his dreams, not a reality he has to be escaping from. it replays in his head, your scent that he’d caught a whiff of now and then, whenever you’d wrap your arms around him. the heat of your skin he’d rationalize as the comforting presence of a friend for days later.

he’ll soon come to know how insanely stupid he’s being right now but until you knock some sense into him, he simply plays along with a sting he hides pretty well. he should, he’s been doing it for years now.

it’s the night of hoshi’s party already and he’s walking over to the location of the pregame, alone because according to a text fifteen minutes ago, you’re still not ready. you’d invited yunjin and some other friends to your and kazuha’s abode to apparently make the process easier, but if mingyu knows anything about the group, you’ve probably spent more time selecting the right song to play than get ready.

the door to dino and hoshi’s shared residence is already open as he strolls in, finding a group already on the floor, taking shots. he makes eye contact with jeonghan who beckons him closer and mingyu takes a seat next to him.

space is scarce so mingyu finds his arm pressed uncomfortably close to jeonghan’s, who oohs at mingyu’s fit, “ooh, you look positively sexy.”

mingyu grimaces, “do you have to put it like that?” he does look … positively sexy, mingyu admits, in the navy blue shirt he wore but— and here’s the punchline— with the buttons undone all the way to right above his navel.

“where’s y/n, by the way?” jeonghan asks, an eye at the entrance as he slides a shot glass toward mingyu. the question irks mingyu for obvious reasons and he keeps him waiting for a minute, waiting to down the liquid in glass (vodka unfortunately for his throat) to answer him. “um, she’s still getting ready. any minute now.”

“ha, that means she’ll be another ten. that’s a shame, i was hoping to pour her first shot.” jeonghan shrugs resentfully.

maybe the alcohol’s working faster since it’s been a while for mingyu, but his mouth runs faster than his head, “why’d you care? i thought you asked kazuha out a while ago.”

jeonghan raises a brow at that, “hmm. i did. but things did not work out so well. what with kazuha feeling guilty about y/n and… well, i also…”

“feel guilty?” mingyu asks, voice strained. he’s annoyed at having to listen to jeonghan’s side of the story. he could not care less about humanizing him and whatnot. he’s watched you suffer for far too long to be empathetic right now.

“yeah. and i thought i might like y/n, too, after all.” jeonghan says it so casually as if discussing his performance in a particularly challenging college course, not his feelings for a person who he’d recently rejected.

the word might pierces mingyu’s ears. the uncertainty behind it is in such stark contrast to his own… feelings toward you that he genuinely feels his breath heat up.

or maybe that’s just jeonghan when he leans over to refill his glass. “drink up, buddy.” mingyu’s just about ready to make a scene right now, shoving jeonghan’s hand off his back but suddenly jeonghan’s standing up, making his way to—

you. you’re here.

almost as soon as he catches sight of you, he looks away, pretending to give the vodka in his hand all the attention in the world, as he puts his lips to it and empties it. head is now light. that’s probably enough for now, he decides as he puts his glass down.

when he looks back up, you’re at the kitchen counter with yunjin and kazuha.. and jeonghan, who’s grinning as he hands out the bottles of fireball to the group, no doubt marketing it so convincingly that you’d think you came up with the idea yourself.

mingyu shoots to his feet, regretting it when his vision darkens but he pushes past, eyes focused on your figure— god, he forgot how hot you look in that dress. he tries to keep his thoughts in check as he approaches you, but it doesn’t help that your makeup’s even more meticulous than usual, eyes glittering and lips delightfully glossy.

he breaks into the space between you and jeonghan, arm against yours, catching your attention.

“my guy!!” you exclaim when you see him and then your eyes trail down to his chest and then back up to his face where his hair sits parted with the help of some gel. “you look like a slut. i love it.”

mingyu laughs, subjecting you to a similar once-over, “you’re one to talk.” your hair’s back in a bun of sorts, a rare occurrence because you seem to prefer have it around your face. he can’t help but pause at your exposed collarbones, the gold shadow you applied there earlier doing wonders to his already dazed headspace.

“is it already that part of the night where mingyu starts hitting on everyone?” yunjin complains, reserving the alternate version of her question (something along the lines of how impolitely he’d been eye-fucking you in front of everyone) for some other time as she nudges you to open the fireball in your hands.

you do so, looking at jeonghan who offers one to mingyu, which he refuses as he leans against the counter, hand silently at your back just in case. “you’re not drinking?” you ask, quietly enough only for the two of you, just in case he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

“nah, i just had two shots of vodka back there. trying not to mix for the sake of me tomorrow,” he mutters, patting your back encouragingly, “but let me know if you need help finishing that.”

jeonghan eyes mingyu on the side as the trio clink their bottles together and get to downing them. later, as things start picking up and more people make their way into the party, mingyu finds your arm. “do you want me to stay close by?” he frames the question in a way that you have an out, because he can tell that you’re still unhappy with him.

but you’re tipsy when your hand interlocks into his, “only if you’re going to dance like you mean it.”

the night goes better than you expect it to, especially since mingyu’s let loose for once. or perhaps�� he’s always this carefree when drunk, palms kneading at your waist, keeping you close to his chest, which you try your best to not get too used to touching. he sure knows how to keep you on your toes (sometimes literally) even when wasted because you’re trying not to get too close. for you own sake.

that is until hoshi shows up beside you two, pulling you apart as he introduces you to a friend.. or a partner? you can’t hear in this state and just as you try to lean in closer to hear what he’s saying, you feel a presence at your shoulder, fingers poking you.

you turn to find jeonghan behind you, sloppy smile on his face as he screams something at you. you frown, asking him to repeat himself, hand on his bicep to steady yourself against the movement of the party.

“need to talk to you about something!” his words come at you, clearer. “right now?” you shout back, “what the fuck is it?” your body doesn’t want to stop moving so you groove against his side, and momentarily catching a glimpse mingyu’s heavy gaze on you. you almost completely stop then but jeonghan’s pulling you away, after him to a relatively emptier zone of the house.

you’re breathless, you realize, now that the spell of the music’s been broken. you rest against the damp wall behind you, uncaring as you look around for a liquid to quench your thirst. cunning as ever, jeonghan’s already handing you a plastic cup with a transparent liquid.

you narrow your eyes at him despite how wasted you are. “what’s this?”

he laughs, “i’m glad you’re vigilant as ever. this is water. cold. drink up.”

you comply, your throat throbbing ever so lesser after you’re done and you sigh in relief. “you might have broken my heart but you’re still an angel, jeonghan.”

“ahhh,” he exclaims joining your side against the wall. you frown when you take note of his fingers clasped together, almost fidgeting. yoon jeonghan, fidgety? that’s a first for you.

“actually, that’s what i wanted to talk to you about…”

when mingyu looks away from hoshi and his company to see if you were listening and when he finds out that you’re in fact in jeonghan’s embrace, he’s suddenly sober. and when your eyes find his for a moment, something in them changes and he calls out your name like a warning. but then jeonghan’s already leading you elsewhere.

mingyu wants to follow after you immediately but he realizes hoshi’s still talking to him. “hoshi, bro, can i find you in a while? i gotta make sure y/n’s okay.”

but hoshi stops him in his tracks, hand on his chest, “wait. please tell me you told her…?” he trails off uncertainly as mingyu catches on what he’s saying.

“i haven’t,” he admits, eyes still searching the crowd for you, “but i think it’s time that i do. only so much i can take.”

“that’s the spirit, man! okay, now go kiss y/n for me.” hoshi pushes mingyu with a start, not before the the latter shoots the man a glare and takes off in his search for you.

you’re still in that corner with jeonghan, who’s done narrating the past week’s revelations to you, all about his failed attempts with kazuha and his slow understanding of his real feelings about you. you’re far more unaffected that either of you was expecting, arms crossing in thought.

but then you say, “well, that’s fucking stupid. because i’ve realized i wasn’t as down bad for you as i once thought i was.” jeonghan’s smile falls a little with a disappointed sigh. “but,” you continue, “you know what i’m still curious about?”

when your hand creeps up jeonghan’s shoulder, he thinks he knows where you’re going with this. “i’ve wanted know if you’re really as good at kissing as everyone makes you out to be.” jeonghan’s already moving closer to you, enveloping your face in his hands, and his devilish grin’s spills out as his lips find your ear. “let’s find out?”

and that’s how mingyu finds you wrapped around jeonghan, making out like this was your last day living. and for a moment, he considers giving up and letting you have this. he even stops in his tracks in the crowd, his thoughts so easily drowned out by the music if he just lets go.

but his mind’s reeling when the sight of you kissing someone else just pushes him back a day ago when you were leaning up into him, soft breaths risking your lips against his and the way your body pressed into his just right. his feet move without a thought, then, shouldering through the bodies around the two in the corner.

you’re just pulling away from jeonghan to start to say something about how that wasn’t too bad when his body is lifted away from yours with an unannounced jerk. you gasp and then once again when mingyu’s face comes floating in front of yours.

“mingyu,” you breathe, unsteady from the series of events this past minute, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“what the fuck are you doing?!” he screams in your face, hands on both arms to keep you from moving. jeonghan’s walking to your side and you want to say something to apologize but you’re far too infuriated with the man in front of you to think.

“i don’t know! trying to get laid? finding happiness? love?!” you scream back with as much force. you call out jeonghan’s name, “i’m sorry. mingyu’s too drunk to—”

“jeonghan,” warns mingyu when the guy tries to break you free from his embrace, “can i have a minute with y/n.” it isn't a question.

jeonghan has the nerve to say, “maybe not. i wouldn’t leave you alone with her in this state.”

“oh, she’ll be just fine,” he replies and jeonghan simply looks at you for confirmation. but you’re still looking at mingyu, starting to tear up, head throbbing all at once. you stop fighting against his grip and mumble in defeat, “whatever.”

“if you’re going to lecture me about being bad, i don’t really want to hear it.” you’re back next to the kitchen counters with mingyu beside you. slowly, you sit yourself up on the surface, feeling exhausted. “i’ve heard it before.”

“no, that’s not what i’m doing. i just want you to stop and think clearly—”

you groan when you hear the beginnings of a typical you’ll regret this in the morning type talk, you slide off the counter and to your delight, you run into a guy holding up a can of beer for the taking. you’re quick to jump at it, grabbing it up from him and pulling the tab of the can open. just as you put the beer to your lips, ready to chug it, you feel it being pulled away, the next few moments occuring before you can comprehend anything.

suddenly you’re sitting back on the counter and your dress rides up when you feel mingyu push himself in between your legs. at first, you see his face close on yours and then the taste of beer meets your throat. no, it’s not just beer— it’s mingyu. his tongue spills onto yours, beer mixing with saliva and when you try to pull away, his hand at your neck tightens. you sit up straight and you feel his watch digging into your spine.

your head spins when you can finally breathe, inhaling only to cough out. heart in your throat, you look at mingyu in disbelief, “what the fuck!” but he’s already taking another sip of the beer and some of it slides down your throat into your dress, when his mouth finds yours again.

you’re weak in his arms, and the heat between your legs is only so rational. so you find yourself giving in and kissing him back when the liquid runs out, nails finding his scalp, earning you a deep groan that vibrates against your chest. that’s when he pulls away again, eyes finally meeting yours with an unprecedented intensity.

he leans in again, wet kiss against your cheek, followed by a grunted whisper of, “i love you so fucking much, y/n. it’s so hard to watch you run around with other men.”

you want to think you’re hearing things but mingyu doesn’t let you, another kiss right in the nape of your neck that sends shudders down your back. “i want to be yours so fucking bad. want to spoil you like you deserve.”

you swallow against the moan that rises in your throat, to pull mingyu’s face back to your eye-level, “then why aren’t you mine? why’d you push me away?” your voice breaks, betraying the pretense of indifference you try to prop up. his eyes soften, fingers brushing against your forehead.

his lips quiver and he sighs defeatedly. it’s a miracle you can hear him with all that noise around you. but you hear him clear as day against your hair when he finally says, “i’m scared. of loving you too much, of being too much. and i’m scared of losing you.”

mingyu’s imagined telling you these exact words before and how you’d react to them infinite times before but when you giggle into his collarbone, he pulls away with a blank look. your forehead is against his all over again and for the second time night you say, “that’s fucking stupid! if you were going to lose me, it would’ve happened a while ago.”

of all the things he’d imagine you saying in response, this was the simplest option, so unlike your usual overthinking self. maybe it’s the alcohol and adrenaline in your system speaking but mingyu somehow feels comforted, because maybe it really is that simple. it would’ve happened if it was going to. or maybe mingyu’s too drunk to make sense of it all right now.

so his lips are moving against yours once again, without warning, your breath all his when his arms tighten once against around you. you’re laugh grounds him enough to break away. you open your mouth to complain about the distance when mingyu’s back against your skin.

“shut the fuck up,” he groans, the command making you hotter than you’d like to admit. your legs close around his ass, pulling him closer and his hand slips across your boobs. the friction of his palm against the tight fabric of your dress makes you let out an undignified moan into mingyu.

that’s when he knows he needs to take you to somewhere more private for reasons more than one. you’re too lightheaded to move yourself so mingyu’s carrying out the house without a word anyone you two came with. it’s only when the cold air hits you that you realize you’re outside.

you struggle against mingyu until you're back on your feet and stop. “where are we going? i’m— do i know you, mister guy?” for a second, mingyu’s heart sinks when he wonders if you thought you were just making out with a stranger. then, you say, “i need to go back and find mingyu. gotta kiss him.”

ignoring the blush that colors his face, he grabs hold of your elbow, “i am mingyu, idiot. and we’re going to my room.” you shake your head to clear your vision, eyes widening when you recognize him. your hand finds his face with a light laugh, “ah! it’s my big guy.” the name doesn’t help mingyu’s condition at all, so he’s pulling you after him faster than before.

back at the party, kazuha starts panic when she realizes she’s lost hold of you, unable to locate you anywhere within the party. she tugs at yunjin’s sleeve who looks over in concern, “what happened to y/n? i can’t find her anywhere.” yunjin laughs at that, covering her mouth with her hand. “don’t worry about her. i saw her and mingyu leave together earlier. she’s probably in heaven by now, if i’m right.”

“hmm?” kazuha pauses as a thought pops up into her head, “wait… did they…?” yunjin grins knowingly, “yup. it really was high time they fucked.” the former lets out a satisfied giggle, “i know. they were so obvious without even being together. i was getting tired.”

“you were getting tired?!” you gasp at mingyu later in the night, panting against his pillow. you’re on your back and he throws you a tshirt of his to sleep in now that your dress is… demolished. you look at it sadly out of the corner of your eye. “i really liked that dress,” you whine, as he picks the remains of it up with a somewhat smug grin, “planned to wear it out again.”

“i couldn’t risk that. you looked too good in it,” he chuckles to himself as he jumps into bed with you. you sit up, feigning anger as you slip the cotton over your head, warming up when the smell of mingyu greets you. “i don’t know if i could resist seeing your tits out like that.”

you hit his chest hard with a lighthearted scoff, “i knew it! you’re such a pervert. not just a pervert, you’re also a brute.” you groan as you rub your thighs together gingerly. mingyu props himself up, pulling you down into a hug, rubbing your back. “sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“it’ll hurt more in the morning,” you relax in his arms, pressing a loving kiss into his hair, “should’ve known you went so rough. asshole.” you giggle when he pulls away in disbelief at the last insult.

“how could you—!” you roll away from him, laughing. he shifts closer, caging you against the wall behind you, “hey, you can’t say stuff like fuck i knew you’d have a big dick and then expect me to go all vanilla! do you know what that does to a guy?”

you shriek in embarrassment, “don’t bring that up now!” your ears redden when mingyu forces you by the chin to look up at him. “besides, where do you think the nicknames like big gyu and big guy came from?”

mingyu’s jaw falls open at the revelation and you break out into a fit of laughter at his mindblown expression. “how- how long have you been thinking about my di-”

you hit him to stop him, “ever since you kept pushing me away,” you run a hand down his side, sly grin on your swollen lips, “and i had to come up with something if i wanted to get myself off alone.”

with an exasperated groan, he falls against you, suffocating you as his body goes limp above yours. you let out a gasp when you feel him hardening against your leg and he speaks into your neck, “you’re seriously telling me i’ve been missing out on taking you like this for… for how long now?”

you kiss his cheek, hand slipping down his boxers with a soft exhale, “a while. and if you hadn’t come to your senses today… well, i’d all but given up on you today. when jeonghan kissed me, i was just going to—”

suddenly your breath escapes you, mingyu’s hand around your throat and his lips on yours with a loud grunt. he stops your hand in its movements, “please tell me you’re not talking about jeonghan while— fuck!” he gasps when you bite his lower lip to protest his hand on yours. his hand gives way and you’re palming the tent in his boxers again, pushing him down against the bed, so thankful he doesn’t have a rooommate in times like this.

you place a kiss at the corner of his lips and trail down his chest, shirt long gone, before muttering, “forgive me?”

—

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

i really want to write a more wholesome ending but have not the time or energy right now, so i'll be back with a shorter spin-off/ epilogue of sorts about how you and mingyu as a couple work out, how your friends react, some skinship, etc.

anyway, this is my official announcement that i've become a baby carat :] didn't know how much i was missing out on before svt so this is very fun. so far, jeonghan's my favorite little guy, although as is clear from this... mingyu makes me do things. on the roster are: minghao and joshua. hopefully there will be more svt fics in the future. no promises <3 goodbye friends and foes!!

[carmenized-onions]

Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you, Amish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

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

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

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

“I just like making my own lunch.”

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

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This fucking guy. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fak.” 

“Carm?”

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

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

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

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

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

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.” 

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

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

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

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

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

“You're the baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Your hair is fucked.” 

“And the food?”

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

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.” 

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye aye, Rich.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin!” 

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

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She had to leave early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

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

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how it starts.”

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

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

“How long you been stable, again?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

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

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

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

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

“What?”

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

“Fuck you mean what?”

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

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

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

“You said she failed him.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same team.”

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

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

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

“Six hours. Same team.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re multiplying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Can you stay after close?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, “Can you do that?”

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

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

“Insane, Uncle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I believe in you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wish you did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“Mikey—”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not?”

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

“I’m okay.”

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

“I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you, Bear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

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

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not negotiable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next Part

[puckbunnyera]

Just Friends | Luke Hughes

• ──────────────♡────────────── •

pairing: luke hughes x reader genre: fluff word count: 2.3k warnings: none summary: maybe you were never really just friends

notes: it's been less than 24 hours since i posted my first fic and i've already received a few asks for a part 2 so here it is. i'll link the first part here. thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read it, like it, reblog it, etc. i'm always really nervous to post my own writing so any type of interaction with it feels good to see.

also, i know the timelines of the games played in both fics don't align with the actual events in real time but we are just going to ignore that for the sake of the plot.

• ──────────────♡────────────── •

I sigh as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, doing one last fit check before Luke arrives. I'm nervous. I come to this realization as I smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in my shirt. Why? I couldn't tell you. It's been almost two months since the night I met Luke, and we've talked and texted almost every day since. We've even hung out multiple times since then, but I always seem to get all nervous and jittery anytime he presents the offer. My thoughts start to consume me to the point that I'm almost tempted to text him and ask for a rain check, but before I can fall too deeply into them, my attention is stolen by the two girls lying on my bed behind me.

"I still can't believe you're dating The Luke Hughes." One of my friends says causing me to turn my back towards the mirror to look at her.

"We aren't dating." I scoff. "We're-"

"Right, you're 'just friends'." My other friend interrupts, rolling her eyes and using her fingers to make air quotes as she says the words.

"We are." I shrug, moving to sit in my vanity chair so I can put on my shoes.

"You don't have to believe us if you don't want to, but he totally has the hots for you."

"It's so obvious. Any time he has the chance to get away from his job, he's calling, texting, or coming to see you. Even if it's only for a short amount of time. Those aren't typical behaviors of a guy who wants to be 'just friends'."

They continue to go on and on as if they're trying to convince a jury that they're innocent of a crime. The sound of my phone dinging from beside me on the table finally brings their rambling to an end. I pick up to find a text from Luke.

From Luke🏒: i'm here

To Luke🏒: omw

"I would love to stay and continue this conversation," I smile sarcastically as I stand up, "But my friend is waiting for me downstairs." I make sure to add extra emphasis on the word friend.

They both giggle and bid their goodbyes as I walk out of the room. When I make it downstairs to the lobby of my apartment building, Luke, in all of his handsome glory, is waiting patiently by the door.

"Ready to go?" He questions once I'm standing in front of him. I nod in confirmation and he opens the door for us, placing a gentle hand on my back to lead me out.

"What's the plan for today?" I ask once we're settled into the car.

"I need to drop off a couple of things at the dry cleaners since my brother forgot to do it," He gestures to the items in his backseat. "But then I figured we could go to dinner, catch a movie, and then maybe grab some dessert before I take you home."

"Sounds good!" I reply with a smile, with which he returns one of his own before putting the car in drive and pulling away from my apartment building.

Things are going well today. Really well. We're having fun and Luke is being as sweet as always. However, that's the only problem. Despite the stance I took in the argument with my friends, I can't help but let their words get to me. The whole evening, I've been reading too deeply into every little thing he does. Every door he holds open for me, every chair he pulls out for me, every accidental brush of our hands when we walk side-by-side. I'm trying not to let it show, but when Luke's voice rattles my thoughts and pulls me back down to Earth, I know I'm failing.

"Are you okay?" He asks as we sit in the car, waiting for the red light to turn green. "You've been pretty quiet today."

"Really?" I ask, genuinely confused because I hadn't noticed that change in my behavior. When he responds with a solemn nod, guilt rises in my chest. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was. It has nothing to do with you." Yet it has everything to do with him.

"Did something happen?" He pushes further.

"No, just have a lot on my mind with work and all, but I'm okay. Promise." I give him a soft smile in hopes that it will give him enough reassurance to drop the conversation. Thankfully he does, but the look in his eyes shows clearly that he doesn't believe me. "So my friends were telling me that you have a home game coming up in a couple of days against your oldest brother's team. Are you excited?" I change the subject quickly.

"Yeah," He nods, a smile gracing his features. "My parents are gonna be in town to watch us face off against each other. All three Hughes brothers on the same ice. I'm hoping it will be as exciting as everyone and the media are making it seem." He chuckles. "I'm also just really excited to see Quinn. We haven't gotten to see each other much since I moved out to Jersey and the season started. I think it'll be nice to have us all back together again, even if it's just for a couple of days."

"I bet it will be."

"I'm glad you brought this up because I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Would you maybe want to come to the game?"

"Do you want me to come?" I'm praying the hopeful look in my eyes isn't obvious.

"Yeah," He nods. "I really do."

"Then I'll be there." I assure him. "The girls were talking about purchasing tickets anyways, so I'll tell them to make it three tickets instead of just the two."

"Don't worry about it. I got it covered."

"Luke, you don't have to do that." I shake my head, readying myself to argue.

"I know I don't have to, but I want to." The look he gives me makes me forget any rebuttal I had previously prepared. "Plus, I already got the tickets and the seating arrangements set up."

"And you just knew I was gonna say yes?" I reply, crossing my arms.

"No, but I was hoping you would."

"I guess some dreams really do come true." I joke.

"I guess so."

We continue to talk and joke around for the remainder of the drive. It goes by a little too quickly though, because before I know it, he's putting the car in park in front of my building. Being the gentleman that he is, he walks me all the way up to my apartment door. It's not until I have unlocked and opened the door that he finally says goodnight, placing a soft peck on my cheek before walking away. Once he has disappeared into the elevator and I'm sure he's gone, I close and lock the door.

As I'm getting ready for bed, I become aware of the slight ache in my cheeks from smiling so much. As soon as my head hits my pillow, the realization dawns on me. I am in love with Luke Hughes.

• ───────────────────────────── •

I'm still in shock at the fact that he really went all out with the tickets. My friends seem to be as well considering that they still haven't managed to pick their jaws up off the floor yet. Never in my life would I have ever expected to be seated in one of the arena's luxury suites. I feel a little bad the more I dwell on it. There are more deserving fans that could be sitting here, yet some girl who knew nothing about the sport two months ago had them handed to her at no cost.

"Hi, you must be Y/N." An unfamiliar woman's voice pulls me from my pity-party.

"Oh, hi." I greet her as I turn in her direction.

"I'm Luke's mom, Ellen." She smiles and pulls me into a quick but gentle embrace. "And this is my husband, Jim." She gestures to the man beside her.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." He offers a hand for me to shake.

"You as well." I accept it before introducing them to my two friends, who are not-so-discreetly eavesdropping on the conversation.

We all find a seat and fall into casual conversation. Just getting to know each other and talking about this, that, and the other. Once the teams begin to make their way onto the ice, our attentions shift away from each other and onto the players.

Having admitted to my lack of knowledge of the sport before the game started, Jim and Ellen kindly explained the game to me so I would know what is going on. By the end of the first period, I'm clued in enough that I don't need it anymore and eventually, I become just as immersed in the game as the rest of them are.

It's in the second period that Luke scores a goal and we all stand up, cheering loudly with the crowd. The excitement is so high that I don't even shy away when Ellen happily pulls me into a tight hug before pulling away and continuing to cheer for her youngest son. Third period seems to go by in a flash and then the game is ending with a 6-5 win for the Devils, both Jack and Luke having contributed to the score with goals of their own.

Once the final buzzer goes off, my friends bid their farewells before heading out to go home. However, I hang back with Ellen and Jim upon the request of Luke. I follow the two down from the suite until we make it to where the locker rooms are located, waiting in the hall for the three brothers to emerge. We stand around conversing for about ten or so minutes before the men finally make their appearances.

They all embrace and greet each other as I stand back and watch with a smile. They really are a beautiful family. Once they all break away, Luke turns his attention towards me. He steps forward and reaches for me, pulling me into his arms.

"Congratulations." I speak softly as I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, his wrapped around my waist.

"Thank you." I can hear the smile in his voice.

Time escapes me as I stand in his arms. I'm not even sure how long we've been holding onto each other. It's his brother's voice that finally has us separating.

"You must be the infamous Y/N." Quinn steps up, a smug grin on his face. "I've heard so much about you."

"I've heard a lot about you as well," I respond politely, despite the blush I'm sure I'm sporting due to his teasing tone. "It's nice to finally meet you."

"Will you be joining us for dinner?" Ellen asks from where she stands, now next to Quinn.

"Oh, um," I look to Luke for an answer. He nods, a pleading look in his eyes. "Yes, I would love to." I finally reply.

With that being said, we all begin to exit the arena and head to the parking lot. We're almost to the vehicles when Luke gently grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop. Once his family is out of earshot, he begins to speak.

"This might seem random and sudden, but I've been thinking about it for a while." He starts, looking away nervously and lifting a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "And feel free to say no because I don't want you to feel like you have to say yes just because I'm asking. Or if you feel like you need time to think it over, feel free to take all of the time you need. Actually, maybe I-"

"Luke," I say his name softly, placing my hands on his reddening cheeks and forcing his gaze back to mine. His rambling comes to a halt. "Breathe."

"Sorry." He inhales deeply before releasing his breath. "I was wondering, would you be my girlfriend?"

It's my turn to take a deep breath. Out of all the things he could have said, I was not expecting this. I take a moment to gather my thoughts as a smile begins to pull at my lips.

"I would love to." I nod, my smile growing larger resulting in his own.

"Well," He takes a step closer to me. "Since you're my girlfriend now, does that mean I can kiss you?" His question flusters me but I try hard not to show it.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

"Really fucking badly."

"Then kiss me, Luke."

And so he does. His lips crash into mine in a soft but passionate kiss. As if he has waited a lifetime to do it. It's gentle yet desperate. As we finally part, he pecks my lips a few more times before pulling away completely. He opens his mouth to say something but is stopped by Jack shouting from where his family is waiting by the cars, surely having seen the whole display.

"If you two lovebirds are done sucking faces in the middle of the parking lot, I would like to leave now. I'm fucking starving." He teases.

We both turn our gazes in time to see Quinn smack the middle brother in the back of the head and both parents shaking their heads at their son's antics. Luke chuckles at the scene as he intertwines his hand with mine and begins to walk to the car. My heart flutters as I finally admit the obvious to myself. Maybe we weren't ever just friends. I mentally roll my eyes as I climb into the back seat, already picturing the two squealing girls in my head and the endless amounts of I told you so's that I'm sure to hear when I fill them in. However, when Luke slides into the car next to me and interlocks our hands once again, I can't bring myself to care. I think I like this little life.

[honeyhotteoks]

Okay I'm 5'7 too so thank you for your detailed description of the members and I'm not surprised but kinda am at the same time about their appearance??

Low-key love seeing all the live content but also feel left out as an Aussie atiny BUT I'm seeing skz in October so I'm excited for that!!

Speaking of their appearance, the members of skz are a lot more muscular in person than how they look.

I was expecting them to be skinny and boney but they all look incredibly strong and fit-even Han and Felix-

Han actually looks slightly more buff and muscly then Felix which surprised me and Lee Know is just as defined and muscular as Changbin which no one talks about.

Anyway- yunho brain rot.

I was listening to the audiobook of haunting Adeline because I finally caved in from the TikTok influence and my friend telling me how sexy the novel is.

Idk if it's because I'm going to therapy or I'm too old but I thought it was over-hyped-

I did love how the author described the themes of fear and stalking because when I did get tense when she'd leave the room, come back and there would be a 🌹 on the counter.

BUT I did get delulu and I was reading some scenes where zade is just consumed with Adeline and I was gasping 'like omg yunho could be like this' because his natal chart indicates if he was psychotic and unhealed enough- could delve into stalking territory.

And yes okay- this shit is toxic and scary and awful in real life BUT LET ME FANTASISE FOR A SECOND!

What if yunho was that borderline toxic boyfriend that just CANT leave you alone??

Watches you from afar, sends you messages all day-

Somnophilia thought here-

You don't live with yunho but have given him a key and go to bed with no panties on b/c it's a common occurrence he'll drive over in the middle of the night b/c it's been too long since he's felt you under him and he has to ravish you.

You wake up to his tongue on you clit as he moans and breathes your scent in which eventually leads to you making love with him as he virtually suffocates you with his body and words?

You're mine, you're not leaving me, I'm destined to be with you, on top of you, inside you, I can't breathe w/o you.

EMOTIONAL DAMAGE!!

MY FRIEND THE WAY YOU ALWAYS SERVE UP THE GREATEST IMAGERY OF ALL TIME TO RUIN ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

first of all........ love that you're seeing skz!!! i'm hoping if and when they announce tour dates for north america next year there's a chance for me to see them

as far as your yunho brainrot goes................. IM DIZZY. i love your natal chart content, and i've been so obsessed with the idea of yunho being like perfect boyfriend great guy................but................there's that part of him that just can't help being possessive and having this sense of ownership over his partner.

i was just actually reading a fic for another fandom along the lines of what you're describing and i was like YUNHO YUNHO YUNHO the whole time. i might write my own version but......... brainrot under the cut

so i think there's two yunho possibilities that i love within this like possessive/stalker/dubcon realm, and one is straight up like suuuuuper healthy relationship but they play with CNC in intense ways and do full on like roleplay OR my current favorite brainrot which aligns with your idea and the fic i was just reading which is like...... desperately obsessed desperately in love fully fixated on reader not leaving him because he just has to consume her fully at all times.

he and reader have been dating for a while and he's honestly the 10/10 perfect boyfriend (she thinks) only.... she knows he gets a little funny about certain things. when other guys talk to her he just has to have his hands on her, and when he worries about her he really worries, almost too much. he gets jealous about the funniest little things, and he's always nervous about change, he just doesn't want anything to burst their little bubble so much so that he's controlling the situation a little too much. but.... she also loves him, and he hasn't really stepped over the line of toxic.......... until she catches him stealing a pair of her panties and realizes his phone is full of pictures of her.

and it starts off like an argument, until he starts to confess his real fantasies. and he knows it might be too much, but she makes him so insane it's like he can't help himself. and the longer he talks about all of those fantasies, confessing how fucked he knows it is and how she really could do better, she just keeps getting more and more turned on. and it's shocking to her too, but she really fucking likes it. she's never had someone take care of her, really and truly take care of everything and just let her exist without having to make all the decisions or take control, and he's just offering it all to her on a platter she just has to let him take it.

and so while he thinks revealing his desires is about to break them up, and he's losing his fucking mind about it, she's ready to double down hard on the relationship and on what they do behind closed doors. so she shocks him when she not only agrees for more but asks for more.

and so that's when she gives him the key, that's when she tells him that he's allowed to come in whenever he wants. to touch her whenever he wants. she wants it all, but all she asks in exchange is that he stops hiding his desires from her, because that's what was driving the wedge between them. he's patient about using the new found control though, because he doesn't know what that will do for their relationship and she doesn't necessarily know what she's allowing him to do..... he can't smother her ALL at once.

but that changes when she falls asleep one night before texting him goodnight, she's been stressed and worn thin and he's not had the opportunity to see her let alone take care of her..... and he's feeling a little neglected too. and he waits a couple of hours for a response, but finally he decides it's time to use the key. so he drives over, slips in quietly, and finds her sound asleep, phone still clutched in her fingers and a video looping on repeat.

he's hard in a second, desperate in a second, and he has to do something about it. so he starts off slow, peeing off her clothes and gently teasing her nipples, getting a blush in her cheeks and making her perfectly hot and receptive to his tongue teasing her sweet clit.

she’s been so tired lately that she’s well and truly out, and she doesn’t really wake up until he’s teasing her wet cunt with his cock, not quite fucking her yet but everything in between. and when she wakes it’s mid-orgasm and desperate for more, and she's aware that something feels different but she just woke up and she's caught between realizing yunho is actually here and pushing himself inside her and thinking it might be a dream.

but he's whispering to her, clutching her close and begging her to just let him have this.... and of course she will, she agreed, but as she comes more and more into consciousness the feeling of him and his words start to make sense. he’s not wearing a condom for the first time ever, and that's not something they've ever agreed on going without before. she's just trying to figure out what is going on but he's fucking into her harder and deeper than before, with a whimpering need on his lips that makes her body curl up in pleasure and she knows she should stop him but truthfully she doesn't want to.

and while she clings to him, yunho's delirious. the feeling of having her completely, of knowing he's the only person who's ever been inside her fully with nothing between them, of knowing that the risk might be worth it. his mind starts to spin until he's a babbling mess, telling her he's going to leave a piece of himself behind for her, make them whole, make sure she can never ever leave.

and even though she knows it's a terrible idea, a decision only made in the middle of sex because it feels good, she finds herself clutching him closer, goading him on. no one has ever wanted her quite like he does and it makes her want to throw everything she's ever cared about right out the window if it means he'll look at her like this forever.

ANYWAYS now i have to write full lowkey toxic possessive yunho with a reader who is down to be fully consumed by him like AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[fleurywiththesave]

Would you write mattdrai wishbaby that appears the day after panthers win the cup?

Funnily enough, someone once asked me if I would ever write a wishbaby fic and I said "nah, probably not", but inspiration struck when I read this prompt. It's my first attempt at the trope, so I hope you like it!

Matthew stumbles into the kitchen at...well, he's not actually sure what time it is. He knows the guys started to make their way from the arena to his house in the early hours of the morning, and he thinks he's been asleep for an hour at most. It probably would've made more sense to just power through until after whatever hijinks they're going to get up to today — his eyes feel gritty as hell — but it's too late to change that now. He just needs some coffee. And he won't be the only one.

The Cup is sitting on his kitchen counter, where he kind of wishes it could stay forever. He reaches out to give it a pat on his way to the coffee maker and freezes in his tracks.

There's a baby.

In the Cup.

There's a baby in the Cup.

His teammates might be a little irresponsible at times, but there's no way any of them just...forgot their baby in the Cup. Which can only mean one thing.

Matthew's hand is shaking as he reaches out to pick up the scroll of paper resting on top of the baby (who's still asleep, thank god). Yeah, a lot of the guys are conked out around his house, but it's still his house, which means this isn't going to be for anybody but him.

The paper looks exactly like the pictures they showed in 10th grade health class. A blank line at the top to fill in the name, basic stats, and, in flowery script, the parents' names.

Matthew Tkachuk

and

Leon Draisaitl

Matthew sits down hard on a bar stool.

He was going to wait to call Leon. Give him a few days, at least. Or better yet, wait for Leon to want to call him. They'd both agreed that no matter what happened, they would need to take a little space in the immediate aftermath, but that doesn't seem to be an option anymore. Matthew closes his eyes when he hits the call button, like that's going to make this any better.

"Matty....." Leon's voice is both frustrated and apologetic when he answers, but Matthew doesn't give him a chance to get anything else out.

"There's a baby in the Cup."

"There's—"

"We brought it back to my place and I just came downstairs to make coffee and there is a baby in the Stanley Cup."

There's a long pause from the other side of the line, long enough that Matthew starts to feel sick for reasons that have nothing to do with the enormous amount of alcohol he consumed last night. And this morning.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes," Leon says, and Matthew allows himself a little sigh of relief.

He doesn't want to wake the baby before Leon gets there, but he also doesn't want any of his teammate to unwittingly walk into the shitshow that might be coming, so he just...takes the whole Cup to his room and texts Leon to come up as soon as he gets to the house. Which turns out to be only fifteen minutes later, so Matthew loses five whole minutes of internal pep talk time. Leon barges right in and then freezes, just like Matthew did, staring at the baby in the Cup.

"What is it?" he whispers.

"A girl," Matthew says, handing him the certificate.

"A girl," Leon repeats as he walks closer. "You didn't wake her up yet?"

"I didn't think I should do it without you," Matthew answers. "Even if, you know."

Leon turns to him and frowns.

"Even if what?"

"You know," Matthew says again, feeling horribly wrong-footed. "Even if you don't, like, want to do this."

Now Leon is staring at him. Matthew trips over his own words trying to explain more, not wanting to hear whatever Leon is about to say.

"I don't remember wishing, but I guess I did, but that doesn't mean you need to be responsible for anything. I can figure it out. My mom will help, probably. And my dad. Or Bobby, he'll know what to do."

"Wait, did you—did you think I was going to be upset?" Leon asks. Matthew twists his hands together, a nervous tic that Leon has seen far more times than anyone else in his life.

"We haven't really talked about kids," he says, "and I didn't want to call you like this, after...after. I wanted to give you your space like we agreed."

Leon is still staring at him blankly, but before Matthew can get nauseous again, he breaks into a ridiculous, brilliant grin.

"Matthew, you idiot," he says, crossing the room to grip Matthew's face between his hands and kiss him hard.

"Um," Matthew says articulately when he pulls away.

"What's the first thing they teach about wishbabies?" Leon asks. He looks fondly exasperated.

"That...that both parents have to want it," he answers.

"You may not remember wishing," Leon tells him, "but I do."

That stops Matthew in his tracks.

"You do?"

Leon runs a hand through his hair and smiles, soft and sweet this time.

"Obviously I was upset after the game, but I realized that I wasn't just upset because we lost. I was sad that it felt like I couldn't really share it with you, and I wanted to. I wanted to watch you lift the cup, and celebrate with you, and tell you how proud I am of you. So that got me thinking about all the other things I want us to share, and, well. You know the rest. Apparently we're in sync even when we're not talking."

Matthew feels like he just got off a carousel that was moving at twenty times its usual speed.

"So you're not mad?" he asks, needing to be sure.

"Are you mad?" Leon responds.

"No," he says immediately. "No, I—it's amazing."

Leon kisses him again.

"Yeah, it is. Can we wake her up now?"

Carefully, carefully, Matthew picks her up and hands her to Leon. His eyes are a storm of emotions as she squirms and blinks awake.

"Hey, kiddo," he whispers, voice full of wonder while he gazes at the baby. Their baby. Their daughter. "I'm your papa." Matthew presses into his side and gently strokes her cheek.

"What should we name her?"

"My grandmother's name was Adelaide," Leon says.

"Adelaide," Matthew repeats. "Addie."

"Adelaide Draisaitl-Tkachuk."

"Oh my god, she never had a chance," Matthew says. "She's going to change her last name to Smith as soon as she's old enough."

"Nah," Leon says. He's still smiling. And his eyes are wet. "She'll learn to love it." He puts her in Matthew's arms.

"Hi, Addie," Matthew says. His face is feeling suspiciously wet too. "Welcome to the world."

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 8th

Day 8: Sex Pollen/Fuck or Die, Chastity, Sexual Competition

Max Lord x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Magic stones, ancient inscriptions, DUB-CON, compulsion to have sex, wordless consent, public sex, frantic sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of biting

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The TV guy has been hanging around for the last few days. Causing a disruption in the everyday workload as the director had pushed for a personalized tour to the CEO of Black Gold since he was promising a sizable donation to the foundation. If there was one thing that could turn your normally stalwart director into a groveling slut, it was the promise of funds. 

You hear a booming laugh and roll your eyes. Unsure of what the joke was down the hall, but you know it was Barbara that was giving him the tour so it couldn’t be that funny. Nothing against her, but she wasn’t the joking type. You look back down at your large magnifying glass, looking through it at the inscription etched into the stone that has been a source of intrigue to you over the past few days since it had arrived. 

When your name is called, you try not to get annoyed, knowing that your boss would want you to place nice. Looking up and plastering a smile on your face as you watch Barbara and the TV guy, you forget his name, walk in. 

Well, she walks. He seemingly saunters in like he owns the place. Perhaps he thinks that because he’s going to write a check, he is an owner. 

His eyes are quick, clever. Far more clever that you would imagine seeing those cheesy commercials he always has played on the tv during Jeopardy. The smile you could do without. It’s screaming slightly sleazy, put on and false in order to get what he wants. The only question is, what does Max Lord want?

Introductions are made, Barabara bouncing almost nervously as you shake the salesman’s hand. Pulling your hand away quickly and turning towards her so she can tell you what she wants. She never approaches you unless she needs something. You aren’t one of the posh, beautiful scientists she wants so desperately to be close to. 

“Can I ask a favor?” She asks, clapping her hands together and giving you a pleading look. “I have a meeting that I can’t reschedule.” Her eyes flicker over to the suit and then back to you. “Could you please finish up the tour for Mr. Lord?” “Please….” He winces. “Call me Maxwell.” He offers with a sugar sweet smile that he seems to think to be a gift. He’s not bad looking, but he would look better if he took the Sun-in out of his hair and lost the boxy shoulder pads. You were one of the few that hated the way fashion has gone. 

“I have a lot to do here.” You protest but Barbara gives you an even more pleading expression. “But…..I can finish it up.” She nearly claps in relief. “After I finish up my work.” You warn seriously. 

“Yeah….sure….” She’s bobbing her head quickly and looking over Maxwell. “That’s great. Well, I know you’ll have a great time, so I’ll just run along.” 

You ignore the flirting and flustering as Maxwell makes a slight scene at Barbara leaving, kissing her hand and making her giggle like she’s five again. Soon enough, there’s blissful silence back in your lab so you can concentrate. 

“So what are you studying?” The question comes after two blissful minutes of silence. Two minutes that you had obviously hoped would be longer. Your eyes cut up from your magnifying glass to find Maxwell looking at the stone curiously. 

“A rock.” You glibly answer, keeping your tone just as dry as you possibly can. Barely resisting the urge to smirk when his grin slides off his unfairly handsome face. 

Maybe you feel a little guilty, but it’s not enough to make you apologize as you look back down at the inscription with a frown. While your Latin was rusty, you swear this is talking about fertility. Just as you tilt the glass down more, a finger appears in front of your magnifying glass, making it look even larger than normal, showing you the grooves in his skin. “What’s-”

“No!” You cry out, knowing that the stone cannot be touched without gloves. The instructions had been very clear in the crate that the stone was packed in. “Don’t touch it!” 

Your fingers collide, both of you touching the vivid jade stone at the same time. The piece seemingly glows at the contact and both of you gasp as you snatch your hands away, knocking over the magnifying glass. 

The next few moments are nothing short of a blur of pain and confusion. Nearly blacking out until a pair of lips smash against yours in the most inelegant, needy kiss of your life. 

“Ohhhh!” Your eyes fly open, finding Maxwell’s face right in yours and his mouth opens, groaning. 

“I can’t- I need-” He doesn’t stop kissing you, his words are just cut off by the tongue sliding into his mouth. Your tongue. The feeling of him pressing against you awakening something base inside you. 

You don’t know why, but you need him. The word fertility flashing in your mind and you push it away because of the burning of your skin and the throbbing of your cunt. 

He apparently feels the same way. Something hard and pulsing starts to push against your hip as he backs you up against the table you had been working at. Nothing but fervent kisses being exchanged, and his hands start to pull at your clothes. 

You never even think to push him away. It doesn’t even cross your mind. Too busy grabbing handfuls of him and ripping open the obvious faux Gucci belt so you can rip those ridiculously baggy pants off of him. 

His hands are bigger, harder than you ever would have imagined when watching those commercials of his. Wonderful on your skin as he slides them up  your thighs under your skirt. Hot as find the edge of your panties and hooking under them to start dragging them down. 

It’s not like you’ve talked about this, but neither one of you cares. Both of you groaning when your own hand dives into his briefs and wraps around an impressive cock. He hides it well under those bulky suits. 

Both of you need each other in a way that can’t even be described. The pain flaring in your stomach drives you, squeezing and pumping his cock, pulling back the foreskin and smearing the bead of precum around the head while he pants into your mouth. 

Your name, not even spoken by him before, sounds like ambrosia as it drips from his tongue. His own fingers sliding through your folds before he is pushing you up onto the table and spreading your legs to step between. 

Your cry would draw any number of personnel if there had been anyone. It had already been late in the day, and then the meeting had drawn everyone else away, leaving your floor empty with the exception of you and Maxwell. “Max!” Your eyes widen when he pushes inside you, filling you to the hilt with a needy, frantic thrust. 

He groans again, twitching violently inside you and gripping the edge of the table behind you. Pulling his hips back and shuddering when he thrusts forward again and moans at how tight you are. 

Rocking the table with how hard he’s fucking you, you can’t do anyting but hold on and whine for him. Every piercing thrust of his cock pushing the pain away and making your cunt feel amazing. Hitting all the best spots, deep inside you and scratching an itch you didn’t know you had. 

Kisses are littered on your skin, his teeth being used far more that you ever thought possible as a man fucks into you as frantically as Maxwell does. Chasing that same goal with the urgency that is burning underneath your own skin. Both of you pulling and grabbing at each other, clothes bunched between you as you grind your hips, your legs wrapped around his waist. 

“I didn’t- fuck, it’s so good.” Maxwell rambles. “You’re so good. I can’t - it’s so- fuck.” 

You can only moan in agreement, not even coherent enough to speak right now. Your entire focus on the connection of his cock in your pussy. 

Your body is so sensitive that you are shocked by how quickly you cum. Taking you by surprise as your head falls back and your hands hold onto his broad shoulders. Cunt clenching down around him and the heat of your orgasm rushing through your body and seemingly quenching that fire that had been burning since you touched the stone only minutes before. 

“Oh fuck, oh mierda.” He groans, clenching his teeth and shouting when he thrusts once more, pulsing heavily inside you as he paints your womb with his seed in hot spurts. Panting and whining as he rocks his hips to push every drop into your quivering cunt until he’s spent and collapsing against you and both of you drop to the table top. 

Gasping for air, you try to catch your breath as you roll your head to the side and feel Max nuzzle against your neck, his own breath still undstead. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the stone. “What the fuck was that?” You ask, bewildered and almost giggly as you look at the fertility stone that had compelled both of you to fuck like wild animals in your lab. 

“I don’t know.” He pants. “But I might need a minute if we do it again.” 

Breaking into a giggle, your hand slides up to pet the hair that you had been snorting at earlier. Maybe Max Lord wasn’t soooo bad. “Hell of a tour, huh?” 

“Fuck.” He chuckles, still not moving on top of you and snuggling into you even more when your fingers scratch his scalp. “The best.” 

[hellfiremunsonn]

Desperate. Joseph Quinn x Reader

Desperate.

I DO NOT ALLOW MY WRITING TO BE REPUBLISHED ANYWHERE OTHER THAN MY OWN BLOG WITHOUT MY CONSENT

Summary: Attending the premier of Josephs new film Hoard, you get a little needy seeing him in his element, so you take matters into your own hands... literally.

18 + IF YOU ARE NOT 18 OR OLDER DO NOT READ OR INTERACT WITH MY WRITING. IT IS NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME.

Warnings: fem!reader, reader has a vagina, established relationship, Josephs a bit dom, praise, pet names (baby, babe, dove, little thing) swearing, dirty talk I guess? suggestive. (IF THERES ANYTHING I MISSED LET ME KNOW)

AN: apparently I'm still capable of writing! Who knew! Hope you guys like it. NOT PROOF READ

Wordcount: 1k

You were antsy, but you always were when you attended these premier with Joe. No matter how big or small, your nerves were always amped up to 100 and although Joe claimed to be as nervous as you, you could never tell with how perfectly he handled it all. 

Smiles and laughs, cracking jokes, the man could have everyone swooning over him in the matter of seconds. It came so effortlessly to him, and it was an honour to watch. 

Your hand clung tightly to the back of his black button up, posing for pictures with him, smiling towards the many shouting photographers with their flashing cameras. Josephs hand firm on your hip, a grounding sentiment to help with the nerves. 

When you stepped away so Joseph and his costars could get photographed together you felt your heart squeeze watching them all together. You also wanted to bite Joseph for how goddamn good he looked. With that stupid watch you helped pick out, snug on his wrist. You didn't know why it was such a turn on, but it was, and later when he was taking pictures with Laura Lightfoot Leon, while wearing that cream coloured jumper, with his curly hair and goofy smile, you thought you might explode if you didn't have him soon. 

Joseph can tell something is up, he's watching you shift your weight from foot to foot, legs crossing over each other but he can't decipher what's got you so fidgety. When he finishes taking pictures he saunters back over to you, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head, a lazy smile on his face and you had to fight the urge moan at the sight of him. Hands going straight for your waist, you step up only slightly to wrap your arms around his neck, letting him pull you closer. 

"Sun getting to you?" He asks, one hand coming up to your cheek, thumb resting on the apple of it, feeling its warmth under it. 

You shake your head. "No, why?" You ask tilting your head. 

"You look a little flushed, maybe we should get you inside" he smiles, one arm still wrapped around your waist. Your cheeks burn hotter, was it obvious to anyone else how badly you craved him?

Making your way into the air conditioned venue he walked you down a long hallway away from so many people, with the nod of a security guard who allowed you both to pass. "There's a green room over here, we can have a moment to ourselves for a bit, without all the chaos" 

Although the sentiment was nice, and you loved that he wanted to have a soft moment with you but you couldn't wait any longer. Rounding the corner you tugged on his hand pulling him a little harshly until you were both out of view from any potential onlookers. Your hands are trembling when they reach his belt, trying to get it off quickly. "Babe, baby, woah-" he sounds like he's going to stop you but his hands don't move from where they rest on either side of your ribcage. 

You're about to complain about the belt buckle when it slips free, and you rush to pop the button and pull the zipper down just enough to slide your hand past the two layers separating you from his cock. He groans softly when your hand brushes against his already hardening length, the soft tuff of his pubes tickling your skin as you begin to palm him. 

"I'm so horny Joey" you babble, leaning your head forward so it rests against his chest, watching your hand disappear into his pants. "Need you" you mumble, looking back up at him with desperate eyes. "Need you so bad"

"Fuck" he says through gritted teeth, pulling your face towards him with a firm hand on the back of your neck so he can kiss you. It's messy and clumsy, and you can't control the needy moan that slips from you when you feel his tongue touch yours. You grip him a little harder in your hand, feeling him stiffen more with each desperate stroke. 

"Baby I can't fuck you in a- fuuuuck" his words are cut off by another firm squeeze. "I can't fuck you in a hallway" he says a bit quieter glancing down each end of the hall.

"Then don't fuck me" you say, removing your hand from him, only to reach up under the skirt of your dress to pull off your soaked panties, shoving them into the front pocket of his pants. "Just touch me, please, anything" you beg bringing his hand between your legs, your intertwined fingers dancing along your slick folds together. 

"Holy shit" he mumbles in disbelief. Your knees start to buckle the second he makes contact with your clit, your hand falling away to hold onto his bicep to keep yourself up. "Baby" he coos, rubbing you slowly, your slick covering his fingers. He removes his hand from you slowly and you whine, instantly reaching down to redirect his hand but he stops you. 

"Gimme a second my love, I've got something better, come here" he pulls you closer, wet fingers digging into the plush of your thighs where he hitches it up against his hip. He takes both of your hands and pulls them up to his shoulders. "Hold onto me" he instructs before taking his cock in his hand, pushing his pants down just enough to get it out. Swiping it against your entrance you hum, head tilting back exposing your neck to him where he places a few small kisses.

"You're fucking filthy you know that?" he pushes slightly, not enough to slip in but enough to have your mind going fuzzy. "Needy little thing, in the middle of a premier, you're so desperate for cock that you're willing to get caught for it huh?" he teases, but you shake your head no, holding onto his shoulders a little harder when you feel him push just a bit more. 

"No?" He questions. "Oh so you're not desperate for cock?"

"Jus' yours" you mumble. "Only yours" your eyes meet his and Joseph swears he could cum from that look alone. 

His smile is almost sinister when he looks at you but you can still see the love there. "Thats a good fucking answer" he praises while finally pushing himself entirely into you. 

"Oh-Ohmygod" You whimper, shoving your face into his neck, fingers clutching at any piece of him you can touch. He tugs you closer somehow, while his hips pull back every so slightly only to shove himself right back in. His thrusts are slow but deep, making your lower abdomen ache with how full he's making you feel. The one leg that you're balanced on is trembling with how hard you're trying to keep yourself steady, the six inch heels no longer a good idea. "M'gunna have to carry you out of here aren't I?" Joseph laughs, his breath fanning across the side of your temple. 

You try to reply but the words are stuck in your throat, only small 'uh' noises able to escape. "Quite down dove, you wanna cum before we get caught yeah?" 

"Please" You whisper, head tilting back once more, mouth hung open. His pace quickens only a little, but he somehow manages to hit that sweet spot even deeper over and over. "Fucking christ" your hand moves to your stomach. "You're so d-deep"

"Just how my baby likes it huh?" his hand reaches down to toy with your clit, not much needed other than some pressure with how good he's fucking you. "I'm so close baby, want you to cum first, can you do that for me?"

Your eyes are shut tight, but you manage to nod. Your climax sparking in your stomach begging to burst. "Close" you whimper and he pulls your head back into his neck while he continues to fuck up into you. Your whole body starts shaking before your orgasm fully hits you, and you have to bite down on the collar of his shirt to help keep you quiet. You sound like your crying, sobbing into him but Joseph knows better than to stop whatever hes doing when he's got you sounding like this. "That's it, fuck baby you're so good to me" he rushes, his own orgasm coming to a hilt fast. "F-fuck, I'm gunna cum"

"Yes, yes, please, I need you to cum in me" you whisper into the dampness of his neck where your mouth has been stationed. 

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck-" He almost growls, holding back as much noise as he can as he feels himself spill into you, the way your cunt clenches around him perfectly, milking every ounce until you're both a panting mess. Only when Joseph is able to come back into himself, he lowers your leg, slipping out of you slowly while you quickly cross your legs tightly. You wobbly, barely able to keep yourself straight. 

"You okay?" he asks, brushing the hair from your face, holding your flushed cheeks in his hands. Only this time he knows why they're flushed.

"So good" you purr, leaning into him for a short moment before he's pulling away from you and buttoning up his pants. 

You pout at the lack of contact but then he's kneeling in front of you while helping you step out of your heels, your feet seeking sweet relief on the cold marble floor. "The night is pretty much over, what do you say we get you back to the hotel and until a bath?"

"I'd like that" you say fondly, wrapping your arms back around his neck. He kisses you softly, and you can feel the love he has for you being poured into it. "Can you fuck me again when we get there?"

"Jesus Christ woman" he laughs loudly, picking up your heels and letting them dangle on his two fingers before taking your hand into his free one. "Maybe if you can make it to the car without my cum dripping down your legs" he says lowly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. 

[ahonice]

Paper Rings

Paper Rings 

Mark Estapa x Fem Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Warnings: cursing, underage drinking, smoking weed, some sexual jokes, fluff (Who am I??? A fic that is only fluff, someone check on me) 

Note: this is my second installment of fics based off of my favorite Taylor Swift songs, paper rings is next because I am a lover girl just as much as I am a speak now girl <3. Enjoy, leave feedback (if my writing sucks tell me I need to know lol) Have a great day babes!!

*italics are song lyrics* (I recommend you listen to the song while reading)

***

“The moon is high, like your friends were the night that we first met. Went home and tried to stalk you on the internet, now I’ve read all of the books beside your bed.”

Like every other Saturday night since I started college I found myself with a twisted tea in one hand and a blunt in another. The only difference tonight had with the one that occurred one hundred and sixty eight hours ago was the scenery, rather than getting crossed in the safety of my friend's backyard I found myself in a lawn chair in a backyard that belonged to my roommate's new boyfriend’s friends. 

The conversation was hard to follow. I quickly found out that the drinks and weed I was consuming were being provided by hockey players, making me a little on edge because as much as I don’t wanna be that person, I have no idea where they got this weed. I used the guy who sat next to me as my guinea pig, like how in the olden days where royalty would have someone try all their food and drinks to test for poison, he hit everything before I did. 

Soon enough it was time to leave. I bid the boys a half hearted farewell, as I had only spoken to two of them, Johnny, my roommate's friend, and the boy who I sat next to who’s name I never learned. 

“Hannah how the hell are we getting back to the dorms?” Johnny had driven us there, but he also participated in the activities of the night leaving him unable to drive us all back to campus. 

“Good question. Johnny, is anyone not impaired here?” Thank god one of the seniors didn’t smoke or drink because he was kind enough to drive us back to campus.

During the car ride I sat in the passenger seat, as Hannah and Johnny wanted to sit in the back together and I wanted no part in that. Looking at the two in the back I saw how distracted they were with each other. I decided to ask the question I had been wanting the answer to all night.

“Hey, sorry if this is an odd question, but who was the guy I was sitting next to all night? Tall, blonde?” I asked a guy who’s name I didn’t know the name of a guy who’s name I didn’t know. I really need to start introducing myself to others. 

“Oh your taste tester? That’s Mark Estapa, and I’m Eric by the way. I know you never got my name either.” I smiled at his answer, typing Mark’s name in my phone before looking back up at Eric to inform him of my name. 

“I’ll be sure to tell him your name when he asks me tonight.”

***

Once I was in the comfort of my own dorm room I pulled out my phone to look Mark up on instagram. Quickly finding his account I spent more time then I had meant scrolling through his posts, his tagged posts, and a little bit of his following just to see what was up. An internal battle was occurring in my head as I tried to figure out if I should follow Mark or not.

“Hey Hannah, do you think I should–”

“Yes you should follow him.”

“The wine is cold like the shoulder that I gave you in the street, cat and mouse for a month or two or three. Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe.”

It wasn’t on purpose, I was too distracted by the essay revisions my professor has just given me to see Mark waving at me. 

“Ouch dude that was brutal, didn’t you say she followed you on instagram. Isn’t that like a sign that she is interested?” Ethan said, giving his buddy a pity slap on the back.

“Just because she followed him first doesn’t mean she likes him, she could’ve just wanted to follow him. Stop being so delusional Edwards” Mackie said, “Also, that was tough to watch. Sorry Mark.” He added, commenting on the way I had completely ignored him. 

***

That Saturday Hannah and Johnny had somehow convinced, well more like threatened, me to come to the party the hockey team was throwing to celebrate their season starting earlier that day. 

Entering the house Johnny and Hannah immediately ditched me to go somewhere more private, much to my distaste I begged them to get a room while they were making out on the walk here, regretting that request because they were now doing just that. 

“Need a drink?” A voice came from behind me, I turned around to see Mark smiling at me with a twisted tea in his hand. “Saw that you were drinking a twea last time you were over so…” He trailed off as I reached to grab the can.

“Thank you Mark.” I smiled at him, his expression mirroring mine.

“You wanna smoke?” 

“Kiss me once ‘cause you know I had a long night. Kiss me twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright. Three times ‘cause I waited my whole life.”

That same scene happened over and over again. The hockey team would host a party, I would attend and find Mark, more often than not he would find me, and we would go smoke. 

I was starting to get annoyed with how slow things were progressing between us. I followed him on instagram, the ball was in his court now and it had been for nearly a month now. Surprisingly enough over the past month I became close with Eric, the guy who drove me home the night I first met Mark. 

Tonight when I arrived at the party I made a beeline for the couch that Eric was sitting on, ignoring Mark’s wave again. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m trying to enjoy my time here Y/n, go bother Mark.”

“Cicc this is about Mark.” 

Nodding silently, Eric stood up and allowed me to lead the way. Bad idea considering I had no idea where I was, this was a new house that I hadn’t been to before.

“Eric, I don't know where I’m going.” 

“Oh shit yeah, sorry.” He said laughing. “Give me like a minute I’m gonna go see if anyone is in my room.” I nodded, making a mental note that this is where Eric lived so I could bother him in the future when he would ignore my texts, which he did all the time. 

“Hey Y/n.” Mark said from behind me. I turned around giving him a quick greeting before recognizing the drink in his hand.

“For me?” 

“Always is.” He smiled, handing me the drink. “Look listen I was wondering, if you don’t wanna do this it’s fine, but I was wondering if you wanted to–”

“Y/n some couple is going at it in my room, but I think Moyle’s room is open.” Eric said coming down the steps, interrupting Mark. “By some couple I mean Hannah and Johnny, we gotta put a muzzle on them or something.”

“It’ll do. Mark, we can smoke later, once I’m done dealing with that idiot.” I said motioning towards Eric who made a face of shock before laughing. “I’ll find you, okay?” Mark nodded, I noticed the way he looked a little defeated but I decided to ignore it and blame it on the lighting.

***

“So we’ve been hanging out together at parties and talking constantly during the day, but he won’t ask me out. Is he not interested in me? He won’t even ask me to just plain hang out as friends outside of parties.” I rambled to Eric once we made it to Nolan’s room. 

“Wait what was he saying before I interrupted him?”

“He was just asking me to go smoke.” I said before realizing Mark was probably not asking me to smoke because he always just says “wanna smoke”.

“You idiot Eric.” I yelled.

“What did I do?”

“You interrupted him while he was asking me out, and then made it seem like we were going upstairs to do stuff.” I said, reaching over to smack him on the back of his head.

“Oh shit, yeah that probably doesn’t look too good in his mind.” 

“I’m leaving, goodbye, I’ll find you when I want to go home.”

“Why do I always have to take you home?” Eric asked, but I was already out the door. “Good luck Y/n.”

***

It took a little bit, but I finally found Mark sitting outside in one of the chairs placed around a firepit. Making my way up to him I saw that he had already smoked most of his blunt.

“Started without me?” I asked, laughing at the way he jumped in surprise.

“You snooze you loose.” Mark said, chuckling, but I could tell it was fake. I sat down in the chair next to him before speaking.

“Is everything okay? You seem a bit off.” I asked, a little afraid of how he might react to my question. We hadn’t been friends for very long, if we were even considered that.

“Yeah, I’m great.” He said, smiling for some reassurance, I don’t know if it was for me or for him. “What’s going on with you and Eric?” I had a feeling the question was coming, but it still took me by surprise.

“Nothing, we’re just friends. We’ve gotten really close over the past month, in a strictly friends way. Just friends…” I trailed off, hoping Mark would get that I’m being so adamant on us being friends and friends only. When Mark only nodded in response I let out a sigh. “Earlier, before when you were asking me about something…what was it that you were asking?” 

“Oh just to see if you wanted to smoke.” That was a lie.

“That’s a lie, what were you really gonna ask me?” I pressed on the subject because I hated when something was being kept from me, secrets, lies, anything being hidden from me.

“I wanted to see if you wanted to hang out with me, outside of a party and not just smoke weed, but I get it if you don’t, or if you’re too busy–”

“I’d love to.”

“I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings. Darling, you’re the one I want. I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this. Darling, you’re the one I want.”

The night was going great, it wasn’t a date Mark hadn’t asked me on a date, he asked me to hang out. We went to a diner for food, it was a cute mom and pop shop. While we sat waiting for our food, the waitress brought over our milkshakes. 

“Give me your hand.” Mark told me after the waitress had walked away. Skeptically I reached over and gave him my right hand. “No the left one.” I switched hands, looking at him even more confused now.

He works silently, wrapping my left ring finger in the paper wrapping of the straw he put into his milkshake moments ago. I smiled once I realized what he was doing, making me a paper ring. I quickly took a picture of my hand with Mark smiling in the background and sent it to Eric.

To: Eric🥱

*image*

He is already buying me jewelry 🥰

From: Eric🥱

Thought this wasn’t a date?

From: Eric🥱

I better be giving you away at y’alls wedding.

To: Eric🥱

You’re gonna be my flower girl Cicc 

To: Eric🥱

ALSO it’s not a date asshat🙄

I put my phone down as our waitress brought our food over, immediately diving into both the food and a conversation with Mark.

“In the winter, in the icy outdoor pool. When you jumped in first, I went in too. I’m with you even if it makes me blue.”

“This is a bad idea.” It was. Mark found out, much to my dismay, that I didn’t know how to ice skate, in return making it his mission to teach me. 

“No it’s not, I promise this is safe.” Mark reassured me, well attempted to.

After finding out that our hometowns were just a few miles apart we spent a lot of winter break together. For Christmas he got me ice skates, and a personalized bong but I couldn’t open that in front of my parents, who were spying on our gift exchange earlier that week.

“Mark I can’t accept these, they’re way too much money.” I felt bad, I had gotten him some lulu shorts, which were heavily discounted thanks to me working there, and his favorite munchie snacks. 

“Y/n please, I need to teach you how to skate and how can I do that if you don’t have any skates. Think of this as an investment, I’ll be getting my money back in no time.” By money back he meant that he would be rewarded with spending time with me, teaching me how to do something he loves. 

“This is a frozen pond, no way I’m going on this, it is not safe. Have you ever seen The Good Son.” I was not going onto the ice, I had a fear of drowning ever since I watched the movie when I was a little girl.

“No I have not seen that, but I promise it’s ok. Look they marked that the ice is thick enough and it’s cold enough out to be on here, we just have to avoid that small patch in the middle.”

“If I drown you’re going to jail for my murder.” Mark laughed at my joke, that wasn’t completely a joke. I had some truth behind my words.

Eventually I allowed Mark to lead me to the small bench so he could help me get my skates on, I took a quick picture as he put my foot between his thighs to tighten the laces. I smiled down at the picture as I sent it to Eric.

To: Eric🥱

*image*

He got me skates…

From: Eric🥱

He got you nice ass skates*

From: Eric🥱

Photo is cute, Mark looks extremely happy for someone who has a blade to their crotch.

To: Eric🥱

I hate you. 

“You ready?” Mark brought my attention back to him and I smiled nodding.

“You better not let me fall Estapa.” I said, pushing his chest lightly with my finger. He laughed in response and promised me he would never.

***

“Can I hold just one hand now?” Mark asked me. 

We had now been on the ice for about fifteen minutes, the whole time he skated backwards, holding both my hands, and I wasn’t really skated, I was more being pulled along, I don’t think I picked either of my feet up once the whole time.

“Yeah sure, just don’t go too fast.” He nodded and shifted over to the left side of me, holding just my left hand. I decided that I would start moving my feet rather than just being dragged. 

“Don’t look down at your feet, you’ll mess yourself up.” Mark gave me the piece of advice after noticing my eyes were trained on the ice below me. 

Soon another fifteen minutes went by before I decided to try skating without him holding me steady.. 

“Let go of my hand, I wanna try it on my own” I said with the most confidence I could muster up.

“Are you sure?” Mark asked, raising his eyebrows at me.

“Yes, keep skating next to me, just don’t hold onto me anymore.” He nodded at my request and let my hand go.

I definitely stopped skating as fast, but I was still doing it on my own. 

“Think you’re ready for me to give you some space?” Mark asked, I nodded quickly before I realized what that meant. My safety net would no longer be there in case I fell. I hadn’t been close to falling yet, the whole time I was out there was going very smoothly, but before I could take back my nod Mark had already sped up and went to the other side of the pond.

“Skate towards me.” He told me, after planting himself about thirty feet away from me. I managed to gain as much courage as possible and started skating towards him. The skating itself went well but there was one thing that Mark hadn’t taught me yet.

“Mark, I don't know how to slow down, or stop.” I yelled. It felt like I was going forty over the speed limit, in reality I was probably going five miles an hour. 

“Just shift your body to the left, turn your feet.” Mark yelled at me but it was too late, I closed my eyes and I came flying and ran into him, somehow knocking his body to the ground, me quickly following after.

After opening my eyes I saw Mark staring back at me with a smile on his face, he was laughing at me and I joined in. Once the giggles settled down it was like a staring contest, neither of us wanted to break, or maybe knew how. 

“Can I kiss you?” It was insanely cliche, I wanted to roll my eyes at the thought of how predictable this was, but I still nodded my head at Mark’s question and smiled as he leaned in.

“Which takes me back to the color that we painted your brother’s wall. Honey without all the exes, fights, and flaws, we wouldn’t be standing here so tall.”

It was our first fight. Mark began getting upset with how much time I was spending with Eric about three months into our relationship.

“I am your boyfriend, not him.”

“You don’t think I’m aware of that? Eric and I have been friends for quite some time now, why are you getting upset?” I didn’t understand why Mark was so angry, it wasn’t like I was flirting with Eric, or even ditching Mark to hangout with him, or doing anything that would cause Mark to be skeptical over me and Eric’s friendship.

“Y/n, you’re not viewing this from my perspective. You constantly talk to Eric, you text him while we’re on dates or just hanging out, you facetime or call him a couple times a week, you hang out with him just you two multiple times a week, he takes you home from parties and kickbacks, and you have never been to one of our hockey games but you said that when you did that you would be wearing one of Eric’s jerseys.” Mark’s words began speeding up as more and more spilled from his mouth.

He had a point though. I did text Eric during our dates, always pictures I took of Mark doing whatever I found endearing and asking for advice on how I’m supposed to function properly around this boy who makes me feel so many things. I had weekly phone calls with Eric, sometimes text messages weren’t enough and I needed to rant about how much I liked Mark verbally. We hang out a lot, we get lunch together every Tuesday and Thursday because we have the same break in classes on those days. He takes me home from parties, he was always the designated sober, Mark couldn’t take me home if he wanted to because we always got crossed together. I said I would wear one of Eric’s jerseys before me and Mark started dating, obviously now I would wear Mark’s jersey.

So that’s what I told him. I said those exact words to Mark, maybe a few differences here and there but still the same points being made. We discussed everything more, I had to reassure Mark that there truly was nothing going on between me and Eric, and that there never had been in the past, a couple of times but I didn’t mind. I wanted Mark to know how I truly felt about him, even if we had only known each other for a little over two months.

“Alright, can I see those photos you’ve been taking of me?”

“Kiss you once ‘cause I know you had a long night. Kiss you twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright. Three times ‘cause you waited your whole life.”

That next weekend I found myself sitting in the stands of Yost with Hannah on my side, I was wearing one of Mark’s jerseys and Hannah was wearing one of Johnny’s. I made a mental note to get coffee with her soon so we could properly dish about our love lives and other things we can’t do around our boyfriends.

Michigan won their game, but it wasn’t a pretty win. Mark had gotten two penalties and it was a win in overtime. While waiting outside the backdoors with Hannah we noticed some of the guys trickling out, all smiling at us, some greeting us with words and asking us how we’re doing. It wasn’t until Johnny walked out that Hannah left me on my own. I was a little confused on what was taking Mark so long, had he walked past me and I didn’t even realize? I drove myself here so it wasn’t like I was waiting for him to drive me back or anything, he never explicitly asked me to meet him after the game. My thoughts were cut short by the sound of the door opening, the person walking out making me smile as I walked up towards them.

“Where is Mark? Did he leave already?” I asked Eric as I finally stood in front of him.

“Hello to you too Y/n.” I gave a fake laugh, urging Eric to tell me where the hell my boyfriend was. “He is still inside, should be coming out soon though. Want me to wait with you?”

I smiled at his offer, but declined it, telling him I would text him when I got back to my dorm for the night. There was definitely going to be a party thrown to celebrate the win tonight, but I didn’t feel like going and I was hoping Mark felt the same way.

After giving Eric a hug goodbye I waited about five more minutes before the familiar face of my boyfriend began to approach me.

“Hey babe, sorry for taking so long. Tough game, I’m really glad you were able to make it. Did you have fun?” He asked, wrapping his arms around me. The last question was slightly muffled due to his head being nuzzled into my neck. I didn’t answer though, well not immediately. I pulled away from his embrace and leaned up to kiss him, a sigh of relief fell from his mouth as he reciprocated the kiss. It wasn’t a heated make out, nothing scandalous, just an intimate and slow kiss that expressed the feelings we felt for each other. As I pulled away to catch my breath, which Mark quietly whined about, I informed him that I had a lot of fun and that I will definitely be attending more games of his in the future. Mark smiled at that and I couldn’t help but kiss him again, and once more when we made it to my car. 

“What’s with all the kisses? Not that I’m complaining.” He asked once I handed him my keys so that he could drive.

“I don’t know, I just feel like kissing you right now.” My answer was the truth, as embarrassing as it felt to say it.

“Well then let’s skip the actual party and bring ours back to your place?” I giggled at what Mark was implying, but nodded nonetheless.

“Hannah is gonna be with Johnny at the party for a couple hours.”

“Let’s go.”

“I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings. Darling, you’re the one I want. And I hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this. Darling, you’re the one I want.”

“Mark, I told you that you didn’t have to get me anything for my birthday.”

“I know, but I wanted to. Now open it.” I glared at his attitude before going to open the small box. 

“Oh Mark, this is beautiful.” It was a ring, silver, but it looked like an origami heart. Lately Mark had been getting more creative with the rings he would make at restaurants, drawing hearts or writing cute little notes, about a month ago he began attempting to fold the straw wrappers into shapes. None of them ever turned out the way he wanted them too, so now he got me one that was perfect, even if he didn’t make it. “I love it.” I love you. “You’re really stepping up your ring game lately Estapa.”

“Just wait until I propose.” 

“I want to drive away with you, I want your complications, I want your dreary Mondays, wrap your arms around me baby boy.”

“Let’s just run away together.” 

“Mark, what? No.”

Things have been pretty stressful lately. My classes were whooping my ass, Mark was feeling a lot of stress while approaching the frozen four tournament. 

“I can’t handle the pressure of this. What if we get bumped out in the semifinals again, I want to win so badly Y/n.”

“Mark, all that matters is that you do your best. It’s a team effort, you can’t put all the weight on yourself. It’s okay to feel a little worried, but you can’t let it get to you, that will only affect your game and then your fears will come true.” I told him, reaching over to grab his hand from across the table we sat at and giving him a small, but reassuring, smile. 

“I love you.” 

I froze, I didn’t know what to do. I loved Mark, I knew I did and I had known for quite some time, but hearing those words come out of his mouth, to hear that the boy I love so much loves me as well was too much for me to handle. I wanted to yell, to scream out that I loved him too, but for some reason on this damn Monday afternoon I couldn’t speak. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. I hadn’t realized how long I was silent until I fully looked at Mark, sitting there the most vulnerable I had seen anyone, and crying. Shit he was crying.

“Mark I–”

“No I get it, if you don’t love me back. That’s ok, we haven’t been together for that long.” A lie, we had been together for over a year. “-I’m sorry for saying that.”

“Mark, don't apologize for saying what you’re feeling.” Why the hell could I not tell him I loved him, it’s just three words, but they just couldn’t find their way out of my mouth. His crying increased, he was almost full on sobbing right now, it broke my heart.

“Please don’t cry baby.” I reached out for him, but he winced away. “I love you too.” 

“Don’t just say that, don’t lie to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying to you, I love you. I have for a long time, since you got me my ring.” I sighed, reaching out for him once again, praying he wouldn’t shy away from me again, he didn’t. “Mark, I quite literally froze when you told me you loved me. To hear that you love me back, Mark, it makes me so happy. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back fast enough, I can’t imagine how you were feeling.” Mark smiled at my words, I could see the tension releasing from his shoulders.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Mark.”

“I love you too, Y/n”

We both broke out into a fit of giggles, Mark made his way around the table and wrapped his arms around me.

“I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings. That’s right, you’re the one I want. I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this. Darling, you’re the one I want.”

Me and Mark were out celebrating my college graduation, he flew in from Vegas to watch me accept my diploma. The past year we had gone long distance, I went to Vegas for his NHL debut and we were both home for the holidays, but other than that our relationship took place through a screen. It wasn’t ideal, but we got through it. 

“Mark, can you order for me? Just my usual, I need to use the restroom.” Unsurprisingly we went to our favorite diner, the one we frequented a lot when both of us were living in Ann Arbor.

I came back to the table to see that our waitress had brought over the milkshakes we ordered. The scene was very similar, but one thing was different.

“No ring today Estapa? Are you trying to let me down gently?” I joked, a little confused seeing that the wrappers from the straws that sat in our drinks were crumpled up together 

“I thought you might like a ring made out of a different material.” Mark stated before moving out of his booth seat and shifting onto one knee. The confusion in my face faded once I realized what he was doing. Oh my god.

“Oh my god.”

“Y/n, I thank god everyday that you didn’t trust Nolan’s weed enough to smoke it without having a taste tester. I love you so much, I love everything about you, I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anybody but you.” Tears began to fill my eyes, I could see them filling Mark’s too. “Y/n, will you marry me?” I knew it was coming, but I still gasped. The ring was beautiful, an exact replica of the ring I designed for fun two years ago, telling Mark to take a mental picture of it for the future, I guess he actually did it.

“YES!”

“Paper rings, in picture frames, in all my dreams, you’re the one I want.”

“I can’t believe you kept all of these.”

Our wedding had just ended, I was officially married to Mark, Y/n Estapa. It was a beautiful ceremony, the reception lasted almost six hours. If asked what was my favorite part of my wedding, other than officially becoming Mark’s wife, it was the picture frames placed all around the venue with pictures of me, or Mark, or me and Mark, and along with it was a paper ring, dated from that same day the picture was taken. 

“You kept every single ring you made me?”

“I’m a little offended that you never kept them, but it made my surprise all the more better.” 

“I have a surprise for you too, but you can’t see it until we get to the room, which we can’t go to until everyone has left…”

“EVERYBODY OUT, THANK YOU FOR COMING, LEAVE NOW PLEASE!”

“You’re the one I want.”

***

Note: Not proofread, because that's for losers. My brother graduated college today and I wrote this while sitting through that long ass ceremony so idk if this is good or not, tell me if it sucks tell me if you love it idc just any type of feedback is greatly appreciated. Also ik that Mark isn’t drafted (I don’t think he is, if he is then whoops) but I used Vegas because of that instagram post. Love y’all, have a great day. 

[short-black-diamond]

Could you maybe do one where Izuku x reader where he forgets his kids birthday and then give maybe a happy or sad ending. Like if sad then maybe like reader and his kid go to his office and see him drinking and talking with his friends and then the kid, 5 years old or smth, runs out and the reader is like so dissapointed in him and then Izuku realises what he's done.

i really like your writing style so i would like to see how you play out this scenario.

Thanks <3

AWW, no the poor kid...

Also thanks for complimenting my writng style! I didn't know I had one but good to know! And you guys have a daughter cuz you didn't tell me the gender and bla bla bla. Also I changed it a little with the office part and it gets suggestive in the end but not too much, I hope that's okay with you...

Happy reading!

I forgot, I'm sorry!

---

Summary: In which your daughter gets sad by her father's absence on her birthday.

You were happy in your relationship with Izuku. Everything was not alright, considering your husband's constant absence, but you guys managed. What you didn't like however, is how he always used the excuse of having to fight a villain or something which would ruin important dates the two of you had. the first date you two had when meeting up for a blind date, five minutes late. First anniversary, ten minutes late, okay. First meeting with the doctor for possible pregnancy, fifteen minutes. Birthing the child? Had to fight a villain, sorry! You kind of hoped that Izuku would at least try to not be late for your daughter's birthday, as it arrived in a month, and you even told him multiple times so that he wouldn't forget. But, it seemed like all your efforts of warning him and discussing things with him went out the roof when he didn't pick up the phone to play hero with your daughter and her friends on her special day. your offspring was looking at you with a sad frown and you swore you'd kill Izuku for not being there for your daughter. After the party was over; speak, her falling asleep in her little room and you waiting for Izuku to arrive, you cleaned everything up. And then, only then when you put away the last piece of popped balloon did the front door open. A drunken Izuku stumbled into the corridor, laughing giddily and you'd have beaten the living shit out of him if he only were sober. When he caught sight of your pretty face, he cooed at you. "Awwww, my sweet wife is thereeee! How are youuuuuuuu?", he sang, trying to get out of his shoes. Meanwhile, you were only frowning at him. When he didn't get an answer form you, he lifted his head from his shoelaces and saw your angry face. "Wha's wron'?", he slurred and you felt your face growing hotter by the minute. "What's wrong? You went out to fucking drink on your daughter's birthday, Izuku!", you whisper-yelled, not wanting her to find out about the argument you two would have. You stopped drinking the moment you received the news of your daughter in your belly and didn't consume a droplet ever since. You hoped Izuku would stop too. Right now, Izuku was frowning at you. "Her...her birthday...was...t-today?", and he seemed to wake up from the drowsiness, suddenly completely sober -if that's even possible- and wanted to go to her room but stopped when he saw her tiny figure by the doorframe.

"...you forgot about my birthday?", she asked, her eyes filling with big tears and she frowned angryly. "I-I'm sorry sweetie, I didn't mean to!"

She just cried and you took her in your arms before frowning at your husband. "Go take a shower and then we'll talk-" "I don' wanna talk do daddy! Daddy's stupid! He forgot mah birthday!", your child yelled at him and buried her head in the crook of your neck and nearly suffocating you with her arms around your neck. You understood your daughter's pain, having lived through that as well with your own father who always mixed up your age and your birthday, heck, he even thought you were still in middle school when you were in high-school. You couldn't believe that Izuku would have actually forgotten about it though, I mean, she's his daughter, no?

Izuku felt like crying too and went into the bathroom. After a few minutes, Izuku stepped out and held something behind him, calling your daughter's name to grab her attention. She reluctangly pouted at him, still holding onto you who was stroking her back while she sniffed. He showed her a dynamite action plushie and she sqealed in delight upon getting such a gift, it was limited edition after all. She hopped off your lap and you chuckled, your own anger melting away by the lovely father-daughter interaction and recording Izuku's cries for pleading for feorgiveness from your child who was giggling in delight. You wished there were more moments like these.

While your child was playing with the toy which resembled one of your close friends and Izuku's childhood rival, Izuku himself felt like his soul was flying out of his mouth. "I'm glad she's not mad...but why Kacchan?" You huffed in amusement before nudging him. "At least you didn't forget about buying her a gift beforehand. Also...why don't you take some time off? You're barely spending time with us these past days."

What you said was true, and even though you were still mad at him for not being there on her birthday, you couldn't help but feel bad for being mad at him. Izuku had so much on his shoulders and you wanted to take that weight from him.

Izuku groaned while nodding, feeling sleepy all of a sudden. That's when your daughter chimed her sauce into the conversation as well. "I wanna be an older sister, daddy! I want a younger sibling for my next birthday!"

Safe to say that Izuku fulfilled that wish the moment your daughter fell sound asleep and you got your world rocked yet again.

---

Bruh... I kinda cringed towards the end because I wanted it to be like, y'know, wholesome but because I'm also a huge perv so I wrote a sentence ending like that aaaannnnnd yea, I hope that was good or even half of what you were expecting.

Also, please tell me if it was good or not because this is like my third request or so, so I'm not really that used to receiving stuff like that. But it was fun! I am always happy to get requests from you guys!

Read you in the next post!

[lazywitchling]

Alright, I’ve just finished Consorting with Spirits by Jason Miller.

Summary:

8/10 if I can ignore the author

7/10 if I can’t

So here’s the thing. I have come out of this book with a deep distaste for this guy. He just… oof, there are times that he just reads like a twitter tech bro who, within ten minutes of meeting him, will tell you all of the famous people who follow him on twitter. There’s just something about the constant name-dropping of Super Cool and Edgy spirits that just got on my nerves to no end. Like, buddy, can I get some more examples of you working with local no-name spirits in your area? Spirits that are just a lil guy? Or do they ALL have to be big name demons from ancient grimoires and cryptids from local legends and shit?

Also, yeah there’s too many times where he’s… maybe not always outright saying, but definitely heavily implying that closed cultures can be yours to take from if you really really really want to. I don’t love that.

AND chapter 2 definitely opens with a little example story of how Dave Chapelle’s Netflix comedy special is a case of people just ~*~*not understanding a joke and being too sensitive*~*~ and HELLO SIR????????

(He doesn’t specifically say it’s that comedy special, but check the timeline of writing vs that comedy special. It’s 100% what it is.)

So. Yeah. I’d love to meet this guy so I can throw a drink in his face.

THAT BEING SAID.

I am so annoyed to say that as much as I hated this guy, that’s how much I loved the book.

UGGGGGGGHHHHHHH. Friggin’… out here like goddamned Dabbler’s Guide to Witchcraft. WILL YOU PLEASE LET ME HATE YOUR BOOK?? I WANT TO!

But no, it’s actually a pretty good one. Best ever? Nah. But good. I am definitely better for having read it, and it gave me a lot of stuff to think about. There’s a section about how you *can’t* be bad at meditating, and it just… [chef kiss]. It was a really good section and I’m very glad to have read it.

Some of the criticisms I’ve heard of this book is that if you’re not interested in working with Hekate, St Cyprian, or Astaroth, then this book isn’t going to be very useful. And I can see what they mean, because they make up the bulk of the examples in the book. You’d think they were the only entities out there to work with. But though Jason isn’t always the best about saying it, the Hekate/Cyprian/Astaroth rituals are supposed to be examples of how to structure your own thing to fit the entities you work with.

There’s good, practical advice about working with and communicating with spirits, and it’s stuff you can actually put into practice. Additionally, I don’t recall him having any real “You need to buy this fancy thing!” stuff in there, which is nice. Even the anti-capitalist witch books I’ve read have had SOME kind of consumer element to them.

He says that this should not be your first witch book, and I (sort of) agree. This isn’t a basic-witchcraft text, so you should know how to put together some basic protection, do some divination, etc. There’s a good quote in chapter 7 that says “If every book has to contain every possible preliminary and protection, then there will never be room for the substance of the book itself.” I LOVE that. I’ve read too many books that are supposed to be about some specialty, but they spend so long rehashing the basics that they barely even touch on the thing the book is supposed to be about.

That being said, while I wouldn’t consider this a Basic Witchcraft book, I would consider it a Basic Spirit Work book. If you know what you’re doing and you consider yourself a spirit worker, I don’t know that you’ll really get anything much out of this book. If you want to learn to be a spirit worker, though, this one has enough foundational things in it to get you started, imo.

(This is the part where I usually link you to the book in the Portland Button Works shop, because I want you to buy things from Alex, but I don’t see the book there anymore? idk if it’s gone gone or if it’ll restock. Anyway. Support your local bookstore, support witches with indie bookstores, etc.)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hey Steph :) Just a silly little question, out of curiosity. How do you personally find new stuff to read? Do you still go into the recent uploads of your pairings and just ... browse? Or do you mostly search for specific tags and scenarios? Or maybe you get most of your new reads from one of your own "What to read next?" list or from other people's recommendations or just follow the uploads from authors that you already know and like? I am asking because as a reader I grow "fandom fatigued" very easily. I very much enjoy looking through specific tags to find new gems but as soon as it turns into "work" because I have already read all the "obvious" picks I very easily drift out of the fandom space for a couple of months in favour of a different one. Hopefully to return at some later point when there is new writing to discover. Now usually I enjoy this process and there obviously is nothing wrong about it, but I am currently working on writing a fic in the fandom myself and I know that if I start focussing on a different fandom or pairing now then I probably will also fall out of interest with my own story for a while and it will be more difficult to pick up again later. I already found many inspiring new recommendations in your many lists so much thanks for that, I was just curious to hear how you continue to find new stuff to read and recommend, even after having read SO MUCH already :D

Hi Nonny!

Not a silly question at all!! I do get asked similar questions so having a public answer handy is great, ha ha! I'll answer each of your questions one at a time, since I think each question can be answered separately because of the nuance my brain is insistingI give to y'all.

How do you personally find new stuff to read?

This one is actually pretty easy, but it also depends upon the fandom I'm in the mood to read for. For Sherlock, literally it's BECAUSE I run a fic rec blog that encourages interactivity. You guys give me recs, and if they sound like something I want to read sooner than later, I add them to a Notes App Note and download the ePub to put on my iBooks to read later. I don't think I've browsed the AO3 ship tags for years for the Sherlock fandom. Also, I follow a lot of authors, and whenever they have a fic or suggest one, I add it to my MFL list.

If it's a new fandom though, I start with sorting by kudos or bookmarks and ship tags, and browse collections just to get an idea of what the fandoms offer. After that I sort by new uploads, but ALWAYS ship tags and filter out languages and tags that don't interest me.

So yeah, I run a fic rec blog, LOL. It helps a lot.

Do you still go into the recent uploads of your pairings and just ... browse? Or do you mostly search for specific tags and scenarios?

As I said above, only for other fandoms do I do this. For Sherlock I have fics recced to me daily so it helps. And yes, I go to my own blog's MFL lists to find or remind me of fics to read. AND I also decide "hey, I want to read a pining fic today" so I tag-search my own offline list so I can find the fics and read the descriptions without having to go to AO3 over and over. It's faster, having your own file on your computer, hahah.

Or maybe you get most of your new reads from one of your own "What to read next?" list or from other people's recommendations or just follow the uploads from authors that you already know and like?

As I said above, yeah, having an interactive blog helps IMMENSELY, and I also peruse other peoples' lists when they come across my dash. Follow on Tumblr or subscribe on AO3 to your fave authors and that's a good way to guarantee fics you will enjoy as well :)

=====

So yeah, it's just mostly stuff given to me. I can understand "fic fatigue". For me it's "fandom fatigue" really. I tend to just jump fandoms once in awhile since I found out I can read multiple fics as long as they're different fandoms and my brain won't confuse the plots. Or I get into a new fandom or thing and I MUST consume more from that universe. I used to feel guilty about it because I feel like people EXPECT me to only read Sherlock fics, but I just... need to be in the mood these days for a new fic in my well loved fandoms... I have re-read SO many Sherlock fics this year because I just love the squishy feeling I get from them.

AND I need to "have the spoons" to digest a new story, I think. AND another LARGE part why I haven't read many new Sherlock fics these days, is that because of the nature of my blog, it's actually work whenever I read a new fic since I have to "tag as I read" so that I can make the listing once I bookmark them. Reading Sherlock fics is genuinely work for me. Jumping to new fandoms removes that element for me.

So yeah, it's just me, LOL. Anyway, the TL;DR of this entire post is: I don't need to look, because people suggest new stuff to me all the time and it pleases me so. Only for other fandoms do I actually do the work to look for new fics unless I come across a fic rec list by happenstance while perusing tags on Tumblr, hee hee.

[luigiblood]

Game Ownership

In sort of a response to the Ubisoft director of subscriptions where he said that we need to get more confortable not owning games...

Well, reading that interview from GamesIndustry.biz, turns out he never really said that. It's more of an observation of the gaming subscription services, and comparing different views. It's actually a pretty interesting read.

But the negative response to the more clickbait part where the gamers went very much against this from the get go was something that particularly striked me as how I really just didn't feel like I was part of those who responded like this.

I do not care about owning games that much. I may be a owner of retro consoles, games, and about 50 Switch physical games, but the reasons ranges from passion to just practical and economical.

Taking the example of the Switch, what currently makes me attached to physical games are more of how it's usually cheaper in my country (like, first party games day one tend to be 25% off brand new), and the practicality when you live in a household with 2 Switch systems, it's just easier to share the games that way with your family. If I could just buy digitally with the same advantages, I'd just do that.

This view on game ownership has mostly to do with my past of a guy who pirated games and movies like crazy before we got a little more comfortable paying for stuff. But this past also comes with a deeper importance on the presence of data locally. Cloud gaming is something I hate on passionately if the industry keeps going on that as a means to play games exclusively. It would be the kind of thing that would make my heart broken about modern gaming as a whole, but thankfully we're not even close to there, and I suspect we'll never be.

But I could also not need to pay for the games, I don't really see a lack of ownership as a problem on its own. The only thing that matters is if it's practical or not, and that's the part that feels like it tends to be skipped when explained. That's how it went about movies and music.

That practicality is critical, and that is the part that's the most in danger. The big reason why is how companies can decide on a whim what is accessible to suit their needs. That WILL be completely in the process of enshittification due to how companies have to keep growing until it makes no more sense. You don't even need to look very far to understand this, video streaming services are already very good at doing absolutely this, but I also dare say the Game Pass and PlayStation Plus are on a similar boat to a different extent, though.

One of the recent examples of how bad shit is HBO Max's removal of a huge amount of content just for a massive tax write down. There is financial incentive to fuck us all, and I consider the future to do absolutely that in the long term for gaming.

That kind of thing SUCKS. That is what we're actually scared of as a consumer. I hate seeing art being considered as a throwaway product.

I even saw a french article that was so complacent with this and kept saying complete bullshit things like "oh if they remove that game from the service, just take it as an opportunity to play another one" just, fuck off. That's not how I see this kind of service.

I love Nintendo Switch Online, despite a lot of its flaws, and hate on Virtual Console's overall legacy personally. I'm all for ways to allow discoverability and pick the curiosity of people. That's the kind of shit that I love in having some ease of access to catalogs, despite not owning them.

Wasn't it the dream to just access to everything with less money though? Don't tell me otherwise because I wouldn't believe you. I do think there's something nice in this kind of service, but we also need to figure how to keep companies from the inevitable enshittification that will ensue on the constant need for growth beyond any reasonable sense.

[webcomicreads]

The Issue with "Foefic"

For as long as humans have created things, others have looked at the fruits of their labour and thought, "I can do that better." Drawing inspiration from something you see and think you could improve upon is not wrong, it is how innovation works when it comes to creating tools, art, cooking. However, some people mean it in a malicious way. A way that teeters on jealousy and, if I may, clout-thirsty.

Lore Rekindled is a "retelling" of the (unfortunately) Eisner award winning webcomic Lore Olympus. From what I saw on the post introducing it, it is "better drawn and better written." I, like many, have issue with Lore Olympus. The writing is lacking and absolutely not award-worthy, and it even misses the mark as a cheesy harlequin romance. Persephone's characterization has no consistency. The art, while striking and easily recognizable, leaves a lot to be desired, especially when it comes to backgrounds. I don't consider it noteworthy, but it is heavily pushed by Naver's Webtoon, and that is probably why it keeps winning awards. With how low my opinion of Lore Olympus was, I dived into Lore Rekindled hoping to find something with more substance.

I did not find that substance.

LR suffers in different ways than LO. It assumes that you have read or are at least familiar with the major characters of Lore Olympus, which is understandable. The characters are re-written and interact strangely. Many of the characters in LO are meant to come off as "old money," and this shows in their lifestyles, fashion, and way they speak. The characters in LR all appear to have the same voice. If I were to print out a transcript of this comic and read it out loud, they would all be indistinguishable. LR is "better drawn," but what I think they meant is it is less toony. The backgrounds are better most of the time, but the panelling is boring and lacks the dynamicism seen in the original work. The plot is, if I'm being honest, just AU fanfiction (derogatory).

When I also learned that this creator had an original comic, I was very interested to see what it brought to the table. As I understood it, LR was a side project. So you can imagine my surprise when I looked at both the old and the new Project Reaper and it is just objectively a worse comic. The the majority of the cast has same-face syndrome, and seem to live in a cool-tone hell with no furniture most of the time. The concept of how to dress and style characters seems to be locked into what a 15 year old thinks is badass, but that fits for the story. The plot and dialogue reads like something a middle-schooler would make as an RP scenario with friends. The colouring is lazy dodge and burn, which just emphasizes that the author does not care about cultivating a space or atmosphere or world for these characters to live in. They are just toys to mash together to make your angsty super cool comic that you're going to pitch to Dark Horse for REAL, GUYS. And the first comic for this series is written right to left. In the author's defense, they were a teen when they started the original comic.

So how does someone whose average panel looks like the example above come to the conclusion that they can make a better comic? It's simple: Project Reaper is original, but LR has base material you can go off of. Anyone can read a comic and think "I would do THIS for this panel, and I would do THAT for this character introduction." I did it reading both of these comics. But if I were handed only the script for either of these projects, it would not come as easily. Lore Rekindled only looks "better" because it has Rachel's work to build off of. This goes back to what I was saying at the beginning, that the "I could do that but GOOD" view isn't doing you any favours, especially when you aren't doing your own IP well.

I think writing a little hate piece once in a while is good. Draw a hate piece if you really need to (though I would just show it to friends, personally.) Consuming a little media you hate is also good. As a creator, it is important to see and understand why you hate something, what you would change, and what little glimmers of good are in an otherwise pile of garbage. It helps you grow, to realize your tastes, and what not to do in your own work. Critically acclaimed writer Alan Moore agrees! But to have a whole comic with a regular update schedule redrawing something you hate is... It's giving "look at my sonichu comic redraw!" It is loser behavior.

Plenty of people create media out of spite, and I encourage it. I do it too. But the work should be your own. You need to put this energy into your IP. If you keep being a "hater," you'll never guess what you attract. Other haters! And those haters will like you, for now. But one of these days, someone will go through your list of essays and think, "oh, but I don't see any fat people in YOUR work that aren't plus-size model attractive." All it takes is one comment or take that a similarly-minded reader doesn't like and there could be a master list about you!

I am, of course, not saying you can't make derivative works at all. The doujinshi market is full of fan creations, and every art site you go to will be full of fanart. But the difference between LR and these works (generic sexy flavour of the month artists aside,) is that they are made with love. With passion for the original work. I think back to Homestuck AUs because, while I may not have liked them, these creators were doing it out of love for the characters. I follow a few guys on twitter who have been drawing a picture of their anime wife every day for over 10 years. That's love! Then you have more transformative works like Hello from Halo Head, of which some of it's characters are off-brand animal crossing characters. I love that. I think it's neat that the creator loved that little cat twink enough to bring him into their comic in a new form.

I think the point of this post is that you can use spite as a motivator, but it should be for your own creations. We have a limited time on this planet, and even less time where our hands are still able to pick up a pen. Put this towards your passion for the medium, for the stories in your heart. It's rough out there for creators, and it can be hard to find an audience in the ever-churning seas of the internet. But, please, don't put all your effort into "foefiction." That is cringe. And, if you're going to anyways, it'd better actually be good.

PS B^u

[cohandshake]

I’m aware that this is going to be a horrendously unpopular opinion—which is why I’m doing it on a dead side blog rather than my main

I honestly don’t understand people who listen to artists whose whole shtick is “I’m an awful person and everyone I know leaves me because I use and abuse them”, and then are shocked when the artist turns out to be an awful abusive person. Like, what were you expecting?

I keep seeing all these people saying “well, how was I supposed to know he was bad? How was I supposed to be able to tell?” And then they’re all like “ohhh woe is me, I can’t believe I loved these albums! I’m going to have to get rid of all this stuff I got and completely rearrange my whole life!” Like??? If you liked the songs so much that your whole room is plastered with posters and merch… surely you listened to the lyrics??? At no point was he ever trying to hide the fact he’s like this, it’s all over his songs.

One thing that also gets me, it’s that everyone is now like “if you support or like his stuff you’re a terrible person” and like. That’s valid. But YOU liked his stuff where he made no qualms or effort to hide this, before. Does no one have any kind of critical thought? Like, when you hear the lyrics, you just think “oh yeah, this is a totally normal line” and move on? To say that “oh he tricked all of us into listening and liking his stuff and being a rabid fan”, like you weren’t tricked. The only trick he played was being a “hot guy online” that everyone seemingly collectively decided was great because of that.

or is it being faced with the actuality that’s horrifying? by your own logic, you’re also just as complicit. — this isn’t to say that I don’t understand standing in solidarity with victims that have spoken out, and the purging of his work being part of that. I just think it’s a little hypocritical to get on your high-horses and say everyone is a peace of shit if they don’t immediately disavow his stuff, since the signs have been there from the start.

And this also isn’t to say that I didn’t like his music. I did and I do. In fact, I only know of him BECAUSE of his music (I found him when he was still covering pat the bunny and wingnut dishwashers union). I’ve had no illusions of him being a good guy, and still consumed his work— did I know just what kind of piece of shit he was? No. Maybe because I’ve only known him for his music that makes me so critical of most of the reactions. I didn’t have the chance to be pulled in by a “nice guy act” online like so many people seemingly have.

Speaking of his online personas, it does make me wonder how no one apparently thought he was bad before this? Like I’ve read some fics (not enjoying Minecraft doesn’t mean the fics aren’t good) and people generally and routinely portrayed him as this manipulative, erratic, controlling guy — even when writing him as the good guy, they still always included elements of these personality traits in the work. And now, I see artist after artist discontinuing and deleting works (and if this is what makes them feel better, fair play) saying that “they cant continue writing/drawing his character now they know the truth about him” but at the same time they were always so vocal about “I write about the c! not the cc!” Like if you were truly separating the character from the actor, would so many of you be speaking this way? Looking at the rampant amount of Harry Potter fanfics (not even starting on the manacled debacle), then no — the artist and the work are only connected when it’s live action amateurs.

And also, if you’re THIS distraught over some guy YOU DONT KNOW turning out to be terrible, get some help, that’s not normal i don’t think — or it shouldn’t be, the internet and social media has normalized being strangely attached to strangers and celebrities that you otherwise wouldn’t be.

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Secrets and the Voice of the Absolute

[Astarion x Named Tav]

"Um, guys?" Karlach called out, "Is that a gnome tied to a windmill?"

Everyone turned to look; sure enough, a small gnome was tied to one of the windmill’s wings, yelling for help.

Astarion crossed his arms, looking smugly at Phayelynn. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves another damsel in distress for you to save.”

Phayelynn let out a groan, stomping away from him, "I hate you,"

Then, she heard Astarion and Shadowheart burst out into a fit of giggles, and she even heard Wyll let out a chuckle.

“I hate you all!” she shouted back at them.

----

I kind of burnt myself out from writing for a little bit and honestly had no motivation to work on anything. I'm also getting over having pneumonia, so that also happened, lol.

I really wanted to write a chapter with some moments of Phay with other companions besides Astarion, as well as just traveling dialogue cause that's one of my favorite things in the game, so that's what this chapter kind of is. It also gets the plot moving forward as we've finally reached the goblin party...which means the Tiefling party is coming..... which I'm super excited about.

I love the goblin camp, though. It's one of my favorite bosses/sections in the game, and I can't wait to write my imagining of it!!!! 💜💜💜

Thanks for the continued support!

(word count: 3,956)

Read on AO3 or below :)

Masterlist

leave me a like and a comment 💜

Secrets and the Voice of the Absolute

Phayelynn’s chest was heavy as she lay awake, staring at the cave ceiling. She couldn’t shake the vile feeling in her stomach, even though they had finally found the Zhentarim hideout, Rugen, and his boss. It wasn’t the thought of staying under their roof that kept her up, though; they were close to the goblin camp, and even down here, they had to be on high alert. 

But it wasn’t that keeping her up. 

She shifted onto her back, trying to find a comfortable spot. She’d been so used to spending her nights in Astarion’s tent. But joining him and finding their ‘own little piece of nowhere’ was the last thing on Phayelynn’s mind. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about how Wyll’s patron had decided to join them for dinner. 

As she lay there, she groaned in embarrassment, covering her face with her arm. Guilt consumed her as she reflected on how she had been treating Wyll. He had been kind to them all, to her, and yet she had been rude and cold. 

She was only trying to protect herself—no, she couldn’t justify it now, not knowing the truth about Wyll—or some of it. He still wasn’t allowed to tell them much about the pact, but Phayelynn couldn’t see him willingly making a pact with a devil unless he felt he absolutely had to. 

How Mizora spoke to him, treated him, and punished him…It made her shiver in disgust.

Phayelynn let her arm drop and her head roll to the side, looking over at Wyll’s tent not far from where she lay near the campfire. She knew she had to make things right, but how? What if she only made it worse? He probably wanted nothing to do with her with how she spoke to him today after they helped Karlach with Anders. 

And besides, it was late, and he probably wanted to be left alone after everything that had happened. 

She rolled over on her side, facing her back to his tent. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to push away the thoughts racing through her mind. She tried thinking of anything else, but it only seemed to make the gnawing at her insides worse.

Tomorrow, they would be heading to the goblin camp, and the mere thought of it sent shivers down her spine. She tried to distract herself by thinking about her companions, Shadowheart and Karlach, and how they had spent the day helping Karlach settle into camp and pick out new clothes. She even managed to conjure up a fleeting moment of normalcy between them before the arrival of Mizora shattered it.

She tried to think of home, but that only brought up thoughts of her uncle. 

She moved back onto her back, glaring up at the ceiling. She should’ve just gone with Astarion and let whatever would’ve happened between them happen. 

Phayelynn tossed and turned, but sleep was elusive.  She knew that she couldn’t distract herself from the issue at hand and find peace until she had at least tried to solve it. So with a heavy sigh, she sat up and quietly slipped out her bedroll. 

The soft cackle of the dying embers in the fire and the occasional drop of water from somewhere within the cave mask her lit footsteps as she made her way to Wyll’s tent, trying not to disturb the other members of their group who were sleeping soundly in their own tents. She approached his tent, took a deep breath, and put her ear to the flap to see if she could hear any signs that he was awake. But she heard nothing that indicated he was awake or asleep.

“Wyll?” she whispered his name, trying to keep her voice low enough to avoid waking anyone else up but loud enough for him to hear, hopefully. “Wyll, are you awake?” 

She waited a few seconds. 

Nothing. 

She considered trying again but then decided against it. She was about to turn around and leave when she heard some rustling from inside the tent.

She held her breath and waited. The rustling stopped abruptly, and a few moments later, the tent flap was pulled back to reveal Wyll.  His eyes looked tired, just like hers must have looked. He couldn’t sleep just like she couldn’t. 

“Phay?” Wyll looked startled to see her standing there but quickly composed himself. “What are you doing here?” 

Phayelynn took a deep breath. Her cheeks flushed, and her palms were starting to get sweaty. She hadn’t really thought this through, and now she wasn’t sure how to start the conversation.

“Uh, hi-er, Wyll,” she stammered with an awkward wave of her hand. “I was hoping we could talk-”

She trailed off when she got a good up-close look at the two horns that now grew from his forehead, courtesy of Mizora. She frowned, looking down. Her fingers played with each other anxiously. She shook her head before looking up at him.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“You’re sorry?” Wyll looked more confused than angry. He raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you sorry for?”

Phayelynn gaped at him. How could he be this nice? Or naive? No, she was the naive one. She let out a frustrated sigh and gestured to his horns before blurting out, “About the horns!” 

Wyll’s expression darkened, and he shifted uncomfortably. He looked around to see if anyone had woken up at her outburst. When he was satisfied, he looked back at her, trying to hide his scowl, “What about them?” 

“They’re all my fault.” Phayelynn gulped, suddenly finding him intimidating. Why did she decide to talk to him again? 

Wyll looked at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. “What are you talking about? How is it your fault?”

“I convinced you not to kill Karlach, and now you’re stuck with those forever- 

Wyll’s eyes widened in surprise. “You can’t blame yourself for this. The horns are a result of Mizora, not your actions.” 

“But I convinced you to spare Karlach,” Phayelynn shook her head, “If I had just let you do what you thought was right, none of this would have happened!” she struggled to keep her voice down. “And on top of that, I’ve been so terrible to you. You haven’t deserved how I’ve been treating you-” 

Wyll put a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off with his gentle touch. He gave her a firm look, “You helped me make the right choice. Karlach was innocent. Mizora was being sneaky. The consequence, yes, is very-” he tried to find the words, “heavy, permanent, but we can’t change the past.All we can do is move forward. And yes,” he gave a slight chuckle, “you’ve been…a little less than welcoming, but understandably so. We’re all a little bit on edge.” 

Phayelynn gaped at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. She couldn’t believe that he was being so nice to her. After everything that had happened between them, she had expected him to be angry or resentful. But instead, he was standing before her, offering forgiveness and understanding.

“How can you act like it’s not a big deal?” she asked. 

Wyll looked at her with a soft expression. “I was a stranger coming into your camp with this cult of the Absolute out there infecting people with Mind Flayer parasites. I know you were only trying to protect your friends, and that’s understandable.” 

Phayelynn felt a lump form in her throat. She hadn’t considered how this conversation would go and didn’t expect it to go this way. Wyll was a genuinely good man. Rare, and only made her guilt bigger. He was a friend and an ally. And she was a liar. 

She looked away from him with a frown. It felt wrong to let him think that the only reason she treated him the way was because she was protecting her friends. She hadn’t been; she’d been cruel to him because she was only trying to protect herself. 

Phayelynn pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a heavy sigh. 

“No, Wyll, that’s not why.” Phayelynn bit her lip. “Can we talk? In private?” she asked, motioning to the inside of his tent.

Wyll hesitated for a moment but then nodded and stepped aside to let her in. Once inside, Phayelynn took a deep breath and looked at Wyll. He was looking at her expectantly. 

Phayelynn let out a nervous laugh, scratching at her bare arms. 

“Okay, so funny story, well, not so funny, actually.” She winced. “Do you remember Phayelynn Emberstone-you know, you met her and her family a few times as a kid…” 

Wyll’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of that name. Of course, he remembered. As a child, he’d once visited Northgate City with his father and had seen her at other gatherings and parties involving the Lord’s Alliance. He had at one point found himself smitten over the northern princess, but she’d always been too…aloof to care for his attentions. He’d been closer to her younger sister, Aurora. 

He frowned. 

Phayelynn had gone missing over a decade ago- kidnapped and attempted to be sold for ransom in the wake of her mother’s death.

Wyll’s eyes widened. 

Phayelynn watched as the dots began to connect slowly in Wyll’s eyes as he studied her intently. 

“Phay…” he muttered, “Phayelynn…..Oh.” he put it together. “Oh! What? But how—she’s not….and you’re-” 

“Surprise!” Phayelynn laughed nervously, twirling strands of blonde hair in her fingers. She frowned, dropped her hand, and let her shoulder slump. 

“I don’t understand,” Wyll shook his head. He took a deep breath and sat on his bedroll. You look so different. This doesn’t make sense. What happened to you?” 

“It’s a long story.” She took a seat next to him. 

It was quiet as Wyll tried to process it. Phayelynn picked at the hem of her pants, trying to distract herself from his silence. She tried not to panic and regret telling him the truth. She hoped he believed her. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Wyll looked back at her. Phayelynn gave him a weak smile. 

“It seems we have plenty of time.” he nodded, relaxing his posture. “I can’t figure out how to sleep with these horns on my head, and you seemingly can’t sleep either, so…” 

Phayelynn chuckled, feeling a little more at ease. “Okay, I’ll tell you everything. But only on two conditions.” She sat up straight, mocking seriousness. 

“Fire away,” Wyll gestured with a hand, sitting back to get comfortable. 

“One,” she raised her hand into a fist, sticking out her index finger, “You have to swear you won’t tell anyone- Astarion already knows, but I won’t lie to you, I was very- vague. But whatever I tell you, stay in this tent.” 

“Fair.” Wyll nodded. He wanted to push her but hid his shock at her trusting the vampire with such information. 

“Two,” she added her middle finger, “You have to tell me what you can about how you became the Blade of Frontiers and Mizora.” 

Wyll hesitated at that one but didn’t protest. 

“Deal.” He nodded, “But you first.” 

With a smile on her face, Phayelynn began. 

------

The sun shone bright as they walked through the woods away from Waukeens Rest. They were getting closer to the goblin camp, and the sound of drums and shouting-clear signs of a celebration for their attack on the inn could be heard in the distance. The impending fight to save the druid wore heavy on their faces. 

Except for Karlach, who was beaming excited just for being out in the fresh air. 

“Hey, Lae’zel, is it?” she asked, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Lae’zel grunted in acknowledgment. Karlach continued, her smile widening. “Is this your first time on the Sword Coast?” 

Lae’zel looked at Karlach skeptically, bracing herself for another ignorant question about the Githyanki people. She answered cautiously, “It’s more... ‘lively’ than the Githyanki slates led me to believe,” she said with a nod.

“Awe, man, just wait ‘till you see Baldur’s Gate then! You’ll never want to leave!” the Tiefling exclaimed. She then turned her attention to Phayelynn, who’d been walking on her left. “And you, where are you from, Phay? Shadowheart mentioned you were at the gate when you were taken. Did you enjoy some of the city before... well, you know?” 

Phayelynn jumped at the sudden attention. “Oh, me? Yeah, kinda. I’m from Silverymoon. My uncle and I were just there, helping an old family friend.”

“I didn’t know you were from Silverymoon!” Gale piped up.

“She has the moral compass for it,” Astarion teased.

“Hey! I’m not just some goody-good,” Phayelynn protested.

“Have you looked in a mirror?” Shadowheart chimed in with a smirk.

Before Phayelynn could retort, Karlach stopped them in their tracks, pointing at something in the distance, “Um, guys? Is that a gnome tied to a windmill?”

Everyone turned to look; sure enough, a small gnome was tied to one of the windmill’s wings, yelling for help. 

Astarion crossed his arms, looking smugly at Phayelynn. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves another damsel in distress for you to save.” 

“I hate you.” 

She let out a groan, stomping away from him so they could help free the gnome. Then, she heard both Astarion and Shadowheart burst out into a fit of giggles. She even heard Wyll let out a chuckle. 

“I hate you all!” she shouted back at them. 

------

Between the seven of them, it took them no time to win the fight against the goblins. Phayelynn used her lute to create a melody that filled the goblin’s ears, causing them to become disoriented and confused. Behind her, Gale stood, sending firebolts into the small horde. Wyll and Shadowheart made quick work of those who managed to slink past, not even having to waste a spell, instead using their weapons to strike them down. 

Lae’zel and Karlach took on the worg’s and whoever else crossed their paths as they charged into the fray. Lae’zel with her greatsword, hacking, slashing, and Karlach wielding her axe with deadly precision, leaving the stragglers to Astarion, who took them out from a distance, atop a small formation of rocks with his bow-leaving none to escape. 

As the battle came to a swift end, Phayelynn calmed her breathing. Maybe they did stand a chance at saving the druid after all. 

“Cut me loose!” a shrill shout whizzed by them. “Now!” 

 “Oh! Oh, right!” Phayelynn snapped out of it. She looked up, seeing the gnome make another trip around. “Hold on!” 

Wyll and Gale quickly found the right lever inside the windmill, which freed the gnome. Karlach was even quicker to cut him free and help him down to the ground. The gnome stumbled, disoriented, and muttering under his breath.

“Easy there, fella,” Karlach said, eyes filled with concern. 

The gnome glared at her and muttered something about “pustulent thugs.” He quickly looked around and realized he was outnumbered. “Well, get on with it,” he said, resigned.

Karlach and Phayelynn shared a look.

“Get on with what?” Karlach asked, confused. 

“Yeah, all that spinning,” Phayelynn added, trying to help. “You should sit down.” 

The gnome scoffed at them. “And leave myself defenseless again, I think not.” He shook his head. “No, I know how this goes. You saved me, played the hero, and now you’ll extort me,” he said bitterly. 

Wyll and Gale made their way back to the party, Wyll frowning at what he heard, “You owe us nothing,” he said, trying to reassure the gnome.

The gnome looked doubtful.

Astarion, with a sly smirk, added fuel to the fire, “We could extort you,” he quipped.

Phayelynn shot Astarion a stern look and pushed him away. “No, we won’t,” she scolded him, pointing a finger at him. Turning to the gnome, she apologized, “I’m sorry this happened to you. How did you get caught?”

The gnome looked between them all, his eyes sharp, but he eventually relented and explained, “My own fault, really. I should have dropped my pack and outrun those bastards. Alas, take my pack if you can find it. The only reason those goblins caught me was its weight. I’ll travel lightly from now on.”

Wyll and Gale exchanged a look, feeling sorry for the gnome’s predicament. 

“You’re a little far from home for a deep gnome.” Karlach mused, looking him over. 

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a deep gnome before, now that I think about it.” Phayelynn hummed in agreement. 

The gnome and the others all groan. 

------

The air was thick with the rancid smell of goblin sweat and stale beer as they walked past the guards and crossed the gates. The destroyed temple of Selune was seen overhead. They were here—finally, at the goblin camp. 

The drums pounding matched the rapid beating in Phayelynn’s chest. The lingering feeling of her newfound Authority still twitched in her skull as she tried to calm her shakes. 

Astarion’s eyes sparked something dangerous, and he was the first to speak once they were out of earshot. “So, the tadpole allows us to influence others,” he smirked, a little too excited about what they had just witnessed. How very interesting.” 

Karlach shot him a look, clearly uneasy with what he was implying. “Goblin or not- you can’t just take away someone’s free will. No matter how useful, it’s not right.” 

“We shouldn’t be experimenting with these mind-flayer powers,” Shadowheat said, nodding in agreement. We don’t know what they are capable of, and I’d rather not play with fire.” 

Phayelynn remained silent, feeling a sense of unease flood through her just as the Authority had moments ago. She had never felt such a power before, and the thought of what the tadpole could do made her skin crawl. It was as if the tadpole had awakened something deep within her that hungered to feel that rush again- something that yearned for more. 

Gale’s concerned gaze bore down on Phayelynn, who shook her head in a futile attempt to snap out of it. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, but before she could answer, Lae’zel’s piercing glare caught her attention. 

The githyanki stepped forward as if ready to strike, but a sharp pain suddenly struck Phayelynn, causing her to clutch her head and fall to her knees. A throbbing pressure built behind her skull, the dreaded tadpole, and she knew what was coming next. 

This was it. 

They were going to change.

She let out a cry as she heard her companions fall to their knees alongside her, their anguished cries mixing with hers. As the pain intensified, a voice seemed to call out to her, its own authority overwhelming-terrifying. She felt herself slipping into darkness, with only the pulsing hum and the muffled cries of the others to keep her grounded. 

Hear my voice. Obey my command. 

The voice was demanding with its smooth, almost soothing tone, sending shivers down Phayelynn’s spine. She picked up her head with great effort, struggling to resist the voice’s staggering power. A part of the darkness slowly dissipated, revealing three shadowy figures standing before her, their silhouettes illuminated by a faint, sinister blue light. 

My Chose. Those who speak for me. 

The voice declared, and Phayelynn’s fear grew as she could do nothing but tremble in their presence. 

Suddenly, a flash of light blinded her for a second, and then she saw Shadowheart not far from her, holding the artifact she carried. It pulsed with orange energy, reacting against the darkness. The artifact seemed to have a life of its own, grappling to break free from Shadowheart’s grasp as she tried to hold on. But with a cry of pain, she let go when a force exploded from the artifact, encasing them in a cold, relieving calm that pushed the voice from their minds. 

Phayelynn pushed herself up, gasping for air and feeling the weight of the voice lift from her. As she stood, her companions quickly gathered themselves, their expressions a mixture of confusion and fear. The artifact hovering before them was now dimming, its glow fading into a sinister shadow.

“What in the nine hells was that?” Astarion bared his fangs as he glared at them all. His eyes darted around the group, searching for answers.

Phayelynn shot Shadowheart a frightened look, hoping for some explanation. But Shadowheart was just as afraid, her eyes wide and her hands shaky. She tried to hide her fear, but the unknown clearly disturbed her. 

“Don’t give me that look. I don’t know what just happened any more than any of you,” Shadowheart said, her voice forcing a confident tone. 

Lae’zel made her way around, eyeing the artifact fiercely. “The voice is gone-muted by this....” she gestured to the artifact, noting the tir’su markings that covered it, “This gith relic. Why does a half-elf carry it?”

Shadowheart held onto the artifact tighter, silently daring Lae’zel to try to take it from her. The tension in the group was palpable, and each member was on edge as they tried to make sense of what had just transpired.

“That voice, what just happened?” Phayelynn managed to get out, holding her head as the memories of the voice still echoed in her mind.

“I think that was the Absolute speaking to us...” Shadowheart put the artifact back into her pack, her eyes flickering with worry and determination.

“Through the tadpoles?” Wyll asked, his voice laced with disbelief. 

“I’m not sure,” Gale pondered, his head still reeling from the experience.

“Hold on, hold on,” Astarion huffed, pointing at Shadowheart. “That thing seemed to stop the voice. What is it, and why do you have it?” 

Phayelynn looked between them and Shadowheart, catching Karlach’s eye for a second. She saw the Tiefling muttering about how she ‘didn’t like this.’ 

Shadowheart bit her lip. There wasn’t much she could say. 

Phayelynn could feel everyone’s annoyance and tried to persuade Shadowheart to talk. “You have to give us something; we need to know what just happened-” she motioned towards the goblin camp. “We can’t go in there blind.”

“I don’t know,” Shadowheart admitted, looking away from them. “Not exactly, anyway. All I know is that it’s important I return it to Baldur’s Gate. At any cost.”

“Why? To who?” Phayelynn pressed, knowing that Shadowheart’s explanation wasn’t good enough.

“I-I can’t say. I’m sorry. Just know I was sent with a group to retrieve it. I’m the only one left. I can’t afford to fail.” Shadowheart gave her a pleading look. “Trust me.”

Phayelynn pinched her brows together in thought before sighing. “Okay. I trust you.” she relented, hoping Shadowheart knew what she was doing.

“Okay? Okay!” Astarion gasped, looking appalled. “How can you just foolishly trust her like that? She’s hiding something!”

“I know, I know- but look where we are.” Phayelynn agreed with him but knew now wasn’t the time or place for this discussion. She could see the goblins lazing near the archway into the camp, their beady eyes scanning them curiously. “It’s not smart to argue amongst ourselves about this here. We’ll talk more later. Let’s do what we came here to do. Scoop the place out, and then we’ll make camp,” Phayelynn said, trying to ease the tension in the group.

Astarion’s expression was dark and brooding. He crossed his arms tightly against his chest and let out a low grumble under his breath. He was unhappy, but he didn’t argue. 

Phayelynn let out a puff of air, waiting for any other objections. When everyone remained silent and gave a nod, turning on her heels and led them into the goblin camp.