#schools not holding back these past few weeks so my hands are always full with shit

[orangeboogiewoman]

ouuuwhhhuhh,,,,,,

[mrsriddlenott]

okay I just need pussydrunk mattheo 🥵

It is honestly embarrassing how long this has been in my drafts unfinished(literally a few days over a year🤦‍♀️) I have been awol for so long but I have been GOIN through it y’all. I think I can finally at least try and actually come back to this blog. I love writing so much and I hate when it just isn’t fun anymore. And when I saw this I actually got excited to finish it so let’s see how it goes. Please correct mistakes and give feedback

Warnings: suggestive content but not actually full smut, public oral(f!receiving), heavy petting, play argument/kinda roleplay, some teasing.

{masterlist}

~Needy~

To plenty of people having a needy boyfriend would be the end of the world. But when that boyfriend is Mattheo Riddle, who seems to have an unnaturally high labido and stamina, it’s more of a pro rather than a con.

But what comes with needy is clingy. Mattheo just needs his hands on you whenever he can. You weren’t complaining but he certainly was. There was just too much time out of the day that he couldn’t touch you. So me made sure to cut thay time down as much as he could.

“Come oooon Baby” Mattheo groaned as he tugged you towards an empty, shadow filled corridor, “Just think about it, how many days a week do we have Potions, and how many weeks are in a term, how many terms in a school year….we can miss one hour of Potions Baby it’ll be fine. Plus you’re the smartest, prettiest, hottest person at this school you’ve got options for you future.”

“Um first of all,” You start, crossing your arms across your chest, poking your hip out to make Mattheo groan out loud as he restrains himself from touching you, “This will be the fourth time we missed Potions so far this term, and second of all who said I was worried for my future, nuh uh Baby I’m worried about yours.”

“Merlin you’re sexy when you’re being all bossy”Mattheo sighs, stepping closer to you and fanning your face with his breath, “I don’t care about my future as long as you’re in it, I need to keep you excited don’t I Princess?” He laughs out as he watches your resolve melt away, moving his hand up to grip your waste.

“That’s no fair.” You pout, desperately trying to hold a straight face as you continue, “You know you’re not allowed to call me Princess in an argument, you always win with that.” Mattheo sighs dramatically and steps even closer to you, breathing your air as he holds your hip tightly, tugging you into him aggressively.

“I’m so sorry baby, please forgive me,” He begs dramatically, smiling before dipping his head into the crook beside your shoulder to trace small pecks across your collarbone, forcing a moan to slip past your lips despite your pretend protests.

“How could I ever forgive you for such a lapse Mattheo,” you smile at how fast he halts his mouths assault of your collarbone giving you time to slip your fingers into his raven curls, giving them a tug to force his eyes up to yours, “You know, I can think of something you can do to earn my forgiveness.”

“What?” He rasps out, his breath caught in his chest at the feeling of your hand in his hair and the other slowly slipping down his chest at an agonizing pace, “What can I do to make you feel better Baby, I’ll do anything for you, you know that.” His voice his breathy and desperate, sending heat down your abdomen as your thighs squeeze together subconsciously. At the gentle shove to his shoulder, Mattheo knew exactly what you wanted, smirking as you looked down to him where he leant into you with those pretend innocent eyes. Mattheo fell to his knees immediately, his hands tracing their way under your skirt while his eyes stay on yours.

“Is this what you’re asking for…Princess?” Mattheo asks, smirking as he gains dominance from below you, “You want me to make you feel good?….But Baby what about Potions, we-we can’t miss class i-it’s impo-“ You cut off his teasing with a tug to his hair and small sigh at the feeling of his hand ghosting across your underwear. Mattheo groans, his eyes falling into the back of his head as your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Okay okay, I’ve got you Princess.” He laughs breathlessly as his fingers tug your underwear down your legs, allowing you to step out of them before he shoves them in his pocket with a wink. In a flash Mattheo has his lips on you, his head vanishing under your skirt, his hand trailing upward to squeeze at your chest through your button up, the other gripping your thigh to give you support as you begin to wobble.

“Oh fuck Mattheo,” You moan loudly before clamping your hand over your mouth, almost forgetting your very public location at the feeling of Mattheo’s tongue meticulously swirling around your clit. His chuckle from below almost pisses you off enough to fight for dominance but as though to wipe your mind of it, Mattheo flattens his tongue and leaves a strip up your heat, making you whimper into your hand and bite your skin to prevent getting caught.

You shake as Mattheo’s fingernails dig into the skin of your thigh while it wobbles, unsteady as you begin to lose balance at the fast pace of Mattheo’s tongue, “Fuck Baby, can you stand or do I need to hold you?” He chuckles against you at your whine of protest, not wanting him to stop even for a second. Mattheo quickly tugs your thigh over his shoulder, allowing him to gain more access, speeding up his actions, moaning at your taste and the thought of you coming on his face as you depend on him to hold you steady. Your head falls back against the stone wall, your eyes rolling backward as your hand falls to his shoulders for balance not caring anymore about your volume. Your little whimpers and squeaks drive him insane below you, he knows your close, he can feel it.

Without warning Mattheo shifts lower, shoving his tongue into you, lowering his hand from your chest in a flash and using his thumb to stimulate your clit as his tongue moves in and out of you, matching his own pace and groaning as he feels your legs begin to shake for him. Your moans become screams as you release on his tongue, falling into his hold while he rises to look at your post-orgasm face he loves so much.

“Good thing we did this during class, someone might have heard otherwise.” Mattheo says simply with a laugh as you weakly smack at his broad shoulder.

~~~~

Pretty short compared to others I have but I just really wanted to start posting again. I’m probably gonna be cleaning out my drafts and trying to get them out even old ones ppl probably aren’t waiting on anymore to try and get back into a groove on here.

[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

[mavrintarou]

[1:21 AM] Tsukishima Kei A/B/O

Warning: hurt & comfort, spicy smut

.

He entered the large café and his eyes found the one person he was looking for. Tsukishima Kei sighs, feeling instant relief. He walked towards her with his backpack slung on one shoulder. Y/n, his best friend, was chatting with their other friend beside her, and she didn’t notice his presence or scent.

His long finger poked her cheek before he took the seat across from her. His eyes softened when her expression went from confusion to who touched her to seeing him and her face brightened. Kei will never get tired of her affection for him.

“Hi Kei,” Y/n greeted in the tone that she always used for him, it was low, yet full of love.  

He has been in love with his best friend for many years since they were sixteen.

At almost twenty-seven, Kei was in love with his best friend.

As each year goes by, he is unable to hide it.

“Dude, just tell her.” His teammate groans, “your four eyes are projecting hearts in her direction. I don’t know, is she blind too or just oblivious.”

Just oblivious, she just thinks they’re just friends only, best friends, Kei explained.

Y/n once confessed to him when they were fifteen and he shut her down. Being the person that she was, she smiled and nodded, asking if they could remain friends regardless. Kei shrugged and he recalled saying, “sure, if you want.”

But their lives changed afterward. Y/n kept her distance from him and at first he thought it was her defense mechanism and brushed it off, giving her the time she needed to get over her embarrassment of being rejected. A few weeks followed and he saw Y/n less and less and he was filled with anger and pain.

Angry that she was the one who asked if they could still remain friends yet she was the one acting like a stranger now.

Pain that she said she liked him yet after he rejected her, she easily turned those feelings off as if they were never real in the first place and ignored him.

Having no one to turn to, another realization on Kei’s part that he didn’t have anyone except Y/n, he turned to his older brother who gently explained it from a different perspective.

“She probably just said that to ease the moment, dummy,” Akiteru explained, ruffling his little brother’s hair. He frowned and narrowed his eyes at Kei, “are you… did you have your second gender yet?”

With furrowed brows, Kei snapped, “no, they said I don’t have it until I’m sixteen.”

“Aren’t you turning sixteen… tomorrow?”

He’s been distracted he has forgotten his birthday was around the corner. For the past three years, he had Y/n reminding him that his birthday was near and nagging him about planning for his birthday.

But he didn’t have her reminder.

He didn’t have Y/n.

“Kei,” Akiteru called his little brother’s name softly, “are you okay?” He asked concerned, noticing the tear slipping down his cheek.

Angrily wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, he exits his brother’s room.

That night when the clock struck midnight, Kei had his second gender.

A dominant alpha.

He returned to school a week later after stabilizing his new gender and marched straight into his classroom.

“We need to talk,” he didn’t give Y/n a chance to speak, dragging her out after him. After securing a quiet place, he confronted her. “What is your problem?”

She frowned, “my problem?”

“Yeah, your problem? You tell me you like me and I said… I said no to your question and you asked if we can still be friends and I said ‘sure’, yet…” he snapped but choked, “yet... you go and act like we’re no longer friends anymore, so, what is your problem, Y/n?” Kei notices her chest taking deeper breaths. In the years that he has known her, Y/n was a crybaby and was most likely trying to hold back her tears. “I just…” he inhales sharply and exhales deeply, “I just don’t like it… can we go back to how we were?”

As he guessed, her eyes swelled with tears and she nodded, “I don’t like it either and I’m sorry I handled it so poorly.” She threw herself at him, knocking him backward. “I’m sorry I ignored you like that. I was hurt and didn’t know how to handle it.”

Kei’s arms locked around her. He had always cringed whenever Y/n hugged him, yet, at this moment, he knew that he never wanted to let her go.

After that, their friendship continued.

For eleven years, neither of them dated. Many people have mistaken them for a couple, but Y/n would kindly clarify that they were just best friends.

They were the best friends anyone could ask for.

“I can’t tell her I’m in love with her, that I’ve been in love with her since were sixteen,” Kei admitted, only under the influence of alcohol one night at his high school reunion with his volleyball friends, Hinata, Kageyama, Yamaguchi, and Yachi. Aside from Y/n, these four are his other friends he kept in contact with.

“Now that Kei is here, I’m going to get going,” Yachi announced, standing up. She pats Y/n on the shoulder with a big smile, “hope your date goes well!”

Kei frowned and his eyes dropped to Y/n who nodded at Yachi. “Thanks, I’ll tell you about it afterward.”

“What date?” Kei asked when Yachi walked away. Y/n looked slightly embarrassed and reached for her glass of water, taking a sip before clearing her throat.

“I’m going on a date tomorrow night,” she answered with a broad smile.

.

Kei spent his day off at the gym to distract himself from thinking about Y/n and her date, feeling unsettled, bothered, and confused.

“You’re playing… different today,” Koganegawa observed, wiping the sweat off his face. “Not sure if it’s good or bad?”

Kei ignored the setter’s remark and reached to check his phone and noticed three missed calls from Y/n and text messages from her.

Hi Kei, are you home?

I have something embarrassing to ask.

He quickly called her back, his anxiety rising by the second. “Y/n?” he called her name when the other line clicked, “hey sorry I didn’t hear your call, what’s up?”

“Are you home?”

He paused, “no, I’m at the gym but I’m about to head out. Do you want to meet up?”

“Yes, please,” her tone was quiet and small.

“I’m close to your place, I’ll see you there?”

“Okay, I’m close to home too, I’ll see you there.”

.

Kei hung his duffel bag on one of the available hooks by Y/n’s front door. He doesn’t see her shoes, assuming he’s beat her to her place.

It’s been a while since he’s been at her place, her studio was too small for his tall stature.

Her place was significantly cleaner and more organized than his. Her full-size bed, positioned against the wall, was neatly made with yellow comforters he bought her last Christmas.

His phone chimed and he looked down at it, a text message from Y/n.

Stuck in traffic, there must be a bad accident. I don’t know when I’ll get home, make yourself comfortable.

He quickly responded, acknowledging her message.

Something sour odor filled his nose, emanating from his body sweat after a day of playing volleyball. To pass the time, Kei returned to grab his gym bag and headed to Y/n's bathroom for a quick shower.

.

Twenty minutes later, Kei stepped out of the bathroom and first hand, scanned the foyer of her studio, seeing no signs of Y/n. Checking his phone, there was no message from Y/n either.

Padding barefoot to her bed, he sat down for a second before lying down. Rolling over, he took off his glasses and tossed them at the top of her headboard before seeking her pillow. He buried his face into it, inhaling her scent.

Even if Y/n is a beta, they still emit their scent even if it’s faint or mostly undetectable by many. Kei could smell her faint beta scent and it was his favorite.

His cock twitched and he groaned, feeling his mind slipping into a place it shouldn’t go. But his body couldn’t help it, lying on her bed, her bed where she sleeps.

Spreading his long limbs, Kei froze when his hand came across something underneath Y/n’s pillows.

His eyes bulged out at whatever was in his hand…

A dildo.

The chime that rang the studio announced an arrival.

“Kei?” She hurried over with a smile but the smile faded when she discovered what he was holding. “Are you… sleeping?”

Kei silently slipped it back into its original location and rolled back onto his stomach, hiding his face.

He felt the bed dip. “Sorry you had to find… my stuff,” she says quietly. She reached for the end of his shirt. “Please don’t be disappointed in me…”

“Disappointed?” Kei snapped, raising his head to look at her. “I am not… okay I am disappointed but not how you think.” He rolled onto his side, “I’m disappointed that you turned to… a… toy to help – help yourself…”

Y/n made a face before quietly asking, “I didn’t know… where else to turn to?”

“Me?” Kei answered in a heartbeat.

Y/n gasped and lowered her voice, “are you crazy? Why would I ask you to… have… have sex… with me?”

“Why not?” he argued.

She blinked, “because… you’re my best friend?”

Kei breathed, exhaling hard. “I can… help. I can help you, Y/n.”

“I know but I wasn’t going to ask.”

“Why not?” he repeated, frustrated.

“I’m not going to… ask my best friend to have sex with me?”

“Ask.”

Y/n blinked at him dumbfoundedly, “what?”

“Ask me.”

“No.”

“Ask. Me. Y/n,” he growled each word out, his pheromone expelling. He leaned closer to her that she leaned too far back and she lost her balance.

Kei caught her before she could fall backward and maneuvered her onto her bed, towering over her. “Ask me,” he said in a gentle murmur. “Please.”

Y/n gazed into his eyes, his eyes she adored. She has seen him without his glasses many times yet, at that moment he looks so different to her. So incredibly handsome.

“I can’t,” she choked quietly, “I don’t want – “ she faltered, “I can’t risk ruining our friendship a second time.”

“Then I’ll take that risk,” he whispered huskily and closed the distance between their lips.

He had long imagined how her lips would taste, how soft and wet they be against his. Kei couldn’t deny the tiny fear in him that if he ever crossed this line, how Y/n would react negatively to it.

But the second her mouth opened and her lips moved just as eagerly as his, wanting more, hungry for more… he knew it was going to be worth it.

“Ask me,” he repeated, his breath heavy and hard from the passionate kiss. He rests his forehead against hers, the tip of his nose brushing hers. “I have been in love with you…” he reveals, his voice raw. “It ate me up knowing you went on a date today and it kills me you have been using… been using a fucken toy to pleasure yourself when I should be the one pleasuring you.”

Y/n gasped, hearing his confession. “You… love me?”

“Since I was sixteen.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Y/n widens her legs and crosses them behind his back. “God dang it Kei, we have wasted so much time… all this time… I could have been… we could have been –“his kiss cut off the rest of her words. She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her fingers thread through his blond locks and she tugged them, “have sex with me, Kei.”

He gives her a sexy smirk, “you can do better, baby.”

She grins and whispers, “fuck me, Kei. Fuck me hard.”

.

“My legs… I can’t feel my legs…” she snuggles deeper against Kei’s bare chest. “I can’t feel my whole lower half to be exact….” She shuddered, good shudders, remembering just moments ago when Kei, her best friend had her in various intimate positions. Kei made her cum three times and all three times he came inside her.

Having Kei fuck her was phenomenal and feeling him cum inside her was everything she ever imagined ever since hearing her girlfriends talk about it. She felt like she was his. His alone now that he’s come inside her.

“Cum inside me, Kei. I – won’t – I can’t get pregnant anyways.” Y/n remembered begging. She groaned embarrassed at her crazy talk at that moment.

The unfortunate life of being a beta.

She remembers the anxiety she had when her sixteenth birthday neared, how she was nervous to discover her second gender.

Her first gender revealed she was a recessive omega. Only less than three percent of the first genders with recessive omega remain recessive omega. The other ninety-seven percent typically become a beta by their second gender.

When she got her second gender, she wasn’t disappointed when she discovered her result was marked: undefinable

The second gender, labeled undefinable, often equated to being identified as a beta. Undefinable results are failure to detect an alpha, omega, or beta chromosome in the DNA.

Kei suddenly pulled away from her, crawling over her and off the bed.

“Where are you going?” Y/n asked, disappointed from being away from him.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, heading to her bathroom.

She couldn’t see him anymore but could hear the water running. Was he getting a bath going for her?

Kei returned and without a word, threw her yellow comforters off and picked her up carefully.

“I could walk,” Y/n says softly, locking her arm around his neck.

“You just said you couldn’t feel your legs,” he pointed, “or are you lying to me so I would stop?”

Y/n gasped and flushed, “you… you want more?”

Very carefully, he steps into the tub and lowers it until he is seated against the tub and with her in front of him, in between his long legs. They remained silent until the water filled up before shutting it off.

He hooks an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him and nuzzling against her neck. “I’m hungry for you, I had to stop myself, not just for you but for myself, or else I would be too greedy.”

He heard her breath hitch before she turned around, shifting around so she faced him. “I… like you greedy. Be greedy with me all you want.”

Kei presses his lips to her shoulder, “you can’t take those words back.” His hand slips between her leg and rubs her still-swollen clit.

Y/n’s head rolls back and rests on his shoulder, her chest rising up and down in deep breaths motion. Her hand finds his hand that’s circling her clit and presses his finger pad harder against her clit. “More…” she moves to slide his finger lower, sliding it inside her. “Here…”

.

“You’re… glowing…”

Everyone has been telling him. He was not going to deny it, he knows he is glowing.

It’s a significant sign when one has found their life partner.

And Kei has found his life partner.

Life has already begun to change for him and Y/n, they were not wasting a single second being without each other. This also seemed to change when Y/n recently discovered that her gender had changed.

She was now identified as a recessive omega.

Kei had noticed the subtle change, noticing the change in her scent and surprisingly sensing her pheromone. It took him by complete surprise. He had entered her studio to help her pack up, her lease was up and he insisted that she move in with him. The new smell smacked him in the face, alarming him as he searched her studio to see if there was an intruder.

Y/n has spent most of her time at his place and couldn’t understand why her place smelled… different.

Not knowing Y/n was home, he barged into her bathroom to find her naked, ready to wrap her towel around her body.

“Christ, Kei, you scared me,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “What – are you okay?”

“Did you have someone here?”

She shook her head, grabbing her clothes, putting them on.

“Your place smells like an omega was here…” he walks out of the bathroom and searches further in her studio. The pheromone wasn’t threatening, it was… warm and almost as if it was recognizable.

When he finds no answer, runs a hand through his hair. Whoever’s pheromone that was creeping on him was beginning to make him hot.

And if he doesn’t get out…

“Kei?”

He spun around and frowned, the source was coming straight from Y/n.

Now that she was dried up from her shower, it was clear… that the pheromone was coming from her.

A brow raised at him as he was growling quietly.

“Are you… okay?” she asked.

“You,” his voice is low. “Why are you releasing pheromone?”

Y/n glanced down at herself as if she could visibly see it. “I am?”

Kei was before her and he cupped her face in his large hands. “Close your eyes, clear your mind, and relax.”

She did what she was told.

Kei groaned and swore, “fuck, you’re in heat.”

Y/n’s eyes snapped open, “what? I am? How?” Her breath hitched, “is that why I feel… weird? Like…” she covered her mouth and gasped. Her face immediately turned a shade of red.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head, refusing to speak.

“What is it, Y/n?” he asked again, “are you hurting?”

She shook her head again but covered her face. “Oh my God… it makes sense now.”

He pulled her wrists away to see her face, and softly demanded, “tell me, I need to know…”

“All I could think about all day was your cock and how I wanted it in every way,” she admitted, she stepped forward and buried her face into his chest. “Oh Kei… you smell… so good…”

He lets out a chuckle and lifts her jaw so his mouth is on hers. “You smell fucken delicious…” His hands move down her body to her ass, harshly grasping her cheeks and squeezing them before he lifts her, carrying her to her bed that was bare of sheets and a blanket. Her unstable pheromone was making him lose his control. “We’ll – we’ll figure it out later… let’s… Y/n I need you… I need to be inside you…”

She hums and is tugging at their clothes, trying to get rid of them.

Kei is flipped onto his back and stares at Y/n with wide eyes. He gets a sense of thrill when she takes charge, showing him what she wants. He lays back and watches her move on top of him. Y/n’s behavior changed abruptly, like flipping a light switch, and it’s noticeably different now.

She was horny. And extremely wet.

“You’re dripping,” he wiped two fingers along her slit, his finger coating with her glistening fluid. If her emitting pheromone was not enough to prove that she is an omega now, her wet pussy is a clear indication.

Just a few weeks ago, Kei had to purchase more lubes but now, her body was producing, changing in ways to accommodate him, her alpha.

He stuffs his fingers into his mouth, tasting her. His cock jerks just at the taste of her, he’s going to need to lavish her with his mouth soon.

“Y/n,” he groaned when she lifted herself and sank on him. This was her second time riding him, the first time, she was so shy and he had guided her through it. “Fuck,” he swears when Y/n began riding him like she has been doing it all her life.

She rolled her hips in a way she had never done before, he felt deeper than usual. Her cries mixed with his low grunts.

Kei’s hands grip her waist, assigning with her movements. He was losing his sense of control.

They were having unprotected sex since Y/n was considered a beta. It had only occurred to him that he was inside her, raw, in her fertile pussy.

Though most of the time, a pregnancy occurred when an alpha knotted an omega, pregnancy could still occur outside of a knot.

He couldn’t deny that he hadn’t thought about breeding her. Each time he thought about it, he wanted it more and more.

Though he shouldn’t, between the two of them, he was the more coherent one. He should stop her and put a condom on.

“Wait –“ he tried to halt Y/n from bouncing on his cock. “Baby… let me –“ either he puts a condom on or he takes charge and flips her on her back so he can pull out when he is close.

But Y/n wasn’t stopping, she was doing the exact opposite. She was slamming herself on his cock harder and faster. She leans over him and her nipples tickle his chest as she kisses him, distracting him.

“Kei…” she whispers against his lips, “cum… I want you to cum inside me… please I need, need, need you to cum inside me…”

He shouldn’t, but he would die if he didn’t.

Just once, just this once, he told himself.

His hands grip her ass and he plants his feet on her bed and began thrusting up to her fast and hard.

Y/n steadied herself with her hands planted beside his head, moaning loudly as he finished and brought them to their release.

She collapsed on top of him, taking all his cock inside her, and felt how he filled her full.

After her first heat subsided after two days, they went to the clinic together.

“Before your heat, did you guys have unprotected sex?” The doctor asked.

Y/n nodded, her face flushing pink. Thinking she was a beta, she had no concern about an alpha getting her pregnant.

“There have been cases where the second gender DNA is dormant, which results in an undefinable gender at the time. Sometimes that dormant DNA just never wakes up and remains dormant for the rest of that person’s life,” he explains. “But we are discovering more cases where these undefinable patients are being influenced by their partner’s scent, pheromone, and body fluids. That dormant DNA is triggered and changes itself into the DNA opposite of your partner, thus…” he gestures to Kei, “turning you into an omega for your alpha.”

.

Kei searched the crowd, looking over all the heads until he spotted the top of her head. He was over a whole head taller than her, he loved how much smaller she was compared to him. He secured his gym bag over his shoulder and headed towards her.

As if sensing him, she turned and her face lit up.

The fluttering sensation that runs down to his groin makes him groan, he needs her.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Thank you for coming to watch me.”

Y/n has attended many of his games, it was nothing new for her but it is new for her to attend his games as his girlfriend.

“You did great,” she giggles, murmuring against his lips, her arms curling around his neck.

“You’ll reward me?”

Y/n hums, “after we eat first.”

Y/n’s familiar scent hits his nose but instantly, it is masked by an unfamiliar and disgusting scent. He frowns, “were you with someone?”

Y/n frowned, “no?”

Kei frowned and suddenly remembered seeing Y/n in the crowd, sitting next to a bunch of men, and recalled seeing the person next to her constantly looking at Y/n and occasionally catching him speaking to her.

It’s that asshole’s pheromones.

Forcing a smile, he releases his pheromone onto Y/n. Even though Y/n is now an omega, her sense of smell was not strong enough to sense other’s pheromones, let alone his.

Changing the subject, he laces his long fingers with her small ones, “let’s go find something to eat then and I need to claim my reward.”

.

Y/n sat at the edge of his bed, facing at the same level as his crotch. Her eyes are covered with one of his ties.

When they got back to their place, Kei suddenly felt different. His body felt hot yet cold and a tingly sensation spread through his body.

He wasn’t due for a rut…

Or was he?

“Suck me,” he demanded.

Y/n’s hands reached to feel for him blindly, touching his abs. His shirt was long gone with only his jeans left.

She teased him, spreading her palm flat against his stomach and sliding down until her fingers found the waistband of his jeans.

He growled, seeing her bite her lower lip to rile him up. She knew what it did to him when she bit her lips. He reaches and pulls her lower lip free, “stop biting your lip, only I can do that.”

“Yes, Kei,” she murmurs and reaches for the button and zipper, taking her merry time. Her finger slips inside the elastic band and pulls down until his cock is free.

Leaning forward, she runs her nose along the length of his cock until she reached the thick tip. She gives kitten licks to the tip, swiping across the precum leaking at the tip.

“Suck,” it came out as a demand but his tone was pleading.

With her eyes locked with his, she took him in her mouth.

Kei’s jaw drops and he feels his eyes ready to roll to the back of his head. It was the first time Y/n’s made love to him with her mouth and he was ready to cum already.

Kei grunts and his hips jerk, his eyes snap open and he looks down at Y/n in horror.

He did cum, in her mouth and all over her face. His fingers reach for the tie, pulling it off.

Her expression was surprised as she wiped the thick fluid off her cheek… and into her mouth. “So… that’s how you taste.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Her lips dart out and licks her thumb, “yum.”

Kei moves before her eyes, she is shoved down on her back as he reaches for the button of her jeans and zipper and in one go, her pants and panties are tossed on the floor.

He spreads her legs and pushes her knees into the bed, spreading her wide. “Hold your legs,” he demanded quietly.

Her fingers grip behind her knees, keeping her legs spread apart. “Kei,” she moaned, she eyed his cock that was already standing at attention, hard and ready again. “Need you inside me…”

He kneels on the bed and rubs his cock along her slits before plunging his entire cock inside her.

Y/n gasped, arching against the bed.

Kei began thrusting, almost completely pulling out before he shoves his cock into her again and again. He kneels on the bed, pressing his body onto her and locking his arms underneath her shoulder, trapping her against the bed. His cock pounds into her, his sacks slapping into her aggressively.

“Mine,” he growls, lips finding her sweet glands. “Mine.”

“Yes, yours. Yours, Kei. I’m yours… oh fuck!” He was big, so big. “Kei – Kei you’re too deep!”

“Deeper… need to be deeper…” he growls into her ears. “You will take it Y/n, take my knot… take my knot, please,” his voice begged. He wanted to knot Y/n, he only wanted her to take his knot for the rest of his life.

Y/n’s eyes widened, now she understood why he was acting differently. Especially earlier when she was engulfed in his pheromone. She pushed his shoulder so she could look into his eyes, his usual soft hues were dark and very dilated. She had only heard of other’s experiences and was nervous for the first time.

Kei pauses, looking down into her eyes as if he sensed her anxiousness. He kissed her palm, “it – it will hurt, as I’ve been told… but I know you can take it.”

She nodded quickly, “yes, I can.” She rubbed her thumb along his lower lip. “Give it to me, give me your knot Kei.”

A low growl vibrates from his chest before he crashes his lips against hers and begins pounding into her. Y/n wraps her arms around his neck, her lower half is lifted as he pushes her deeper into his bed.

Y/n could no longer contain her whimpers, each time his cock hit her cervix, she feels her eyes rolling to the back of her head. “Kei – oh Kei…”

Kei groaned, feeling exactly what she was feeling. The moment her cervix entrance widen and he slipped the tip of his cock through, his knot inflated. Sealing. Locking.

His sacks emptied everything he had inside her womb.

He winced and groaned, any movement between him and Y/n left them sensitive and vulnerable.

Kei looked down at Y/n whose has her eyes shut tightly.

He pressed his lips lightly to her forehead, “breathe, Y/n… I know it hurts but breathe…”

Without opening her eyes, she let out a soft breath of air.

“I know,” he cooed, wincing when he released her leg as gently as he could. Her chest would rise for a deep inhale and slowly deflate as she exhaled quietly. “I love you.”

“I k – know…” she nods, “I love you too,” she says rather quickly. “Oh goodness, Kei… this… how – how long is this going to last?” Her eyes opened and she squealed, “I can’t tell if you’ve filled me so full or if my bladder is going to explode!”

Kei chuckled lightly, pressing a kiss to her head. “I believe it’s the first, a knot’s purpose is to plug you full of my cum so you become pregnant.” His expression changes as lifts his weight off her and ever so slowly and gently, withdraws. His knot has deflated enough for him to pull out. Milky white fluid gushed out seconds later.

Y/n pushed herself onto her elbow to see Kei’s hand beneath her, catching the residue. In silence, Kei got up and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm wet cloth. He got down on his knees and began cleaning and wiping her down.

“Kei,” Y/n called his name softly, feeling the sudden change in his demeanor. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” he avoided eye contact, “I… I should have talked to you first before knotting you.” His head hung low, “I should have taken inhibitors.”

Y/n scooted until she was at the end of the bed and cupped his face, “Kei, I love you.” His eyes watered, they were his normal shade again. Y/n plucks his glasses off and kisses each eyelid. “I don’t understand, why are you… upset?”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll – I’ll take responsibility if you do become pregnant.”

“Well, I should hope so,” she said teased, “but why do you sound like that’s not what you want?”

“I didn’t mean to coercion you into it, taking my knot and hurting you.”

Y/n squeezes his cheeks, making his lips pucker out. “You didn’t coercion or hurt me, I gave you my consent,” she corrected, “and if we are blessed with a baby after tonight, it will be nothing but joy and we will celebrate.”

He loosened her hold on his face, “we have only just started dating, I don’t want you to feel like I’ve tied you to me now.”

Y/n presses her forehead against his and closes her eyes, “Kei, we have spent so much of our time together yet apart. I understand we have just become official recently but if things are meant to be, they are meant to be,”  she beams at him with happiness, “and I know we will cross that bridge when we get there, together.”

Nodding, he kissed her. “I just want you to myself for a little bit longer.”

Y/n nodded, agreeing. “Got it, I’m all yours.”

.

[3 years later]

Kei roars making the T-Rex toy move through the toy trees he has set up for his son. “The big T-Rex is hungry and wants to find some meat.”

“No, no, no –“ his two-year-old son whines, “T-Rex only eats leaf.” He tries to make the T-Rex eat the leaves of the palm tree. “You’re good T-Rex, dad.”

Sighing, Kei agreed, “okay, good T-Rex will eat the leaves.” He looks up and finds Y/n watching them from the kitchen doorway. “Okay, you play Kiro, I’m going to help mama in the kitchen.”

He cups Y/n’s face and kisses her passionately, making sure to shield it from their son. “It smells good,” he whispered, “you taste good too.”

“Stop,” she warns and peaks around him to their son, “you have to be the good T-Rex again?”

Turning them around, he wraps an arm around her waist and rests his cheek at the top of her head, “he’s going to be so devastated one day when he finds out the truth.”

. . .

E/n: Kei as a daddy [faints] Another A/B/O character checked off the list! If you're new, check out the other characters I've written for. I believe Sakusa, Suna, Kita, Miya-twins, Iwa, Kuroo, and Kenma have their own stories in the Haikyuu Master list and their individual master list.

>>> @queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @yujisgirll

[stevethehairington]

There's a guy that frequents the same park that Steve takes his morning jogs through. He always sits at the same bench, with the same little journal in his lap, bent over it and scribbling furiously away at its pages. Sometimes he'll have headphones on, sometimes he won't. Sometimes he'll be wearing a full on leather jacket, despite the weather. Sometimes he'll just have a t-shirt on, with cut off sleeves that show off his glorious, tattooed arms. Sometimes his long curly hair will be down by his shoulders. Sometimes it'll be tied back out of his face.

But if there's one constant, it's that he is always there.

And he is cute.

Steve wants to talk to him, but he doesn't know what to say to the stranger. Doesn't really know how he would approach him either. Just walking up feels too weird, and forget sliding into the empty space on the bench beside him. Asking about the journal feels way too personal, too. And just saying "Hi, I've seen you around" feels sort of creepy (even though Robin assures him it isn't — it's just a conversation starter).

So instead of outright acknowledging him, Steve decides to be a bit subtler about catching his attention. He surreptitiously alters the course of his jog so that he runs directly past the guy, and if he starts wearing his old shorts from high school that are a little too tight, a little too short, well. Thats for him to know and this guy to notice.

It goes on like that for a few weeks. Steve jogging his new path, right past Cute Guy, trying to sneak a peek from his peripherals as he passes to see if Cute Guy is looking back. And either Cute Guy is really good about timing his looks, or he's just not looking.

It's kind of a total bummer. A real shame. But who knows, maybe Cute Guy already has someone at home. Or maybe he's not into guys. Or maybe he's just not interested in some random, sweaty stranger at the park who stares too much.

Oh well, Steve thinks. Even if Cute Guy isn't interested, he at least gives Steve something nice to look at on his run that isn't a tree so. He'll take what he can get.

And then one day Steve jogs past, not really paying Cute Guy much attention this time.

Only then he hears, "Excuse me! Excuse me, hey, dude, you dropped something!"

Steve slows to a stop, patting at his chest and pockets as he turns back. He has no idea what he could have dropped — he doesn't bring a whole lot to lose on his jogs in the first place, but there's no way Cute Guy is talking to anyone else.

But also hello Cute Guy is talking to him. Who the fuck cares if he didn't drop anything?

So Steve jogs back towards the guy, who is on his feet now, and jesus his jeans are tight. Steve approaches slow, tries to keep his eyes up, and comes to a stop in front of him. "Oh?" He asks. "I did?"

Cute Guy nods. "Yeah," he says, and holds out a little scrap of paper. He lets a grin (a dimpled grin, be still Steve's heart) spread across his face, tilts his head a little, and goes, "You dropped my number."

Sure enough, right there on the little scrap of paper, are seven digits and a name.

Eddie.

Steve looks back up at Cute Guy— at Eddie. Then he folds the paper back up and makes a show of tucking it safely into his pocket, pulling the zipper across so it won't fall out. He pats his pocket and grins back at Eddie. "Wouldn't want to lose that," he tells him. He sways forward on the balls of his feet, lifts a hand to his mouth like he's telling a secret. "Rumor has it that's going to get me a date with a very cute boy."

Eddie's eyes sparkle and his smile brightens. "I can assure you, that is no rumor."

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Chapter 8

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

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Chapter summary: Past. Logan and you dance. Present. Your admit your issues with doctors.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

3.0 words

Before

You were beautiful. No, no, beautiful wasn’t enough. Radiant. Ethereal… Fuck, Logan was struggling to find words as he watched you in your dress, confidently striding around the dance with a spring in your step. You wore a yellow, floral dress that vaguely resembled regency era, everyone around you wearing the best they could get. Charles had put money towards allowing the teens to get nice dress clothes, believing knowing how to dress properly was important, so when you and your literature class planned a school ball, they were prepared. Everyone came, because of course they did. You were the favorite teacher.

Being the favorite teacher meant Logan hadn’t hardly seen you all evening, watching you float like a butterfly around the hall talking to everyone. You had enlisted him and Remy, as well as a few others like Scott or Emma to help chaperone, but you and Remy and him had spent the week setting everything up. Logan never saw himself as the type to hang up streamers, but for you he’d do it all. Sometimes, he’d catch you glancing towards him even while chatting with another, and that made him happy.

You made him happy.

“She’s beautiful, Logan.” Kurt appeared next to him, but Logan didn’t stop watching you. The way you looked tonight, he needed to make sure you didn’t suffer unwanted attention. He’d protect you. 

“Yeah, she really is.”

“You make a move yet?”

Logan rolls his eyes. Kurt was nosey. “No, Kurt. You know I can’t.”

A chuckle beside him. “No, I actually don’t. Charles didn’t actually say you couldn’t. I think you just like to wallow in self pity. Remy agrees.”

His head whips towards his friend, tearing his eyes off you for just a minute. “The fuck you talking to the Cajun about me for?”

Kurt remained playful. “Besides you and her, no one wants you together more than Remy does. Now, for fucks sake Logan, go get your girl.”

*

You were talking to Hank, discussing the struggles of making the most period accurate dance you could with one of the few people here who could understand.

“Can I cut in?”

Logan.

You turn to see him, and god, he was beautiful as ever, but incredible in that dapper suit. He slaps a friendly hand on Hank’s back, and Hank gives him a knowing look, politely excusing himself to go get some food. Logan smiles down at you, holding out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Heat warms your skin, heart picking up as you try and fail to hold back a smile, taking his hand. “My dance card is very full, but I think I can squeeze you in.”

It was perfect. Logan, being the man 200 something years old, knew how to dance. Remaining chaste, somehow you still managed to feel like he was burning a hole through your clothes when he touched you. His hand on your waste felt indecent, salacious… but his touch on your shoulder was downright lewd. Logan had never seen your shoulders, always covered up even that night, and a few nights after, you came to his room as he tossled in the throws of a nightmare. Not that he had seen the waist he touched so lightly either, but you imagined him slipping off the dress with the hand on you, heat beginning to pool in your stomach.

 Logan had never mentioned catching you masturbating, although he’d certainly heard you calling his name as well. The window was nothing to his hearing. He was polite enough to leave it be, and that’s one of the things that made you fall in love with him. He was better than you deserved. Logan was good, Logan was kind and gentle and you didn’t care what other people thought of him. He was better than you.

“You look beautiful, Dolly.” Logan spoke earnestly, thumb caressing over the material on your collar bone, making you wince in pain, his large hand splayed over you. 

The compliment made you blush, casting your eyes away. You knew how to take a compliment, even if you weren’t convinced of its truth. “Thank you.”

“Hey.” His hand, smooth and soft from the regenerative cells in his body, cupped your face, coaxing it up to look at him. “I mean it.” When your eyes avoid his, he presses further. “Why don’t you believe me?”

You swallow hard. How to explain it without sounding like a jealous or catty bitch. You didn’t hate other women. You were jealous of many here, yes of course you were. Jean, Emma, Rogue, Storm. Of course you were jealous, you weren’t an idiot. But it wasn’t the sort that made you dislike them. All the women here had been wonderful to you, but still, you struggled to connect. You felt out of place in womanhood, often feeling as if you were a perpetual teenage girl on the outskirts, no idea how to be a woman correctly. It wasn’t that you were a virgin, but you hadn’t had any idea what they were talking about with sex. Your husband made you feel dirty for wanting to try anything new.

You didn’t know how to do make-up or how to dress like them, do hair and fuck and kiss and maybe kiss each other? You didn’t know. Did friend kiss all the time like in college movies? What was normal? Getting married at 16 certainly wasn’t. You couldn’t really talk to them about interests because you didn’t really know what interested you. You liked reading, but the books Emma read were…. Well, far from the Jane Austen and Agatha Christie you read. Part of you wanted to read those books… but you was scared.

It was a big world out there, and you didn’t know how to navagate it.

“Dolly, talk to me.”

“I just… sometimes I wonder why you spend so much time with me… there are far prettier women here-”

“Dolly-” 

“Who don’t cry when they try on pants, who don’t dress like grandmas, who can drive a car-”

Who can give you children.

“Hey-”

“You should be spending your time chasing someone who can give you what you want. I’m not an idiot, Logan. I know you feel what I feel for you but…” Tears prickled at your eyes. “But I can’t… I can’t be what you need or want, Logan. I can’t.”

For a long moment, you danced in silence, Logan leaving you in a waltz as bodies blurred around you. Scott and Emma, Remy and Rogue, student couples of yours who you’d suspected were together… all of it surround you, filling the air with lust and love and friendship. In the middle of it, you and Logan, some combination of all three.

“I’m not who you think I am, Logan.”

“What do you know of what I need, baby doll? I don’t need what others have. I need what you have. I need you. You. You are my dolly, nothing else matters.”

Your next words blurted out. “I can’t get pregnant.”

Another pause. “I guessed that.”

Your head whips up, finally looking at him in shocked confusion. “What?!”

“Fundamentalists don’t believe in birth control. They don’t even believe in um… natural family planning. You were married several years. So, either you didn’t get pregnant either because of you or him, or you left children behind.”

“I’d never leave children with that monster.” You spat out your words.

“I know. I know you wouldn’t. I figured it was either you or him.”

His trust in your character touched you, but there was something else that stood out. “What do you mean him?” Logan narrowed his eyes, brows pinched together.

“Him? If he didn’t have enough…” He hesitated to find the polite words. “Well, if the issue was on his end.”

Your skin, if it was burning before with Logan’s touch, was on fire in a rage. “You mean the issue could’ve been him?”

*

You were absolutely livid. All those years, all those years he blamed you, said you were barren, and it could have been him! Your beliefs at the time didn’t allow for medical intervention for women who struggled with infertility (natural only!) so you never went to the doctor for help conceiving. For years you were miserable, wanting a child, wanting nothing more than to be a mother, told all you were worth was your potential motherhood and since you couldn’t live up to it, you were nothing.

And it might not have been because of you.

Logan watched with concern as your eyes filled with tears, burying your head in his nice shirt to hide your crying as you explained it all. Every negative pregnancy test, how badly you wanted it, the nights you spent on your knees until the bruises begin God to be worthy of a child.. How every time one of your siblings or church members announced a pregnancy you rejoiced for them but felt a punch in the gut, how your husband beat you for your failures. 

“Did Logan make you cry?”

Scott pulled you out of your thoughts. Not long after you and Logan danced, Scott asked for one and you happily obliged. Scott was very kind. Remy was a good friend, Logan was… whatever was happening with Logan. But Scott checked in on you regularly. See if you needed anything, if you were settling into the school well, if you were having any trouble or concerns with the teens. When you were sick, he checked in late that day much to Logans annoyance.

“What?” You snap to attention. “Oh! No, no… I was just… other stuff, you know.”

You couldn’t see Scotts eyes, so reading his face was harder than with most. Over the years, you’ve gotten good at reading men's body language and facial expressions, the only way to survive in the male dominated world you grew up in. Scott was an enigma. 

“Are you sure? Because Judith,” His use of your pseudonym threw you off. “If anyone here is harming you, we won’t protect them. I know the life you had, but you can just us. We won’t choose Logan over you.”

What on earth was he talking about? “Logan wouldn’t hurt me, Mr. Summers.” You insist, eyes searching for Remy, hoping to get out of this conversation.

Scott’s thumb pulled at the top of your dress, moving it aside just a single inch, but you knew what it revealed. You gasp, swiftly covering it up again, hoping no one saw. “What-”

“If he is hurting you, you need to tell me. I promise, I can he-”

A large, hairy hand clamped down on Scotts shoulder, a subdued cry of pain escaping Scotts lips. 

Logan spoke, a dark, low voice in Scotts ear. “The only fucking reason I’m not tearing your arm off is because my baby doll spent months planning this dance and it would be rude to spray blood all over her guest. So I suggest you take your hands off her, and we handle this outside like men.”

*

“LOGAN STOP!” You scream, crying against the wall as you watched Scott and Logan fight in the parking lot. Well, fight wasn’t the right word. Scott could probably have killed Logan if he was really trying, but he wasn’t. Scott was far more rational than Logan was, especially now.

The two men battled it out, leaving you all but forgotten as you sob on the floor.

Then, an explosion. It wasn’t big, nothing and no one was damaged, but enough to make Scott and Logan stumble back and pause, chests heaving in their torn and dirty formalwear. 

“For fucks sake!” Remy appeared from the purple cloud, gesturing towards you. “I leave for 5 minutes and I come back to find my friends fighting like teenage boys! And I do say boys, cher, because a man,” He reached a hand to you, helping you up. “Wouldn’t leave a lady crying on the floor!”

“Take her inside.” Scott instructs. “I’ll handle this.”

Logan’s ‘fuck off’ went unnoticed. 

“And what, exactly, are you handling?”

“I dunno, Remy, maybe something to do with the claw marks on her!”

All eyes turned to you, including Remy. “Pistache,” His voice was gentle. Did something happen?”

You melt under the pressure, slinking away behind where Remy stood. “I can explain, Mr. Summers.”

And just like that, eyes were back on Scott. “Are really out here trying to kill our brother in arms before you even ask the girl what happened?”

Scott looked embarrassed. “She won’t say anything about him! She’s clearly scared! Besides, I wasn’t trying kill him…”

“Ah, just maim him then.”

“Dolly.” Logans voice called to you. He looked so worried, so sad, his eyes wide and desperate. “Did I… hurt you?”

You nod. “But Logan… It was the nightmare.” You turn to Scott, a hint of indignation you couldn’t help for him accusation to Logan, but a softness because someone, someone cared enough to notice. “He was having a nightmare. He scratched me in his sleep when I tried to wake him.”

Once again unreadable, Scotts voice was careful. “You don’t have to defend him. You can-”

“Respectfully, Mr. Summers,” You said, letting go of Remy in favor of approaching Logan and taking his hand. “I’ve survived abuse once. I told people then, they didn’t believe me but I told them. I would do it again if Logan did that. But from Logan’s point of view, you were pulling at my clothing. So I think its best both of you sweep this under the rug as a misunderstanding.” You walk away, taking Logan with you. “Logan and I are about to miss the last dance.”

After

“You’re missing the dance.”

“Can’t wear anything that won’t show them I’m pregnant.”

It was prom, and you had organized another dance for it. Months of work, and you couldn’t even see your students dresses. Everything nice enough to chaperone would be too tight, thanks to the slight bump. You didn’t know Logan would be back so soon, but him and Kurt returned this evening. Under the blankets, you feigned sickness to Remy, asking him to attend the ball in your stead, show your students the love you wanted to give.

Your first year here was almost done, and you were sure once the pregnancy came out you’d be fired. You couldn’t expect Charles to put the baby through daycare.

The room was dark, but the glow of the TV illuminated Logan as he sat on the chair with a heavy sigh.

“How's the girl?” You ask.

“She’s gonna need a lot of rest and food and she’s on an IV but… she’ll make it. Seems happy to be here. Kurt and her got along well.”

“Good.” The Tv drowned out the quiet, Bobs Burgers again. “You know, I don’t understand half of this show sometimes. Pop Culture references I don’t get. Like, who is queen Laytifa? Who is Bruce Springsteen? I don’t know.”\

A beat. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t get a lot of the jokes either.”

You give a small chuckle. “It kinda does. At least I have an excuse.”

Logan gives you a moment before asking. “How are you been since i left.”

You try to think of an honest answer. “Morning sickness is terrible. Nightmares are worse than ever, but Remy’s helped me. I’m too fat for some of my clothes already. Not going great, honestly.”

“Dolly,” He huffs, “We need to get you into a-”

“A doctor. I know. School’s out in two weeks.” You take a deep breath and release it slowly. “I’m teaching a few summer classes and the literature club is meeting through the summer but… I’m free at noon every day. We can go, I guess.”

Logan’s heart leap, relieved to finally get you and his baby medical care once again. He knew this was difficult for you, you never went to doctors for anything this whole school year.

“Is it a naturopathic thing? Like you guys didn’t believe in science.”

You groan, covering your face with a blanket. “Why do you think we’re friends, Logan? I’m not talking to you about my life like this!”

Frustrated and tired, he tugged the blanket back down. “”I just wanna take care of you, dolly!”

“After you raped me!” Your words hung in the air, bitter on your tongue, but more spilled out. “I- I was pregnant once. I think. It was too early to test but I just… knew. And then he beat me. It was… it was so bad, Logan. I’ve never known pain like that. And then I started bleeding. I tried to tell a doctor I was being abused…” You willed yourself not to cry this time. “But he told me…”

You think back to that night, your eyes pinched shut as you recounted it to Logan. Everything hurt. You wanted a female doctor but your husband insisted on seeing a family friend. When you were alone you tried to say no, you didn’t fall that he did this too you. You tried to say that you made you miscarry!

‘Do you know what the laws are for abortion here, ma’am?’

His question stunned you.

‘Uh… illegal?’

You didn’t really know.

‘Legal in some circumstances, unfortunately. But illegal outside of medical performance, and we don’t know how far along you are.’

‘I’m only-’

‘Whose to say. My point is, how are we to know you didn’t try to skirt around the law and end your own pregnancy?’

You couldn’t take the TV anymore. Too loud, too bright. You turn it off, getting up to open the window for fresh air. Through the crack, music from the prom spilled in, Glitter in the Air. 

Logan’s arms wrapped around your waist, burying his hair in your face and you wanted to pull away. You wanted to scream. But you also wanted Logan to just be your Logan again. Maybe he was? You had missed him, even now after everything you missed him. You wanted to be with him. 

“Dance with me, Dolly. Even if it’s our last.”

So you danced with him. And it was not the last.

But Charles returned for graduation, and you needed to make a choice what to do.

WOW THANK YOU SOSOSOSOSOOSOSOSOSO much!!!!!

comments mean the ENTIRE world and the in depth thought you've all given are so wonderful!!!!!!

I really really am so delighted with the love here, and all the new followers and friends!!!

Thank you so so much everyone. I love you all!!

My tags have not been tagging??????? s be careful and make sure youre caught up!!! also if you wanna join my discord to keep up, let me know! it is a fully leftist group, pro queer, anti-zionism, leftist etc etc

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia @new-genesis1000 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight

[grapejuicestyless]

I Just Want To Be Loved.

Harry Styles x Fem!Reader

Summery: It’s been the long haul for you and Harry. You spent everyday together for years. Recently, all you’ve been doing is spending your time apart. Is it so much to ask for him to come home?

Love on tour was there full definition of love. The atmosphere was filled with warmth and a kindness that seemed unique purely for the shows within it. Friendships blossomed in every section and fans showed their appreciation with projects projecting rainbows and meaningful messages to prove it. It was everything you’d think love could be.

So it made sense as to why Harry kept adding more shows, prolonging the inevitable end of the years he’d spent away from home. He, just as much as anyone else, loved to be loved. I couldn’t blame him. If I was him, I would’ve done the same.

Yet still, even though the tour was pure fluff and happiness, it drew a bubbling sadness from deep within every time he frolicked onto that stage. A sparkly, blinding reminder that once again, he was out making a name and I was at home, holding onto the ounces of love he shared over the phone each night.

The excitement coursing through me when he announced the final shows was extreme. Though I pretended to be bummed for the sad ending, and the tough parting from the band and the fans, I couldn’t be more happy to get my Harry back.

I longed for those peaceful moments in the mornings, my hands tracing his nose and his fingers playing with my hair until our touches became lazy and we dozed back off into a light slumber. I missed those loving times that were stolen from me with every new date added.

It felt selfish, to want to take such a core memory from the fans, people who Harry adored like his friends. People I’d grown to love throughout the years of our friendship and eventually our relationship. I’d had Harry at my fingertips for years, they only had him for a night. Yet it was so hard to share him.

Thinking deeply, I fought with my inner thoughts about the delicate line that was selfish and justified until my phone buzzed in a heartbeat pattern on the kitchen counter.

Turning it over, I watched Harry’s name pop up, hearts decorated around his name, “H,” as I had set it as on my phone.

I leaned forward, forearms resting against the cold countertops and the ripped collar of Harry’s shirt twisted between my fingers while I waited happily for the image of Harry to load up on my screen.

“Hi, Baby!” He called excitedly in all his post show sweaty glory. He had curls stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were shiny and sparkling under the yellow lighting of his hotel room.

“Hi, H. How was your show?” I laughed at his exasperation. He made it obvious that he had rushed into his room to call me, the heavy breathing he tried to muffle and the quickness of his chest giving him away.

“Amazing, baby. It’s just so crazy that it’s real, you know? They all came for me and my band! It’s always so surreal seeing sold out stadiums with people who came for my music.” He rambled, the same speech every single time. How he felt so lucky that something so grand could have happened to someone so average like him, even if he was far from average in my eyes.

Still, my cheeks hurt from smiling. Seeing him happy was the greatest happiness of all, to me.

“You know you deserve it. Worked so hard these past few years and now you get to celebrate it with the people who love you. I’m so proud of you.” Our eyes met, a comfortable silence forming while our smiles turned into shy giggles and eyes averting from each other like school children in love.

“I love playing for these people. I cant believe how lucky I am to be with them almost everyday of the week.” I nodded, not feeling the need to respond.

“So, that’s why my team and I were thinking…” He led me into it with false hope. Hope that he was going to say something about coming home to throw a party where I could remain attached to his hip and love on him as he did to me.

“We’re going to add a few more shows before we finish off the tour.” I nodded, still smiling.

“Like in between? Don’t you think that will be too many shows in a week?” I asked, blinded by my excitement to see him. Silence fell over the phone call, this one heavier and more tense.

“Well, not exactly.” He tried to start explaining. The smile hurting my cheeks slowly faded into a confused gaze, proudness and glee turning into hurt and a heart breaking realization.

“We were thinking of adding a few more shows in Asia and Italy around September time. Maybe even have another Harryween in the states!” He explained, looking at the ceiling. His hands eventuated his explanation dramatically, like always.

All I could do was stay silent, heart pounding into my ears and a lump in my throat expanding into a dull ache that only seemed to rise.

“Y/n, isn’t that great?” My face was frozen, eyes widened and looking straight into the blurry green ones on the glitchy FaceTime call.

“Y/n?” He called again, his voice sounding more concerned.

Maybe it was my lack of response, or the tears welling in my eyes. Maybe it was that he thought I was frozen and couldn’t hear him, or maybe all three. But I was stuck. Stuck between wanting to support all of his decisions, trying to do what was best for him and wanting to just be selfish for just a moment.

I wanted to scream at him not to add anymore shows. I wanted to yell at him for making me wait for him for so long. I wanted to be overly emotional until I turned into putty in my own hands. Yet, even in my own conflict, I couldn’t find it in me to say no to him.

“Yeah, that…that sounds great, Harry. Really, I’m excited for you.” He nodded, not fully convinced.

“O…okay. Y/n, are you okay, you look a little pale. Have I said something?” What haven’t you said? You’ve just told me your leaving me yet again.

Stay? Just stay? Please, I want to be loved. I just want to be loved. I want to be loved by you and only you. I want you to forget about everything and just let it be us again.

“No, no. I’m just getting tired. It’s getting late over here. I’d better get to bed. Goodnight, H.” My tone was monotone, lacking any emotional depth behind it. It was obvious everything I said was a lie, but he let himself accept it halfway.

“Okay, sleep well. Call me when you wake up, okay? I love you. Goodnight, baby.” I hung up the phone, throwing it as soon as it beeped to a silence. The rage I felt was ungodly. It was pent up, having been stuffed down like a gross mass of phlegm bubbling up, waiting to be spat out.

Suddenly, the lump in my throat expanded to a broken cry, a painful rip rippling down my body. An ache that had been dull for the past few months coming full surge at me in one painful swoop.

I just wanted to be loved, was that too much to ask for?

———————————————————————-

Part 2 will be coming 🫶

[trinity0finite]

Kiss Me - Pham Hanni

Pham Hanni X GN!Reader

Desc- You don't like Jay, but you like love his girlfriend

tags- highschool au, non!idol au, ft. jake from enha, jay from enha, jungwon from enha, hyein from nwjns

Warnings: underage drinking (drink milo instead), mention of smoking (dont smoke yall), some illegal shi, Yn is the second biggest hanni's simp (im first), cheating but he had it coming. I do not condone cheating or whateva 🙏

note- A lil snth while i wait for my brain to work i love jay boo sm he's my patootie but hanni is my pookie whle writing ths. as you can see, i continued writing on different days, took me a whole week to actually get this done. writing got better at one point of this one.

The school 'It couple' was standing at the corner of the party. Jay, the school's star player and quarterback. Hanni, the Stuco president. A match made in heaven was what everybody says and thoughts. Jay and his romantic antics wins Hanni over, the perfect girl who only hang out within her friends group.

Which you don't find romantic at all, if giving the girl flowers that wasn't her favorite but his instead, If taking the girl to expensive restaurants when she prefer quiet, peaceful places was romantic for you then pop off.

She's just your little cousin's friend, and Hyein would always talk your ears off about her, thats how you know, not because you were observing her of course. That would be, creepy.

The seemingly perfect couple was seen to be having an unusual couple quarrel. In public, house full of Hanjay's fans.

A smirk drifted onto your face, hand in your jacket pocket and another holding a soju bottle, you can't help but to watch in amusement.

Your face broke into a smile when you saw Hanni suddenly pushing past Jay, on her way to the entrance of one of your friend's house.

"Yn!" The said friend came out of nowhere placing his arm over your shoulder making you snap back into reality, back to the annoying party thrown by a rich highschool kid, that being Jake.

"Finish this for me will ya? Imma go out to have a smoke." You grinned at the blonde, pushing the bottle against his chest not giving him time to respond and make your way towards the entrance.

You frowned when you lost sight of the girl who pique your interest (you had been crushing on her since 9 grade). You take a few step, peeking here and there, trying to sight the girl. Squinting your eyes when you see a shadow a few feet from Jake's house.

"Fucking shit I swear if thats slenderman." You said aloud, tiptoeing to see better. A giggle came from the shadow makes you lose your cool.

Just because you act all tough doesn't mean you're not scare of creepypasta that Hyein used to scared you.

"Aye what the fuck?" You whispered, squinting trying to get a closer look.

"What are you doing here?" The shadow asked, it fake deepening voice.

"Uh, trying to find a child, about 5'2 she had long hair and bangs, have you seen her?" You restored, head tilted.

"Asshole! I'm 5'4!" Hanni broke her facade and marge at the taller, a cute unintentional pout on her face.

A smile broke onto your face upon seeing the girl that has been occupying your mind, living for free these days.

"Pews, I thought you had gotten kidnapped." You pretended to wipe your sweats on the side of your head making the shorter smack your arm.

You laughed, placing both of your arms back inside your jacket pocket, enjoying the annoyed look on the stuco's president face that soon turned into a smile.

Your breath hitched, seeing the way her cheeks pop up adorably makes you want to kiss her every time you spot it.

"What are you doing out here?" You asked, trying to be casual acting as if you weren't being noisy earlier at the party before grimace seeing the Pham trying to warm herself by rubbing her own arms. "and in the cold too?" You took off your jacket before throwing it at Hanni in the face for her to put it on.

"So romantic.." Hanni side eyed you before aggressively puts your jacket on not even offering it back like in those films.

You frowned, weren't she supposed to say something like, aren't you gonna be cold or something like that? You were right, those romantic films you had to endure for Jungwon were all wrong.

You got lost in your thought, not noticing the glares and side eye from Hanni, who had been hit in the face by your denim jacket.

"And.. i'm out in the damn cold because Jay refused to take me home.. saying he's having too much fun and that I need to take a stick out of my ass and let loose a little."

"Oh damn." You breathed out, god you don't like Jay at all, the perfect image, and he acts like a king doing whatever the hell he wants except when he's around you, he was tamed. He got ahold of this amazing girl and couldn't take care of her, what a prick. "Let's go on a walk."

The silent filled the comforting night, your legs carried you slowly, hands in your pant pocket trying to act cool as if you weren't bothered by the cold. You look at the girl whose head was tilted up preoccupied by the pretty constellations, and you thought, her eyes was as bright.

"Yn?" She softly called out, eyes still stuck on the beauty of the night.

"Hm?" You replied back as soft, eyes stuck on that beauty of hers.

The way she would try her best to act pissed whenever you teased her, the way her cheeks puffed out when she would pout, the way her voice would calm you down, the way she would side eyes you and look at you in disgust, you don't even mind, you treasured anything that was given to you if it was her.

"Yn? Are you okay?" She suddenly asked worriedly snapping you out of your thoughts.

You didn't reply, you stare at her dumbly, you couldn't hear or see shit other than the loud beating of your heart and the girl in front of you, you feel weak in the knees and your stomach . You don't know if it her or the ramen you've been consuming lately.

"Hanni.." You breathed out.

Hanni was slightly taken back at the way you intensely stares at her, she doesn't know wether to be scare or scare. She was lowkey scared. But the soft glint in your eyes quickly calmed her down, so does that soft deep tone of yours that reserved for her only, although she didn't know that.

She had always feel safe and comforted whenever you're around, the way you would put all your attention on her even when you're with your friends. The way you don't care about other people opinions on you, act as you want, and not cares what they would say, you didn't care, you were free. Hanni liked that about you, because she also felt free when she's with you.

Now thinking about it, Jay would pushes her aside and put his full attention on his friends, and he would walk her to class, and asking her on dates and never had a real conversation, he'd just take pictures and post them. Hanni was a trophy for Jay.

"Yeah?" She replied back, a soft frown on her face.

"Can I kiss you?"

She had been feeling things that she shouldn't feel for you for awhile, she would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't tempted, but she had a boyfriend.

"Yn..? You.. you know we can't." Hanni shook her head,

"I know you have a boyfriend and all but, I like you. I've always liked you, even way before you start dating that pretentious guy.. Fuck, I shouldn't have dump all of this on you." She felt a pang in her chest at the way you look down, your hand held your forehead, blaming yourself. "You.. ugh, you make me feel ways i've never even feel with my talking stages. And I know this is probably too late, and I should've kept this too myself-"

"Yn, are you drunk?" She asked, interrupting your rant, her hand went to cupped your cheeks to make you look directly down at her, and checking your cheeks for any tint of red.

"Huh? N-No." You babblers out, caught off guard.

"Kiss me."

Your eyes widened, air paused in your lung waiting for you to let them out, you scan her face to see if she was playing with you but you could see none on her face.

Seeing you taking too long Hanni pulls you by your sweater, making you launched forward, your lips meet hers, snapping out of shock, you slowly closed your eyes enjoying the way her soft plump lips move against yours, moving together like a puzzle and slowly but surely, you were addicted. You would give everything up just to feel her soft skin again. Her hands went to held yours, fingers intertwine. And when she went to pull away you chases after her, eyes stuck on her lips.

"Calm down." Hanni giggled breathlessly, trying to regain those oxygen you just took from her, her jaw almost dropped when she saw how dazed you looked.

When you saw the way Hanni is flushed red, trying to regain control of her breath, a small smirk grew on your face feeling satisfied and she just want to punch it off your face, or better yet, kiss it off.

"You better dump him, or Im dumping his body-"

"Oh my god!"

-> Bonus

Hanni: "Yn, you aren't drunk why are your cheeks so red?"

Yn standing next to her stupidly with tomatoes cheeks: "We just kissed!"

Hanni cackle: "You like to act all cool and tough but you're just a simp!"

Hanni went to peck her cheeks: "My Simp."

Yn holding her cheeks trying to hide from short Han: "SHUSH!"

#I'lltakejay #neverletyourpartnerstopyoufromfindingtheloveofyourlife

[randomshyperson]

Borderlines - Wanda Maximoff Oneshots

Summary: Wanda and the borderlines of healthy in her relationships.

Warnings: Implied Cheating, Toxics behaviors, High School, secret dating, implied smut (no description), mild angst. | Words: 1.016k

A/N-> I just forgot I had ones ready in my drive. Just loose ideas transformed into small works, enjoy! I'll try to upload once a week.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

"I'm tired of your games. To be frank, I am tired of you."

Dial this number?

This phone is not receiving calls at the moment, please leave a message after-

With a weary sigh, Wanda threw the device away, one hand covering her face as she normalized her breathing.

Don't cry. Don't cry.

A sob ripped through her throat, and Wanda got to her feet, frantically moving around the room. She collected in record time every little thing of yours that was still lying around the bedroom.

She had a box full when she finished, and a face wet with tears. She ignored her twin's worried question about her state, heading downstairs toward the garage, where as soon as she reached the car, she tossed the box into the passenger seat.

The way to your apartment was made at high speed, but Wanda couldn't worry about future traffic tickets now.

She arrived at a crowded place, used to the always busy condo of other residents. Some of them recognized her, and this only made Wanda feel even more nauseous. The box weighed heavier in her arms.

She pressed the doorbell impatiently many times, until your figure appeared with a towel in her hair, worry dissipating into irritation as soon as she recognized the figure on the other end.

"Jesus, Wanda, what the hell are you doing here?"

Suddenly, all rehearsed speech faded from her mind. Wanda noticed many things at once, easily overwhelmed by the smell of post-bath, and the amount of skin exposed by your pajamas. 

Her throat went dry. 

"I-I..."

You grimaced at the box. "Oh, I get it." And you looked suddenly very sad. Your hands grabbed the item away from her, and Wanda didn't have the strength to resist. She clenched her fists at the side of her body, wanting to scream without being able to form any coherent sentence to say. "If that was all it was, please go away."

The tears were back, burning behind her eyes. But this time, you had a pair too, and this gave Wanda the courage to approach. The box bumped against her stomach, and your back against the door.

"Please, just-"

You looked away. "You've said everything, Wanda. Did you forget? Yesterday, to those jerk friends of yours. I don't mean anything, so stop pretending."

"You got it all wrong-"

A hoarse laugh made her shudder. "Right, on top of everything else, I'm also dumb." You sneered, the box pushing her a few inches away as you moved the item inside, placing it on the floor. Wanda denied it, shaking her head in desperation to clear up the misunderstanding, but you put your hands on her shoulders to push her out. "I don't want to talk to you. I don't even want to see you. Go away, the least you can do is leave me alone after everything!"

She let herself be pushed out, but as soon as you made mention of moving away, her hands grabbed your wrists, holding you in place.

"Please, let me explain, Vis and I have been distant, he shouldn't be back home yet and I didn't know how to tell you-"

"I don't want to hear about it!" You squirmed, sobbing, giving a tug to free yourself from the grip. Wanda was crying too - As in her, all the moments of the past few weeks were passing in your mind. Unlike Wanda, now that you knew the truth, everything carried the idea that it was a lie. An act, a distraction. You hearing Wanda try to dispel her friends' suspicions by saying you were just a party friend, a summer fling, made everything worse. "Go away or I'll call the police."

Wanda shook her head. "I didn't know how to tell you, but everything I said was true. I'm in love with you, I want to go to NYU with you-"

"Wanda, stop!" You pulled away, crying so hard that Wanda despaired. Your escape back into the apartment made her follow you, closing the door behind her and coming closer until she could hold you again, as she had done so many times in the last few weeks, in this very room. 

"I swear, detka, I swear I love you..." She assured, repeating several times until your crying subsided in her arms. She wiped your tears away, kissing your cheeks, repeating the same words like a mantra until you relaxed and responded back. Surrendering to her, as always.

Wanda is not sure who initiated the kiss, but most likely it was her. Soft at first, so as not to scare you off, but then firm and sensual, with tongue. You gasped, cheeks burning as your lower belly, and Wanda wasted no time in clutching at your thin clothes, pulling them off without tenderness.

You muttered something about your colleagues, apartment rules she should know by now, and that was the only deterrent to Wanda's taking you across the living room floor. She dragged you back into the bedroom, pushed you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you.

And she stayed and remained until the tears in your eyes were of pleasure, the whimpers were pleas for more. More from her fingers, from her mouth.

You always slept when she was rough like this. Wanda took immense satisfaction in watching you sleep, but shortly after covering you with a bed sheet, she got up to check the vibrating cell phone in her pants lying on the floor.

Vision sent her a message. The celebratory caption announced that the two of them were going to the same college they had planned for so long. She bit the inside of her cheek, typing that she was very happy for him and then that she needed some time.

She deleted the last part.

"Wan?"

Your sleepy voice made her look away from her cell phone. You gave her a tired smile, of one who was exhausted after coming so many times. Deliciously worn out. "Come back to bed."

She nodded. She forgot to answer any messages, her full attention on you.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Line of Sight ❞

poly!Billy Loomis & Stu Macher X easily distracted!reader | fluff | graphic descriptions of violence

Billy and Stu adore their boyfriend, so they keep an eye on him due to the fact that he has this odd but adorable tendency to get...distracted.

#1, PURPLE FLOWERS "D'you believe in past lives?" Billy paused his rummaging and from behind his locker door he peered at his boyfriend, Stu, who was leaning on the row of lockers beside Billy's. "What type of question is that? Ya' been smoking pot again?" his arms, already sore from last night's activities, pinched as he added the weight of the AP Biology textbook among the binders full of notes. He readjusted his grip, shutting the locker as Stu jerked his chin across the hall. Bumping their shoulders together as he mimicked Stu's pose, Billy's gaze followed Stu's to the windows that lead to the school's front yard. There (Y/N) was, knees tucked under him and backpack forgotten by his side with his face in gentle awe at the flowers that had grown near one of the trees. That would explain why you weren't in the hallways like your boyfriends were. You probably were on your way but caught a glimpse of those purple petals and simply could not resist yourself. "I'm guessing that in his past life, he was a puppy" Stu chuckled. "Small attention span, ya' know? Gnawing on your ankles, trippin' over his widdle paws" Billy cocked a brow, a lopsided grin climbing his face at Stu's curled hands swiping at the air - like a puppy, he says. Billy thinks he looks like a lanky mantis shrimp. "Does he know classes are about to start?" he asked and Stu laughed. "S'he look like he does? Come on, let's collect our puppy and send him on his way" he all but cooed. The taller of the two shouldered open the school doors, wincing as he'd inadvertently put pressure on a cut he'd received - also from last night's endeavours. "What d'you think I was in my past life, Billy boy?" he let the question linger in the air as they came up behind (Y/N), who was none the wiser. He never got his answer, not that he minded, because (Y/N) had turned his attention to the murderous duo with a blinding smile that made the sun burn with jealousy as the winds ushered the clouds away like show curtains - it still paled in comparison to (Y/N)’s beauty.

“Classes are about to start” Billy put his back to the tree whilst Stu plopped himself next to (Y/N). “I know” bemoaned (Y/N) “but I saw these and they just reminded me of you two” he presented them with a mice-sized bouquet of fragile, dusty purple flowers with a deep vinyl colour in the centre, and meekly twirled it between his thumb and pointer fingers.

“We aren’t pretty like some dainty flower” Stu plucked it from (Y/N)’s hold, its petals tickling his boyfriend’s cheek as Stu tucked it by his ear. “But I am?” (Y/N) mused, squinting his eyes at Stu. Billy’s touch, which had always been cold, sent shivers as he placed his hand on (Y/N)’s head; “The prettiest little devil we’ve ever met”

The bell rang but the three boys stayed ever so enamoured with each other, more and more flowers decorating each other.

Everyone paid no mind as purple flowers kept falling from (Y/N) as he moved from class to class - though the nickname flower boy persisted for a few weeks despite how uncreative it was. (Y/N)’s boyfriends thought it was cute.

#2, COOL ROCK

In all honesty, Stu wondered why Billy had chosen this location as a date. He constitutes eating with a good movie, cuddling, making-out, and maybe some bed shaking sex as a good date not taking a walk through the Woodsboro woods.

But, it was nice.

The tests and quizzes…thank fuck this would be the final test for a good while before university rolls in. Well, that is if he aces it.

“Baby” he snaps out from his reveries and turns to see (E/C) coloured eyes with their eyebrows sloped in concern. “You went quiet, everything okay?” Billy halts from ahead, hands shoved in his pockets as he wonders why the two had lagged.

“Yeah, yeah” Stu’s rubs the back of his head and his shoulders droop as (Y/N)’s fingers slip in his hands.

“What’s up?” Billy inquired once they caught up. (Y/N) shakes his head, telling him not to worry too much as he reaches to hold Billy’s hands as well. “He thought he heard something” he soothed them both by rubbing his thumb over their lightly bruised knuckles. “Yeah?” Billy didn’t sound convinced and (Y/N) pursed his lips at him as they made eye-contact.

“Yeah, wolf or something…” Stu continued which made Billy eye him then glance around unsurely. (Y/N) snorted, rolling his eyes. People assumed Billy was the cool headed, suave, Cassanova. Which, to his credit, he was...sometimes. Meanwhile, people assume Stu was the airheaded, frantic, hyperactive comedy relief of your relationship.

They did not know how romantic Stu was, or how smart he was. His extrovertedness along with his bubbly attitude was often mistaken as some sort of weakness - if only they knew how terrifying it was how closely intergrated Ghostface was in Stu’s very soul.

How for Billy, he can hang the robe and mask in the closet. Despite how it peers from the darkness, creaks it open and makes the walls shake from its breathing when it demanded attention.

Stu? The line between him and the mask was a blurred line in the sand that he barely notices. He is Ghostface, with or without the mask.

He’s like…he’s like a…an…a…

There was a twinkle from the corner of (Y/N)’s eyes.

Your boyfriend’s were debating the existence of a wolf and mountain lion hybrid when you spotted the glimmering ‘gem’.

“After this, we’re getting something nice and warm, right?” Stu batted his lashes and Billy nodded, not quite registering the loss of weight and warmth from his left hand as he peeked at the treetops. “Yeah, might be good, it’s getting pretty cold lately” Stu allowed the satisfying crunches of the dead leaves on the forest floor to distract him from (Y/N)’s hand slipping away.

That and Stu’s anxiety of the uncertain future with Billy simultaneously unsure of how to bring the topic up himself. Thankfully, Stu unknowingly made a segway to the conversation for the perfect opening.

“Why’d you even drag us out here, Billy?” Stu whined, kicking a stick out of the way. Billy paused, sighing a bit and moving to bump their shoulders.

“You looked like you were about to damn near cry while staring at your textbook and my head was about to explode anyways, so was our (Y/N)’s. I figured a walk in the woods would help us” Stu realizes that it was more for him because Billy had been silently skimming through some English assignment while (Y/N) had been half-asleep on Stu’s bed. He pressed a kiss to Billy’s jaw, effectively making them pause as he fully held Billy’s face in his hands to kiss him.

He mumbled (Y/N)’s name into the kiss while the corners of his mouth lifting as he grasped Stu’ waist; “(Y/N) also promised me I’d get some kisses from both of my boys if I did as I was asked, he suggested it…” Stu wondered why he stopped midsentence but then he looked around, blood going cold as all he saw was trees and more trees.

“(Y/N)! Baby!” Stu called, interlacing his fingers with Billy as they called out for you. They weren’t too worried about scouring the woods for you as they dredge through here at night often - to evade curious eyes as they carried their equipment around - along with the fact that you couldn’t have possibly been that far.

“(Y/N), come on! Where are you, doll?” Billy called out, retracing their steps down the path as they attempted to spot their darling boyfriend.

“I’m here!” a voice came from behind an overturned tree, the two raced over and blinked owlishly as (Y/N) held up his palm to show them -

“A rock?” Billy brushed his bangs back, holding it in his hand as he turned it around. He even held it up to catch the light, it twinkled shyly under (Y/N)’s lovers gaze.

“It’s a pretty rock! It’s shiny!” he defended as he rose from his knees, dusting the dirt away from his (insert bottom attire).

“You seriously let go of our hands for a rock, baby?” (Y/N) pouted as Stu pulled him into his side, pressing a kiss to his temple all while Billy continued to inspect the rock. “Hey, quit it! I’ve never seen a rock as shiny as that, okay” he huffed, reaching for it while Billy evaded his attempts.

“No, no, answer his question” Billy ‘frowned’ and Stu giggled, “A rock over us?”

“You guys are assholes!” (Y/N) exclaimed making his boyfriends laugh with complete glee.

The shiny rock stayed on Stu’s desk, googly eyes glued on as it weighed down a note that read;

Don’t lose your head over the small stuff. You’ve got this, baby. We love you - (Y/N) + Billy ♡

#3, SHINY KEYS?

In all fairness, (Y/N) thought it was lovely how his boyfriends insist on either one of them holding his hand or both at the same time. But surely, they must not think he was that helpless. Call him crazy but clammy hands was not a cute thing to feel despite how nice of a gesture it was to be holding hands. He’d slipped away a few times, only a few! Nothing bad happened. If anything, most of the time, (Y/N) came back with trinkets!

Well, there was that one time when Stu was hosting a party to let loose and some guy’s cousin from a neighbouring high school had shoot his shot which ended with him getting practically beheaded with a hunting knife by two annoyed Ghostface’s a week or so later.

But, (Y/N) was completely fine!

“I am not that bad” he retorted for the fourth time and Billy simply squeezed their hand and kissed his temple.

“Don’t be a big baby about it”

“Yeah, you saying ya’ don’t like holding hands?” Stu swings their arms together and (Y/N)’s mouth twitches as he fights the urge to smile. “M’not a big baby, I’m a grown man!” a few heads turned towards the trio as they made their way down the street. “Yeah, because grown men yell that they’re grown men” Billy grunted as he was elbowed. “I will castrate you” (Y/N) hissed, “You like my dick too much to do that” he braced himself for another elbow but Stu’s gasp saved him from the wrath of his boyfriend.

“Dude, they opened up an ice cream and waffle place!” Stu tugged his boyfriends across the street, (Y/N) yelping as frantically made sure they weren’t going to become the first hand-holding trio to end up in the ER as some sort of human pretzel’s.

“Jesus, didn’t take long to replace that shitty old man’s shop” Billy muttered with a cruel smirk. The butcher who used to own the shop lot had been a mean asshole who often sold even older cuts of meat for a hefty price. He’d brag his family had practically been the first butchers in Woodsboro and how it was a piece of the town’s history when one bought his product.

You’d think with that as a selling point more people would’ve mourned when he ended up as a corpse, bled-out and hanging from the hook in some pig farmer’s barn. The brutality certaintly shocked everyone but the funeral service held for him had been a dreary affair, with only a handful of people.

“His kid sold it” (Y/N) said as he looked at the menu on the chalkboard sign propped next to the door, “Heard from his grandkid, ya’ know Brandon from theatre?” Billy nodded “Yeah, well, his grandpa was in debt so Brandon’s father decided to sell it”.

“Brandon is related to that geriatric bag of bones?” Stu laughed, clutching his stomach. His boyfriends joined. Well, to be far, the guy was the nicest person you could possibly meet so it was a jarring surprise to know he is related to such a grumpy man.

“Think we did him a favour” Billy curled an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulder with his other placed on his hip. “When Christmas rolls around, I’m betting he’ll get some extra shit out of pity” he continued while Stu moved forward to peek inside the store.

A few familiar faces stuck out to him, they waved in recognition and he glanced at Billy and (Y/N) to gesture for them to head in. Shrrugging, they went along. Stu was the most extroverted - a natural people’s person. It wasn’t unusual for him to be pulled aside to chat with someone. Neither Billy nor (Y/N) minded, especially in this case seeing as they could squeeze in some dessert.

A group of people walked towards the entrance as the three walked in, a gasp of Stu’s name making traffic stop.

Truth be told, Billy had thought he had him leashed to him by his hand alone but by the time the group of school mates had passed through the threshold, he was not there.

Cue the usual song and dance of the lovers heads swivelling and eyes darting to catch a glimpse of (Y/N).

Stu motioned for his friends to wait as he stepped out fully and called out (Y/N)’s name.

“Stu, I’m here!” came the sheepish reply, there he stood in front of a neighbouring store. Their shoulders sagged in relief, lips pursed endearingly as they walked to stand on either side of him.

It was an antique store. Billy swore he could smell it through the display glass, the dust and nostalgia of all sorts of trinkets that were once loved. (Y/N) lifted his hand and pointed to a clever showcase of keys on a string that decorated the top left and rights of the display window. Big, old and clunky but swaying ever so slightly from th ventilation within the store.

They twinkled under the light.

“Puppy,” Stu snickered which earned a head tilt from (Y/N) - it further cemented his claim.

#4, PIZZA

They did it. They fucking did it. They graduated. What better way to celebrate then a date at the new mall?

Stu had outdone his usual parties with the one he had thrown just a few days ago - the three of you were still finding confetti in all sorts of corners in Stu’s house - it was a real Gatsby. Even Billy had found himself dancing in the crowd, feverishly and unabashedly squeezing (Y/N) between Stu and himself.

Now, with that done and over with, it was time for a more private celebration.

(Y/N)’s boyfriends were keeping him in the centre, Stu’s hand around his waist while Billy held a few bags of dorm essentials. Last-minute shopping squeezed into a date, it was usual with the boy’s hectic life and double life.

“That movie sucked” Stu said, “fake blood never looked faker”. (Y/N) rolled his eyes, placing his head on Stu’s shoulder.

“Not everyone’s a murder and horror movie expert, Mr Ghostface” Stu narrowed his eyes at (Y/N)’s teasing tone, grip tightening. He knew what that particular nickname did to his lovers. Billy’s stomach grumbling made their eyes shoot towards his warm face.

“Hungry, baby?” (Y/N) received a sigh and nod. They continued walking as they wondered what they should eat. This mall was huge, and all sorts of restaurants were squeezed into every corner. But that was not where the problem lay.

“Why the fuck would I eat raw fish?” Stu scoffed “We might as well hit the pet store and ate the goldfish”.

“A California roll isn’t as fucking stupid as Italian food made from some American red neck” Billy snapped “I’m the one that’s fucking hungry, I should choose”.

“Nah, no - (Y/N), you choose”

A pause, the escalator they were on continued it’s task of sending the two boys to the upper level with their lover nowhere to be seen.

Unlike the times before, however, calling out your name and retracing their steps did not work. For the first time, they felt cold sweat erupt as they shared a glance. Sure, no real harm could have come to (Y/N), and he was full and well capable of protecting himself. But he was also someone that had walked into a pole, thrice.

“(Y/N)” Billy called out as he and Stu reached the third floor of the mall, nearing the kid’s arcades and all when he finally spotted (Y/N)…

Talking to someone in a brown bear mascot that had a top hat, bow tie and microphone in one of his hands.

“(Y/N)!” he perked up as his boyfriends came into view and waved them over. The man who wore the suit narrowed his eyes at the two, a flash of recognition in his eyes as they came by (Y/N)’s side.

“David, this is Billy and Stu, Billy and Stu, David” Billy paid little attention, just noticing the fact that one of the gloves David was supposed to wear was off and in his hand was a cell phone.

(Y/N)’s name typed down along with his number.

Stu slipped his hands around (Y/N)’s waist, slipping a hand up his shirt which he did little to react too - seemingly used to it.

David’s face fell, expression clear as day despite the shadows of the suit.

“He was talking about this deal they had!” (Y/N) chirped out, showing them the flyer with the establisments name written in a whimsical font.

FREDDY FAZBEAR’S GRAND OPENING!

“How’d you even find this place?” Billy took the flyer, feigning interest as he cocked a brow at David. Who, by the way, realized where he recognized (Y/N) from; he was the boyfriend of Billy Loomis and Stu Macher and he was untouchable.

“While you two were arguing I saw a flyer so I decided to scope around, didn’t think you’d mind considering how serious the discussion of spaghetti and sushi was” he mused, leaning against Billy as he passed the flyer to Stu who had not let his eyes leave the poor part-timer.

“And David…explained the deal?” Stu inquired and (Y/N) nodded “Yeah, we even exchanged our numbers so he’d get us the best seats in the house” he cooed and David shifted uncomfortably as (Y/N)’s boyfriends gazed at him with daggers in their eyes.

“Why the hell would we even eat a kids place with creepy animatronics?” Stu retorted “Let’s bounce, this is laaame��.

There was an edge in Stu’s voice. It often did when he decided to use this sharp-tongued persona - which rarely came out…unless he was particularly annoyed.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes but shrugged and gave David an apology as they eventually walked off to some sushi place.

—

“Woodsboro police department reports the dead body found within the suit of the Freddy Fazbear Pizzaeria mascot is identified to be David Perron. His body was found mutilated and stuffed within the mascot and dragged into the ball pit of the establishment. Authorities are saying this might be the work of the infamous serial killer, Ghostface -“

Stu turns the radio off, (Y/N) squealing as he bounced his knees - effectively making the boy in his lap jump and hold him tighter.

“Stu!” he laughed, the wind in his hair as Billy rested a hand on the back Stu’s headrest. The roof of Billy’s new convertible was down, letting the three lovers feel the blissful breeze and gentle warmth of the California sun.

“Bounce, bounce!” Stu cheered which made Billy peek at the two of them from over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Come on, baby, celebrate!”

“I’m not jumping on your lap in the car! Dumbass!” Stu was no deterred as giggles poured out of (Y/N)’s mouth, his lips attacking (Y/N)’s neck with tongue and teeth.

“The sweater looks better on the floor” Stu purred, hissing sharply as Billy tugged his hair back as he nonchalantly drove with one hand on the wheel. The sweater all three of them were wearing had the logo of the university they’d been accepted into and the one they were making their way towards.

“Billy” Stu whined, the wind muffling it as (Y/N) leaned to kiss Billy and shortly after, turned the radio on. Their favourite song blasted and the lovers rode off, cheering and whooping.

[cherrycola27]

The Comeback Kid

Summary: Jake never expected the one he got away to come back to him. He also never expected the reason why.

Pairing: Hangman x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of mental abuse, intimation. Abortion. Illness. Allusions to smut. Minors DNI 18+

...........................................

At twenty-one years old, Jake Seresin seemed to have it all. He was the starting quarterback for the UT Longhorns, president of his fraternity, on the Dean's list, and had guaranteed acceptance to the US Navy flight school program after graduation. To top it off, he had the most beautiful and amazing girlfriend. He had you.

Yes, life was good for Jake. Up until about six weeks after the Longhorns won the national championship. You disappeared from his life.

You stopped answering his calls. You had dropped out of school. You had moved out of your apartment. To make matters worse, your parents wouldn't tell him anything.

You had vanished without a trace.

Jake was forced to move on. To let you become a phantom, a skeleton in his closet. The one that got away.

It would be a full decade later before you crossed paths with him again in a sea-side, San Diego bar.

When he first laid eyes on you, he thought you were a ghost, and maybe you were.

You and the sins of his past had come back to haunt him.

At first, he thought he was seeing things. What were the odds that the girl he'd never gotten over had just happened to waltz into his favorite hangout?

He took a few steps closer, weaving through the crowd. The closer he got, there was no denying that green-eyed, dark auburn haired beauty in front of him was you.

Your eyes were scanning the room—looking for someone. Jake hoped that if might be him, but he didn't let himself get to attached to the idea. It had been ten years since he'd seen you.

Your eyes met his, and you moved through the crowd quickly and with purpose.

"Jake." You stated once you met him.

"Hi, Sweetheart." He greeted you. "Long time no see." His voice was still as smooth as honey. Even after a decade, he could make your knees weak.

"Jake, I'm not here to flirt. I have something important to talk to you about. Is there somewhere more—private we could go?" You asked him. You looked around the room and noticed some people watching the two of you.

Jake could tell you were serious. He'd always been so good at reading you. "Follow me." He said. He gently placed his hand on the small of your back and guided you out the rear doors of the bar and down to the sand.

His heart was racing. You'd come here looking for him. Maybe, just maybe, you'd missed him just as much as he had missed you. As soon as the two of you were alone, he was going to tell you everything he'd been holding back.

The two of you stopped at the edge of the water. He turned to you and smiled before opening his mouth.

"Sweetheart, you look amazing. I've —I've missed you. Why—why did you leave me? Why did you cut me off? I tried to find you but your parents wouldn't tell me how to get in touch with you." Jake babbled out the moment the two of you are alone. You could hear the hurt in his voice

You're taken aback by his words. You didn't know he felt this way. But how could you?

"I—I didn't leave by choice, Jake." You tell him.

"Wha—what do you mean?" He looks at you confused.

"You father—he told me I had to leave you alone." You say, dropping your eyes.

"What do you mean?" From the way he was reacting, you knew he had no idea about the threats that George Seresin had made against you all those years ago.

"Do you remember the night you won the national championship?" You ask him.

"Of course I do, Sweetheart." Jake replies.

"Do you remember what we did that night?" You continue.

Jake remembered that night fondly. He'd taken you back to his hotel room, and the two of you celebrated his victory tangled up in his sheets.

"Yes." He paused. You can see the gears turning in his brain, but all the dots aren't connecting.

"Well, the next day, I realized I hadn't taken my birth control. I didn't think anything of it until six weeks later." You say.

"Oh my god." He breathes out just as the gears clicked into place.

"You were pregnant." He states.

"Yeah." You admit. "I was afraid to tell you, and when I talked to my parents, they met with yours. Your father said that a baby would ruin your future. He gave my family ten thousand dollars for me drop out, have an abortion, and never speak to you again." You confess. Your voice is heavy with tears.

"So that's why you left? I thought I did something to make you hate me. I thought you didn't love me." Jake's voice cracks.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that alone. That shouldn't have been my father's choice. I would have been there for you. For the baby. We could have been a family!" Jake shouts. He isn't mad at you, you know that. He's mad at what was taken away from him.

He runs his hands through his hair as he paces back and forth across the sand. You've just dropped the first bomb of the evening on him, and his having a hard time processing. You can see the tears glossing over his eyes

"I didn't get the abortion." You tell him. His head snaps up to look at you.

"You didn't?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

My parents and I moved to the east coast, and I had the baby. A boy. His name is DJ." You tell him.

"A boy? A son? I have a son?" Jake can't stop the tears now as he chokes on the words.

"He's nine, and he looks just like you, Jake." You tell him. He's silent for a moment, trying to process everything.

"Can I see a picture?" He asks. He's afraid you'll say no, but you don't. You pull out the phone and show him picture after picture of DJ.

"He's—He's amazing. Can I—why are you just telling me this now?" Jake asks. It's been years since DJ was born, and he wants to know why all of a sudden you've come back.

"DJ, he—he's sick." You are trying not to cry again. Jake's face drops.

There it is. The other life altering news you have for him. Not only does he have a child, but he also has a child who's dying.

"What—what do you mean?" You hear the worry in his tone.

"He has leukemia. He needs a bone marrow transplant. I'm not a match, and neither are my parents." You tell him.

"I came here to find you to ask you to get tested to see if you were a match. I wouldn't ask you if I had any other options. Please, Jake. I can't lose my little boy." You couldn't fight the tears any longer. They stream down your face as you beg him for forgiveness. To not let his resentment of you leaving him be the reason he won't help you.

He doesn't say anything. Wordlessly, he pulls you close, tucking you under his chin like he always did.

You buried your face in his chest and sobbed.

"I'll do anything you need." He whispers as he presses a kiss to your hairline.

He stood there slightly, taking it all in.

His father had paid you to disappear.

You'd had his child. He was a father. He had a son.

His son was sick. You needed his help. How could he deny you?

Jake took a deep breath. The idea of fatherhood had never crossed his mind, but now that it was right here in front of him, he knew there was nothing he wouldn't do to help his son.

I hope you guys enjoy this first chapter! As always, likes are great, but comments and reblogs are golden!

Tag List: @pisupsala @shanimallina87 @luckyladycreator2 @mak-32 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @rosiahills22 @roosterscock @roosterforme @hecate-steps-on-me @withahappyrefrain @arson-tm @sebsxphia @potato-girl99981 @caitsymichelle13 @lillyrosenight @callsign-hummingbird @inky-sun @writeroutoftime @afterglowsb-tch13 @heyoimjordy @phoenixssugarbaby @hypatia93 @bradshawseresinbabe @je-suis-prest-rachel @teacupsandtopgun @boringusername3 @starlightstories @daggerspare-standingby @utterlyhopeful-fics @talkfastromance4 @fighterpilothoe @t-nd-rfoot @phoenix1388 @abaker74 @gigisimsonmars @emorychase @wannabeschyulersister @greatszu @shawnsblue @tributetomrsniffles @tv-fanatic18 @angelbabyange @sadpetalsstuff @softmullet @cowboybarbie @shewritesfiction13 @sweetlittlegingy

Special shout out to @thedroneranger for helping me with this!

[fullofgutsndopamine]

Sigh No More (This Is How It Starts)

TW: sex joke, heavy drinking, cursing, mention of past bad relationship

the hiccups give you away.

they always fucking give you away.

your best friend, angie, stands across from you, almost as drunk as you are.

she speaks over the rim of the cup.

“are you drunk?”

Angie giggles, the kind of giggle you can only accomplish when you’re drunk and the world is light and you have no real worries briefly

“No,” you hold out the o for an obnoxious amount of time, dropping your voice to a whisper, a conspiracy between you two as you grab her in closer, “Are you?”

she giggles. the world around her is brighter, the music louder, everything is funnier: “Yeah,” she giggles. “i am.”

which only makes you giggle more, “can i tell you a secret?”

your voice borders on a slur as she stands closer to you, and she can feel your hot breath on her ear as you talk:

“i’m drunk too.”

you two erupt into loud giggles, eyeing the small crowd.

Hasan stands in a half circle a few steps away from them, in a tight white tank top and tight jeans, practically painted on him, both that leave very little to the imagination

“Communism, you fucking idiot, is not the same as socialism and if i’m the first person to tell you that revolutionary idea then-“

Hasan swirls around the amber liquid in the red solo cup, not really feeling like drinking.

This is his third party this week and the fun that came with the parties quickly wore off by the end of the first one.

“Communism-“

“Don’t you dare say anything about Russia-“

A hard shove by his elbow and he whips around, ready to tell the fucker to watch where they’re walking, ready to put himself to his full height, to be the intimating hasan everyone knows he as.

“That’s my ex-“

He’s seen you before, sure. In passing-the school is small enough that as you leave your english class as he’s getting ready for a modern history class-has seen you in the classroom in the corner, doodling on the desk (that he definitely doesn’t make his own) but that’s the start and the end of how he knows you.

“Quick,” you’re slurring, “Kiss me.”

A smirk pulls it’s way on his lips:

“I usually like some foreplay before,” he’ll smirk, making himself taller, “like a fucking name-“

you roll your eyes, grab him by his tank top until your bodies collide into each other:

“Kiss me, you idiot.”

and you sound sober all of a sudden, your eyes full of what he thinks is borderline panic-so before he can stop himself, tell himself what a horrible idea this is, his lips are crashing into yours, warm and feel familiar, like this is where they’ve belonged after all this time-

Hasan watches as the guy-shorter,pink polo and backwards baseball cap for a team he doesn’t recognize, navy board shorts and fuck-sunglasses inside-pauses, like he’s unsure who this is, is debating on stopping or not and for a second you think you got away with it when you feel a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Babe,” he calls, making your lips part from Hasan’s. “Who’s this?”

And something about this, about asking who this is, rubs Hasan the wrong way as his lips part, his hand goes to your lower back. Acting who this is like he fucking owned you or some shit

“Anthony,” You sound sober again, and your voice borders on being smaller, like you’re scared of this punk in front of you, “This is my boyfriend. uh-“

You pray to whatever god exists that hasan knows to follow the lead, not make you look dumb-

“Hasan.”

He speaks and you hold in a breath of relief. Hasan hand hangs in the air, and Anthony huffs: “Right.”

Hasan snorts, his hand leaves the air and tangled back around your side, “Charming,” holds in an eye roll, “Heard a lot about you.”

So it’s a lie, doesn’t even know this guys name but he looks like a dick so sure-

“Hopefully all good.” Anthony shifts his weight from one foot to the other and Hasan takes some joy in humming, not answering the question.

“I should go-“

“Babe,” Hasan speaks, “I’m gonna get us a drink-“

and the bastard enjoys this, takes your head in his palm and turns your face up at him so you’re on your tip toes as he gives you a gentle kiss.

by the time your eyes open again, and you’re about to say something to hasan about enjoying this too much, anthony is gone.

Hasan stays by your side.

“I think you’re a fucking liability at this point,” Hasan sighs over a glass of water, “Drink some water.”

“not a liability-“ you slur, “think you enjoy-“

a hiccup erupts through your whole body, makes you jump.

“water.”

You take the water and he can tell by the way you’re staring that the room is spinning. his voice turns gentle, tangled his fingers into yours and slowly takes you up the stairs.

“This is my room,” he says, a bunch of lined paper decorate the door, looks like it’s done by various children judging by the way his name is misspelled and letters are upside down, “it’s messy, but you can have the bed.”

A twin sized bed is pushed in the corner. A desk is next to it, crowded with books some half open, others closed with food wrappers as bookmarks. Highlighters and pens are thrown around, along with multiple stacks of stapled papers, a pair of glasses on top of the mess.

“this tours?”

it doesn’t make sense and it’s hard to understand you through the slurring but he nods,

“Yeah,” he says gently, “this is mine.”

“your bed is small.”

he huffs as you gently guides you to the bed, lifts your feet up and swings them onto the bed, his fingers working slowly on taking your heels off.

“Yeah well, can’t afford better.” he snorts.

“You’re kind,” you say as he gives you some blankets, “to do this. you have people thinking you’re tough but you’re a softie.”

he rolls his eyes but his face is pink, “don’t tell others,” he says, “not everyone gets this treatment.”

“Yeah?” you sigh, curling into the covers that smell like him; pine and toothpaste- “What at makes me special?”

he laughs, knows you won’t remember this:

“Only pretty girls get this treatment.”

you giggle, like the drunk you are: “you think i’m pretty?”

your voice has a teasing sing song to it, obviously enjoying it and he rolls his eyes:

“get some sleep-“

“where will you be?” suddenly your voice borders on worry as you pop up, “are you leaving?”

he wonders if you’re like this every night, if the fear of sleeping alone keeps you up.

“I’ll stay, i’ll stay.” he says gently, “look. i’ll work at my desk.”

you don’t move and he rolls his eyes:

“i’ll be right here, close your eyes.”

and you obey and he’s two steps away before you open your eyes again:

“Hasan?”

he holds in a sigh, “yes, sunshine?”

it’s clear the sunshine is sarcastic but something about it makes it feel like butterflies are throwing themselves around your belly

“I can’t sleep.”

he holds in a sigh, holds in the obvious: because you haven’t tried.

instead, makes his way to his dresser, takes out some black shorts he practiced in the weekends with, an old shirt from his days on the debate team in high school-prays your drunk enough to not ask about it-

“Here,” his voice is gentler than you’re use to, and you’re the crying type of drunk so tears threaten to fall when he hands you a bundled up pack of clothing, “Put this on.”

“Is this a bad attempt to see me undress?”

He rubs his forehead, “Jesus fuck, here.”

and he makes a show of turning around, covering his large hand over his face. you half expect him to turn around like Anthony would, but he stays the whole time, barely fidgets.

“Alright.”

he turns around and red faced you’re settling into his bed.

“Alright,” he rolls his eyes, “Close your eyes-“

“You’ll be right here?”

you’re voice is a whimper, borders on pathetic.

“And i’ll be right here.”

You settle into the covers.

“Thanks, Hasan-“

he turns to say something sarcastic but you’re already passed out in his too small bed.

[poetryandfluffycats]

Hii.. can i request a nsfw tsukasa x fem reader? He looks so hot in the new climax event card

A/N: very mildly based off of another fic I did(Confessions) but you don't need to read that to understand this. enjoy!

Pairing: Tsukasa Suou x Fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, public intimacy(in a locker room shower), making out, knee riding if you squint, fingering, princess used as petname, getting walked in on, small amount of Leo screentime

Content: Being with Tsukasa is great, and you love him very much, but the amount of attention put on you by the media? Not great. Not only was it insanely annoying, it also made it hard to engage in... private matters.

Words: 838

NSFW oneshot under cut!

My Princess~

A few weeks in, and you were pretty sure the whole school had caught on to your relationship with Tsukasa. The media had been going insane, printing and plastering stolen moments between the two of you on every website and magazine they could get their hands on, each headline more explicit than the last. You couldn't even hold hands without the paparazzi jumping you. And that was all fine, you could deal with that much. There was just one small, tiny, micro-sized problem.

All the attention was making it extremely hard to get laid.

Sure, the two of you had kissed and cuddled plenty of times, which was fine, you weren't an animal, but you were only human! A human who had been on a very long dry spell even before you had met him. Your body was screaming at you each time you got close to him, urging you to go further and further. But there was always someone around to interrupt you, whether it was another member of Knights or some nosy stranger.

Which was how you ended up in this predicament, pressed up against the steamy wall of one of the showers in the locker room, the water on full blast and Tsukasas tongue shoved down your throat. You weren't quite sure exactly how it had started, all you could remember was that he had gone a bit too fair with one of his silly prince acts and your hormones got the better of you. Which in your opinion, wasn't so bad.

Tsukasa pulled away from the kiss, panting heavily as he looked over your form-which was only covered by the tiniest thong and matching bra you owned. Though, he wasn't doing at great job at being modest either, having stripped down to his boxers that did very little to hide his growing boner "(name)... are you sure you want to do this?"

"Please, Kasa~" You groaned, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling him back onto your mouth. He eagerly got back to work, kissing and sucking on your lips so hard you were sure there would be bruises in the morning. His hands trailed up and down your body, squeezing and groping every inch he could grab onto. You moaned into his mouth as his finger brushed against your hardened nipples, allowing him further access into your mouth.

He brought his knee in between your legs, pressing it hard against your clothed heat. The feeling caused you to let out a high-pitched whimper, throwing your head back and giving Tsukasa the perfect opportunity to latch onto your neck-sucking and biting at the delicate flesh.

"Does that feel good, my princess?" He murmured between kisses. "Tell me what you want, I'll do anything for you"

You bit down hard on your bottom lip as he rubbed his knee in circles over your clothed clit, trying to muffle the porn star level moans that threatened to escape your throat. "M-more! Please... I want..."

Unable to get the words out, you instead grabbed one of his hands, guiding it down your body and onto your soaking panties. A sly smile appeared on his face as he got the hint, softly caressing the damp fabric.

"So wet already... I should help you out with that, huh?" He purred, giving your neck a teasing nip before dipping his fingers past the barrier of your panties. He paused for a second as he took in just how soaked you were, the creamy liquid dripping onto his hand. "Holy s-shit, all for me? Your amazing"

You whined as he ran his finger up and down your slit, collecting your slick on his fingers and twirling it over your aching clit. His other hand made its way behind your back, swiftly unclasping your bra and letting it fall to the ground. Before you could react, he had already latched his hot mouth onto your right nipple, sucking at the bud like a starving baby. His thumb continued toying with your clit as he did so, rubbing the bundle of nerves in soft and gentle strokes. He pushed a digit past your hole, thrusting in and out at a pace just fast enough to make you see stars, but so slow it left you wanting much more.

"God, s'good!" You whined, tangling your hands in his red locs and pulling him impossibly closer. You were getting so close, all the tension from the past weeks building up inside your core, ready to be released at any second. Just a bit more, just a little more-

"Wahahhaha! Found you two-ACK! Dear god, my eyes!"

Just as one final thrust of Tsukasas fingers tipped you over the edge, the shower door was thrown open, revealing a once triumphant Leo turned competently traumatised by the scene in front of him.

Welp, so much for 'privacy' and 'finally having a moment to ourselves', with how Leo was, you were sure all of Knights would know about this in a matter of minutes.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Full Family AU Part Six

Manny buckled Luz up in the car, with Luz not making it easy by kicking her feet playfully as she's unable to hold in her unlimited energy.

"Ready for a new fun day at school, Mija?" Manny asked.

"Every day is a fun day!" Luz cheered.

"That's right it is." Manny closed the passenger door and looked to Camila, who stood patiently at the front door.

"I know it's my turn to take her," she said, "but I want to spend as much of the day that I can researching...her."

Camila turned her head to Vee, who hid behind a corner like a scared animal unsure of its environment.

"You sure you'll be fine being alone with her?" Manny asked.

"I...will be," Camila said, a little unsure herself. "I have to be. If she's going to be staying here for...who knows how long."

"Well, remember, she's more scared of you than you are of her."

"Trust me, I can see that now." Camila looked back at Vee, and the little creature just fully fled behind the corner once making eye-contact.

"Best of luck then," Manny said as opened the driver's seat door. "Have a good day."

"Thanks. And you have a good day at work!"

"I'll try. First time in three weeks I'll be back there. I'm either going to be congratulated for surviving or not acknowledged at all."

"You beat cancer, that's not an easy feat. Of course they'd congratulate you."

"Just as long as it's nothing flashy. Not exactly a fan of surprises."

"Tia Gabbi said I was a surprise," Luz spoke up, "and you always love me!"

"That...is different. Anyways, time to go."

"Okay! Bye, Mami! I love you!"

"I love you too, Bebé! Have a great day at school!" Camila said with a wave while Manny got in the car, slammed the door shut, and pulled out of the driveway. Camila then went back inside and began a search for Vee.

A search that didn't last long because she saw the little one's tail shaking as the rest of Vee hid behind the couch.

Camila took a slow, deep breath, and carefully made her way over. "Hey..."

Vee squeaked, her tail zipping behind the rest of the coach to hide herself better.

"Hey, hey," Camila said in a hushed tone. "I'm not going to hurt you. And...I'm sorry if I've been a little...hesitant. It's just..."

Camila looked over to the mantle, her eyes gleaming at the photo of herself, Luz, and Manny, all together.

"The last few years have been stressful," she explained. "I thought I was going to lose my family forever. But then...I didn't. We stayed together, all in one piece and got to be...what we are now forever. Family movie nights, Manny making Luz the happiest girl in the world, me sleeping in his arms every night. I was sure we were going to live our happily ever after..."

Vee poked her head out, taking note in the sadness in Camila's eyes.

"So when I saw some...creature I've never seen before, who can talk and do all these...these crazy things, it made me worried. What if my family is threatened again? What if something bad happens that I can't save us from? I couldn't know what will happen and it...scared me."

Vee looked down, her lip quivering.

"But you're not a threat..."

Vee looked up again and jumped back a bit at Camila suddenly being crouched down in front of her. "You're scared too," she said with a nurturing smile. "A scared little girl with nowhere to go. I'm so sorry I couldn't see that. Manny's always been better at reading people than me. But I promise that I will do better, starting right now. I don't know what you are, but I'll learn to...look past your features and make sure you feel safe..."

Camila held out her hand. Hesitantly, Vee leaned over and sniffed it a bit, gave Camila a look, and reached her tiny hands to hold hers.

"Bass...Ill...Isk..." Vee said.

"What?"

"That's what they called me. A bass...ill...isk..."

[m1lflov3rrr]

For the First Time

I wrote this inspired by the song For the First Time - Mac Demarco :)

Pairing: Larissa Weems x fem!reader

Warnings: mutual pining, old love, angst, fluff

Word count: 3.1k

Summary: You and her were the best of friends (if not even more) during your time at Nevemore… You lost contact after graduating. Now, you meet her again after 20 years.

A/N: Sorry about the language mistakes!!! Hope you enjoy :)

-

”Can you believe we’re graduating tomorrow?” You asked your best friend, Larissa. 

You were laying under a willow, your favourite spot to hang out together. Her back was resting against the magnificent tree, your back pressed against her front, her hands wrapped around you. 

”I really can’t… All of it is coming to an end tomorrow…” She whispered sentimentally. 

You turned around slightly to meet her gaze, ”Hey, don’t say that. It’s not an end of anything. It’s simply a new chapter in our lives, Rissa.” 

She sighed, looking at the school from a distance. ”Just promise me you won’t leave me. Please don’t forget me… I couldn’t bear losing you.” 

You smiled softly as you cupped her cheek, focusing her gaze back to you as her cheeks flushed red. 

”Cross my heart.” 

-

”Larissa Weems!” You watched proudly as your greatest friend took long strides across the stage, shaking hands and receiving her diploma. She looked so beautiful up there, you thought. You cheered for her louder than anyone else did. 

And before you knew it, ”Y/N L/N!” 

You let out a shaky breath and got up on the stage, shaking the hands of your professors and receiving your own diploma. The crowd cheered at you, but your eyes were only fixated on Larissa, who was clapping, her smile full of pride as tears flowed freely down her cheeks, watching you. You smiled brightly at her and waved, curtsying on the stage for everyone before walking off. 

”We did it!!!” You yell excitedly as you basically jump to each other. 

”We did,” She whispers, tightening her hold on you, never seeming to want to let go. And neither did you. 

You stayed like that for god knows how long. Until you felt like you had to tell her what you’d been dreading for the past few weeks. You just couldn’t bring yourself to tell her earlier. 

”I’m leaving tomorrow,” You whispered almost inaudibly. 

You felt how her body physically froze, and she pulled away slightly to meet your gaze. She looked confused and scared. 

”Rissa, I- They’ve accepted me in. I’m leaving to Oxford to study law, to fulfill the dream I’ve always had.” You said with a sad smile, knowing how hard it must be for the taller girl, because it certainly was for you. 

”W-what?” She let out a shaky breath. You were slipping away from her faster than she could’ve ever imagined. She wasn’t ready for it, not yet. 

”I’ll call you every day, I promise.” You said, taking her face in your hands. 

Tears of sadness were now flowing down her cheeks, as she whispered desperately with her last strength, ”Please don’t leave me.” 

You smiled softly, as you whispered ”I love you, Larissa Weems,” and kissed her softly. 

She seemed shocked, but instantly responded to the kiss, never wanting to let go. That loving, affectionate and tender moment lasted as long as it could, until you both had to pull away for air. 

She knew this was it. She realized that you might not ever see each other again. 

”I love you too,” She whispered back. 

-

At first, you did call every day. You’d even sent her letters and gift boxes with things from England to remember you by. She always said how much she missed you and wished you were there with her. You even planned for her to come visit you, but just as she was about to buy the plane ticket, she had received an email telling her she’d been accepted to study teaching across the country. You were on video call with her when it happened. You were happy for her, but at the same time sad as you realized she couldn’t be able to visit you. 

And slowly, the calls were becoming less frequent and you didn’t even text that much anymore, the how are you’s were becoming a once a month thing. It hurt you so much, knowing how she probably had moved on and found someone better in her life. The plans you had made weren’t going to come to life. 

After a year, you didn’t call or text anymore. 

-

”Y/N, come by my office for a second, will you? We have a new lawsuit and I need to inform you the details.” Your boss, Jeff, asked you. 

”I’ll be there in a sec!” 

You went into the office and saw Samantha and Richard, your co-workers there, too. You smiled at them, sitting down. 

”Alright, I know it’s a bit far away, but we have a new client reaching out to us all the way from Vermont.” 

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. Your firm was located in Atlanta, Georgia, several states away from Vermont. Sure, your firm was one of the finest in the country, you’d had clients from across the country before, too. 

”What’s the case?” Richard asked. 

”The principal of Nevermore Academy has contacted us about the situation, apparently the school is under construction after a disaster and they’re having some troubles with the construction company.” 

Your jaw dropped. 

”What kind of-” Samantha started but you cut her off in your state of shock. 

”Wait, Nevermore Academy?! Like, the one in Jericho?!” You asked the dumb question to know if you’d just heard wrong. 

Jeff looked at you weirdly, ”Yes, is there a problem?” 

”N-no! No, it’s just I grew up there. It’s a funny coincidence, that’s all. Nothing wrong with it, go on!” 

”Alright, well, I’ve chosen you three to go over there, your flights are booked for tomorrow night.” 

-

You had settled in a motel in Jericho, now leaving to Nevermore by taxi. You were fidgeting with your bracelet and your rings, trying to calm yourself down. You knew you wouldn’t see anyone you knew, but simply being reminded by that place took you to a path down memory lane. It was hard returning after 20 years. 

When you arrived, you didn’t immediately get out of the car. You felt a hand on your knee - Samantha was looking at you worriedly. ”Hey, are you okay? You seem pretty nervous.” 

You shot her a small smile, ”I’m fine, I just haven’t been here for such a long time.” 

She chuckled, ”I get it, but hey, we’re here right by your side. You got this, okay?” 

You nodded and exited the car. You entered the school halls and Richard stopped a blonde-haired girl with pink and blue highlights. ”Excuse me, miss. You don’t happen to know where the principal’s office is? We’re here for a meeting with her.” 

It’s not like you didn’t know the way there - you just felt like you couldn’t speak. Being there brought back too many memories, it was almost too overwhelming. 

The girl smiled brightly at you three, ”Of course, I’ll show you, follow me!” She said enthusiastically as you began following her through the hallways. 

Soon, you were stopped in front of large oak doors. Looking back, you should’ve paid more attention and read the golden plague. You didn’t. 

”Thank you a thousand times for your help. It was very kind of you.” You said with a smile to the girl, who just smiled back and nodded, saying it’s a pleasure and waving you off as she was already rounding a courner. 

Richard knocked on the door, and a come in was heard. 

He entered first, followed by Samantha and lastly, you. Your attention was on your phone, responding to a few emails. You didn’t even bother looking up at the principal. Not today. 

”Welcome to Nevermore Academy. Thank you for travelling all the way here, it is very much appreciated.” Started a somehow familiar voice, with an even more familiar rich accent. You frowned but thought you were just imagining things. 

”I am Larissa Weems, the Headmistress of Nevermore Academy.” 

Your entire world froze at those words. Your eyes widened as you slowly rose your gaze up to meet hers, after all these years. She was looking at Richard and Samantha, who had already stepped forward and were shaking her hand. 

You stepped cautiously forward also, filled with anticipation and fear. What if she didn’t recognize or remember you? 

But that theory quickly proved itself as false, as when Larissa’s gaze moved from your co-workers to you. Her gaze lingered for a second, she squinted her eyes and tried to connect the dots. 

And she immediately did. 

Her smile dropped and she let out a shaky breath as she realized it was really you. You watched her as she drank your more matured form in. You were dressed more elegantly, in a dark blue suit with your hair styled and your makeup done almost professionally. You had certainly had a glow up, but you were beautiful before, too. 

Larissa looked as beautiful as ever. Just like she did all those years ago. She had aged like fine wine. She still had that same glorious style that you always admired on her. 

Your little moment was interrupted by Richard’s awkward clearing of a throat. 

”Richard Sanders.” He said with a nod, causing Larissa to practically rip her eyes off of you. 

She nodded with a smile. 

”Samantha Byrnes.” Samantha introduced herself. 

And now you realized all eyes were on you again, your co-workers staring at you expectantly to introduce yourself and not seem rude. They didn’t know. 

But you did. And so did Larissa. 

You didn’t know if you were going to just pretend like this was the first time you just met. Because all you wanted right now was to run into her arms and hug her and tell her how much you’d missed her and love her and how you never want to be apart from her again- 

”Y/N L/N.” You said monotonely, like a robot. You decided to play safe and act professional around your co-workers. 

Larissa’s face dropped and she looked disappointed, sad. But quickly replaced it with that all-too-familiar polite smile as you all sat down across from her. 

The universe had really just punched you in the face. 

-

”Y/N, I’m so sorry but I need to head back, my kid has broken his leg, do you think you and Richard could handle this together?” Samantha storms in your room, startling you from your thoughts. 

”Oh, uh, yeah, of course. Go, we’ll be fine. I hope little Alfie’s okay. Give him my best!” 

She smiles at you, ”Thank you, Y/N. I really wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t an emergency.” 

You nodded understandingly. ”I know, Sam. Have a safe trip back, we’ll be just fine.” 

Now it was just you and Richard. Which made the task even harder, as you’d have to interact more with Larissa now that Samantha wasn’t there anymore. 

You took a shower to calm your thoughts, slipped into your pyjamas and then you heard a knock on your door. You wondered who it’d be at this hour - Richard, looking rather uncomfortable. 

”Rick? You alright?” You questioned, observing his unusual demeanor. 

He sighed. ”Y/N, Jeff has asked me back at the office immediately. He had an issue with the bank, and as I’m also the accountant for the firm, I really can’t not go. I’m really sorry, I know Samantha left too, do you think you could handle this alone?” 

You groaned internally. This was just your luck. Normally, you’d be thriving at a lawsuit like this. You were, without a doubt, one of the most succesful lawyers in the whole country, this should be a piece of cake for you. If only your emotions weren’t involved. 

”I guess I’ll be fine. Do you really need to go?” 

He grimaced, feeling bad for you. ”I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t a crisis. Y/N, the firm needs my help right now, it’s pretty serious.” 

You thought for a second, ”I guess I’ll be fine.” 

”Thank you, and I’m really sorry again.” 

You waved it off, ”No biggie, just go.” 

And then it was just you. This could easily be the hardest thing you’d ever done in your job. Separating your emotions and work life. Usually it was easy for you, but not this time. 

You didn’t sleep that night, too busy dreading about the interactions you would have to deal with tomorrow. 

-

Your stomach turned as you walked along the all too familiar hallways. You were even more nervous than yesterday, as now you knew what was about to come. 

You hesitantly knocked on the door and heard her telling you to come in, her voice sending chills down your spine. You sighed and reluctantly went inside. 

”Good morning,” You breathed out, causing the blonde to immediately snap her head to look at you. 

You noticed the faintest smile on her face for a split second as she looked deep into your eyes, just like she did all those years ago. But that ended as soon as is started as her eyes were already searching for your co-workers. 

”Good morning, where are the others?” She asked, looking at you confusedly. 

You rubbed the back of your neck, ”They had to go back, both had some kind of an emergency. So, you’re stuck with me now.” 

She nodded as the smile appeared back on her face, this time slightly bigger. ”I wouldn’t want it any other way,” She whispered barely audibly. 

You felt yourself blushing at her words, clearing your throat and sitting down as you searched for the folder in your bag. 

”So, I’d like for you to look at this,” You said as you gave the folder to her. 

She smiled and nodded, starting to read everything carefully. This was the perfect chance for you to admire her beauty, how you admired that woman. The subtle wrinkles on the outer corners of her eyes and on her forehead and the more visible smile lines. She was absolutely breathtaking, her presence was enough to make you swoon, how her mere gaze was enough to make you melt into- 

”It’s rude to stare, Y/N.” Larissa said, not taking her eyes off the papers in front of her. 

Your eyes widened as you realized you had gotten caught. ”I- I wasn’t staring.” 

Larissa finally put the papers aside, as she intertwined her fingers and laid them back on the table, leaning forwards so her entire attention was on you now, just like it used to be. 

”Y/N, you and I both know very well that you can’t bring yourself to lie to me. At least believably.” 

You were shrinking on your seat, this was way too embarassing for your liking. You needed to change the subject or you would burst. 

”I, uh- So, h-how do the papers look? Are they to your liking?” 

Larissa looked a little taken aback by your sudden change of subject, narrowing her eyes and parting her lips as if to decide whether to continue speaking to you as Larissa, or to act like the professional Principal Weems. With a sentimental sigh, she decided on the latter one. She had to put her emotions aside for this to work. 

And that’s how it went for the next few days. Every day you would go into her office, discuss about the contract and you had arranged a meeting with the head pf the construction company for next week. 

Now, it was Friday and you and Larissa would be meeting one last time before next Monday’s important meeting. 

”Hello,” You greeted her with a smile as you sat down. 

She smiled tenderly back at you, nodding her head and greeting you back. 

”So, I was just coming by to drop these files and also this introductory contract, which you might all agree on best case scenario.” 

She nodded and took the files from you. ”Thank you, Ms L/N.” 

That made your heart drop. During your time here, not once had she called you that. It wouldn’t be the same darling as it used to be, just your name. But never had she once called you by your last name. 

You felt an uncomfortable twist in your stomach, like you were on the verge pf tears. You didn’t know why after all these years, she still had that affect on you. Like your whole world depended on her words. 

Larissa didn’t look comfortable either. She had felt immediately weird after calling you that so professionally. She wished she could just call you darling, because even after all these years, you still remained her darling. 

The longing eye contact made your eyes blurry with tears, as you whispered almost inaudibly, that- ”Please don’t.” 

She looked at you with the exact same expression of despair. 

You shook your head to yourself and grabbed your bag, ”Well, I assume everything is now done. I’ll see you on Monday, Ms Weems.” You didn’t know if you were talking about the case or something else, but either way you began to make your way to the exit doors of her office. 

”Darling, wait.” 

That made you stop dead in your tracks. You weren’t sure if you heard it right. You hadn’t even heard that name in 20 years. And how fucking much you had missed it. 

A hopeful glint in your eyes caused you to turn around, to meet the woman not sitting behind her desk anymore, but right in front of you. 

You looked at each other so longingly, and some subconscious force in you caused you to take her hands into yours. She didn’t pull them away, instead she squeezed on them to assure you everything. 

And she smiled the most genuine, but at the same time fragile smile. 

And that made you break. You threw yourself in her arms as she tightly wrapped her arms around you to ensure you’re never leaving her again. 

It was the best feeling you’d ever felt. After all these years you had longed for this to happen, it now did. Fate had brought you back together. That meant that you and her were supposed to be what you always wanted to be, together. 

”God, I’ve missed you so much, Rissa, you have no idea,” You sobbed lightly in her arms as tears were silently flooding her cheeks, too. 

She chuckled, ”I haven’t heard that name in decades. I missed you too, darling, more than life.” 

And you stayed like that for so long that you lost track of time. Neither of you seemed to want to let go of the other. So, you simply didn’t. Until- 

”Darling?” Larissa started as she was stroking your hair gently. 

”Mhhm?” You hummed against her shoulder. 

”Would you like to go out with me?” She asked, suddenly nervous. 

And now, like you should have done all those years ago, you wasted absolutely no time to answer with the biggest smile; ”Yes, Rissa, I would love to.” 

[momolady]

Keishara the Orc

The royal and the bodyguard trope, almost as beloved as enemies to lovers. The twist here is that the prince (who is shy around women) must deal with his lady bodyguard as he travels home. Also, features the first appearance of Mythri in quite sometime!

Male Reader x Female Monster

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For the past few years, you’ve been away studying at the Rakshasa Academy. While there, you had been a personal guest to King Amit and Queen Mythri, who had been gracious hosts. But a few weeks ago, you received a letter from you family, saying you needed to put your studies on hold since your father’s life was a risk. He had been attacked while visiting local villages, so they were sending you a bodyguard for your trip back home.

“I know your stressed, young prince,” Mythri said to you. “But I am sure you’re willing to make the trip home right now.”

You nodded. “I’ve not stopped worrying about my father since I received that letter. Once the guard comes, I am all too ready to get home.”

Mythri gave you a soft smile. It was the smile of a mother, which had reassured you this entire time. “Any idea who they have sent?”

“Uh yes-” You replied, feeling a warmth come to your cheeks. “A warrior woman named Keishara.”

There was a light that came to Mythri’s eyes then. “Do you know her?”

You shook head. “I’m not sure of the full story. Only that my mother trusts her.”

Mythri humed. “Keishara, that’s an elven name I believe.”

Your cheeks kept warming. “Yeah. It is.” You had always been a bit bashful around women. Here at the school you had hoped to break that habit. But you still fumbled and stuttered no matter how you tried to build your confidence. The fact that Keishara was an elf had you blushing already. But there was something about her also being a warrior that had your mind boggled. You had always admired strong women, but muscular women…it made your heart into a galloping horse.

The day Keishara arrived you were ready to go. You were sick of worrying for your family, and you were eager to get home and see what needed to be done. After being alerted that keishara was waiting, you got dressed and gathered the few belongings you were taking with you.

You saw Mythri and Amit talking at the gate while your horse was waiting. “I’m here!” You called out.

Mythri stepped aside and standing before her was a tall woman with pale green skin.Your heart jumped up into your throat as you gazed at her. She was half orc!

“Y-you must be kei-Keishara.” You shakily offered your hand to her. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Keishara had pale blue eyes that glanced over you like sharp glass. She shook your hand with a strong grasp. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” you managed to keep your voice from shaking. “Thank you for coming this far, and thank you for helping me get home safely.”

Keishara nodded her head. “It’ll be a long trip home. I hope you’re ready for it.”

You swallowed, fear and nerves weren’t going to get the best of you. “I’m not used to it, but I’ll try my best.”

Keishara’s pale eyes inspected you again, satisfied she gave a small, crooked smile. She was a hair taller than you with pale brown hair tied back into a fishtail braid.

“Are you sure you don’t want us sending any extra help?” Amit asked.

Keishara shook her head as she brought your horse forward. “No. We need to appear inconspicuous. Besides, I can handle it.”

“Handle what exactly?” You asked.

She tosse dher braid over her shoulder. “A group of thieves has tried blackmailing their way into protection money. When your father tried forcing them out, it made them mad and they called in some more help. They found out your location, so they plan on getting to you before you get home.” Keishara said as she put your things into the saddle.

You got onto your horse. “Is it safe for me to travel then?”

To your shock, Keishara got on behind you. She was so close to you. You were just glad she couldn’t see how red your face would be. “That’s why I am here.”

You bid your goodbyes, and then you were on the road heading west towards your kingdom.

“We’ll be taking some of the more off the beaten paths trails,” Keishara explained to you. “We’ll be able to hide easier, and I know some safe houses along the way. It’ll be a lot of hard riding.”

Your face was bright red. Her strong arms had been around you most of the journey thus far. Not to mention she was so close, aside from the classroom you hadn’t spent this much time so very, very close to a a woman like this.

“If it’s for my family, I can handle it,” you managed to get out without choking.

Keishara chuckled. “I like that. I’ll admit, I was worried.”

Young lanced back at her. “Really? Why?”

“I was afraid I was going to have to deal with some sort of spoiled brat. No offense,” she chuckled.

“I’m more of an educated weakling than spoiled,” you laughed. “But I promise I will try and pull my own weight around here.”

“Just keep yourself safe. My job is to get you home in one piece,” Keishara replied.

You stopped one evening just before dusk, finding a nice spot near the river. So your horse could rest and you could refill your water supply.

“This should do it,” Keishara huffed as she got off the horse. She looked around as you got off the back of the horse. “We’re pretty secluded with all these trees around.”

“It’ll be nice to rest somewhere quiet too,” you huffed. “That place the other day still has my nerves wrecked.”

She smiled down at you. “You’re gonna have to learn to toughen up, princy if you hope to be king one of these days.”

You grunted, rubbing your neck which was still sore from resting on it wrong a few days ago. “I don’t think I’ll have to deal with conditions like a loft above whatever sort of fighting club that was.”

Keishara chuckled and placed her hand around the back of your neck. She kneaded into it, making you feel a whole lot better. But it also made you turn bright red.

“Why don’t you get the tent set up while I get a fire started?” She suggested. “You’re a master at it now, right?” She winked as she stepped aside, taking the axe from the side of the horse.

“Y-yeah!” You were happy to have something to distract you.

Journeying with Keishara hadn’t been all awful. She had taught you a few things that you had known before, like setting up a camp, building fires, even how to swing a sword properly. You’d trained with a sword long ago, but yours was mostly for show.

You set up the tent, laying yours and Keishara’s sleeping packs side by side. You had been sleeping so close to her all this time, and still you grew flustered and embarrassed around her. All this time together, you couldn’t help but grow feelings.

You came out of the tent as Keishara was bringing sticks and twigs from the woods. She had also drug up an old log to chop.

“Good job, princy. Maybe you can work on building a house next,” she chuckled.

“It would be a pretty shitty house, Kei,” you laughed.

She grinned, her crooked smile wrinkled her turned up nose. “Rest a minute. Maybe go refill the skeins for us while I finish up.”

You nodded and gave her a shy smile. “You got it.”

When you got back, Keishara was chopping wood, and you were admiring her all the while. Her strong arms were covered in soft freckles, and in the light of the fire her skin looked so lovely.

“Do you need any help?” You asked.

Keishara shook her head. “I’ll be fine. Just stay put long enough for me to get a bath.” She wiped her brow.

You blushed looking at her.

“Hand me that water though.” She held out her hand to you.

You placed the skien in her hand, placing yours in such a way your fingers touched.

“Thanks, princy,” she said with a smirk. She gulped down the water, taking a breath then using the hem of her tunic to wipe her mouth. You glanced away shyly, not wanting her to think you were staring.

“Do you need to stand guard or anything?” You offered.

Keishara chuckled. “The river is just right behind those bushes. I should be fine.” She patted the sword on her hip.

Once the fire got going, Keishara went down to the river to get a bath. You laid back, sighing tranquilly as you took in the sounds of the forest. The quiet hush of the trees as a breeze went through them. The twittering and warbling of the birds within the branches. You were almost asleep when you heard a scream from the river.

Your body tingled and burnt with fear, but rather than running to hide, you grabbed the axe by the fire and raced towards the river. You came out upon the shore and you saw Keishara standing in the river but nothing else.

“What’s wrong?” You cried out. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Keishara turned around shyly, her arms pressed over her breasts. “I saw a snake in the river.”

Your eyes were fixated upon her, even though you knew you needed to be more gentlemanly than that. But Keishara was gorgeous. You had never seen her long hair undone from the braid before, it it hung in curls around her shapely body.

You quickly averted your eyes and cleared your throat. “I heard you scream, i got worried.”

“I’m fine, just afraid of snakes!” She called out.

You whole body felt on fire. “Okay that’s good.”

There was a long moment of silence between you two where you could only hear the river rushing by.

“Coudl you go now?” Keishara asked.

“Sorry! Yes! I’ll go I’ll-” You fumbled and stumbled, panicking when you realizing your foible. But as you tried to leave, you tripped over a root ont he shore, toppling over and rolling into the river.

You got out in a hurry, splashing and flailing then quickly running back towards the campsite while Keishara laughed behind you.

You got out of your sopping clothes and hung them near the fire, wearing instead a simple long tunic from your pack. Keishara returned later, a slight smile upon her face. Her hair was still down, a gorgeous sight, but you were still too mortified to look at her.

“Are you alright, princy?”

“Physically, I’m fine. Mentally I am beyond repair.”

Keishara sat down beside you at the fire. “Oh come on. I should be more embarrassed.”

You glanced at her shyly. “You? Why?”

She scoffed. “I call myself a warrior, but I got scared by a little snake,” she chuckled. “You must think I’m a chicken.”

“Never!” You blurted.

Keishara turned and smiled at you. “Well, you were quite brave. Coming in swinging that axe when you thought I was in danger.” She combed her fingers through her long hair.

“I don’t know what good I would have been had it been anything other than a snake,” you scoffed.

“Trust me, you’d be more than capable.” She smiled directly at you, and you finally grew the nerve to look at her and smile back.

“You did scare me,” you said.

Keishara glanced away. “Sorry. I would have been half panicked when I was a child. I used to get teased so much by the rest of the kids in my village.” Her eyes grew distant and wistful. “But my mother would tell me that even the bravest of people are afraid of something.” She smiled. “She used to tell me my father terrified her before they grew close.”

“Really?” You asked.

Keishara chuckled. “Obviously my father’s an orc. Back in the day he and my mother had to meet for peace talks.” she shrugged. “One thing led to another I guess.”

You swallowed. “Well, they made a beautiful daughter.”

Her expression went blank and she stared off into the distance for a long spell. She then looked at you and her crooked smile returned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I mean-” You tried to think your way out of this one. “You…you are beautiful.” You couldn’t get your way out of this one. You had to go through it.”

Keishara gave an unsure smile. “Oh come on.”

“I mean it. I really do,” you said breathlessly.

She looked into the fire then stood up. “We should get to bed if we hope to leave early in the morning.” She added some logs into the fire.

“Oh uh…right.” Your heart pounded in your throat. You stood, watching her for a moment before going into the tent. You laid down, wondering if you said something wrong. You closed your eyes as Keishara came into the tent.

Keishara knelt down and laid down close to you. She rolled over and you felt her hand upon your chest. Her palm moved up, touched your face and then her lips brushed against yours.

“Kei-” you gasped.

“Sorry, do you not like it?” She asked.

“No. I’m surprised.” You looked into her eyes. “I didn’t think you would…I mean…not with me at least.”

Keishara inched in closer, kissing you more and deeper. Her tusks hit against your cheeks and his hand caressed along your body. She pressed in close, moving her kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“Kei-” you whimpered. “Kei I’ve never…done anything like this.”

Keishara kissed your cheek. “Should I stop?”

“I…I don’t think so-” you gulped.

Keishara chuckled, kissing your lips again. “You’ve never been touched like this, princy?” She tugged you your tunic and her fingers brushed against your bare thigh.

“No-” your voice cracked.

Keishara kissed your neck, nipping gently as her fingers took hold of of you. She held your cock in her palm and she moaned softly into your ear. “Have you touched yourself?”

“Yes-” your voice warbled. You cleared your throat and tried to breathe. “Yes. O-of course I have.”

Keishara began stroking you in her hand and you lost your breath. “Do you want me to stop no?”

“Oh gods no!” You whined. You moaned and bite down on your bottom lip.

She kissed your neck and moaned into your skin. “Good.”

You moaned and whimpered, trying to collect yourself. But her hand felt so good, her kisses felt so good. “Do…do you like me?” You were finally able to get out.

Keishara nuzzled to your neck. “I do. You’re sweet and cute…I like guys like you.”

That was a shocker. “I like girls like you-” you panted.

“I noticed.” She sat up beside you and looked down upon you. You sat up, kissing her hungrily. She moved into your lap, straddling it as she held your face between her hands. You felt her rub against you, warm and wet.

“Now should I stop?” She whispered.

You shook your head. “I mean…we should…but…”

Keishara giggled. “I know. But…I want you so badly. All this time being close to you. It’s driven me crazy.”

“Me too,” you gasped. “You’re so beautiful. So strong. I’ve had dreams about you!” You admitted.

Keishara whimpered, kissing you more. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you?”

Keishara chuckled. Her wetness slicked your cock, making your head go dizzy with desire. “You feel so good, Kei.”

She moved, guiding your towards her folds. “Just wait.” She slowly took you inside and the feeling was indescribable. She was so warm, so wet, and her inner walls squeezed around you as she took you inside.

“Princy-” she moaned. “Your cock-”

You couldn’t make words anymore, just sounds.

Keishara guided your hands to her hips then she began moving. She grinded you inside her, bouncing her hips slightly.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” she moaned.

“Yes…yes-” you panted.

Keishara leaned forward, holding your shoulders for better balance. She moved harder upon you, taking your cock deeper and tighter inside her. “You feel so good!”

You were wrapped completely by her, unable to think or articulate even the simplest of things. Your fingers sank into her hips, and you rolled your hips to meet her, causing deeper thrusts. Keishara cried out, moaning loudly then biting her lip to keep her voice down.

You wanted this to go on forever, but unfortunately all good things had to come to and end. She felt so good, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Coming-” you choked. “Kei…coming!”

Keishara nodded, breathing heavily. She kept moving, watching you, moaning with you. You released inside her, unaware at first. You bucked and whimpered, breathing harshly as you filled her.

The last thing you remember is her moaning; “Oh, Princy.”

You woke in the morning to Keishara getting out of the tent. You sighed deeply until your memory began to return. You jolted up, hitting your head on one of the poles then you scrambled out.

Keishara was drinking from a skein, still naked and glorious.

“Kei! We…did we…was I-” You were slightly panicking.

Keishara wiped her mouth and smiled. “Calm down, Princy.” She walked up to you and knelt down to kiss you. “We need to get ready to go.”

You gulped. “Kei…about last night…that was amazing.”

Kei cupped your cheek. “It was nice. I’ve been holding back for a while. I didn’t want to scare you,” she chuckled.

You kissed her, pressing close to her  body. “I never would have guess you’d ever think of me in such a way.”

“I grew up around big, intimidating guys,” she sighed. “Guys like you…I find a lot more appealing” She smiled shyly and pushed away her long hair.

“You remind me of a goddess,” you say.

Keishara cupped her hand over your mouth. “Hush. keep talking like that and we’ll have a late start.” She smiled at you. “We can take a rest stop later. Okay?”

You nodded, smiling giddy to yourself. The woman of your dreams was no longer just a dream.