#the looks would’ve been so much more iconic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

phantomsies · 2 months ago

Text

𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 | 𝖆. 𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖗𝖙

spending the evening with a man who could have any girl he wants but he proves why it’s always been you…

producer/nepobaby armin, musician au, black fem reader, dancer!reader (reader is in Pole Assassins), soft sex, back scratching, lots of intimacy, slow kissing, oral sex (f. receiving) body worship, banter between armin and reader, missionary, creampie, slow build/burn (?)

I’ve been suffering from a severe case of armin brain rot lately and I’ve been missing the musician au even more!! this is a reupload from my patreon so if you read this, no you didn’t! 🫶🏾

═✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿═══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

He’d traveled the world once over…experienced a lifetime full of adventures at only a mere two decades into his life. From sailing on yachts as a child, exploring the ocean in between piano lessons and algebra courses…to making music with his friends that would touch the lives of people in every nation and becoming a household name in the process. However, Armin Artlert’s notoriety had transcended that of just playlists and edits by adoring fans. He harbored a reputation that had come to precede him throughout his duration as an artist and internet sensation. The infamous ArminHammer was notorious for two things: iconic instrumentals and his expansive roster of women. Every girl of every variety was at his disposable..models, strippers, actresses, singers, the single mom who happened to attend one of their shows and needed a good time. He wasn’t picky nor did he allow preference to stand in the way of fulfilling his carnal desires. Make no mistake, he didn’t dog his women out or harm them..hell, if anything, he made every girl he encountered feel like a princess. Spoiling them with gifts, expensive dinners and of course, the best sex you’d ever experience! To put it even more bluntly, the man fucked like a professional..he was skilled in many areas and the bedroom happened to be the top.

But perhaps, that was the issue…he was the ideal man in every essence of the word. He’d make any lady feel as if she’d met her prince charming!..

….so how could you ever believe him when he said that you were the one he’d been searching for this entire time?

How could you possibly think that you’d be the sole object of his affection when it seemed those regards could be said of any women who’d crossed his path? Honestly, there was no definite answer to convince you otherwise. Armin was aware that you’d always kept your ear to the streets and had been informed about how he operated. That was all but confirmed when your teammate and friend began dating his childhood homie. Another infamous artist by the name of EJ the Don. Much like the woman who had founded the very group you were a part of, the Pole Assassins, EJ was seen as the proverbial leader of his own collective, Dead Boys Society and although they both despised the labels, you still respected her as such.

you could also sense that Armin held the same regard for his best friend and fellow artist. He looked up to Eren and admired how focused, driven and goal oriented he was in his craft. Most importantly though, he admired the way he loved..

EJ was never known to be a romantic nor was he known to be entrenched in the dating scene, but once he began dating your team mate, he had transitioned into an entirely different man. One that was attentive, doting and even a little jealous. He was openly affectionate with her and never thought twice about it. Gushing about her in interviews, where prior, he would’ve never even mentioned a woman besides his mom. It was that complete switch that had activated something within Armin as well. What he had been seeking in multiple girls could only be found in one place and that was with (y/n) (l/n). He’d spent all this time around you and had found himself falling deeper for you than he had anyone else. Your laugh, your energy, your spirit and kind heart had all enraptured the heart of the notorious playboy. And you couldn’t fool yourself either..you’d become smitten with him just the same…however, you were guarded. You weren’t so far deluded in the fantasy of being with him that you’d soon forgotten his reputation! You weren’t perfect by a long shot either..God knows, you’d partaken in your fair share of hookups and dated a couple of athletes just to say you did. Even so, you felt a hint of insecurity. How could you ever satisfy his cravings when he’d sampled the whole platter?! That was a question you’d soon find the answer to when you decided to spend a weekend at his home. A lofty, luxurious penthouse that overlooked the city and beaches of the sunny Miami, Florida.

it was a beautiful place and one of the many pieces of real estate owned by the Artlert conglomerate. One thing you’d come to learn about Armin was that music was nothing more than a beloved hobby. As much as he poured into his craft, his financial situation wouldn’t waver in the slightest if he were to stop today. He’d grown up with billionaires for family and that generational wealth had certainly trickled down. Regardless, it wasn’t his sole identity, hence why it’d never arise in conversation. It was blatantly obvious in his lifestyle choices but he was still that innocent, nerdy, wide eyed boy he’d always been to his core. The sensitive, kind, gentle Armin that only a select few witnessed. That was the side he wanted you to see here tonight..

so as you traipsed across the marble accented floors and art littered walls of his penthouse..all the way to his bedroom, you’d realize that you were where you belonged.

“You coming to lie down, beautiful? You’ve been in there forever.”

“Just a few more minutes, I promise! I wanna make sure I’m looking right.”

honestly, he didn’t understand all of the trouble. He’d seen you fully nude and completely clothed..you were beautiful no matter the form. Hell, you could come out in a plastic bag and pair of Timberlands and he’d still be hungry for you! He loved you dearly and nothing could dare to change that fact now! But after you two had retreated to his bedroom after an evening out on the town and he’d longed since undressed, you insisted on going to the bathroom and freshening up with a shower before retreating to bed. However, there was one more

“Well hurry up, please. I miss you..” stating in a whiny tone as he flailed himself against the mattress. Arms stretched out atop the pillow as his shirtless top half grazed the sheets. His designer boxers rubbed viciously with the silk bed linen, causing a bit of friction. Outside of the glass window pane, fell heavy droplets of pouring rain to set the already sensual mood. Electronic candles flickered in the corner and soft melodies of R&B played from the mounted television. It was certainly a vibe that you could become accustomed to. Across from where he lay, sat a half empty bottle of Modavi and two glasses that had been previously filled with the liquid. You were both feeling a bit tipsy from the substances coursing your veins so it was apparent what the mood was for the evening. He couldn’t bear to wait a moment longer and fortunately for him, you didn’t keep him held up. Because it was as he was getting ready to lie back down, he’d hear the faint tapping of footsteps against the tile and be greeted with a sight that would soothe his soul and sore eyes alike…

“Well I’m sorry to keep you waiting ..” flashing him a cheeky smile in regards to his earlier comment. Instantly, his jaw fell slack and his top half arose from the bed to examine you over.

“Oh my—you look—…. damn, I can’t even talk. You got me speechless, girl.”

sending you into a fit of giggles as you showed off your ensemble for him. A sheer white, lace two piece with garters that wrapped your thick thighs, a thong that was swallowed up by those round cheeks and a bra that accentuated your voluptuous breasts..causing them to sit upright. You were glistening with oil, and that luscious brown skin shimmered in the candlelight. Those forty inches of black curls were styled into an updo atop your head, along with that diamond necklace he had procured for you a few weeks ago. Even this was a first for Armin..he’d spent his fair share of evenings with the ladies but it always involved moments of rushed disrobing and him trying to get in their pants as quickly as possible. He didn’t waste time with lingerie or fancy frills because the goal was to grant her the best sex possible. Of course, he obtained gratification from this as well..but sometimes, he craved more. More than just the act of sex itself…it was intimacy he desired. The subtle touches and little gestures that helped to curate that special moment..he wanted to take his time and give you an experience that you’d soon yet forget.

“..then I guess it was worth the trouble..” his reaction elicited a light chuckle as you veered over to the bed, crawling onto the mattress and into the embrace of your precious lover. It was warm, inviting almost…strangely enough, an unwavering sense of safety crept over you as well. All of those previous thoughts of insecurity and jealousy seemed to dissipate once his hands coiled your body. He’d pull you in a little closer, squeeze you a little tighter and when his lips finally clashed with your own, every worry that had plagued either of your worlds were mere afterthoughts.

“God, you’re so beautiful..I swear you wear the hell out of everything you put on..”

“You’re too charming for your own good, you know that? It’s gon’ get you in trouble one day.”

“I like the sound of that.”

the tender and humorous moment was shared underneath the flickering candlelight as your flesh melded into one. Sitting upright in a cross legged position, your calves coiled his lower back and your arms cradled the back of his neck. Meanwhile, his hands resided around your waist and maintained a firm grip. He could hear your sentiment but even he grew skeptical at times. He often worried would his past elude him and ruin any potential future he could procure with you. All of his other prospects were nothing more than fleeting memories now. Even for someone as confident and skilled as Armin was, he experienced any other emotion just the same..maybe even more. Regardless, you’d continue to quell his anxiety and ease any doubt in his mind that you were leaving anytime soon. With those soft touches and gentle kisses, slowly but surely, you’d melt away all that rattled his mind. Eventually, your tongues would find home within one another’s mouths, initiating a series of sloppy pecks in process. It was then that you’d also begin to feel the thin straps of that top gliding down your shoulder blade. He just wanted to make you feel the best you had in a long time and he’d take as long as he needed to fulfill that obligation. He owed it to you for all of the insurmountable love you’d given him.

“Armin…baby..”

a faint whisper escaped your now freed lips as he latched onto your neck following the broken kiss. He’d gently suckle on that deep colored flesh and leave a trail of pecks along your jugular vein, even along your earlobe…it was there that he’d merely nip at the skin and whisper into it. Which sent a barrage of tingles all over your body.

“Yes, sweetheart? Something on your mind?”

“Ahh—“ “..words, baby. Let me hear that shit.”

that lilt in his tone, a clear indicator that he was going to relentlessly tease you from here on out. You always became so anxious when he did but the buildup made the actual moments all the more worth it. “You can tell me anything you want, pretty girl. This is all for you..your space. Whatever you say…I’ll do it.” His words serve to entice you further, which took little to no effort at all. You were already sucked in with no chance of being free of his clutches anytime soon. As for your requests, it was easy.

“Just…make me feel good, please..make love to me..”

it was a definite statement; one he understood loud and clear. Now wasn’t the time to be prideful or allow his ego to cloud his perception. Rather than showing off, Armin wanted to fully submit himself to you and to the cause of giving you whatever your heart…and body desired. With that, you’d find yourself shrouded in another round of kisses, this time along your shoulder blades and eventually to those soft breasts. Gently kneading them between his fingertips, he’d circle the buds with his thumb and watch as they’d grow erect. “Mmmm..” “..that feels good, sweetheart?” Following his question with a whimpering nod as you examined his movements. He’d gently squeeze them together and massage them all over, just to make you feel more at ease. He always did love how supple and perky they were..how they sat so perfectly in your tops or dresses. He’d learned to view the female body as more than just a vessel of pleasure but instead, for the work of art it is. You were his divine masterpiece..his treasure and he wanted to appreciate every single square inch of your physique. Even the areas you didn’t exactly appreciate yourself…

“Good..I know how sensitive they are but that’s okay. I’ll be gentle.” Chuckling at your very visible reactions of having your nipples played with. It was your most erogenous area and he knew it’d only be a matter of time before you became even more aroused. That much was indicated by the way you ground your clothed slit into the mattress. (Y/N) eventually tossed your head back, rolling it onto your shoulders and emitting a sharp gasp. An expected reaction to all of the sensual friction and stimulation. None of which was lost on Armin. He’d shift a bit in his own positioning, attempting to conceal that obvious erect. This was a fine solely for your pleasure and needs. His urges could wait as far as he was concerned. He was determined to prove that he was fully and utterly devoted to you right now. The sounds of melodic love songs and pouring rain would continue to serve as the soundtrack to this precious moment. Right along with your sweet moans and his subtle grunts. You’d glance down to see the rising tent within his boxers as he began to lap all over your areolae and suckle on your brown buds. “Your tits are so perfect, angel. I love them so much..I love all of you. Every single part..” Constantly doting as he persisted..that’s when you’d reach down and grasp for that sheathed cock but he’d be equally as quick to stop you.

“Ignore it, okay? Right now is about you. I’m focused on making you feel good, just like I promised. You don’t need to do a thing.” This was what you appreciate about your man. He had such a calm, gentle demeanor. Something people would often mistake as sensitive or meek. But in the same vein, he could harness that into a dominant, masculine energy that required no assertiveness. You felt safe..secure within that space. You felt comfortable submitting yourself fully to him.

“It’s like you're everything I’ve ever prayed for..I’m so lucky.” Akin to that of a groom bedding his bride on the night of their wedding, Armin would lie his precious girl flat against the mattress and begin his descent down your body. Examining each line, touching each bump and worshiping every curve as if they were a gift from the heavens above. They certainly weren’t things that he took for granted. Especially when he finally made home with that divine center…spreading open your trembling thighs; courtesy of the gentle kisses and drawn out licksthat had been peppered all over your belly. “Mmmm…I love when you touch me like this. You always know what to do..” placing his thumbs along your pantyline, he’d rub your hips before placing two fingertips along the seat of your bottoms. “Of course, I told you…I’ll do whatever you want. All you gotta do is say it.” Naturally, the entire area was soaked and only accruing more stickiness the more he stroked your clothed bud. In an attempt to increase the friction and pleasure riddling your body, Armin would hone in on the clit and massage it until he felt you shaking in his grasp.

“Oh my God..” “Rub your nipples for me, sweetheart. I wanna see you get there so bad but I don’t want to rush..not right now.” Finally, he’d cease his teasing and peel back that thin layer of fabric, revealing your plump mound and lips, along with that swollen clit. You were practically throbbing and the second he grazed your skin, you’d instinctively contract. Those juices were already leaking before he could even think to touch or lap at the area. Meanwhile, you’d pinch and pull at the now stiffened buds on your chest, writhing in the sheets as you chewed at your lip. “You’re so cute when you make that face.” Chuckling whilst teasing the hard little pearl that had caused your entire body to heat up. “Aw, you just want that nut, don’t you, baby?” “Fuck—uh, yes..please.” Immediately shuttering at the idea of ruining such a sensual moment with profanity. However, Armin didn’t mind at all. In fact, it further encouraged him to get you there. “I know you do…I wanna give it to you so bad too..”

Normally, this was an opportunity he’d utilize to tease you relentlessly. Holding out on providing you with your orgasm, making you wait before he even made the slightest of movements…all of it in an attempt to get you riled up. Right there on the edge until you finally broke, all but pleading with him to give you what you wanted. But tonight?

“Ahh!—haaaa..yes..” “Uh, fuck…lemme taste you…please lemme eat this puss—“ his words trailing off into mere whiny drabble as his lips made home on your lower ones. Immediately, those pretty blue eyes of his were fixated on you as he delved into your center. The sounds of slurping and whimpering emitting from his mouth and only growing louder. With your legs parted on each side, (y/n) grasped the top of Armin’s head; clawing at those shaggy blonde curls whilst grinding yourself against his face. “Arminnnn…oh my gosh…right there.” Those moans would draw out into a high pitched wail. One that caused your legs to tremble and nearly retract around his head. But alas, that just wasn’t possible. With one fell swoop and only a single hand, he’d pin your thighs back and continue devouring your cunt. As his opposite one was preoccupied with stroking his own shaft. It was something about your scent, flavor and your sex that got him all aroused. Nonetheless, Armin would resume his feast..flicking gently on your clit, sucking your plump lips and even shoving a digit into your tight hole. Only coming up for air to check in on you..

“Something on your mind, pretty girl? Talk to me..”

“N—need you…need you in me so bad…oh fuck..”

although the sentence was a bit incoherent, your desires were heard loud and clear. Although Armin loved the idea of relentlessly teasing you, he also wasn’t much in the way of restricting you from your happiness either. If that was what you wanted, he was elated to fulfill the request. In what seemed to almost be a slight of hand movement, he’d maneuver and rise from where he was laying and would scoop your legs up in the process. He’d position them straight in the air and pin them together. Eventually placing them over his shoulder. “You need me? You want it that bad, sweetheart?” Cooing and questioning with a rhetorical tone. Meanwhile, he was hovering above you, positioned on his knees whilst that cock head teased against your slit. He already knew the answer and as far as he was concerned, it was yours. But he needed to hear you say it. Not just for the consensual aspect, but because it was what he’d been waiting for all along. Hearing you beg, plead and whimper for him….this entire time, he’d been so used to your independent nature, that there was rarely an instance where you relied on him. You were so far capable of handling your own, that he or no other man were truly necessary in your daily way of life. But right here…in this moment, in this bedroom and this space the two of you had curated together..

“Y-yes, please!..I need you. I can’t take it..”

he was your everything. Your one and only sole object of affection. With your gazes fixated on one another, you’d nod your head and coo to one another, whimpering until suddenly—

“Yeah?” “Mmmm…please!”

you’d feel that stiffened, aching cock glide between your warm, silky folds and remained nestled there whilst he gathered his footing. Normally, he’d take an opportunity to perhaps gloat or be cocky. Fucking you with a giant grin on his face, making your pleasure a second priority. But alas, he’d never be so arrogant or foolish right now..because only moments later, his head had rolled back on his shoulders and as he remained nestled within you, he’d release a heavy gasp. He couldn’t maintain his eye contact when you felt this good. Your pussy resembled that of a warm blanket or hug..inviting him in and never wanting to pull away. However, he’d refrain from such lewd obscenities and fill your head with more loving compliments instead. As you’d lie there, awaiting his next move, you’d feel a hand planted into the center of your tummy and his hips beginning to buck forward..gently pounding into you.

“Oh God…yes..I love the way you feel, baby. You’re so warm.. ‘s so good..”

meanwhile, all he could do was howl it to the air because he knew that if he even took so much as even a glance in your direction, his load would be buried three inches into your womb right now. He was adamant of taking his time because all of his undivided and full attention; along with every second he could spare…belonged to you. He was all yours, hopelessly to a fault. He had released fear..anxiety or the shame that came with being madly in love.

“Ahhh…Armin..right there..please don’t stop..”

“I know, baby. I know…I can feel you squeezing me, that’s your spot, isn’t it?”

it was a given..not only had your body become riddled with ecstasy but he could tell by the way you pawed at his abs that he’d reached that core. Smacking sounds had arisen from the creamy mess he’d made of your lower half. Sucking his teeth, Armin finally garnered the strength to peer down at you and once he did, he nearly lost all control and restraint. His strokes would become a little faster and stretch your tight little cunt in the process. Your legs, that once made home on his shoulders, were now pinned back nearly behind your head. A position he was certain you had no issue maintaining. Even so, it didn’t stop your from crying out to him..heaving and whimpering. He was worried that perhaps, he hadn’t regulated his own strength. But rather than an expression of pain, you were smiling!..grinning from ear to ear with tears rolling down your face. It was a sign that you were in complete climatic bliss.

“Y-yes..you're in my spot, baby. And it feels so fucking good…nobody can make me feel like this..” eventually reaching down to stroke your sensitive bud to aid in the pleasure. That gave him all the confirmation he needed to persist, even when he felt he’d reach his breaking point sooner rather than later. Breaking into a smile of his own, Armin would resume his deep thrusts, this time with a bit more speed and rhythm. His hips would roll fluidly as he pushed in and out; dragging more of your juices and secretions along with him. He felt as if he could conquer the world when you said things like that. “That’s right, sweetheart..I know it’s a lot but I know you’re the only one who can handle it..who can take this dick like it’s nothing.”

those words cause you to twitch and grip him even tighter. In that moment, he nearly faltered but it was also in that instance that the two of you established full blown eye contact and mere seconds later, your lips had met in a passionate crash. Only after you exchanged doting words.

“..I love you. I love you so much, (y/n)..”

“I love you too, baby! Oh my gosh, please don’t stop.”

the bed had begun to jolt against the wall whilst his tattooed knuckles gripped the headboard. Eventually, he’d collapse fully into your grasp, relinquishing this idea of full control and allowing himself to be a part of the moment. No need to establish dominance or submission..who was the better lover or even what past partners had done. But instead, embracing each other and becoming one. One body, one soul and one heart. You’d wrap your arms and legs around his frame as he continued feeding you those strokes..his face buried into the crook of your neck and your hands clawing his inked up back.. You’d coo into his ear, listening to his whimpers and inform him that it was okay for him to let go. That he didn’t have to hold back so that he could appear as this strong guy with tons of stamina. You took it as a compliment that he could go for that long, honestly..it was a far cry from his past hookups, that was for certain!..but so much more was at stake here than merely who reached their orgasm first. It was about sharing in ecstasy and concealing your love with a special moment.

“You wanna come, angel? You can if you’re ready, no need to hold back..”

“Come with me, please..same time, okay?”

declaring so confidently as you heaved into one another’s ears. He’d agree and mere seconds later, that speed and pace had reached maximum heights and it felt as if he were hammering into you. “F-fuck!..” “Shit!..I’m coming, sweetheart!..coming for y—“ it was in that exact moment, that it felt as if the world was shattering for the both of you. That something inside of your bodies had essentially broken and neither of you could hold back. Both of your eyes shoot wide open before they shut and you’d embrace each other for comfort. Your juices had splattered all over his cock and his warm seed had completely coated the inside of your womb.. neither of you could even function at this point. Just reduced to mindless babble and tears. He’d finally rise from your neck and greet you with disheveled hair, a beet red face and a toothy grin. Along with those fallen tears.

“C’mere..I need a kiss..”

“Of course..”

your soft features and brown eyes met his and the two of you collided with one last declaration of adornment. Lips and tongues meeting in a fit of desperation. Desperation to never be apart again. For as long as you were both of this world, you’d spend every waking moment wanting to be together. And there wasn’t a single thing that could break that.

“You have no idea how much you mean to me..I just want us to be like this forever. I love you..” and you’d cling to every single word. Knowing that they rang true, now more than ever. Stroking his head as he lies on your chest. There were times that Armin figured that he’d never find his one and only..that he was destined to be a bachelor until he left this earth and he was adamant that one woman couldn’t possibly supplement for having his fill of multiple.

“And we can stay just like this…I’m not going anywhere.”

but it was nights like this..that reminded him that he was exactly where he needed to be!

382 notes · View notes

carmenized-onions · 7 months ago

Text

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him.

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck.

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all. “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee.

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink.

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups.

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, ��How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where.

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy.

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off.

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence.

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed.

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

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

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen x oc #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx

530 notes · View notes

marysfics · 1 month ago

Text

In the Blur of Sight, I Found You—The One Who Sees Me Beyond What’s Visible

You’ve always lived in the shadows of your own uncertainty, but will she be the one to bring your world into focus?

Word count: 3.7k

Angst, Fluff

This fic has a happy ending.

You were sixteen when you first met Alexia Putellas.

Back then, she wasn’t the global icon of football that the world knows now—just a girl with bright eyes, messy ponytails, and dreams too big to keep quiet. You weren’t much different. A quiet soul with a condition that made life feel unpredictable: some days, you could see the world clearly, every blade of grass sharp beneath the sunlight; on others, your vision was a foggy mess, as if the universe had decided to drape a curtain between you and the rest of humanity.

It was on one of your better days when you first saw her.

Your friend dragged you to a local football game. “You need to get out more,” they had said, nudging you. You remember sighing, reluctant but too polite to refuse. As soon as you settled onto the grass beside the pitch, something pulled your attention—or rather, someone.

“Who’s that?” you asked.

“That’s Alexia,” your friend replied casually. “She’s going pro one day. No doubt about it.”

“Alexia,” you whispered to yourself, tasting the name on your tongue as you watched her effortlessly weave through defenders, the ball glued to her feet.

It was the first time you saw her smile after scoring a goal, and for some reason, the sight rooted itself in your mind. Bright, genuine, almost radiant—a warmth that lingered even when the sun dipped below the horizon.

You never forgot that day.

Your paths didn’t cross right away. It wasn’t until a year later, at a school tournament, that you truly met. By then, your eyesight had deteriorated further. On most days, you could barely make out people's faces unless they were right in front of you. It made connecting with others... complicated.

“Do you want to kick the ball around?”

The voice caught you off guard. You looked up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the figure in front of you. It was her. Alexia. Even in a blur, you would’ve recognized her—the warm, confident tone that was always gentle yet unyielding.

“Me?” you asked, unsure.

She smiled. “Yeah. You.”

You could hear the laughter of others as she pulled you up. You weren’t exactly known for your athleticism. In fact, you had a reputation as “the girl who sometimes stares off into space,” or, worse, “the girl who bumps into lockers.”

But Alexia didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll go easy,” she teased, tossing you the ball.

You missed it entirely.

“I can’t really…” you started, your voice trailing off.

“Can’t what?” Alexia asked, her curiosity genuine.

“See the ball. Or you.”

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, and you braced yourself for the awkward apology or the pity you were so used to. But instead, Alexia just shrugged.

“That’s okay. I’ll make sure you can feel where it is.”

From that moment on, Alexia took it upon herself to pull you into her world.

For her, football wasn’t about what you could see—it was about rhythm, sound, and trust—things you could feel deep inside. When your vision faltered, she was your guide. When you wanted to quit, she laughed and told you to try again. What you didn’t realize at the time was that you were starting to fall in love with the way she saw no limitations in you—only possibilities.

Time moved forward, carrying you both through life’s challenges. Alexia was accepted into Barcelona’s youth academy, and though you cheered her on from afar, you kept your support quiet—scribbling words of encouragement in letters you never had the courage to send. Your condition remained stable, but always unpredictable. You focused on your own passions—writing, music, and art—things that allowed you to experience the world on your terms.

You’d run into Alexia from time to time at the coffee shop you both loved. Every time, she greeted you like no time had passed.

“How’s your sight been?” she’d ask gently, concern in her voice.

You’d smile, always a little tired of answering but grateful for the care behind her question. “Depends on the day. How’s football?”

Her eyes would light up, her face animated as she described her latest matches, the training routines she was mastering, and the goals she was chasing. But, without fail, she always made time to ask about your art.

“I wish I could see what you make,” she said one day, her voice full of longing.

“Maybe one day I’ll show you,” you replied, your heart racing at the thought.

It wasn’t just a promise to her—it was a promise to yourself, because Alexia never treated your vision as something that defined you. She cared about what you felt, what you created. And even as her fame grew, you remained part of her orbit—quiet, steady, and unspoken.

One afternoon, as you sat in your usual corner of the coffee shop, Alexia looked at you with a thoughtful expression.

“Have you ever thought about glasses?” she asked. “Couldn’t we get you something to help?”

You felt a familiar weight in your chest at the suggestion. Glasses had been offered so many times before, but you knew they wouldn’t help. Not in the way she hoped. The thought of explaining it again felt exhausting, but Alexia deserved honesty.

“They won’t really make a difference,” you said softly, shaking your head. “My vision’s just… not like that.”

Alexia’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t press. Instead, she gave you a smile that didn’t need explanation.

“Okay,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “Then I’ll just have to keep being your eyes.”

And in that moment, you realized it was enough. For both of you.

Your days started to fall into a quiet rhythm—sometimes steady, sometimes unpredictable. Your eyesight shifted as if it had a mind of its own: some mornings you woke up with a surprising clarity, able to see details that had escaped you for years, while on others, the world blurred beyond recognition. The good days felt like gifts, moments to savor, while the bad days taught you patience and resilience. Alexia, as always, was a constant thread woven into it all.

The coffee shop became your shared place. More and more, you’d find her waiting for you with an easy smile and two cups of something warm. She’d wave you over even if you weren’t sure it was her at first—always loud enough for you to know you weren’t alone.

“You’ll never believe how today’s training went,” she’d say, already launching into a story. You’d listen, absorbing every detail—the way she talked about her teammates, her goals, the highs and lows. But the best part was when she turned her attention back to you.

“What about you? Did you write anything today? Paint something?” she’d ask, genuinely curious.

“Trying,” you’d say with a small smile. “Some days it feels like I see the whole picture. Other days, I just see smudges.”

Alexia tilted her head once when you said that. “Does that bother you?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. But maybe the smudges are just part of it. Like I’m supposed to fill in the rest myself.”

She grinned. “I like that.”

And somehow, you knew she understood.

There were days when your vision was clear enough that it caught you off guard—when you could see Alexia’s face without squinting or straining. Her expressions became more vivid: the way her brows pulled together when she was lost in thought, the dimple that appeared when she smiled wide. It made everything feel more… real. More fleeting.

One day, during one of your better mornings, she dragged you out to a park with an old football under her arm.

“I’m going to teach you to play properly this time,” she announced.

“You know I can’t—”

“You can,” she said firmly, passing the ball toward you. “Besides, you can see today, right?”

You nodded. “For now.”

“Then we’re taking advantage of that.”

It was clumsy at first—kicks that missed, laughter that filled the air—but Alexia’s patience never faltered. She ran alongside you, calling out directions and laughing every time you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“Okay, okay, try to keep your body over the ball,” she said through her chuckles, gently nudging your shoulder. “You’re practically dancing out here.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to be graceful,” you shot back, earning a snort from her.

By the time you both collapsed onto the grass, out of breath and exhausted, the sun had started to dip low in the sky. Alexia lay on her back, her eyes closed, while you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching her.

“Good sight day?” she murmured after a moment.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “A good day.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and for a moment, you didn’t want to blink—afraid that when you did, the clarity might vanish.

But not every day was like that.

On the bad days, when your vision was just a haze of color and light, you often stayed home, overwhelmed by frustration. Alexia, however, didn’t let you disappear. She’d text you, call you, or sometimes just show up at your door.

“Don’t hide from me,” she’d say firmly, a teasing edge in her voice as she pushed her way inside. “You don’t need perfect eyesight to sit and talk.”

She’d sit cross-legged on your floor or flop onto your couch, filling the room with stories about her week, recounting goals she’d scored or mistakes she was determined to fix. You’d listen, finding comfort in the familiarity of her voice, even when you couldn’t see her face.

“Are you frustrated?” she asked once, catching you in a quiet moment.

You nodded. “I hate that it changes so much. That I can’t predict it.”

Alexia’s voice softened. “I get that. But you’re still you. On good days and bad.”

Her words settled deep, in places you hadn’t realized needed reassurance.

The more time you spent together, the more your world expanded. Alexia saw you—not your limitations, not your unpredictable sight, but the person you were beneath all of it. She never made you feel like you were less. If anything, she made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t before.

And slowly, you realized you were falling for her. The girl who taught you to feel where the ball was. The girl who never let you disappear on bad days. The girl whose laughter made the world seem brighter, no matter how blurry it looked.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not yet. Not when the future felt so uncertain.

For now, you let yourself exist in the moments—good days, bad days, and everything in between. Because Alexia was there, steady as ever, making you believe that even when you couldn’t see clearly, you could still feel.

The years stretched forward, but the two of you remained tethered, no matter how far life tried to pull you apart. Alexia was carving her name into the world of football, rising steadily through the ranks, while you quietly honed your art—writing, painting, capturing the world as you felt it, even when you couldn’t see it clearly. You both grew into yourselves in ways that were both separate and intertwined, like two threads in the same tapestry.

By your early twenties, everything between you and Alexia was still… unspoken. A quiet current ran beneath every interaction, a constant presence neither of you wanted to name for fear of breaking it.

It was late one night when she called you. You could tell something was off the moment you picked up.

“Are you home?” Alexia’s voice was unusually small.

“Yeah. You okay?”

“Can I come over?”

“Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was on your couch, a hoodie pulled over her head, her knees tucked up against her chest. The sight of her—so small and tired—made your chest ache. She was always so strong, so put together. But not tonight.

“What happened?” you asked softly, handing her a mug of tea.

Alexia stared into the cup for a long moment before answering. “I missed a penalty today. It was stupid, but it mattered. We lost because of me.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and you felt something break inside you.

“You’re human, Alexia,” you murmured. “You’re allowed to mess up.”

She shook her head, frustrated. “Everyone keeps saying that, but it doesn’t change the way it feels. It doesn’t change the pressure.”

You sat down beside her, your knee brushing hers. “It’s okay to feel that. You carry so much, Alexia. But you’re not alone, you know?”

She looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe. Her dark eyes were searching, full of something heavy and unspoken.

“You always say the right thing,” she whispered.

“I just mean what I say,” you replied, your voice barely above a murmur.

There was silence, but it wasn’t empty. It stretched between you like a thread pulled taut. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Alexia leaned in just slightly, her face so close to yours that you could see her even on one of your worst sight days.

“Do you ever wish things were… different?” she asked softly.

The question settled in your chest like a stone.

“Different how?” you managed, though you already knew what she meant.

Her gaze dropped to your lips for just a second before she pulled back, as if realizing something too late. She let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening around the mug.

“Never mind,” she whispered. “Forget I said anything.”

But you couldn’t forget. You wouldn’t forget.

That night haunted you in the weeks that followed. The way she looked at you, the way her voice wavered like she was balancing on the edge of a confession. You thought about all the times you’d caught yourself staring at her—her smile, her focus, her laugh that always made your heart race. You remembered every time she reached for your hand without thinking, every hug that lingered just a little too long.

You’d loved her for so long, it felt like breathing—so natural you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

But saying it out loud? That was a risk you weren’t sure you could take.

It was on one of your bad sight days when you finally broke. You’d woken up to a world that was nothing but shadows and shapes, frustration simmering under your skin. You tried to paint, but the colors blurred together, the brushstrokes clumsy.

When Alexia showed up later that afternoon—completely unannounced as usual—you were ready to push her away.

“I’m not really in the mood today,” you muttered when you opened the door.

Alexia ignored you, stepping inside and holding up a brown paper bag. “I brought food. You need to eat.”

“Alexia, I can’t—”

She turned to face you, cutting you off. “I know today’s hard. But you don’t get to shut me out.”

Her voice was firm, but her eyes were soft. It was her, always her, and you hated that she could see through you so easily.

“It’s not just today,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “It’s every day. It’s waking up not knowing if I’ll be able to see your face or if the world will just be colors and light. It’s trying to keep up with you—someone who has everything figured out—when I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Alexia’s brows pulled together. “You think I have everything figured out?”

“You do. You’re you.”

She took a step closer, her voice quieter now. “And you’re you. Do you think I’d keep showing up if you weren’t the most important person in my life?”

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

She took another step, closing the distance between you. Her hand found yours, her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“You’ve been here for me through everything. Every goal, every failure, every day I wanted to quit. And you never asked for anything. I don’t care if you can’t see me, because I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

Your breath hitched. The words you’d been burying for years suddenly felt too heavy to hold back.

“I love you, Alexia,” you whispered, the words falling out before you could stop them.

Her lips parted, surprise flickering across her face, but it didn’t last. She smiled—a small, gentle smile that melted something inside you—and squeezed your hand.

“I love you too,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it was. Because loving Alexia had never been hard. It had always been there, unseen but deeply felt.

She pulled you into her arms then, holding you close, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that everything—good days, bad days, and all the moments in between—was enough. Because she was there.

And she saw you.

The days that followed felt different—so much closer. It was as if saying the words had changed the way the air moved between you and Alexia. The silences felt heavier, but not uncomfortable. Her touches lingered, her gaze held yours longer, even on the days when you couldn’t fully see it. You were aware of her in a way that made your chest ache, as though your heart had been holding its breath for years and was finally allowed to exhale.

But still, there was a line—blurred and uncertain. You both danced around it, never quite stepping over.

It wasn’t until a quiet evening at your place, weeks later, that everything boiled over.

You were on the couch, your legs tucked under you, while Alexia lay sprawled out beside you, her socked feet resting against your knee. She was talking about an upcoming match, one that carried extra weight for her team, but you were only half-listening. Her voice was soothing, rhythmic, like a song you’d memorized years ago.

“What about you?” Alexia asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

You blinked. “What about me?”

She propped herself up on one elbow, tilting her head as she looked at you. “You’ve been quiet tonight. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly.

Alexia’s brow arched. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You sighed, shifting uncomfortably. You could feel her eyes on you, warm and searching, and suddenly the weight of the past few weeks felt impossible to hold any longer.

“Alexia,” you started, your voice cautious, “what… what are we?”

The question seemed to hang in the air, sharp and fragile all at once. You weren’t even sure you wanted her to answer. Part of you was terrified to hear what she’d say.

Alexia blinked, her expression softening as the words registered. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you replied, your voice steadier this time. “We say we love each other, we spend all this time together, and… it feels like more. But we never talk about it. We never… define it.”

Alexia sat up fully now, her knees tucked against her chest as she turned to face you. Her gaze was steady, unshaken, but you couldn’t quite read it.

“I didn’t think we needed to define it,” she said quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Maybe you don’t. But I do.”

She exhaled softly, looking down at her hands for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not avoiding it. I just—” She hesitated, searching for the words. “I guess I thought it was obvious. That you’re it for me.”

Your heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, her voice soft but firm. “I mean you’re the person I care about most. You’re the one I want to see at the end of every long day. You’re the one I think about when I’m on the field or when I can’t sleep. I don’t care what we call it, as long as I’m with you.”

Your breath caught, but something inside you still resisted, still hesitated. “But what does that mean, Alexia?”

“It means I love you,” she said, the words simple but full of weight. “And I want to be with you. Not just as your friend, not just as someone in your orbit. I want us to be something. You and me.”

Her honesty hit you like a wave, overwhelming and undeniable. You’d spent so much time wondering if you were imagining what you felt, if you were overstepping. And here she was, meeting you in the middle with the same certainty you’d been too afraid to claim.

“But what if I can’t…” you started, your voice trailing off.

“What?” Alexia pressed gently.

You struggled to say it. “What if I can’t give you what you need? What if my bad days—my eyesight, my moods—what if it’s too much for you?”

Alexia’s expression softened, and she reached for your hand, threading her fingers through yours. “Do you think I’m here because it’s easy?”

You stared at her, taken aback.

“I’m here because I want to be,” she continued. “Your bad days don’t scare me. Your moods don’t scare me. I know you, and I love you. Not the idea of you. Not the version of you that’s perfect all the time.”

Her words settled deep, wrapping around you like a balm for every hidden fear and unspoken insecurity.

You swallowed, your voice shaky when you finally spoke. “I love you too. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she said softly, leaning closer. “But we can’t keep tiptoeing around this, can we?”

You let out a small laugh, the tension breaking just slightly. “No, I guess not.”

“So?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Will you be mine? Officially?”

The words were lighthearted, but you could see the vulnerability in her eyes, the hope she was trying so hard to hide.

“Yes,” you whispered, smiling despite the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I already am, Alexia.”

Her grin lit up her whole face, and before you could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow, as if she were memorizing the shape of you. Her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks gently, and you melted into her, letting the rest of the world fade away.

When she finally pulled back, she pressed her forehead against yours and whispered, “Good.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt clear.

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

Would you like to read little blurbs about this in the future?

#woso x reader #woso community #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

241 notes · View notes

haydenwilliamsillustrations · 7 days ago

Text

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Hayden Williams (@hayden_williams)

instagram

Wow…the Aaliyah doll is finally here, on what would’ve been her 46th Birthday, & she’s truly One in a Million!! 🕶️🎶

The doll wears a quintessential Aaliyah look from the OIAM music video, signature shades & that iconic side swoop!

I was beyond honoured to have collaborated with Aaliyah’s wonderful Brother Rashad Haughton as co-creative on this iconic project. Rashad & I have been following each other for over a decade, & he’s always been so incredibly supportive of the design illustrations I create of his legendary Sister each year, so to work so closely with him & help him make creative decisions for this doll, was truly special & sentimental to me. From era choice, outfit decisions, skin tone, hair blend, head sculpt selection & more…it really is such a meticulously detailed process to create a fashion doll, especially one as iconic as this! The doll has a custom head sculpt created in Aaliyah’s likeness, & it really captures her. I requested that she have the beauty mark near her eyebrow too!

It was also really important that a black creative was involved in the development of this doll alongside Rashad, so I’m happy to have contributed in any way I could. As a longtime Aaliyah fan & having so much love & respect for her legacy, this doll just further solidifies her icon status & I’m really happy that she is being honoured with this doll. She is beyond deserving & everyone involved that made this doll come to fruition, did such a beautiful job. I truly wish Aaliyah was here to see this, as she loved this brand as a child. It’s just so amazing that her legacy continues to blossom so beautifully! I hope everyone that wants this doll is able to add her to their collection. She’s a must have 🖤

Music Series Aaliyah Doll

Doll Designer: Carlyle Nuera

Packaging Designer: Laydiana Chiv

Label: Black

Face Sculpt: New – Aaliyah

Body Type: Articulated Original

Includes Certificate of Authenticity

#hayden williams #fashion illustration #fashion #fashion sketch #art #pop culture #aaliyah #aaliyah haughton #barbie #mattel #Aaliyah doll #Instagram

152 notes · View notes

cutielando · 1 month ago

Text

the 90s | c.l.

synopsis: in which you wish you'd loved him in another era

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

The faint hum of a radio fills the room, the static cutting in and out as an old tune plays softly in the background. You're seated cross-legged on the floor of Charles's apartment, a stack of vintage vinyl records scattered between the two of you.

The idea to explore the past through music had been yours—something to distract him from the pressures of the present and an excuse to spend a lazy afternoon together.

Charles is perched on the edge of the couch, his focus on a record sleeve he’s been examining for the past few minutes. His fingers trace over the faded artwork, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“I don’t get it,” he says finally, lifting the sleeve to show you. “‘The Cranberries?’ Sounds more like a fruit stand than a band.”

You laugh, your head tilting back as the sound fills the room.

“They’re iconic, Charles. You can’t judge them by the name. Here, let me show you.”

Sliding the record from its sleeve, you carefully place it on the turntable, lowering the needle until the crackling sound gives way to the opening chords of Dreams.

The room fills with the ethereal melody, and you glance at Charles to see his reaction.

He leans back, his arms stretched along the top of the couch as he listens. His eyes are closed, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay, I get it now,” he admits, his voice soft. “It’s… different.”

“Different good?” you tease, nudging his knee with your foot.

“Different great,” he replies, his eyes opening to meet yours. “I can picture it. Being alive back then. Everything seemed so… simple.”

You nod, your gaze drifting toward the window where the golden glow of the afternoon sun streams in.

“Sometimes I think we missed out,” you say wistfully. “Life without the internet, no constant pressure to be perfect. Just real connections, you know?”

Charles doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he shifts from the couch to sit beside you on the floor, his shoulder brushing against yours. His presence is warm, grounding.

“Do you think things would’ve been easier for us?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

You turn to him, caught off guard by the seriousness in his tone.

“What do you mean?”

He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve come to recognize.

“I mean… us. You and me. Sometimes it feels like the world is always watching, waiting for us to mess up. It’s hard not to let that get in the way.”

Your chest tightens at his words. You know exactly what he’s talking about—the scrutiny, the judgment, the way people seemed to think they had a say in your relationship just because Charles was Charles Leclerc.

It wasn’t always easy, but you’d never once doubted that he was worth it.

“I think about that too,” you admit softly. “About how things might’ve been different if we’d met in another time. No cameras, no social media. Just us, figuring things out without everyone else’s opinions.”

Charles shifts closer, his hand finding yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a simple gesture that sends warmth flooding through you.

“Do you think we’d still find each other?” he asks, his eyes searching yours.

The question catches you off guard, but the answer comes easily.

“I think so,” you say with certainty. “It doesn’t matter where or when. It’s always going to be you.”

His lips curve into a smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes your heart ache with how much you love him.

“I wish I could’ve loved you in the 90s,” he says softly, the words barely above a whisper.

You laugh, the sound tinged with affection.

“What would that look like, huh? Us in the 90s?”

He grins, his hand still holding yours as he leans back against the couch.

“We’d be at some diner, I think. You’d have one of those polaroid cameras, taking pictures of everything. Your milkshake, the jukebox, me looking confused because I don’t know how to use it.”

You giggle at the image, nudging his shoulder.

“And you’d probably show up to pick me up in some old car, pretending you know how to fix it when it breaks down.”

“Obviously,” he agrees, his grin widening. “But you’d forgive me because I’d make you a mixtape to apologize. All your favorite songs, of course.”

You shake your head, your cheeks aching from how much you’re smiling.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously in love with you,” he counters, his tone playful but his eyes earnest.

Your laughter fades, replaced by a warmth that spreads through your chest. You lean your head against his shoulder, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence as the record continues to play.

After a moment, Charles speaks again, his voice softer this time.

“Do you ever worry that… this won’t last? That all the noise, the pressure will get too much?”

You lift your head to look at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his expression. Gently, you reach out to cup his face, your thumb brushing along his cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere, Charles,” you say firmly. “No matter how loud the world gets, no matter how hard it is. We’re stronger than that.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.

“How do you always know what to say?”

“Because I mean every word,” you reply.

The song changes, a slower melody filling the room. Charles opens his eyes, a small smile playing at his lips.

“Dance with me,” he says suddenly, standing and offering you his hand.

“Charles, there’s barely any room—” you laugh, hesitating.

“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupts, wiggling his fingers until you take his hand.

He pulls you to your feet, his arms slipping around your waist as yours loop around his neck.

The two of you sway to the music, the world outside fading away. The only thing that exists is this moment—his arms around you, the warmth of his breath against your temple, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

As the song plays on, you realize that while you might never know what it’s like to love him in the 90s, this—here and now—is more than enough. It’s messy and imperfect and complicated, but it’s real.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

much appreciated!!

REQUEST HERE

166 notes · View notes

suzukiblu · 2 months ago

Text

WIP excerpt for Cheshire behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Lynn stares blankly at him again. Billy lets him, like, process that one, because Lynn’s still really new to thinking for himself and also, like, new to everything, and just pretends to be busy putting the salmon on the plates with the vegetables as carefully as possible. He gives Tawky’s plate a little extra salmon, like–ratio-wise, he means. Like he gives Tawky more salmon than vegetables, he means. Tigers don’t need that many vegetables, ratio-wise. His and Lynn’s plates he makes a little more, like–evensies? Like, closer to the same amount of everything, he means.

It doesn’t actually matter that he eats a balanced diet when he’s Captain Marvel–like, obviously–and he can’t afford to worry about “balanced” usually anyway, but he needs to set a good example for Lynn and all, and Batman did give them all these groceries and all that money, so . . .

It’s a little weird, Billy thinks, looking down at their plates for a moment. He hasn’t–just, he hasn’t had a “normal” dinner in a while.

A family dinner, he means.

Well–yeah. Obviously. He didn’t have a family ‘til Lynn needed one. Tawky’s the best, but Tawky’s his best friend, not, like . . .

It’s different. That’s all.

So he hasn’t had a family dinner since–the last time he had a family dinner.

That was weeks before his parents were even dead, he remembers absently. He doesn’t even remember what they ate or talked about or . . .

Billy stops looking at the plates and looks back to Lynn instead. He thinks about how he could share his powers with him, if Lynn wanted him to.

It’ll work with anyone in his family, is the thing. He can just–do it, with anyone who’s his family.

He just . . . didn’t have anyone who was, before.

They settle down for dinner in the living room with Tawky and don’t really talk much. Lynn doesn’t seem to want to, and if he’s not overwhelmed yet–which Billy seriously doubts, going by everything they did and everything he remembers from every new foster home he ever got dumped in–Billy doesn’t wanna push him into getting there. He turns the TV on just to make sure Lynn won’t feel pressured to say anything or like he’s expecting him to say anything or anything like that.

He doesn’t really know what to put on because it’s not like he watches TV anymore, really–like, just sometimes in random situations or whatever, not regularly or anything–and he doesn’t actually know what teenagers watch or if Lynn would even like what other teenagers watch, much less anything he’d pick, and on top of that he isn’t sure how the streaming stuff works even though Batman left a list of passwords and stuff. Like, he’s never used any of them, he means, and he knows Tawky hasn’t either.

Probably Lynn also hasn’t, considering, but since he was at Kid Flash’s for a couple days . . .

“Do you know how, um, Netflix works?” Billy asks skeptically, looking from the remote to the icons on the TV. “Like did Kid Flash have it or anything? Um–or Hulu, maybe?”

“. . . he had Crunchyroll,” Lynn says, and Billy wrinkles his nose in confusion.

“What’s that one?” he asks. Lynn just shrugs. Billy figures if Kid Flash had it Robin might too, though, so chances of Batman putting it in are at least, like, okay? He scrolls down the really weird and ridiculous amount of icons on the TV and makes a face as he does–why doesn’t it just turn on? Like, it’s a smart TV, he guesses? Couldn’t Batman have just gotten a normal one? That would’ve been less expensive anyway, right?

Maybe it was on sale or something, but Billy is starting to suspect that Batman does not worry enough about things being on sale, or couponing. Like, seriously suspect.

Ugh. That makes him feel kind of nauseous, actually, so he’s maybe just gonna try and not think about it right now.

A few scrolls down Billy finds an orange icon with a weird white symbol that looks like a crescent moon inside another crescent moon and says “crunchyroll” across the bottom–no capitalization, he guesses?–and clicks on it. Then he checks the password list, makes another face at the string of random numbers and letters and symbols Batman used for the password and promises himself he’s gonna change them all to stuff that won’t take ten minutes to type.

And like, probably cancel most of these subscriptions, because this list of passwords is so long. Just so, so long.

Jeeeeesus, so long.

“Oh, it’s anime!” he realizes in surprise as the actual service comes up. Huh.

. . . it is so much anime.

Billy is maybe feeling kind of overwhelmed here, compared to channel-surfing or just popping in a DVD. His parents only really had Netflix and it’s been so long he doesn’t even really remember what kind of stuff was on it. Mostly they watched movies on it, but this looks mostly like TV shows?

“. . . was there anything you guys watched that you liked?” he asks, frowning at all the categories. And they’re weird ones, too–like, super freakin’ weird. “Children Avoid Getting Murdered” doesn’t really seem like . . . like a genre, he thinks? Like not really?

. . . well, maybe it kinda is. But also maybe that category’s not really very good escapism, given, like–everything about their lives and all. And Lynn just got almost-murdered for the first time, so yeah, that seems like maybe a bad idea.

. . . . . . “The Original Light Novel’s Name Was Way Too Long So the English Title Had to Be Changed in Order to Somewhat Fit the Character Limit”?

Streaming is so much weirder than he remembered.

“No,” Lynn says.

“Did you like anything else on TV?” Billy tries, hoping Kid Flash put on something that wasn’t Crunchyroll at some point. There’s, like, a lot of Crunchyroll, though, so he’s not really all that optimistic about his chances there.

“No Signal,” Lynn says. Billy . . . blinks.

#billy batson #conner kent #captain marvel #shazam #superboy #young justice #young justice animated #wip: billy adopts conner and it actually goes pretty good!#cheshire

211 notes · View notes

pshbites · 4 months ago

Text

LOVE ON AiR: 29. YAP CENTRAL EP.137: has love lost its meaning?

WARNiNGS » profanity, ynhoon flirting, talks of love, drinking, yap central x round table realness, food, oh yeah and not proofread

wc: 3.7k

episode desc - beep beep! welcome back to another episode of yap central, today we are joined by a special guest, round table!! in todays episode we start off very light hearted and talk about the difference between a girl doing a thirst trap and a guy doing a thirst trap (there’s a lot) then we get a bit deeper and talk about love in this new generation and if it’s truly lost its meaning. to end the episode off we talk about our icks in FRIENDSHIPs. hope you enjoyed your stay with us today, till next time!

*the typical group is sat in the room, this time with four more mics and two big two seater couches. there’s clearly some empty space while they wait to invite their guests in. jungwon adjusts the sound board. everyone is dressed casually instead of a themed outfit. some of them are on their phones while riki and kat are talking about something that the mic can’t pic up.*

jungwon: hey can someone test out one of those mics, i just need to check.

yn: i got it *you get up from your seat and walk over to one of the couches, taking a seat and speaking into the mic*

jungwon: okay great

giselle: oh they just texted that they’re here

yn: oh fun! *you stand up, sitting back down in your original seat.*

sunoo: oh i hear footsteps

kat: i think [BLEEP] is stomping- oh no i said his name

*the five of you groan, giselle shaking her head knowing she’ll have to edit it*

jungwon: you know you can come in right! *jungwon laughs at his stance as he waits at the door, peeping in then fully opening it revealing jay, jake, heeseung and sunghoon coming in one by one. they’re laughing as they sit. heeseung and sunghoon sit at the couch closest to yn and jake and jay sit at the couch closest to jungwon.*

heeseung: cannot believe people thought the special guest was blackpink

riki: maybe that would’ve been better than you grandpa

*heeseung gasps, causing a chain reaction of laughter to emerge from the group.*

jay: see i told you guys, he wouldn’t last a minute without making a heeseung old joke

sunoo: he barely could in the group chat.

giselle: it’s okay you’re not insanely old. well i mean you are but

heeseung: gee thanks..

giselle: anytime!

jake: who’s hosting today? *he looks around to the six of you*

kat: i actually am, should i sign us in? if everyone is good

jungwon: take it away

sunghoon: we’re also all good here

kat: beep beep you’ve arrived in yap central and i am your host for today kat, to my left we have..

riki: riki

yn: yn *you wave to the camera, sunghoon smiles at you softly*

sunghoon: uhh sunghoon

heeseung: heeseung!!

jake: jake

jay: jay

jungwon: jungwon *he makes a peace sign at the camera, riki meows*

giselle: giselle

sunoo: and sunoo!

kat: obviously if you can’t tell we are joined by round table today, our surprise guests

sunghoon: and we are not blackpink, as much as jake would like us to be

jake: i’m just saying if we did a cover of shut down it would EAT you have to see the vision

sunoo: none of you can pull off mother like jisoo can.

jay: okay let’s be serious the real star of that group is jennie

kat: rude, lisa is so iconic. money?? lalisa? rockstar?? NEW WOMAN?

jay: you’ve made your point *he rolls his eyes earning a smirk from kat, sitting back satisfied*

yn: i think they all shine in their own way

sunghoon: i think we can ALL sing

*everyone laughs, including you. sunghoon glances at you as if for approval and smiled, laughing along with you*

kat: okay! first question! what are some differences between a guy and a girl doing a thirst trap

*heeseung snorts, causing sunghoon to side eye him. it was unspoken between them but he knew what he was laughing at*

jungwon: first of all when a guy does it it’s just a bit icky

yn: okay well since there’s a majority of men here, raise your hand if you’ve thirst trapped

*jungwon and riki raise their hands first. then followed by jake and heeseung. you look to sunghoon who simply smiles at you*

sunghoon: what?

yn: come on raise your hand hoon

sunghoon: don’t know what you’re talking about

yn: you’re gonna do this? here?

*kat and sunoo make eyes at each other then look to you two*

sunghoon: i don’t think ive ever thirst trapped

*you rolled your eyes and leaned over, grabbing his hand and raising it high.*

yn: thank you, now what my point is that every man thirst traps, but it’s how you do it that’s different

jungwon: to defend myself it was in highschool

giselle: see anything a man does i automatically hate so you’re asking the wrong person

jake: im not gonna lie ive seen some men pull off a sexy thirst trap

*riki furrows his brows at his sentence and the two of you make eye contact, bursting out laughing*

jake: okay im sensing im being made fun of

jay: surprised your spidey sense are working

jake: can you not??

sunoo: i sort of agree with jake but not in that weird way he put it, like some guys can pull off a thirst trap

giselle: i think what icks me out is like guys intentions behind the thirst traps

heeseung: some guys are very weird with it

riki: girls aren’t really safe from that either

yn: no i agree, but guys are more guilty of it

kat: well now hold on. everyone here has thirst trapped and you’ve done it for reasons that are weird, that’s normal

giselle: can i simply hate on a man in peace?

sunoo: girl fuck you

jungwon: i think unanimously it’s decided that some guys go about thirst traps weirdly

kat: i agree with that actually

riki: guys are just weird as fuck sometimes

yn: the funniest ones are the ones on tiktok where it’s like #04 #latino #fyp

kat: those get me everytime

heeseung: it’s so corny because you know they watched it back and were like “this is the one”

jay: ladies gon loveeeee this

*the group laughs at heeseung and jays back to back joke, the two of them fist bumping*

giselle: i just personally think when a girl thirst traps its so much more elegant

jake: you act like girls can’t do it in a weird way either

yn: they can but most of the time man make it weird

sunoo: they both have valid points

heeseung: i support women’s rights.. but more importantly i support woman’s wrongs

*jay glances at heeseung then bursts out laughing, riki following along as the rest of you broke into laughter*

kat: oh my god when he said i hate periods in the group chat that got me

heeseung: i felt bad!!!

sunghoon: what gets me is he texted our group chat a couple hours after saying he was embarrassed

riki: because he’s old?

heeseung: only four years bro

riki: one foot in the grave too grand pappy

*sunoo and giselle attempt to hold back their laughter but fail when jake looks at them and laughs along*

yn: you’re never letting him rest

riki: the other three fools are next your [BLEEP] isn’t safe either

*giselle laughs as you slap riki’s arm and sunghoon giggles slightly. it wasn’t very hard to tell what was bleeped out*

kat: so next question i take it?

yn: please before i kill him

riki: don’t threaten me with a good time

jake: this kid is funny as fuck *spoken in between laughs*

kat: so as we’re all well aware there’s a new generation after gen z, my question is how does this day and age affect love and has love lost its meaning since maybe shakespeare era?

riki: heeseung would know

heeseung: now this is bullying

jungwon: *he rolls his eyes at riki then looks to kat to gesture her to continue talking*

kat: *she nods and closes her phone* what i mean is that do you think that love now and love back then is different. like do you think you could find a jane austen love in a 2024 relationship?

sunoo: i mean ive never been in love so i couldn’t tell you

riki: same

kat: okay then a show of hands who has been in love.

*everyone except jake, riki, and sunoo raise their hands*

kat: then you guys who raised their hands, do you think it was true love or do you think you conditioned yourself into thinking it was.

sunghoon: me personally i don’t think i was ever truly in love, it sounds bad but i think i sort of said it because i was obligated to? like i felt like i couldn’t be in a real relationship without saying that we were in love.

heeseung: it’s kind of the opposite for me.. i was in love with her like i can say we were in love.

jungwon: in sunghoons case i can see what kat means. i think some people don’t know what love is anymore.

giselle: it’s so conditioned in people’s heads that love has to be this bond that can never be broken and just everlasting but sometimes it really isn’t like that. love is hard to overcome and some couples never make it to that stage no matter how long they’ve been together

sunoo: that was poetic giselle *he smiles at her softly causing her to smile and nod as well*

jake: can i be honest? i feel like ill never fall in love.

jungwon: cmon don’t say that

kat: i promise it’ll come towards you when you least expect it.

jake: it’s not like im incapable of love, i just think that it’s hard to realize if it’s just love or something else? i’ve been in relationships but i guess i never got to feel that

jay: it’s hard to pinpoint like i really couldn’t tell you.

heeseung: love is like.. that inescapable feeling you have with someone. it’s sometimes left unspoken, kinda just a sigh from them and you can tell how they’re feeling.

giselle: it’s the little things as corny as it sounds, it doesn’t even have to be romantic sometimes but you could feel like comfort with them.

*whilst heeseung and giselle talk, sunghoons looking at you. it seems a million thoughts are going through his head and he looks down at his hands, then to you again. there’s this look in eyes, admiration? hard to pinpoint. riki’s eyes shift between you and sunghoon and he smiles at how he looks at you. he then looks away*

yn: bottom line is, no matter how much you feel like you’ll never experience love you will and it’ll be so worth the wait.

jake: thanks guys, i kinda needed to hear that.

riki: i still wanna experience a shakespeare or jane austen kind of love

sunoo: okay look at you not being mysterious.

*riki rolls his eyes and smiles softly*

yn: as much as people want to say that love back then was dramatized i don’t think it was. i would want someone to fight for my love, to overcome every obstacle thrown at us and be equally as in love with me as i am with them

kat: i agree, i mean we’ve talked about how unequal love just never works out.

jay: recipe for disaster, i think shakespearean love is beautiful.

giselle: it’s not even the picture perfect representation of love but it shows how far people are willing to go for someone they feel so true to.

sunghoon: is it weird to say i’m almost.. jealous of it?

jungwon: no, not at all. i mean i am too

sunoo: i am too honestly, it’s kind of one of those things that keeps me up at night

jake: i would give a lot up to experience a kind of love like that

yn: i think anyone would

*there was a silence amongst the group, a couple of you made eye contact and started laughing.*

heeseung: i didn’t know what else to say

jay: i kinda need to use the bathroom… *sunghoon glances his way only to laugh at him*

kat: that is perfect because i was gonna announce a break anyways

sunoo: i was gonna go get water jay so ill show you where the bathroom is

*both jay and sunoo get up, pushing their mics out of the way so they can go*

giselle: wait can you get me my red bull sunoo! *sunoo gives her a thumbs up as they both leave the room, talking about something that the mics can’t pick up*

jake: wait you guys have red bull

jungwon: we have a lot, do you want something i can text sunoo

jake: no no it’s okay *its clear on his face that he does want something, he’s just too embarrassed to say it*

kat: we can tell you want something spit out

jake: i could use a kool aid jammer… *mumbling*

jungwon: okay ill text him, was that so hard?

*jake shakes his head no, making heeseung giggle at him. currently everyone is scrolling on their phones, checking their notifications since they couldn’t earlier.*

kat: did you guys see chilis is closing down?

riki: oh my fucking god don’t bro i’m gonna cry

heeseung: why is chili's closing down when the real enemy is burger king

jungwon: i’ve been saying that for years

giselle: oh i need me a triple dipper real bad

jake: *groans* those fucking mozzarella sticks

yn: they started saucing those babies up

jake: i am so picking up chilis on the way home

heeseung: can we stop and eat there because you’re taking me home today

jake: i’ll place an order right fuckin now

kat: there’s a chilis right down the corner here and it is so heavenly

jungwon: most rundown place ever but when i tell you the food is life changing i mean it

jake: really? because usually i would go to the one in LA but that one is so busy all the time

riki: yeah like there’s barely anyone and it’s just right down the corner

yn: i might go too honestly

jungwon: okay wait i’ll go with you

sunghoon: should we all just go after this

riki: i’ll place a fat one on your lips right now bro

sunghoon: excuse me?

giselle: YES let’s go after recording

jake: i need to try those sauced up mozz sticks

*jay and sunoo enter the rooms again, sunoo giving jake his kool aid jammer and giselle her red bull*

jungwon: we’re all gonna go to chilis after this

sunoo: god bless

jay: i’ve never been to chilis

*theres a couple gasps and riki side eyes him with a nasty look. heeseung furrows his brows then looks at jay*

heeseung: he’s fucking lying because yes you have

jay: i literally haven’t

heeseung: my mom took us after we lost the lacrosse game in like 6th grade

jay: how the fuck am i supposed to remember that bro

sunghoon: that lacrosse game was so messy

sunoo: you know you look like you would lose at lacrosse

jay: in my defense there was some dirty shit going down there

yn: at a middle school lacrosse game? *you tried stifling a laugh but jungwon laughing set it off for the rest of you*

heeseung: don’t get him started

jay: will you shut up? no i SWEAR someone was setting me up because i had that match in the palm of my hand

jake: it’s been like 15 years bro

jay: oh yet you can’t shut up about your senior year basketball match

jake: THE LAST FUCKIN MINUTE AND THAT DIPSHIT MISSED THE BASKET *he yells, pointing at heeseung*

jungwon: senior year was so rough the same thing happened

riki: no im so blessed you fucked up senior year so after you i could like messi after you graduated

kat: i love when men start plotting against each other

yn: i know they’re doing the work for me

sunghoon: weren’t you the one who told me about your videography club incident

*you slap his arm, making him laugh aloud and giselle looks at you with furrowed brows*

yn: i told you in confidence can you not!

giselle: waittt you didn’t tell us this

riki: oh my god the story is so fucking funny

yn: i am not saying it front of the camera

*sunghoon starts humming the theme of boyfriend by big time rush, making you slap his arm once more*

sunoo: chilis, you have to tell us

yn: fine i will *you side eye sunghoon who only grins at you, making you laugh*

giselle: im already dreaming of my order

jake: i am going to murder that triple dipper bro

jungwon: okay let’s not talk about it or else ill want to sign out and go right now

kat: good for you i have one more question and it’s pretty short. so you know what are your icks in friendships

yn: okay thank god because i am like i have a list i swear. *you sit up, sitting criss cross on the couch.* one big thing for me is a girl who just always needs a guy in her life

giselle: *groans* ohhhh my god it is so frustrating

kat: like talking to a girl who just always thinks of a man is so annoying because she is worth so much more than that

riki: lowkey [BLEEP] is like that

*sunoo and jungwon look at each other, the 6 of you bursting out in laughter. heeseung snickers a little*

heeseung: she was in my dms like last week

jake: oh my god i remember

sunoo: i thought she was with [BLEEP]?

yn: noooo i think it’s casual sex

sunghoon: *he elbows heeseung, giggling* you wanna slide in there

heeseung: worry about you and [BLEEP] bro

*everyone laughs at heeseungs comment, giselle knowing there’s so much she has to edit out*

sunoo: i think having a friend who can never have a deep conversation like for the life of them

jay: it’s so hard to talk to people like that, it’s like a conversation can’t go surface level

yn: talking to yeonjun is like that

giselle: i am not editing that one out

jungwon: he is does not care

sunghoon: oh my god his last party he asked to be on the pod

riki: dream guest on my podcast *jojo siwa voice*

sunoo: here you go again

yn: the same party you dumped a drink on me?

*sunghoon only looks at you and smiles. he tilts his head and held eye contact with you.*

sunghoon: how many more times do i have to tell you im sorry? you want me to beg on my knees pre- yn?

*jungwon and jake side eye each other at sunghoon almost slipping out a petname*

yn: maybe, don’t know yet. *you smile softly at his slip up*

sunghoon: well i am sorry

yn: hoon i was joking

*the two of you hold eye contact for a little while longer, a small smile growing on your faces. your friends know the two of you are idiots who are unaware at the moment but hey, what they know can’t hurt you*

jay: anyways.. i think having a friend who cheats in relationships is such a red flag

heeseung: we’ve talked about this

jungwon: it’s like having a liar as a friend

*you make a face when jungwon says liar, sunghoon shifts himself in his seat causing heeseung to send a look his way*

yn: i despise liars. i don’t care nasty the truth is if you felt as if you had to hide it from me it shows how little you care for me

giselle: i agree so heavy with both statements

jake: it’s kind of hard talking to someone who just lies to you.

sunoo: i agree, it’s almost like at some point i stop believing everything they tell me

jungwon: another ick for me is someone who doesn’t have a single close friend

yn: meh, if it’s a guy i get it but for some girls it’s so hard

giselle: i agree with yn. i mean i know so many girls who were simply wronged by their friends and left alone

heeseung: they’re always like the nicest people who ever met

jungwon: i guess so but a guy it’s just.. what the fuck are you doing for that to happen?

yn: no yeah i understand

jay: some guys we’re friends with are sooo weird

sunghoon: [BLEEP] or [BLEEP]

giselle: you guys have been name dropping all day

riki: that’s real because i know those two and they’re weird as fuck

sunghoon: we were in a group chat with them and yeonjun and even yeonjun was weirded out

giselle: what were they saying

jake: just some nasty shit about girls, it’s so weird

jungwon: why are some guys like that

jake: wish i could tell you

kat: i think an ick for me is someone who doesn’t have good music taste

jungwon: maybe you hate yourself

*riki snorts, causing a chain reaction of laughter*

kat: i MEAN people who listen to only tiktok music

jake: oh my god it’s like hellaur listen to something

*sunoo mumbled ‘hellaur’ in jake’s accent, causing everyone to laugh*

jake: don’t piss me off bro

sunoo: yeah i am so threatened

jungwon: im thinking of that shark attack drink from chilis

giselle: once i asked my server to spike it for me

kat: wait.. that’s an amazing idea

heeseung: those espresso martinis are so good

riki: this old hag

heeseung: imagine not being the legal drinking age

the rest of you: OOOOO

*you reach over to dap heeseung up, who only reciprocated it, giggling a little*

riki: okay whatever

jungwon: should we sign out then?

yn: god yes i need to go NEOW

kat: *looking at the camera* i hope you all enjoyed your stay in yap central, please like, share, subscribe and check out our other resources in the description as well as round tables which will be linked below. till next time!!

previous masterlist next

AUTHORS NOTE » can u tell i wanted chilis LAWL, pls like n reblog as always 🫶

TAGLiST 1 » @lqfiles @strawberrysavi @blockbusterhee @onlyhyunjin @purennn @aewon @flwoie @imheretoread @firstclassjaylee @pinkishyng @luvgiselle @kang-ulzzang @cherryxbxmb @jkslvsnella @urslytherin @somerandomf1fan @i03jae @s0urcherry @nshmurarki @kittykangz @hyuckies18 @seungwaitamin @taehyunnzly @luvvhaerin @brii-sunwoos-version

bold cannot be tagged

195 notes · View notes

absolutebl · 3 months ago

Text

This Week in BL - Many Tiny Idiots, Some Irreverent Hotness & an Engagement

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Oct 2024 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 4 of 16 - OK so Hill has really been trying to pick him up from the beginning? I don’t understand why there’s any doubt around girls at all. He Gay everyone. Why is Tatch (2 Moons Ambassador) the only seme in Thai BL history allowed to actually just say "I don’t date women.”

Why is that so hard?

This show is definitely frustrating me, but I must admit that it’s the one I look forward to the most each week.

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 6 of 15 - I am now only watching the uncut version, and I gotta say it makes all the difference. Please don’t watch the cut version of this show if you can possibly help it. It’s like cliff's notes of cliff's notes. I love the tiny side couple of tough kid + the dork of the music club. Ah the beach sequence. Condenced WAY DOWN, I see. We lost one of the most iconic lines in all BL but i think everything is improved by how much tighter the plot is in the remake (6 episodes became 1!). So I’m enjoying it. Weirdly, I'm not sure I would be enjoying it, if I hadn’t seen the original.

Is anyone watching this on iQIYI who hasn't seen the original? Just out of curiosity. Tell me how it's going for you, would ya?

I'm doing a face-off style watch along of this new version versus the original 2014-2015 version.

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - I don’t entirely get it. They were apart for approximately 11 minutes. I would’ve thought GMMTV would’ve drawn it out for longer and more angst. Smiley face kiss was cute, but the star of this ep was that gorgeous pale blue waffle sweater on Q. What a great color for Leng!

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 7 of 12 - I do like that we’re seeing an honest exploration of poverty and hopelessness. I’m not sure how I feel about it inside my BL, tho I’m willing to persavere for this pair.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 12 end - Someone said recently "just imagine what TutorYim could do with an actual script." And you know what? I agree. Because they sure as shit haven’t gotten one yet. And it’s getting quite frustrating. I’m having JaFirst flashbacks. Frankly, 2024 has been a year of unmitigated BL nonsense narratives. And I’m tired of it. I know it’s bog standard for the genre, but it feels like there’s been more than normal faff this year.

Summary

An incredibly convoluted, disjointed, and badly-paced drama that is about(?) some writers writing a thing and some boys who knew each other when they were kids, lots of pretty sexy times, and not much else. The visuals are gorgeous, the side couples are overly appealing (with little to no screen time), the dubbing and sound is absurdly bad, and the fantasy novel (play within a play) makes no sense whatsoever while also managing to be the show that we all actually wanted to see instead of what we were given. 6/10

In conclusion, I have no interest in attempting to understand or revisit this show, and I certainly wouldn’t recommend it, but if you have nothing better to do…… the sex is good (frankly I have exes that satisfy all the same criteria). So there it is: this show is like a bad but still hot ex.

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - Nice to see Fiat in something again. Namping is very angel baby. This episode made me think that this pair would do a great Thai remake of Love Tractor, and now that’s pretty much all I want in life. I enjoyed wardrobe in this episode. It looks like we get the same characters next week. Cool.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - I guess everyone is messy slutty bisexual in this show? Do I care? Not even slightly. BLabies, I don’t think I’m gonna make it. I might have to drop this one.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga) ep 1-2 of 13 - I adore it, what a wonderful meet cute. I love a Taiwanese BL that starts with a gratuitous kidnapping, some chasing, and a bit of a fight sequence. We in OLD fashioned territory.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 5 of ? - I continue to enjoy it very much.

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 4 of 7 - Oh! Is the sleazy boss gonna turn out to be actually a sleazy player? That would be an interesting twist.

Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) eps 3 of 8 - I’m really not a big fan of my pain coming from Korea. I’m getting a whiff of To My Star 2 from this one. And that does not make me happy. I know: high quality high angst yada yada blah blah blah. But also unnecessary pain? No thank you.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 12 end - Of course, I love the part where Reese and Orca spoke each other’s languages.

Conclusion

Had this been produced a mere 3 or 4 years ago, I would’ve been quite enamored. But by comparison to what we’ve been getting, this is a lackluster offering. A has-been musician and a much younger composer meet, fall in love, and attempt to rectify his stalled musical career. Cute side couple of a Thai popstar + his Korean manager. Everyone is very fine and it was a fine show. I wasn’t disappointed, but I wasn’t impressed either. 8/10

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 6 of 10 eps - It was a fun little confession and climax, there was crying, and a bridge kiss (been a while) all of this appeals to me even if they are tiny idiots (in the immortal words of @heretherebedork )

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 5-6 of 12 - More tiny idiot boyfriends who don’t realize they’re boyfriends. That’s it, that’s all that’s happening. Ostensibly there’s some kind of murder. But it seems to be acting more like set dressing than plot.

It's airing but...

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) 10 eps - Supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.