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carmenized-onions · 3 days

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Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!

portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.

possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry

kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!

The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!”

—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired�� You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.

“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!”

In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days.

The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.

Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.

Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.

Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.

It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—

At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today.

“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.

The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—

Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.

Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.

With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed.

Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.

You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.

“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?

The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.

You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…

Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”

You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.

It’s snowing.

That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.

That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.

You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.

…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”

There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.

“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”

You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.

“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”

“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.

“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.

“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”

Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”

“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.

You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”

“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”

“And—And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”

Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”

You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”

Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”

Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?

The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.

“Are you good?”

Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”

You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”

“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”

“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”

“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”

You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”

“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?”

You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be.

“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—”

“You want the old one?”

Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.

“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one— You didn’t throw it away, did you?”

When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”

“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”

“...And you want that?”

“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”

A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—”

“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”

“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this.

You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic.

He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”

You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”

The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.”

Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be.

You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.

Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.

“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”

Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”

“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”

“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”

You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?

“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”

“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”

“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”

He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”

“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.

You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”

“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.

You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”

“So where should I send flowers?”

You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”

“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing.

“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”

You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”

You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”

You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—”

Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”

“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”

He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu.

When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers.

You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”

Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”

“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.

Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.

With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant.

You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.

“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”

“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand, “Sorry, continue.”

Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed– Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.

Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”

“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”

The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”

Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”

The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”

You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.”

You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”

When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?”

“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”

“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”

“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”

“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”

“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?”

“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”

“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”

“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”

“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”

“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”

“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”

“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”

“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”

“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”

“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.

But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”

“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”

“Microgreens.” Says Syd.

“Yes. Do less of that.”

And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.

You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.

He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?

You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you.

“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”

He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells.

You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.”

“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”

Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”

“Cicero.”

“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?

You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”

Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”

“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you.

“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer.

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.

You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.”

“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”

“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.”

“You got somethin’ better?”

“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!”

It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it.

You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”

“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations.

“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”

“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”

“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”

“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”

“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”

“A lot high.” He corrects.

“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”

Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute. Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit.

He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”

You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”

Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.”

“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”

Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”

Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.”

“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened.

“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’

“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”

“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”

“Your options are fucked.”

“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”

Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”

“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”

“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—”

You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”

“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”

Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.

“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”

You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”

You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better.

“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask.

“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”

He nods, “Good.”

“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.

But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”

“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”

“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”

“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”

“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”

“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”

Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”

You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”

“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”

“A short amount of time, angel?”

“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’

Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—

“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”

Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?

“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.

You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”

Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”

“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”

You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”

“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.”

“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.”

“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression.

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.”

You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”

He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”

Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”

“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.”

Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”

“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.”

With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.

“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”

“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.”

“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”

Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.

“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.”

“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”

“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”

“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.”

“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them.

“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”

A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats.

“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.

You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”

You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.

Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.

Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass.

“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while.

“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”

Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience.

“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.”

Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”

Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?

“Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”

And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.

“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer.

You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”

“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t.

“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”

“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”

“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”

Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”

You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”

“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons.

A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”

You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”

Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”

“Dad—”

“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”

“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later.

Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’

You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms.

“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”

“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”

“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.

“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”

There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say.

You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”

“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!”

“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”

“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—”

“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”

“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”

“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”

And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.

“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”

You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”

“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”

“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”

That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?

After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”

“Oh, Adamu?!”

Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.

“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”

“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”

“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”

You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”

She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”

“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”

Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”

She sighs, “Trying to.”

“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”

“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”

Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”

“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.”

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”

“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”

The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”

But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”

That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?”

Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.

“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”

“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad.

But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”

“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”

“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”

She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’

“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”

Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.

“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”

“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”

“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”

“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”

Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.

Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”

“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”

“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.

“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”

“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”

“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.

You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”

“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”

“What the fuck—”

“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already, you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”

“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”

“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”

“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no.

You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”

“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”

And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”

“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”

Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”

“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”

Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”

“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—”

There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”

Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win.

“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”

It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”

“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”

“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”

“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”

“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”

“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”

“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”

“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”

“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”

“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—

“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”

“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”

Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.”

And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”

Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”

Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”

“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”

“I am not getting you a card.” “I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”

Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”

You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”

“Crime is bad in January.”

“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”

“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”

“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”

Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”

And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed.

“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.

“Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce.

Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”

You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”

“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other.

“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.”

“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”

“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.”

Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”

“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”

Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”

And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”

“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”

“Yessir.”

“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.

You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”

“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”

“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”

“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”

“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.”

“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front.

“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.

You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”

Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?”

“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”

You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?”

“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point.

“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now.

“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”

“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together.

Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?”

“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”

“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—”

Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them.

You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”

“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”

“I could do it.”

“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”

His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”

You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”

“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick.

You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”

Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.”

“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing.

“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”

He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.”

“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”

“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”

Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”

“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”

Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”

And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”

“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.

“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances.

Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone.

You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be.

The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”

“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”

Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week?

“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”

“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”

“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”

“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”

Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured.

He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”

“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.”

Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”

“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”

“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting.

It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece.

“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”

Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”

He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.

“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”

You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.

“...Has that been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.”

That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”

“Sounds fucked.”

“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”

Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”

That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”

You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”

“Tricks?”

“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”

You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks.

“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”

He’s the best?

He’s the best.

“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.”

Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best.

He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.

“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back.

“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”

“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”

“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”

You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”

Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.

“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”

Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him.

“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”

Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety.

All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.”

He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”

“I’d agree.”

“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them.

“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.

“Come to dinner with us?”

would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"

was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach

DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!

anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt

oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant

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

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daisynik7 · 1 year

Text

Fine Lines

Pairing: Eren x f!reader

Genre: modern day au, one-shot

Rating: Explicit

cw: vaginal sex (cowgirl), blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering, nipple play, multiple orgasms, “princess”, “slut”, somewhat self-conscious reader

Word Count: ~7.0k

Summary: A girl’s night out ends with you crossing some lines with your best friend’s brother.

Notes: Got inspired by this soundgasm I listened to that drove me wild (this is the link, listener discretion advised, put your damn headphones on before you click)! Everyone is in their mid-to-late twenties, for reference. Title inspired by the song “Fine Lines” by Jorja Smith.

Personal Notes: This is shameless smut, not much plot (although I tried). Also, I’m very much obsessed with the pet name “princess” right now, so don’t mind me as I stick it in every fucking fic I write, can’t promise I’ll ever grow tired of it. Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading!

ao3 | my masterlist

It’s Friday night, at last the start of the weekend. Work has been particularly stressful the past few days. New projects, useless meetings, upcoming deadlines; it’s never-ending. In need to let loose after being tightly wound this whole week, you suggest to your best friends, Mikasa and Sasha, for a girl’s night out. Dinner, drinks, dancing, and trashy food to end the night of debauchery. Just what you need to relax.

At Mikasa’s apartment, the three of you gather inside her bedroom, blasting a party hits playlist as you all get ready. Sasha, eating a sandwich for a pre-game snack, sits beside on you on the carpet, the two of you applying your make-up in front of the closet mirror while Mikasa tries on outfits. “Does this look okay?” She presents herself to them in her black, strappy two-piece.

Sasha whistles. “Hot mama!”

You smile, agreeing. “Stunning!”

She blushes, always appreciative of the support. “Thanks.”

Suddenly, there’s aggressive knocking on the door. She opens it to find her brother and roommate, Eren, glaring at her. “Can you lower it? It’s so fucking loud.”

She rolls her eyes, tapping her phone to lower the volume. “Don’t you wear headphones?”

“I was wearing headphones and I still couldn’t hear Jean or Connie because of your fucking music.”

“Alright, alright, I lowered it, okay?”

“Thank you.” He glances over to you and Sasha, watching them argue. You quickly look away to avoid his gaze, staring back at the mirror.

“Where are you three going tonight?” he asks, directing his question to his sister.

“Dinner in Stohess, then dancing at Club Paradis.”

“What’s the occasion?”

From the reflection of the mirror, you see Mikasa point her thumb at you. “Just a girl’s night. She’s been stressed at work and wants to let off some steam.”

Eren looks at you, your back turned to them as you pretend to not be listening. “Well, have fun.”

“What are you up to today?” Mikasa asks.

“Just gaming with Jean and Connie. Armin’s out of town at a work conference, so it’ll be an uneventful weekend.” He pauses before directing his question at you. “So, I’m assuming you’ll get super drunk tonight? Will I need to take care of you again?”

You whip around to face him, cheeks hot with embarrassment, recalling the incident he’s referring to. “Hey, to be fair, your rooms are right next to each other, it was an honest mistake! And I already made up for it, remember?”

A few weeks ago, following another girl’s night, you stumbled into Eren’s room by mistake and made yourself comfortable in bed next to him. And almost threw up on his sheets. Luckily, he caught wind of what was about to happen, and he led you into the bathroom, where he held your hair as you began to vomit the results of your excessive drinking. As thanks, you cooked a delicious dinner for both him and Mikasa the following day, complete with his favorite dessert: brownies. Specifically, you’re signature brownies.

Chuckling, he responds, “Yeah, yeah, I’m just teasing you. Good thing you didn’t actually throw up on my sheets. Then you’d be in real big trouble.” The smirk he gives you sends a flutter bellow your belly.

Mikasa glares at him. “Gross. Stop flirting and get out of here, we’re trying to get ready.”

He obeys, yelling out, “Have fun tonight!” before retreating into his room.

As you finish the rest of your ensemble, your mind is focused on Eren. You’ve known him for nearly ten years now, ever since you and Mikasa became roommates freshman year of college. They weren’t biologically related, Mikasa being adopted into his family from a young age, but they were closer than most blood-related siblings were. The two of them, along with their childhood friend, Armin, were inseparable. And as Mikasa’s best friend outside of this close-knit circle, it was only natural that you became well acquainted with the other two, especially her brother.

It's no secret that he’s always been attractive. You’ve listened to too many rants from Mikasa about all the different girls he was messing around with in college. She criticized him often for dating fine women without ever wanting to commit to them. These tirades began to fade after graduation. It’s been a while since you heard any news about his love life, but you’re always too shy to pry.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about him in a romantic sense. He’s always been kind to you, harboring a soft spot for his sister’s best friend. It’s never been more than that, though. You’re certain that’s the only way he sees you. And it’s not as if you’ve ever made any attempts to flirt with him. There’s an unspeakable boundary that you don’t dare cross, fearing the repercussions. Rejection, potential harm to the relationship you’ve built through the years. It isn’t worth it to jeopardize what you currently have.

Still, there’s no harm in fantasizing about it, as long as no one else knows. Right?

Make-up done, you slip into your little black dress, resulting in another whistle from Sasha. Mikasa twirls you with a smile. “Gorgeous.”

“So what’s the plan tonight, ladies? Shall we play a little game?” Sasha suggests with a devious grin. “Last time, it was drinks. Maybe this time, we’ll do phone numbers?”

“I’m down for that,” Mikasa agrees, adjusting the volume of the music even lower.

“You in?” Sasha looks to you for confirmation.

You shrug. “Sure.”

“What’s wrong?”

It takes a while for you to respond, ashamed to admit it out loud. “I never win these things. I rarely ever get hit on.”

“That’s because you’re too shy! You have to put yourself out there!”

You fall onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t think that’s it. Maybe I’m too ugly.”

“Stop! We don’t tolerate that kind of talk in this household!” Mikasa yells, sitting next to you.

“I will slap you if you say that again,” Sasha threatens.

“Not only are you two gorgeous, but you are also great at flirting. I’m just going to be sipping my drink alone while all the men flock towards you. But that’s fine! I’m fine. I’m happy to be a wing woman!”

Maybe it’s the stress of the work week putting you in this bizarre self-pitying state. You’re not usually like this. Or maybe you’ve been hiding it all along. It’s not as if you don’t have any experience when it comes to this. You’ve been on your fair share of dates, none of which have ever panned out to anything serious. Ever since you started working at your current job, you’ve been having a bit of a dry spell, too preoccupied with your career to focus on romance. Tonight, the burden of the past few years is finally taking its toll.

With your innermost thoughts already laid bare in front of your friends, you confess, “I just wish I could hook up with a guy tonight. Just sex. No strings attached.”

“Well, if you announce it like that, I guarantee you’ll find a guy who’ll want to fuck you,” Sasha laughs.

Mikasa adds, “Guys are easy. They go dumb if you bat your eyelashes or laugh at their jokes. It’s as simple as that.”

“Is it really? I don’t think I have that power...”

“It’s because you’re too shy! Don’t worry, we’ll find you a man tonight. We’ll make it happen.”

Sasha is the last to get changed, donned in a black dress similar to yours. Before requesting a ride, the three of you move to the kitchen, where you down a few shots of tequila. The burn of the liquor awakens your senses, prepping you for a fun night with your friends and hopefully, a guy to satisfy your sexual needs.

Sasha checks her phone, groaning. “The surcharge is insane right now. It’s going to be this much just to get to Stohess!” She shows her screen, displaying the ridiculous cost.

Hiccupping, Mikasa says, “Ah! I got an idea.”

Stumbling towards Eren’s door, she knocks a few times until he answers, headphones around his neck, an annoyed expression on his face. “What?”

“Can you please give us a ride to dinner? It’s super expensive right now. And it’s only ten minutes away!” She puts her hands together in a prayer pose, pleading with him.

Glaring, he replies, “I’m in the middle of a game right now.”

Sasha joins in on the begging, standing beside Mikasa. “Eren, please! We’ll make it up to you!”

He crosses his arms, expression softening, slightly amused now. “How?”

The two girls stare at each other, thinking harder than usual because of the alcohol taking its effect. “She’ll cook you dinner again!” Mikasa points to you. “She’ll cook you whatever you want!

You step towards them, yelling, “Don’t just volunteer me like that!”

He looks at you with the same smirk as earlier. Even in your almost tipsy state, you feel the familiar sensation in your abdomen.

“I’ll only do it if she bakes me my favorite brownies.”

“She will! She’ll do it!”

He removes his headphones, throwing on a hoodie before turning off the lights to his bedroom. “Alright, you drunks. Let’s go then.”

~~~

The three women follow him to the door, thanking him profusely as they strap on their heels. Inside the car, Mikasa and Sasha claim the backseat, while she rides as passenger. While the two struggle to put on their seatbelts, she stares forward, avoiding Eren’s gaze as he pulls out of the garage. Quiet enough for only her to hear, he murmurs, “I guess you’re my passenger princess for tonight.”

“Huh?”

He smiles at her, but doesn’t repeat himself, turning his attention on the road.

They’ve known each other for a while now, ever since freshman year of college. She was Mikasa’s roommate, and eventually, best friend, aside from Eren and Armin. She’s always had that charming smile on her face, matching her magnetic personality. He never really noticed how alluring her energy was until recently. He’s not sure what changed, but something did. He pays attention to her now.

Today, he overhears them talking on the other side of the wall. Eren didn’t have his headphones in while him, Connie, and Jean took a break from their game.

I just wish I could hook up with a guy tonight.

Just sex.

No strings attached.

These words, coming from her mouth in particular, pique his interest.

It’s not that he wasn’t attracted to her before. He just never really thought of her outside of being Mikasa’s sweet, innocent friend. All he knows is that they’ve been acquainted long enough to know that they get along well. Sometimes really well, sharing similar humor, music tastes, favorite foods. Little details that used to be insignificant, but now, seeing her in a new light, means something more.

He'd be fooling himself if he says he’s never thought about it. Of course he has. The common trope of fucking your sister’s best friend, it’s a story that’s been written countless times in television, literature, even porn. Is it possible that this fictional cliché can become a reality? The idea floats around in his head as he drives them to the restaurant. Sasha and Mikasa are obnoxiously giggling to themselves, looking at their phones. His passenger joins in on their conversation. “What are you two giggling about back there?”

“We’re trying to find potential candidates for you.”

Eren is definitely listening now. He tries not to smile to himself as she exclaims, “What?!”

“We’re checking out all the guys in the area. Oooohhh, what about him?” Sasha turns her screen towards the front, showing a picture of a shirtless man. Literally just a naked torso, no face at all. “I can message him to meet us at the club after dinner!”

“Don’t!”

“Why not? I thought you were trying to fuck tonight!”

“Sasha!” She buries her face in her hands as Mikasa cracks up.

“Oh hey! Maybe Eren knows someone he can set you up with! Got any single friends who are down to fuck?”

Sasha and Mikasa cackle together as she turns to him, expression horrified. “Ignore everything they’re saying, oh my god.”

He teases, “What if I do know someone?”

Mikasa leans forward, now curious. “Who? You better not set her up with Reiner. You know he would eat her up alive.”

“It’s not Reiner.”

“Then who?”

He pulls up to restaurant, still not answering the question. Sasha and Mikasa hastily exit the car, thanking Eren for the ride. She takes a while longer to undue her seatbelt. He takes this opportunity to say, “Good luck tonight.”

Groaning, she mutters, “I can’t believe Sasha. I’m sorry you had to hear that. It’s so embarrassing.”

“Hey, nothing embarrassing about it. We all have needs.”

“Well, if I fail tonight, maybe you can introduce me to that friend of yours one day,” she jokes.

“Sure. I can even introduce you to him tonight.”

She laughs, not fully grasping what he’s trying to say. “Yeah. Right. Anyways, thanks for the ride.”

He watches her exit the car, the hem of her sexy black dress riding up along her thigh as she steps out. Hoping that she does strike out tonight, for his sake.

~~~

Dinner goes by smoothly, the meal delicious as always, drinks flowing freely to continue setting the mood for the night. The three of you linger at the restaurant for a little while, sipping on more cocktails as you digest your food, preparing yourselves for a long night of dancing.

By the time it’s 10:30 PM, you make your way a few blocks down to Club Paradis, a crowd of people already lined up at the door. Luckily for you, Sasha’s friend, Nic, is one of the chef’s at this establishment when it’s a restaurant during the day. The bouncer, who recognizes her, let’s you all in immediately, without issue.

Inside, the DJ has already started their set, EDM music blaring through the speakers. The first thing you do is head to the bar. Mikasa, right off the bat, works her magic and has a guy buy the first round. In turn, she also gets his number, starting the little game.

Sasha manages to charm her way into sharing a table with a trio of men, getting their digits in exchange. Two of them chat with Sasha as the other tries to flirt with Mikasa, leaving you on the side, sipping on your cocktail, as predicted.

When the dancefloor starts filling up and the DJ begins to play the popular club hits, the three of you abandon the table to start dancing. Throughout the night, more men approach your friends, sometimes dancing beside them or attempting to dance with them. Mikasa and Sasha end up rejecting their advances, deserting the phone number game. The three of you dance until your feet are tired, throats sore from singing along, and heads pleasantly dizzy from the buzz of the alcohol. By the time it’s past 1:30 AM, you’ve forgotten about your desire to hook up, too immersed in having a blast with your friends.

Being the least drunk, you request a ride on your app, Mikasa and Sasha both leaning against you, still giggly, but exhausted. The car arrives, the three of you cramming into the back as the driver takes you to the apartment. Sasha whines to you about fast food, reminding her that there is a frozen pizza waiting to be baked at home.

It’s about 2:00 AM now as the three of you shuffle into Mikasa’s apartment. You immediately preheat the oven before following your besties into the bedroom to start the tedious process of turning down for the night.

When you hear the distinct beep from the kitchen, you scurry over to pop the pizza in the oven, setting the timer for ten minutes. You continue to remove the rest of your makeup and by the time you’re done washing your face, comfy in your silky, floral-print pajamas, the pizza is done. Resting it on top of the stove, you walk back into Mikasa’s room to find your two friends passed out on the bed, snoring peacefully. Chuckling to yourself, you turn the lights off and close the door quietly, leaving them to their slumber.

In the kitchen, with the pizza cool enough to touch, you cut yourself a large slice and start eating, leaning against the counter, scrolling through social media with your free hand. The sound of a door creaking open startles you, until you see Eren step out of his bedroom, dressed in a white t-shirt and dark grey sweats. Man-bun in all its glory.

“You’re still up?” you question, mouth full of the bite of pizza you just took.

“Yeah, I just finished playing with Jean and Connie. The smell of pizza lured me out,” he responds, smiling.

“Help yourself. Your sister and Sasha fell asleep, so I won’t be able to finish this on my own.”

He cuts himself a large slice, sliding it onto a paper plate that you put out on the counter prior. The two of you eat in silence, you pretending to be distracted by your phone when really, you’re waiting for him to initiate conversation. When you’re finished with the pizza, you open the fridge, craving something else to eat.

“Are you stealing my snacks?” He’s behind you, closer than he’s ever been before, body pressed ever-so-slightly against you as you inspect the refrigerator.

You lean forward, sticking your ass out just a little bit. For good measure. “I would if you had anything good. All that’s here are Mikasa’s protein bars and a dozen eggs.”

He chuckles, placing his hands on your waist to push you aside. “You just don’t know where to look.” Reaching his arm into one of the compartments, he conjures a pack of vanilla pudding, handing it to you. In the cupboard above the fridge, he grabs a bag of potato chips.

“Ah, so you have your own secret stash.”

“For drunk munchies. Or even when I’m not drunk.”

“Thanks. This is just what I wanted.” You unfold the bag, reaching in for a handful, smiling.

He leans on the counter next to you, munching on his pizza. “So, how was tonight?”

“Very fun. I needed that.” You rip the seal off the pudding cup. Some of it gets on your thumb, to which you instinctually stick in your mouth to suck it off. You realize Eren watches you carefully as you do this. Nervous under his gaze, you release it from your mouth with a slight pop. “It’s been a really stressful week at work, so it was fun to have a girl’s night, not worrying about anything.” When’s the last time you and Eren actually had a conversation one-on-one like this? Has this ever happened?

He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off to drink a couple of gulps. When he’s done, he offers it to you. You’ve shared plenty of drinks with Mikasa, but with Eren? This is unexpected. Not wanting to make it weird, you take it, swallowing your fill until you’re properly hydrated, much thirstier than you thought.

He watches you replace the cap, setting the almost empty bottle back down on the counter. It’s odd being observed by him. You don’t remember him ever paying attention to you in this way. Why tonight of all nights? Edgy from the work week, horny and desperate for an easy release. Why is he acting this way now while you’re vulnerable?

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Hm?”

He lowers his voice, leaning in closer to you. “Did you find a guy to fuck?”

This catches you more off guard, the bluntness of it. Maybe it’s the remaining alcohol still flowing through your body, giving you liquid courage to behave out of character. Maybe it’s your desire to feel a warm body beneath you tonight. Maybe it’s the words he uttered to you earlier in the car replaying in your head that you’re just now picking up on.

What if I do know someone?

I can even introduce you to him tonight.

We all have needs.

Whatever it is, it’s driving you to match whatever crass energy he’s giving off. “If I did, would I be here right now? I’d be at his place, fucking his brains out.”

At this, he lets out an amused hum, smiling. That goddamn smile. Charming, attractive. Dangerous. “Being here with me isn’t so bad, right?” His arm is completely pressed against yours now. All this surface on the countertop free to occupy, yet he crowds you in his space.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On what you can do for me,” you answer, setting the barely eaten pudding cup on the table. You swallow hard, standing up straighter to muster as much confidence as you can.

He moves closer, all six feet of him towering over you. “What do you want from me?”

“You told me you know someone in case I struck out tonight. Who is he?”

“I think you know.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you sure?” It’s like asking for permission to cross the line that you’ve avoided this whole time.

“Yes, absolutely sure,” he confirms, bowing his head down towards you.

You gulp loudly, heart thumping. “Then make the first move.”

~~~

Without hesitation, he closes the gap and kisses her. He starts off soft and slow, acquainting himself to these lips he’s known for almost ten whole years, but never appreciated until now. How foolish he’s been for not getting a taste sooner.

She grasps at his chest, white tee bunched in her fists as she pulls him closer to deepen the kiss. He never knew how forward she can be. She’s always been shy, reserved. This is a new side of her he’s never seen before, and it excites him.

Her lips part, inviting his tongue in to swirl around hers. He slides his hands to her waist, thumbs slipping beneath the silky band of her pajama shorts, feeling for the fabric of her panties.

“Fuck, this is crazy,” he whispers between kisses. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

Dragging his bottom lip down with her teeth, she suggests, “Should we go to your room?”

He shakes his head. “Walls are too thin. Let’s go to the couch.”

They stumble into the living room, feet shuffling against the hardwood floor, clothes tugged on here and there, little giggles exchanged between them as they fondle each other on the way to the couch. He sits down first, spreading his legs wide to display the erection outlined in the fabric of his sweats, cocky smirk plastered on his face. Palms patting the inside of his thighs, he beckons, “Come here.”

She takes her place on his lap, straddling him, skimpy boxer shorts bunched at her thighs. They keep kissing, his hands sliding under her shirt towards her chest. To his delight, she’s not wearing a bra. With a gentle pinch on both her nipples, he squeezes at her tits, still in shock that he’s feeling her like this. He starts brushing her hardening nipples with the pads of his thumbs, enjoying the way she pulls away from his lips to throw her head back in pleasure.

“You like having your nipples played with, don’t you?”

Biting her lower lip, she nods, gripping his shoulders like reins to hold herself steady for the ride. He brings her face close to his again, lips grazing her ear as he whispers, “Do you ever think about me? Like this?”

He’s genuinely curious. Now that he thinks about it, there has been an instance or two when she’s appeared in his mind during a late-night quick release. Particularly after seeing her wrapped in only a towel after coming out of the shower whenever she sleeps over. He never thought anything of it, just an innate reaction to seeing a woman almost completely bare. It’s instinct for him to wonder what marvel is hidden underneath if that towel conveniently slipped off. What her naked body, slick and dewy from that steamy shower, would look like in front of him. Or beneath him. Even riding him.

It's only natural to think of his sister’s best friend, of his friend, this way. Right?

Maybe not. Lost in the jumble that is his psyche, he’s definitely thought about it, and not just once, not twice. Many times, he realizes. Somewhere in the middle of all his other depraved fantasies, she’s been there without him even noticing. Until now.

This may be a mistake. It might ruin whatever relationship they’ve developed throughout the years. It doesn’t matter though, because all of those worries fade away as soon as she breathes out the answer to his question. “Yeah, I do. I think about you a lot.”

It’s the go-ahead, the green light. They’ve both stepped over the line now; at this point, it doesn’t even exist. She wants this just as much as he does. Nothing else matters except for the two of them, sitting on this couch, fulfilling each other’s shameless needs.

She hoists her top off, breasts completely exposed for him now, his hands still squeezed firmly around them. He takes one and latches his lips to it, sucking hard until it’s taut in his mouth, listening to her whine in ecstasy. With a loud pop, he releases her, brushing his lips along her plump nipple. “You like having your nipples sucked, huh?”

“Mm-hm. Do that other one.”

He laughs softly. “So demanding. So greedy. I never knew you were like this.”

“I guess the secret’s out,” she says, smiling before kissing him hard on the lips.

He breaks away to play with her other nipple, causing her to moan even louder. With his free hand, he covers her mouth gently, her wet lips puffing warm breath into his palm. Unable to resist temptation, he teases his fingers into her mouth, pleasantly surprised when she sticks them in farther, tongue licking around his digits.

Another loud pop as he let’s go of her tit, cursing. He pumps his fingers in and out of her mouth, coating her spit all over him. “You’re nasty. You’re really fucking nasty. Tell me what you want me to do with these wet fingers.”

Still licking at his hand, she muffles, “Touch me.”

Through the opening of her shorts, he slips past her panties, sliding his fingers along her pussy, slick and creamy with her arousal. His cock is unbelievably hard, but he doesn’t want to rush this. He wants to take his time with her, familiarize himself with her body, memorize each beautiful crevice he gets to explore tonight. There’s no telling what will happen to them after this. He’s taking this opportunity and making the most out of it in case this never happens again.

Finding her clit, he rubs his middle finger against it, pressing it firm enough to have her trembling above him. “Fuck,” she breathes out. “Eren.”

The rasp of his name in that sultry, desperate tone makes his cock twitch. He uses his free hand to start palming his erection through his sweats, thankful that he had the foresight to change into these before he stepped out of his room, knowing it was her out in the kitchen, alone.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t just now that he had this revelation. Who is he really kidding? He’s wanted this for a while now. He buried it in the back of his mind because it was too taboo, too forbidden. That just made him yearn for it more. And tonight, it all comes to head. Finally.

“You’re getting so wet for me with just my fingers.” He slides his hand underneath his pants to fist his shaft. “Bet I could make it juicier if I eat you out.”

“Sounds promising,” she smirks, grinding against him. Leaning past his ear, she whispers, “But I want to try something else first.”

His abdomen tightens, anticipating what she has in mind. “What?”

She dismounts him to kneel on the carpet, head positioned between his thighs, staring lustfully at him. “You know what.”

Shifting forward in his seat, he asks, “You want to suck my dick? This fat cock in front of you? Is that what you want?”

“I want to see what all those girls in college were making such a big fuss about.”

He lets out a short laugh, lifting his torso to slide his sweats and boxers off simultaneously, his rigid cock springing free from its confines. “How do you know about my slut era? Did Mikasa tell you?”

“Maybe,” she replies, wrapping her fingers around him, stroking.

He moans quietly, not wanting to reveal how fucking desperate he is for her. “Were you jealous whenever she’d tell you about all the girls I fucked?”

“Maybe,” she repeats, giving him a soft kiss on the tip, small string of precum connected to her lips. He’s stares at her, capturing a mental picture of this for future reference.

“Do you wish I fucked you back then?” His curiosity is getting the best of him.

Shaking her head, she answers, “No. Because now, I get to have you all to myself.” Mouth formed in an oval shape, she sinks down onto his cock, the tip completely engulfed in her warm saliva.

He uses every ounce of willpower not to bust right there. Who is this woman? Where has she been this whole time? And why hasn’t this happened sooner?

“Fuck,” he moans, shutting his eyes. “That feels good. Fuck.”

She blows him, her fist working the base as her head bobs along the shaft, movements in sync with each other to stimulate every fiber of his being. It’s been a while since a blowjob has felt this good. Maybe it’s because it’s her. Sweet, innocent, wholesome her. Or so he thought. The fact that his perception of her has been blown out the window, replaced with the side he’s always secretly pined for. This is what does it for him.

He keeps his eyes shut for the most part, the sight of her with hollowed cheeks, milking the fucking life out of him, too lewd to watch. When he does, she looks up at him with a twinkling gaze, enjoying it.

“Fuck,” he moans, a little louder this time.

She slides off him, hand still stroking his cock, slick with spit and precum, index finger to her puffy lips, shushing him, “Be a good boy and keep your voice down.”

Holy fuck. Any morsel of control he has left is quickly withering away. “I’m going to come,” he tells her, rocking his hips in sync with her strokes. In an instant, her lips are latched around him again. He comes in her mouth, some of it spilling down onto his pelvis. She removes her hand to sink lower to the base, swallowing the rest.

There’s a brief moment of silence as he basks in the glory of his orgasm, head lolled against the cushions, mind blank except for the euphoria spreading to the rest of his body. It’s only when he hears her giggle that he is brought to his senses. He lifts his head up to face her, observing the naughty smile formed at her lips.

Grinning, he murmurs, “I can’t believe we just did that.”

She stands up to sit next to him on the couch. “We? Excuse me, but I did all the work.”

Turning towards her, he leans forward to kiss her cheek. “I guess it’s time for me to do my part, then.”

Lying on the couch with Eren on top, he hastily pulls off her pajama bottoms along with her soaked panties, now completely naked. He takes a few seconds to stare at her, admiring how much sweeter it is to see her like this with his own eyes instead of in his imagination.

“Quit looking at me like that,” she waves at him. “You’re making me self-conscious.”

“Self-conscious? About what? This fucking gorgeous body you’ve been hiding from me?” he teases, tracing his fingers along her sides, down to the hips.

“Shut up,” she whispers, turning away. She’s so fucking cute, he can’t stand it.

“No way. I’m not going to stop talking about this beautiful face,” he says, leaning down to scatter kisses all over her cheeks. “Or your soft skin,” more smooches trailing her stomach. “And I definitely won’t shut up about this perfect pussy I’m about to devour.” With that, he spreads her thighs wide to lap his tongue on her clit, hearing her gasp quietly above him, hand covering her mouth.

Delighted by her reaction, he hums against her skin, lips puckered at her bud, toying with her sleek folds. He flattens his tongue and slides it side to side while he slips his middle finger in her.

“Oh fuck!” she cries into her palm. He puts his ring finger in along with his middle, thrusting into her while he eats her out sloppily, drool smearing all over her already sticky arousal. She tastes even better than he imagined, her creamy arousal luscious on his tongue, the lewd smell of sex surrounding his nostrils, priming him to go completely wild on her. It hasn’t been long since his first orgasm, but he feels the blood pulsing into his cock, getting harder and harder the more he indulges in her.

He doesn’t want to fuck her just yet. No, he wants her to gush all over his fucking face, and he knows exactly what to do to put her over the edge.

Pulling away briefly, lips and chin shiny with her arousal, he growls, “Sit on my face.”

“What?”

“Sit on my face,” he repeats.

“Are you sure?” She sits up, uncertainty evident in her expression.

Growing impatient, he guides her on top of him, shimmying across the couch to position himself just right. “Don’t make me say it again,” he warns, hands on her hips, as she mounts his face, her knees surrounding his head. She hovers above him, too timid to do it properly.

He grips her tighter, shoving her pussy into his face, tongue lapping up her leaking juices, swallowing noisily so she knows just how good he’s drinking her up. His hand smooths over her ass cheek, tapping it lightly. He wants so badly to spank her, punish her for hiding this from him all these years. Discipline her for depriving him for so long.

“Ride it,” he demands, loosening his grip, letting her be in control. Without question this time, she does, rocking her hips back and forth against his face, pussy dragging on every inch of it. Dousing him, quenching him, smothering him. She’s whimpering now, lost in the heat of passion, fondling her own tits to feel even more as she grinds on his mouth. He’s tempted to jerk off, but it’ll be too much; it’s already enough for him to come untouched.

In a small voice, she mutters, “Coming.” He sucks on her clit hard until her voice goes a pitch higher, then sticks his tongue into her slit, licking her insides while his nose jams into her sensitive bud.

When she’s down from her high, she’s gently gets off him, a guilty look on her face as she reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table next to the couch, handing it to him. He sits up, face even shinier with her cum, and refuses. Smiling, he starts collecting her slick off with his fingers, sucking them clean into his mouth.

She shoves him playfully. “Don’t!” she hisses.

He continues to grin, pulling her into a sloppy kiss. “You taste fucking amazing,” he whispers, nuzzling his nose against hers. “So yummy.”

“Don’t be weird about it,” she says, smiling. She toys with the hem of his shirt that he’s still wearing. “Do you want to stop? Or…?”

“Oh, we’re definitely not done yet,” he states, hoisting his shirt off.

Her eyes widen at the reveal of his sculpted chest and abdomen, then down at his stiff cock sprung against it. He laughs, catching her ogling him. “You’re going to help me deal with this, right?”

“Yeah. How do you want me to do it?”

“You tell me, princess.”

She grins at this, biting her lip. “I like that. Princess.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Pulling her towards him, he whispers, “Show me what else you like.”

~~~

You get into a similar position as earlier, you on top of Eren, straddling his lap as he sits against the couch. This time, however, you’re both completely naked and messier than before, all the evidence from both of your orgasms sticky between your bodies. Lifting up, you align his cock with your wet slit, guiding it in slowly. It’s no surprise that he’s robust. It’s even bigger than you imagined, especially as you sink deeper onto it, his girth stretching you more than his fingers could.

When he’s all the way in, you take a sharp breath, adjusting to his size. He doesn’t rush you; instead, he waits patiently, holding your hips tenderly with his forehead pressed to yours, watching you. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on in that beautiful head of his.

A few moments of this and you ease up on him. You lift off slightly, then sink back down, repeating this until it’s a fluid motion, whimpering when you feel him reach your G-spot. After a few more deep thrusts, you let out a particularly loud moan, resulting in both your hand and his covering your mouth. You giggle quietly with each other.

“You’re so fucking loud,” he laughs, gazing at you.

“That’s because you’re fucking me so good,” you respond, riding him faster. You take his hand and guide it to your arousal, begging him to touch you while you fuck yourself on his cock.

“Fuck, you’re bad. You’re so fucking bad,” he growls, sticking out his thumb to massage your sensitive bud. “What happened to my sweet, innocent girl, huh? Deep down, you’re just a naughty fucking slut, aren’t you? Begging to be fucked tonight.”

His obscene words twist around your core, getting you closer and closer to another climax. “Say more dirty things to me, Eren,” you demand, bouncing on his lap, his thumb strumming your clit ruthlessly.

“Oh fuck, you’re so nasty,” he whispers, panting. “Your cunt is so fucking wet for me, oh my god.” He fucks you, hands tight on your ass, feet rooted into the carpet, couch creaking noisily in the quiet of the living room. But it doesn’t matter because you’re almost there. Just a little bit more.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” he spits out, breath hot on your ear. “Acting like a good girl when you’re really just a nasty fucking slut. You know exactly what you do to me.”

“What do I do to you? Tell me.” Sweat beads off your forehead, his eyes animalistic, peering into yours as he rails you.

“You drive me fucking crazy. The way you flaunt yourself in front of me. Teasing me with that innocent smile. You’re just a naughty girl who needs to get fucked.”

“Ah, fuck me, Eren. Fuck me, fuck me! Make me come!” you cry, riding him fast.

“Fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming,” he groans, holding you tighter in his arms. His warm cum shoots inside you as you orgasm on his twitching cock.

He cradles you gently for a minute before asking, “Did you come? Please tell me you did.”

Nodding weakly, face nestled into his neck, you answer, “I did.”

“Good,” he says, kissing you on your shoulder. “Good.” His arms wrap you in a snug embrace, massaging your back tenderly.

“Do you think they heard us?” you ask.

“I’m pretty sure Mikasa would have come out by now to kick both our asses, so I think we’re good,” he chuckles.

Pulling away to face him, you mutter, “Thank you. For tonight. I really needed this.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, grinning. “Always happy to help. You know that you can come to me for anything, right?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends.” It almost seems like there’s more he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He ends it there, still smiling at you.

You lean forward to give him one more kiss on the lips. “We should probably clean up and go to bed before we really do get caught.”

“Right. I’ll see you in the morning?” He phrases it in the form of a question, like he’s unsure.

“Yes, I’ll see you in the morning,” you reassure him, extracting your sticky self from his body.

Without another word, you walk away into the bathroom to clean yourself up and brush your teeth, mind racing with the realization of what just occurred. When you’re done, you exit and find him standing in the kitchen, dressed back in his sweats, waiting for you to use the bathroom. Before you sneak into Mikasa’s room to finally call it a night, you tiptoe towards him and kiss his cheek. “Goodnight.”

He blushes, eyes sparkling even in the dim light. “Goodnight, princess.”

~~~

Eren retreats into his room, ready for a good night’s sleep. He checks his phone for the time; almost 3:30 AM. In bed, he rolls to his side to face the wall he shares with his sister’s room, wondering if his special friend is still awake like he is.

Friends. He didn’t think it through before saying it. It was a spur of the moment comment, one made from nerves and anxiety surrounding the aftermath of their actions. Tonight, they crossed a line that most friends do not. What will happen to them now?

He grabs another pillow and hugs it, wishing it was her. Realizing that he doesn’t want to be friends with her at all, but something else. Something more.

#eren jaeger #eren jaeger smut #eren smut #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #attack on titan smut #aot smut #eren yeager

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alotofpockets · 6 months

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Easter hunt | Grace Clinton x Reader

Where you create an easter egg hunt for your girlfriend's birthday

A short little fic for the birthday girl!

Woso masterlist | Words: 870

-----

A lot of fans were surprised when they found out that you and Grace were dating. You were the definition of sunshine and grumpy,and golden retriever and black cat, but the people close to you had no doubt about it. You loved Grace, and Grace loved you.

That is why it was to no surprise to your teammates that you had an elaborate plan set in place to celebrate your girlfriend’s birthday. You had asked them for help setting everything up, while you made sure that she would have a great birthday morning.

Since Grace's birthday fell on Easter Sunday this year you planned to give her her gifs in the form of Easter baskets throughout the day. Far from the grumpy or black cat vibes you gave out to the world, but in Grace’s eyes you were a sweet, soft, and caring person, and you would do everything to bring a smile onto her face.

After some morning cuddles, you headed into the kitchen together in your pyjamas, where the first basket was standing on the counter. Grace had no idea of your plan, but gravitated right towards the bright blue mixing bowl filled with ingredients, and baking tools. “What’s this baby?” She asked while looking through it. “Your first birthday Easter basket. Happy birthday, my love.” She ran back your way and jumped into your arms. “You are the sweetest, thank you so much!” You hold her tight, while you smile into her chest. “Of course, you’ve been saying you want to bake more, so I thought what better way to start than making pancakes or waffles for your birthday breakfast.”

You were dancing through the kitchen together, to one of your favourite playlists, while mixing ingredients together to create a batter. Grace went for blueberry waffles, and they tasted delicious. After some more soft moments together in the kitchen, you got ready to head to practice, where the next surprise awaited your girlfriend. Celin had been your biggest help in setting up the surprise for you. So, when you arrived Celin was the first one running up to wish Grace a happy birthday, after which she handed Grace a basket. Grace looked confused between the both of you, “Good luck on your Easter hunt!” You and Celine said at the same time. The girl’s eyes lit up, you made an Easter egg hunt for me?” Celine pointed to you, “She did all the work, I just hid the eggs around the training grounds.”

Grace was running around like an excited little kid collecting the plastic eggs, showing them off every time that she found a new one. Her excitement over the silly little activity you had planned was one of the reasons you loved the woman so much. “Did I find them all?” She asked when she hadn’t found any for a couple of minutes. “Open the eggs, and you’ll know.” You said with a smirk. Finding the eggs was not the only part of the game. Inside each plastic egg was a puzzle piece, meant to reveal a hint to where her next Easter basket present was waiting for her.

She put together the pieces that she had, and realised she was still missing two. You knew that with the ones she was missing she could still flip the puzzle and read the clue, but what was the fun in not completing part one of the game? So you told her she needed to find the last two as well. With a couple of hints from Celine, she managed to locate the eggs. She rushed back to where she made the puzzle, to add the missing pieces. She flipped the puzzle and read your scrambled Easter egg message. To find your basket, you must look in the place where the Easter bunny practises its hops. She thought for a moment, and then she realised that they had practised their high jumps in the gym last week. “Is it in the gym?” She asked you, with shrugged shoulders you responded. “I don’t know, let’s go look.”

Of course Grace had guessed right, and her next basket was waiting for her amongst the weight rack. Another basket filled with goodies, this time there was a variety of gardening supplies, some tools, and flower seeds. Gardening was another hobby that Grace wanted to pursue more, and you wanted to make sure that she had everything she needed to start. Grace looked through all the stuff in the basket, and couldn’t believe you had listened to her ramble about hobbies she wanted to explore. “Thank you so much, you are the best.” She said as she hugged you again.

Once she was done with the Easter hunt, you and the team started training. You were thankful for the staff, who allowed you to plan something special for Grace during a part of the training, to be able to celebrate it with your friends.

You had more planned for the rest of the day, but for the following hours your focus would be on training. But you were going to make sure that Grace had the best birthday, like you tried to give her every single year.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

#grace clinton #grace clinton x reader #grace clinton imagine #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #tottenham hotspur #tottenham women #spurs women #spurs x reader #lionesses x reader #england wnt #engwtnt #engwnt x reader #engwnt imagine #lionesses #england lionesses

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koolades-world · 2 months

Text

Spellbound Secrets

prologue: calm before the storm

synopsis: The House of Lamentation caught fire one night, and you were the only one they recovered from the wreckage. The brothers were in the house as well when you went to bed that night, but they were nowhere to be found. The pact marks are faded, and seem to be getting more and more indefinite by the day. You and Solomon get to investigating but oddly enough, nobody can seem to remember the missing brothers. It’s up to you, with the help of Solomon, to find your beloved demons, lest you never see them again.

navigation: playlist | prologue (you are here!) | chapter one (coming next saturday)

authors note: this was postponed because a roach haha, but! it’s finally here and I’m excited to share the product of my hard work with you all! what do we think of the banner? made it myself! i think it’s nice but I’ll probably hate it in a couple of years haha. please do check out the playlist i made too. more explanation will be made on the post about it :) special thanks to @aaliyahxxvi and @rcbsbb for beta reading each and every chapter for me, as well as being awesome friends <3

While your several years of living in the Devildom came with its challenges, you wouldn't trade it for anything. It was hard to adjust to, and it felt like every day came with a new hurtle for you to overcome. From almost having your soul stolen, to almost failing several classes, to almost dying, you'd seen it all. But, every time, the key word was almost. You always made it out relatively unscathed, to the point where it was a running joke between you and the brothers, some more so than others. (Lucifer didn't find it very funny.)

You really couldn't ask for more. Despite how things seemed early on in your stay, you'd really begun to enjoy everything about the life you hadn't expected, no less asked for. There was so much about living you truly looked forward to now.

Every morning, you knew to expect Mammon either in your room already because he spent the night over, or barging in as soon as he was awake so you could get ready together. More often than not, in the middle of getting ready, Asmo would burst into the room and ask your opinion on what to wear that day. He and Mammon would bicker and if you didn't end the fighting, they'd disperse on their own once they realized you'd walked off. Lucifer wasn't a morning demon, which took you longer to learn that you'd thought, still took the time out of his morning to brew you a cup of coffee.

Every afternoon, you enjoyed a tea with Satan while you read or did some homework together. Sometimes, you didn't say a single word to each other, but just being together was comforting enough. Then, you'd spent a while with Levi, playing whatever game he'd selected for that day. If it was a game you couldn't play together, you'd happily talk about your day while the other played the game. Finally, once it started to get later in the day and the Devildom began to cool down, you accompanied Beel on his second workout of the day. After a long day, you snuggled with Belphie and unwound. As much as he protested about it, he made a great pillow.

You always had a movie night at least once a week which everyone was required to attend; the brothers didn't have it in them to say no. More often than not, the members of Purgatory Hall and the Demon Lord's Castle (if Barbatos permitted it) came over to join you. It was just a fun excuse to get together and enjoy each other's company.

The routine was comforting, to say the least. You'd all grown into it. You felt safe, and content.

That night had started and ended just like any other. It had been Asmo's turn to cook dinner, and as part of a deal the two of you had made together, he'd agreed to make your favorite. In exchange, he made you promise to reserve one evening just for him. Lingering in the kitchen while he cooked was one of your favorite pastimes.

That night, you were almost certain you feel asleep with three demons in your room. Mammon had claimed your right side, as he usually did, which left your other side up for grabs. Satan laid on your left with a book in hand, one you recognized as one you'd gotten together in the human world, and a little reading light. Levi was at the end of the bed, on his Devilswitch. You and Mammon had briefly argued over the remote, but in the end, you selected what you watched even though he had the remote. You chided Satan for having the light on, to which he apologized for and tried his best to keep it out of your eyes. He didn't move though, because he wasn't willing to give up his spot. Levi didn't cause too much of a disturbance, only the occasional exclamations about whatever he was playing.

It wasn't anything out of the ordinary: how things should be. You looked forward to tomorrow. You could already picture what the next day held. You had plans with Satan to head to a new bookstore at the edge of town, and Beel wanted to go on an evening hike and picnic in a nearby park, to which you weren't going to refuse.

If only things were to play out as you imagined.

You weren't sure exactly what time it was when you woke up, but it was blistering, and you couldn't identify a reason why. Your sheets were dangling off the bed, likely the doing of Mammon. You fan was at the highest speed, but it actually only seemed to be making the heat worse. Even stranger was the fact that not a single one of the demons you'd fallen asleep with at your side was present. Not Satan, not Levi, and even not Mammon. In your sleepy stupor, you peeled off the fluffy jacket you were wearing in an attempt to cool off, leaving you in a thinner undershirt. As you plodded around the room, you saw they were nowhere in sight. Their belongings were scattered about, as if they were only going to be gone for a short amount of time and might be back any minute.

Perhaps you might've gone back to bed if you didn't hear the sound of a voice you thought you recognized through the door, accompanied by a muffled roaring. The doorknob burned to the touch, waking you up fully. You wrung out your hand and hissed, cradling it close to your body. It would surely result in a burn later, but for now, that was the least of your concern. The smell of smoke flooded your senses. The was a fire happening in the House of Lamentation, and you were trapped in your room with no way out.

You retreated back to your bed, ripping it apart in search of your D.D.D. Once you found it, you struggled to dial the Devildom equivalent of 911. Thankfully, the call went through and if nobody else had already made a call, they would be on their way.

"666, what is the address of your emergency?" The operator on the other end of the line spoke calmly and clearly.

"The House of Lamentation. The big, haunted creepy house. On Hollow Avenue. I think my house is on fire. I'm trapped in my bedroom." You kept your voice as even as you could so she could understand you.

"The fire department is on their way, sweetie. Are there any other exits?" You could hear the sound of the operator typing.

"No. The only way out is my door, and I burnt my hand on the doorknob. I know you're not supposed to open the door." You weren't sure when you had begun to shake, and struggled to hold the phone up to your ear.

"Alright, put a towel underneath the door to block smoke. Stay low to the ground if you can. What floor are you on?" You could hear the information you were giving to the operator being relayed to others. Doing as she asked, you threw open your closet door and shoved as many towels as you could between the door and the floor.

"First. I'm on the first floor. First floor. I'm not the only one who lives here though. They might be trapped too. I heard someone else before." You thought you heard someone yelling when you'd first approached the door, but you became quickly preoccupied with your own matters. You wished you hadn't.

"Don't panic. Someone is coming to rescue you. I'll stay on the line with you, alright?" She reassured you.

"Thank you." There was a slight pause in your conversation, so you continued to speak. "What's going to happen if they can't get to me in time?" A sort of morbid curiosity crossed your mind. You didn't want to find out, but the thought lingered.

"You're all going to be alright. Talk to me. What's your name?" You didn't know much about the tactics of dispatchers, but maybe she was trying to keep you calm.

"Mc. I'm Mc. I'm one of the human exchange students." You stumbled over your own name. You had no clue what to do besides answer her questions. You felt useless just standing in one spot, but were rooted there.

"How many other people are in the house?" She remained calm, and you took a deep breath, so you could continue to answer her questions. You could feel the panic creeping in and begin envelop you, not unlike the smoke you were trying to block out.

"There should be seven others. A family. I don't know where they are. They were in my room, but they're gone." She probably already knew who the brothers were, and who you were, but you couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth.

"What are you wearing?" She asked you.

"It's really hot in here, miss." You were quickly growing lightheaded, and drenched in sweat.

"I know. I'm sorry. What are you wearing?" She repeated herself.

"Um, a white tank top and some blue checkered pajama pants." Neither article of clothing belonged to you. The pants were Lucifer's and the tank top you'd stolen from Mammon. It was the one thing about the situation that managed to get you to think a little more positively.

"What's the charge on your device, Mc?" Her using your name shocked you a little. It took you a second to realize you'd just given her your name, which is how she knew.

"It's getting low." Because of the brothers staying over in your room, you never had the chance to plug it in before you went to sleep. Mammon had told you he would do it, but it seems you'd both forgotten.

"What percent?" She asked.

"Twenty-nine." You hoped the battery would last long enough.

"Don't hang up. Help will be there shortly." You tried to respond, but it felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of you. You felt as if your legs were going to give way, so you took a seat on the edge of your bed.

"Miss, I don't feel good." Sweat rolled down your forehead and would've gone into your eyes if you didn't swipe it away, which was growing more and more difficult by the second. The heat was agonizing and you almost felt like you were melting.

"Keep talking to me. How old are you?" When you didn't respond, the operator prompted you again. "Mc? Are you still there?"

You tried to continue to speak to her, but you couldn't form the words you wanted to. Nothing came out correctly. She continued to speak to you, but you just wanted to lay down. She grew quieter the more time passed. The room had started spinning at some point. The urge to close your eyes grew stronger and stronger, so you told yourself just a moment wouldn't hurt.

The next thing you remembered was waking up in what had to be a hospital room. You didn't recognize anything in the room, and everything was unusually bright. Whoever had last been in your room had tucked you in carefully in your hospital bed. You could see from your chest down, but your arms were sitting on to of the covers. An IV drip was in your left arm, and from the elbow down, your right arm was wrapped in bandages. The TV in the room was on to your favorite Devildom cooking channel. It was an episode you'd seen before, so you didn't bother to focus on it. Besides the sound of the television you could hear hushed whispering and shuffling from the hallway, and the constant beeping of the machine connected to you.

As you were taking in your surroundings, the door just out of your line of sight opened. You expected it to be one of the brothers, or a nurse maybe, but it was Solomon. It was nice to see a familiar face regardless of who it belonged to.

"Mc! You're awake. I'll call the nurse." With a smile befitting of the gods, he moved to leave the room again.

"Wait, please." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "What happened?" Solomon backtracked and pulled up a chair to sit beside your bed. You stared at him expectantly, as he thought about, presumably, what to say next.

"The House of Lamentation caught on fire, but thankfully, you were alright. You got some burns but the doctor says it could've been much worse. You've been out for about a day now. How much do you remember?" He flexed his fingers.

"Not much, but I think that's a good thing. How are the brothers? I hope they're doing well." You expected Solomon to just answer the question, but instead, he cocked an eyebrow.

"What are you talking about?" At first, you just assumed he was kidding, but this was an odd thing to be joking about.

"You know, the seven brothers? They're the avatars of sin? They should've been in the house. Are they fine or did they get hurt in the fire too?" When he only stared at you blankly, you didn't know how to react. "You're scaring me, Solomon. This isn't funny." You thought back over what you'd said. It all made sense in your head, but something just wasn't clicking for Solomon.

"Who are 'the brothers?'"

#spellbound secrets #prologue #gn reader #obey me!#obey me #obey me solomon #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me belphie #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date #obey me! shall we date?

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imisscherryboy-blog · 1 year

Text

running back 2 u

enemies to lovers — football player! ajax x sports med! gn reader

part 2 part 3

spotify playlist ★

story: you and ajax have known each other since elementary school. those years haven’t been always the best, as you both parted ways due to your differences in personality. that is, until one hot august night, where the stadium lights illuminate the turf, you find yourself running back to him again.

notes: enemies to lovers, modern au, gender neutral reader, childe is referred to as ajax, last name tartaglia, american football, all characters are 18+ as seniors, highschool setting, use of american education system, reader is in a sports medicine class (if you don’t know what that is it’s basically students that help out at school games, usually water girls/boys/people, assist with injuries) i wrote this with the pov of the reader being a POC but if you’re not just disregard when i say white and stuff lmao + part 1/?, title is an nct reference, debating eventual smut, kaveh and alhaitham are gay

side characters featured: kaveh, alhaitham (alhaitham x kaveh)

warnings: swearing, vivid depiction/description of injury

★ part 1 of an ongoing series ★

you hated ajax and ajax hated you. that much was safe to say. ever since that incident in 9th grade, you never talked to him, let alone acknowledged him. before that, you both had known each other since elementary school. everybody loved ajax, his teachers, his peers, and even you. he just had that personality that made everyone love him; but you knew him underneath that persona. you knew his flaws and he knew yours. he’d tell you things he’d never tell anyone, he trusted you. but, all good things come to an end. in the summer going into your first year at highschool, you found yourself never wanting to speak to him again. he ultimately became the person you two would make fun of together in prior years. a typical, white, football player. but damn was he a good running back. he used to be so charming, but now he was just a playboy that had a new girl in his bed every week. you hated him for it, you hated the person he became, but you mostly hated how he’d plague your mind like a disease.

the day of the game finally came. you and kaveh both wore your school’s varsity jackets and jeans. you guys trudged the god foresaken orange gatorade cooler out to the field for the junior varsity and freshman team. the jv game had just finished, and you began setting up for the varsity game.

“y/n, i can tell you’re scared about ajax.”

“wow kaveh, you’re sooo observant.” you said sarcastically as you both were now in the utility room, filling the water bottles for the players.

“listen, you probably won’t even have to talk to him. as much as he likes to talk behind your back, he’s scared of you. you literally know EVERYTHING about him, you could ruin his reputation in milliseconds.” kaveh had a point. you knew his deepest and darkest secrets, but he unfortunately knew yours as well. you screwed the last lid of the water bottle on tighter than usual as you responded.

“thanks kaveh, but promise me you’ll be the one giving him his water, not me.” kaveh laughed as you said this.

“i’d actually be more than happy too! he’s pretty fine anyways…”

“kaveh— please.” you sighed as kaveh only laughed louder. you walked out to the field, the sky a pretty hue of pink as the jv players left and students filed in the bleachers for the real game. you made your way to the bench, right next to the field and placed the water bottle trays down, as cheering filled the stadium, you both looked behind you.

“ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, our undefeated, five-time league winners, the varsity football team!” the announcer said as the cheers only got louder. the varsity boys ran onto the field, ajax leading the team. you rolled your eyes. you’d admit, he looked good in the navy blue and white jersey, adorning the number 11. ajax was the captain and star of the team, his stats practically outdid any other running back in the county. he ranked first for almost every category, he was a good running back, you’d give him that at least. but at that moment, a feeling came over you. you felt jealous. jealous of the new cheerleader girl he was seeing, jealous of his success, you irrevocably hated him.

“god alhaitham looks good.” kaveh said, very much distracted when they began to sing the national anthem.

“you’re shameless, kaveh.”

“well, the national anthem definitely did not include gay people so…”

the game began, and the annoying and repetitive chants from the cheerleaders almost got stuck in your head. they even had a special one for their glorious star boy tartaglia! you could give zero fucks about him and his stupid chant, but you couldn’t help but notice him staring you down as the rival team took a time out. he gulped his water, sweat dripping from his slicked-back hair, before returning back to the field. as promised, it was kaveh’s job to offer him water, not yours. when one team scored, the other followed suit, the game was neck and neck. watching ajax skillfully receive alhaitham’s (the quarterback) throws and run it was something you could watch all day. but you hated him, so you pretended to look busy every time the home team ran a point. it was halftime now, and you and kaveh hung around the bench. they were up by only two points, it was practically anyone’s game, but that’s what makes the epic highs and lows of highschool football, right?

“swear to god, ajax keeps looking at you.” kaveh whispered to you as you refilled the green water bottles. the boys went into the team room as you and kaveh stayed outside. ajax’s fan girls in the stands had finally calmed down. you just looked at him and looked away as you continued to fill up the water. “like, every time he scores a touch down, he’ll do his stupid little celebration and he’ll glance over here—and then i’d look at you, and of course—‘oh, she’s trying to look distracted and pretend to not care again!’.” kaveh rolled his eyes at you, looking at you for an answer. “you still care about him, don’t you?” this time, you didn’t look at him and just stared at the bottle.

“yeah, like i’d give two shits about the school fuck boy. it’s just, i can’t help but remember how he used to be, that’s all.” it was a blatant lie, and kaveh knew. but he decided to stop pressing where it hurts. and just like that, half time was over and the team looked spent, but they still had 30 minutes to clutch. the cheers started up again. another touchdown, and chants of his name were the only things heard in the stadium. you felt surrounded. you just wanted to go home.

finally, the seventh minute began. the scoreboard emitting a soft glow displayed both home and away teams tied. everyone on the bleachers were all sat for these final minutes. including you. you watched intently with kaveh and your sports med teacher on the bench as they hiked the ball.

“alhaitham, number 9 is going for a throw,” the commentator’s voice reverberated through the field. alhaitham spots ajax, right on the 30 yard line, centered on the field. alhaitham takes a couple steps back and throws, the ball spins with accuracy. the crowd and kaveh all cheer.

“a dot! per usual from quarter back alhaitham, how many yards can their star running back score for the team!” ajax grabbed the ball and went for a right hook, swiftly dodging the defenders. he only got faster and faster as the cheers grew louder. he hooked right, and made his way for that touch down line.

“ajax! ajax! ajax!” the crowd chanted as kaveh and your teacher were now standing. you watched him closely, all of a sudden remembering back to when the two of you competed in your middle school’s flag football tournament. he had signed you up without you knowing, and you both somehow cinched first place.

“oh my god—” kaveh’s gasp snapped you out of your thoughts, as you looked onto the field.

the bleachers were silent now. ajax laid on his side, clutching his knee. the ball was long forgotten now.

“it appears number 11 is down.” the commentator remarked. your heart sank to your ass. you knew that knee injuries could fuck up anyone’s career in seconds. especially a running back’s. before you knew it, you were standing, your teacher yelled something to kaveh as he began running toward him to see what happened, you stood frozen. the cries of his fan girls behind you were the only things you could hear, kaveh was trying to tell you something, but you kept looking at ajax’s writhing body and back to kaveh, and back to ajax, and now at the rival team, and back to kaveh.

“y/n! are you listening? this is serious!” kaveh’s voice was almost a yell.

“i-i’m sorry, what do you need me to do?” you blinked a couple times.

“get the ice pack!” he yelled as kaveh made his way to the scene, the rival team went back to their bench as they were in small groups, most likely talking about what happened. you grabbed the ice pack from the cooler and ran over. his eyes were screwed shut as he cursed loudly, your teacher asking where it hurt.

“ah fuck, my knee! motherfu—” ajax bit back his curses with the back of his hand. your teacher radioed for a golf cart, which made you confused because you’d think someone would be calling 911.

“shouldn’t we be calling an ambulance..?” alhaitham asked, kneeling next to kaveh and ajax’s head. kaveh visibly looked flustered.

“y-yeah. we should! as a matter of fact, why don’t i just call them right—” your teacher cut kaveh off as he interjected.

“it’s a torn acl, if we call an ambulance right now, all they’ll do is give him some ice and painkillers which we very much have. we’re not spending 6k for an ice pack. save that money for the surgery.” your teacher remarked.

“the what..?” ajax looked at him with wide eyes as a campus supervisor came with a golf cart, the crowd was at a stand still.

“kaveh, stay here and take over for me. y/n, come with me.” you knew ajax’s injury was nothing life threatening, but you couldn’t help but worry for his future. you nodded your head as you and your teacher got into the front seat of the golf cart, cursing kaveh in your head, wishing it was him to take your place. ajax’s teammates carefully laid him on the golf cart and he cursed at them to be more careful. you rolled your eyes.

“ajax, we’re gonna need you to talk to us, we can’t have you passing out.” your teacher drove the golf cart to the recovery room, making sure to drive slowly over any bumps.

“you want me to talk? well, a torn acl is gonna ruin my goddamn career—fuck!” the golf cart jerked forward a little, making him curse.

“it’s probably not completely torn, ajax. you’ll recover in no time.” your teacher said.

“you’ll probably be out for the season.” you added, you couldn’t help but add a little salt in the wound.

“you’ll be out for the fucking year if you don’t shut the fuck up.” ajax snapped back at you.

“you need some ice dipshit?” you turned around with the ice pack and tossed it onto his knee, making him yell out in pain.

“what the FUCK is wrong with you—” he yelped in pain again, you just rolled your eyes.

“y/n! cut it out! you too, ajax. we’re here.” the teacher took the key out of the golf cart and looked at you. “i need to call his parents and file a report for the insurance, i’m trusting you to patch any cuts and tape his knee for the time being. keep the ice on it—and please don’t assault him.” your teacher was already on their way as they headed towards the office. you didn’t even get a minute to protest.

“no fucking way they just left me with this loser.” ajax scoffed from the back seat of the golf cart.

“at least my knee still works.” you grabbed the key and unlocked the recovery room, it had a couple of medical beds and cabinets filled with all kinds of medical equipment. you turned the lights on as you heard ajax outside yell.

“now you’re just leaving me? jesus, i couldn’t have asked for someone better to help me.” you ignored him as that was not what you were doing. you went to the smaller room in the back to get a wheelchair to get him onto one of the beds. you walked back outside, ajax’s face turned from one of pain to an angered look the minute you stepped outside. you wheeled the wheel chair to him.

“get on.” you said with little to no remorse.

“yeah let me just fly onto the fucking wheel chair why not. can you help me?” ajax yelled as he tried to sit up straight on the back seat. you scoffed and somehow got him onto the wheel chair. you both were silent, but you knew when ajax went quiet, he was overthinking. you knew he was thinking about what he’d do with his injury. you decided to give him something else to think about.

“it’s not that bad ajax. you survived skateboarding into a brick wall, i’m sure you’ll be fine.” you brought up an old memory the both of you shared.

“everyone saw. even the fucking scouters—i’m done for.” your words seemed to fly past his head. almost like he forgot about you and his’ history. you helped him onto the medical bed and made him sit straight so you could tape his knee. you went into the back room to get more ice. from the main room, you heard him start talking again.

“when i ran into that brick wall, you were the only one there. i didn’t have scouters that could get me d1 scholarships.” he remarked. he did remember at least. you came back with a roll of medical tape and some ice.

“you need to roll you pants up past your knee.” you went for the straight forward route as anything else would’ve gotten too awkward.

“yeah no fucking way that’s happening, cut it off for all i care.” you figured getting the leg of the pants over his injury wouldn’t be the most best of things, so you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his pants just above his thigh. he hissed in pain even though you didn’t even touch it. he was always this dramatic, you thought to yourself. you unrolled the pieces of tape and got to work. if ajax was good at football, you were the best at sports medicine. you knew how to wrap an ankle like second nature—a big part of the reason why your teacher asked you to assist, not kaveh. he went quiet again, and you’d much rather have him yelling at you than overthinking the situation after all this.

“how’s teucer?” you asked as he hissed whenever you’d place a piece of tape on his knee.

“w-why do you care? can you be any more gentle?” you looked up at him and kept working. you weren’t any gentler, you just worked slower to make it look like you were. he fell for it easily.

“he’s fine. he just graduated elementary—ow, school.” he responded after a minute passed.

“that’s good.” you said in quieter-than-usual tone. you couldn’t deny it was still awkward between you two. you hadn’t had a conversation like this in practically years, and you never thought you would have to. “so what exactly happened out there? you trip or something?” you knew he didn’t trip. you also knew that ajax had a tendency to overestimate himself, overall causing him more harm than good.

“the turf must’ve been off.” he said looking away. ajax was well aware he let himself get cocky. it was the final minutes of the game and he wanted to end it off strong. in doing so, he got himself a torn acl. good going ajax.

“mhm..”

“what? don’t believe me?” before you could answer the question, your teacher walked in. the first thing ajax asked was if they won the game or not. his “half touchdown” didn’t count, leaving them still tied.

“we won. but it was still a close call.”

ajax looked like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. he was already upset with his injury, and a loss especially with their title as undefeated would be 10x worse. you tried to look normal, but in truth, you were a little happy for the team. after all, you had some sense of school pride.

“your mom is outside. i’ve talked to her already and explained the injury in length. please focus on resting, then let’s talk about your next games.” with that, your teacher left you both alone again.

“can you walk?” you asked.

“i’ll try.” he said wincing as he got up. you went to his side and put his arm around you. it was silent. you helped him to the parking lot, occasional swears were heard from him. you said his mom waiting outside of the car.

“oh sweetie!” ajax’s mom held him tightly.

“hi mom, i’m fine.” his words were muffled into her shoulder.

“oh goodness, let’s get you in the car!” she helped him into the passanger seat. they spoke to each other in russian, it sounded like he was getting scolded. it was none of your business anyway. after doing so, she came back out.

“y/n? i remember you!” she said, giving you a hug.

“hi mrs tartaglia.” ajax’s mom had a soft spot for you. she’d always pack you extra food, and would never fail to treat you like one of her own, it made you happy. due to the circumstances, you hadn’t seen her in what felt like years.

“how’ve you been? we’ve missed you!” her hand stayed on your shoulder, her voice was genuine. but who exactly did she mean by “we”?

“i’ve been alright, thanks for asking.”

“ajax still talks about you, you should come over some time! teucer and tonia miss you!”

huh?

did you hear that right?

maybe it she didn’t actually mean it like that, why would ajax still be talking about you?

ajax rolled down the window and stuck his head out.

“mom i’m hurting let’s go.” he half shouted.

“alright, alright. i’ll see you soon hopefully, y/n! thank you for looking after ajax!” she said with a warm smile as she got back in the car before you could say a word. you simply waved and smiled back at her. you glanced over for a second, seeing ajax on his phone. you didn’t understand. did ajax really stil talk about you? you’d have a lot to tell kaveh..

the two of them left the parking lot in their black tahoe suv. you just stood and watched. you cursed to yourself. you couldn’t understand why ajax’s words pulled at your heartstrings a little. you were confused. and things would only get more confusing from there.

-> part 2

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sweetandgentlecreature · 1 year

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First Light

Author’s Note: Hey, y’all! Me again! In this installation of Somethin’ Sweet, we’re back to Sy’s point of view. Grab some tissues and join me in my sad girl era. As always, thanks for stopping by!

Summary: Sy’s up early prepping for deployment and can’t help but relive the events from the night before.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Female OC

Warnings: sexual content; nipple play, p-in-v intercourse, descriptions of male and female anatomy, explicit language, and adult themes. I am an adult, and due to the nature of this content, all works created by me will be rated for those 18 years and older. Minors, DNI.

Playlist

It never rains in Texas, but it did on the morning of Sy’s inevitable departure. Heavy clouds hung low in the sky as an early morning fog rolled in through the treeline. Bright, angry streaks of lightning raced across the sky and casted shadows through the room. A loud crash of thunder shook the old tin roof and startled him awake. In his moment of panic, Sy sat up straight and knocked the headboard into the wall behind the bed with a loud crack. It took him a second to recognize his surroundings in the dark, but once he did, he breathed a sigh of relief. A quick glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand beside him made his shoulders drop. 4:45am. Sy reached out and turned it off, as not to disturb his lover tucked so sweetly beneath the quilt beside him. That girl could sleep through a hurricane. A little fall of rain wouldn’t bother her much. Leaving over, he kissed the top of her head and lingered there, but only for a moment. Long enough to memorize the way she smelled. Honeysuckle and vanilla. Fuck, he’ll miss her.

Sy moved to plant his feet on the floor and ran a hand down his tired face. The last two weeks have been…a little less than ideal. It was his fault, really. He’d gotten the orders to ship out almost a month ago, but waited a while to tell her about them. He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Things were just getting good here. Things were still so fun and new, but as always, Uncle Sam had other plans for him.

The first person he told was his mama. When he did, she barely flinched. Sy made the third generation of Syverson men who’d stormed courageously into war. His daddy served in Vietnam, his papaw in World War II. When duty called, they answered. It wasn’t easy, watching him walk out the door, never knowing if he’ll make it home again, but she’d made peace with it by now. “What good does it do fer me ta’ worry? Either you’ll come back, or ya wont. It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”

Sy trod lightly off to the bathroom to start the shower. The room filled with steam, just enough to fog the mirror as stood beneath the steady stream and let it run over his head. Staring down at his feet, he let the water consume him. Heavy drops clung to his lashes, but he didn’t bother to blink them away. His mind was somewhere else. With someone else.

Sy had always been a steak-and-potatoes kinda guy, but he’d barely touched his plate. Every bite felt too heavy in his stomach, like he’d traded out his ribeye for a hunk of lead instead. She’d spent so much time cooking for him, springing for only the best of meat and the freshest produce the grocery store had to offer. The least he could do was clear his plate. Lord knew when he’d get another meal like this again.

Once he’d managed to choke it down, he stood and started grabbing dishes to take to the sink, but she stopped him quickly. She’d barely said a word all night, and her interjection almost startled him. “No, baby,” she whispered, taking the plate from his hands. “Let me get those.”

Merrin kept her back to him as she filled the kitchen sink with hot, soapy water. Steam fogged the window above as she drifted off in thought. She was a million miles away from here, swimming in regret and longing for just a little more time. There was so much to do, so much to say, but the words never came out right. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until the tears began to blur her vision. Closing her eyes, she gave in and let them spill down her face. She’d fought so hard to keep her distance. To brace herself for the inevitable. In the end, she’d fallen hard. Harder than she’d ever expected to; head over heels and still tumbling. She braced herself against the sink and let her head hang low, covering her mouth to muffle the sobs that bubbled up from her trembling chest.

When a hand reached out to touch her shoulder, she gasped. Looking up again, Merrin stared into the reflection of his eyes in the pane of glass before them. Calloused fingertips brushed her hair to the side, then traced along the side of her delicate throat. His voice was low and deep, a rumbling baritone pressed against her back as he broke the silence.

“I’m not gone yet. Gimme one more night. Just one more night, alone with you.”

Merrin sniffled softly, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nodded. From there, Sy wasted no time. Most of the dishes made it into the sink, but a broken glass was the last thing on his mind when he placed her onto the countertop. Shoving his way between her open knees, his lips were hot and harsh as they crashed into hers. If she didn’t know any better, she might think he was angry with her. In truth, Sy was angry; angry at their situation, angry at the world, but not at her. Never at her.

He grabbed her up, one hand on the back of the neck and the other wrapped around her thigh, squeezing with a force hard enough to leave a bruise. The pain turned into pleasure, the aggression turned to lust, and Merrin returned the favor with shared fervor. She wasn’t scared of him. On the contrary, she relished in his smothering presence, digging perfectly manicured nails into the meat of his shoulder as she drew him in just as close. Her mouth worked with his in a haphazard clash of teeth and tongue. Even in the mess, there was still beauty to be found. She was soft and sweet where he was rough and hungry. A yin to a yang, souls intertwined as one.

His shirt hit the floor first, and her sundress followed soon after. Merrin grabbed him by the belt and yanked until his hips pressed sharply into her own. They worked together to loosen the buckle and pop the button beneath it, ripping it from the loops and tossing it away to clatter to the floor. Rough hands came up to cup her breasts, bare and warm, a perfect fit for each palm. He squeezed gently and smirked against her neck, relishing in her pleads for more.

“Clay,” she whispered, clinging to him as he dropped his head to nuzzle against one hardened nipple, then the other. Always one to please, he licked his lips and welcomed one into his mouth. He took his time, gazing up through thick lashes as he moved from one breast to the other. She looked like an angel, basking in the glow of the sunset that poured in around her. But Merrin was no saint, far from it, and couldn’t stand his temptation for long. She let a hand fall between them to meet the bulge in his jeans and palmed it gently. She could almost feel the ache beneath the distressed denim; a steady, throbbing need that seeked relief that only she could provide. The words came before she could stop them. “Fuck me, Clay.”

Sy mumbled a gruff “Yes ma’am” into the flesh of her breasts and tugged himself free from his boxers. Never one to keep his lady waiting, he hooked a finger into the gusset of her panties and pulled them to the side. The sight of her wet heat made his mouth water. Any other time, he’d drop to his knees right then and there to have his fill, but it wasn’t what they needed the most right now. Right now, he needed to be inside of her, just as much as she needed to feel him there. He held the base of his erection and traced the swollen head through her folds, mouth agape and almost drooling as his eyes rolled to the back of his head in ecstasy.

“Fuck, honey. So wet for me.”

She gasped when the tip of his cock caught at her slick opening. The delicious burn from the stretch she felt as he pushed forward inside of her stole the breath from her lungs. They both watched as he crossed the threshold and buried himself deep inside of her. Breathy moans and whimpers of lust echoed through the room, and Sy took a moment to let her catch her breath again.

“Fuck, baby…”

She met his gaze once more, eyes wide and full of fire as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. Sy tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, choosing to indulge her for a while, until he just couldn’t take it anymore. His retreat was nice and slow, but he didn’t pull out all of the way. Tugging her head back roughly, he buried his face in the crook of her neck and relished in the way she tensed around him. Nipping at her throat, he growled against her pulse and smirked. “So tight, honey. I’m not gonna last long.”

She answered with the rake of her nails down his back, leaving tender, pink lines in their wake, then dug them into the flesh of his bare ass. Shoving herself back onto his cock, she groaned loudly.

“Don’t tease me, Clay. I need you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a harsh thrust of his hips, he bottomed out completely. Sy held her down by the waist as he took what he wanted from her. In and out, over and over, he pounded into her with a fervor she’d never seen before. Their lust was wild and sinful as he stood there at the counter and fucked her into a mindless mess. A familiar tightness built somewhere deep in her gut, and before she could warn him, she was coming undone. Her eyes filled with tears, filled with so much emotion, then spilled down her cheeks in hot, furious streams.

It didn’t stop there. He had her again on the couch, and again against the front door, then once more upstairs in their room. The bed creaked under their shifting weight. Sweat poured from his face as he held one of her legs over his shoulder. Merrin clung to the sheets beneath her as he approached another climax. Just when she thought she couldn’t handle any more, he proved her wrong.

“Come on, sugar,” he begged, wiped his brow with the back of his hand and picked up the pace. “Gimme one more. Just one more.”

He’d been saying that for hours, but this time, he was telling the truth. His muscles ached and cramped, his body pleaded with him to give it up, but he was determined to make this a night to remember. He’d be gone for God knows how long; he wanted to make sure she’d had her fill before he left. Sy kept his promise and within seconds, he crashed over the edge of climax right along with her. Chests heaving and voices hoarse, they rode out their highs together and collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs. Sy stared up at the ceiling as he fought to regain composure and felt her curl up against his side. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Merrin held up a hand up and they smacked palms, victorious in their conquest. All qualms were forgotten, at least for a little while.

“High five.”

“Good sex.”

Standing at the sink, a towel wrapped around his waist, Sy stared at himself in the mirror. He scratched at his chin and turned his head from side to side, then flipped the switch on the side of the clippers. The first pass up the underside of his chin took off most of the length. He dusted a tuft of fuzz from the guards and let it fall into the basin before him. Sy made quick work of taking it all off, then grabbed the shaving cream to smooth over the stubble left behind. He moved with a surgeon's precision, each drag of the razor taking away the foam and leaving baby-smooth skin behind. Once he was finished, he bent down and filled his hands with warm water to wash his face. Just as he reached for the aftershave in the medicine cabinet, two delicate arms wrapped around his middle and squeezed gently. He brought one of them up and pressed her knuckles to his lips, kissing them as he spoke.

“What’re you doin’ up?”

Merrin yawned against his back and nuzzled her face there. Her eyes were heavy with the sleep that she just couldn’t shake. He reached back to run his fingers through her hair, twirling and twisting strands of amber around calloused fingertips as they stood in a shared silence. She raked her nails through the hair on his chest and dug them into hardened flesh, putting up a weak fight to keep him there for just a little while longer. “Couldn’t sleep,” was all she said as another roll of thunder echoed somewhere off in the distance. Sy glanced back at her from over his shoulder and found her staring up at him. She traced his cheekbone and down to the line of his jaw, mesmerized by the clean-shaven stranger who stood before her now.

“Most men grow a beard to hide their faces. You, though…” she pressed her thumb into the dimple on his chin. “You’ve got nothing to hide.”

She left him there with a gentle pat to the chest, then turned to head back into the bedroom. He watched her as she went, wearing nothing but the cheeky little splash of ink that was tatted across the dimples on her lower back and the panties that rested beneath them. A drunken mistake from Spring Breaks of old, left to peak from beneath low-rise jeans as a reminder of wilder days. Sy chuckled to himself and shook his head. He could hardly handle her now; if they’d met back then, he could only imagine the trouble she’d get him into. She’d have eaten him alive.

To his dismay, traffic was fairly light on their way to the airport. The skies above were a dusty shade of blue, vast and empty as the rising sun chased away the rain. Fields of wheat and grain blurred past on either side as they left their sleepy little town in the rear view. Sy drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting in her lap. Every now and then he’d hold her thigh, knead and squeeze, then cut his eyes from the road and over to her in silent reassurance. Every radio station from here to Houston seemed to play nothing but love songs, and each one salted the wound just a little bit more. Merrin tried to surf from station to station, genre to genre, but eventually gave up, so they rode in silence instead.

Sy didn’t mind the quiet. It felt more honest than anything he could say now. “It’ll be alright, honey.” “We’ll write every day.” “I’ll be home before you know it.” He couldn’t guarantee anything, and they both knew that.

Once they’d made it past security, Sy found a bench to sit on and dropped his bag at his feet. When he looked over to her, she was staring off somewhere in the distance, a million miles away again. To her, this felt like punishment. Like the universe had nothing better to do than shit on the best relationship she’d ever had. Karma had finally caught up to her, and this was how she was meant to pay for her transgressions.

“This isn’t fair.”

Clayton sighed and took her hand into his. “I’m sorry, darlin’. Life isn’t–” She cut him off.

“Don’t you dare tell me that life isn’t fair. I know life isn’t fair. This is…” Merrin shook her head. “This is cruel.”

He tried to smile, to crack a joke, to lighten the mood, but one look at her shut it all down. She was right. He’d been on the verge of hanging it up, of finally giving in and taking that cushy desk job at base to be closer to his mama, but his pride had gotten in the way. He knew he had at least one more deployment in him. One more, and he’d give it up for good. He just wasn’t expecting it to be so soon.

Everything had changed, now that he had Merrin. She was everything that he wasn’t. Gentle, but not easy to mislead; Stubborn, but only when necessary; Kind-hearted to those in need; and so fucking sweet. Now, he fought for her. If this it took to keep her safe, he’d do it in a heartbeat. Now, he had someone worth fighting for.

Wrapping her up tightly, Sy held her to his chest and buried his face in her hair. He pressed a fierce kiss to the top of her head and let his eyes close for a moment. They held each other just like that until his flight was called. Then they walked the Green Mile all the way down to the gate, where he pulled her aside and took her hands into both of his. His eyes searched hers desperately in a last ditch effort to commit them to memory. Shades of blue and green, specks of gold around the iris, as wild as the tide and as vast as the sea. When he kissed her, it was deep and lascivious. He didn’t care who saw. Fuck ‘em. Let them look. Sy broke his kiss and pressed his forehead to hers, dug the end of his crooked nose into her cheek and breathed her in for as long as he could.

“I love you, Merrin Paige. More than you’ll ever know.”

His words stole the breath from her chest. Three little words she never expected to hear him say. Three little words that paralyzed her, right where she stood. He kissed her cheek one last time, grabbed his bags, and headed off to catch his flight. Merrin watched from the window as the plane taxied at the end of the runway. A light drizzle began to sputter outside, just enough to blur her vision as the plane disappeared high into the clouds. Just like that, he was gone.

It never rains in Texas, but it did on the morning of Sy’s inevitable departure. It never rains in Texas, and today, Merrin hated the rain.

Far from home, Sy checked his watch as he waited for the line to ring. Static crackled in his ear as he cradled the phone between his head and his shoulder. 2pm in Baqubah; 10pm in Houston. If he was right, she’d still be up. Probably curled up in bed with a book, one of those dirty little romances she liked so much. Leaning back in his chair, he stretched and moaned. If Texas was hot, then this was hell.

Then, a click. The old desk chair groaned when he sat up straight. He listened for a moment, waiting for someone to answer, then checked the signal to make sure that the call had gone through. Fuck. Don’t let it be the answering machine.

“Sy?” a sweet voice chirped over the static. He sighed, relieved, and smiled widely at the sound of his name.

“Yeah, baby,” he breathed. “It's me. How’s it–”

She cut him off. What she had to say couldn’t wait.

“I love you too.”

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 2 months

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tuesday again 7/16/2024

how your backyard hurricane go, the houston area? pretty good it doesn't seem

to be clear other than losing everything in my fridge and developing some mold around the windowframes IM personally fine and so are the girls and so is the lair. we lost power sunday afternoon and got it back friday morning (upside down smiley emoji x16)

listening

THREE CANONICALLY BISEXUAL CLUB BANGERS!!! also, trying out a new thing with spotify and youtube videos for songs bc my readership is about 70/30 and i want to streamline the process of actually listening to new music for ppl. it must be really annoying this week but that's bc there's three songs. sorry. it will rarely be this long

anyway.

ANXIETY by Lilyisthatyou is new to me, off the spotify autogenerated dance playlist. a chiller groove in the spelling-things-out genre of dance music. VERY flashy-lights music vid fyi

Why do I feel so alone? Does it show That I'm dancing to fill the void with pretty girls and pretty boys?

youtube

i know about kesha's joyride bc i happen to be an alive queer woman. im SO happy kesha is also alive and making music more regularly. this one is canonically bisexual bc kesha is bisexual. also a really flashy-lights lyric video. the most classically recession-pop/early KESHA sound of all three tuesdaysongs this week. im always fascinated when an accordion shows up.

Rev my engine ’til you make it purr Keep it kinky, but I come first Beep-beep, bitch, I'm outside Get in, loser, for the joyride

youtube

thank u new releases spotify playlist. also canonically bisexual bc the singer is, also an early KESHA feel but she is a metal artist first and foremost. very fun to headbang to at a stop light. i don't totally Love how it's an emasculating song but given how dudes in the metal scene generally are? i think she should make it more emasculating actually

Take you down a peg (And peg and peg and peg) If you're a macho man then beg (And beg and beg and beg) Bend you over the bed (The bed the bed the bed) It's time to take you down a peg (And peg and peg and peg)

youtube

reading

fun fact i still haven't seen this movie. i got this from the library the day before the hurricane proper and it gave me a really lovely two hours of not thinking about the active hurricane the day after. enormous format photographs! full-length shots of every look! ithe little personal notes from each designer were so fun to read, and i think this genuinely healed my heart a little. everyone was so excited to go into detail about what choices they made and what inspired them, and even though i would have loved more specific construction details, specific fiber types, and full-length shots of the Back of every look, i recognize i am a freak.

watching

watched a truly bonkers assortment of films at my bestie's house this week. her husband is big into godzilla and i sat down not really paying attention or planning to pay attention to Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire (2024, dir. Wingard) but found myself actually paying attention. i unfortunately was a character i hate, Person Who Stops The Movie Halfway Through To Demand A Recap. loved these guys, whatever the fuck they were

the most fun thing about this movie is that it is not a silent film but it acts like one. there are long, long stretches of movie without dialogue bc all the political action is happening between a bunch of giant monkeys. this is going to sound like im damning it with faint praise but they really thought carefully about directorial and artistic choices here! there was a vision and they executed it! it's fun to look at and not just because there's a big monkey in most of the shots!

playing

got a look at characters for the new fire-themed land coming up this fall. ppl are understandably big mad that the land is based on Ring of Fire cultures and everyone is paper-white. i think it is correct to be mad and ask them to do better, and they have tweaked designs before release before, however, i don't think this will bring about a sea change in gacha games.

i am rolling along clearing out map markers and achievement hunting and my GOD are there a lot of time-gated achievements in inazuma (electricity-themed legally-not-japan). so so so many of them i originally got halfway through or did 1/5 and then wandered off bc i didn't realize there was a quest or achievement locked behind doing something for three or five days in a row. i now have a post-it on the corner of my monitor with nine different things i have to keep checking in on this week. please someone give me a REAL JOB!!!!!!

making

cross stitch progress. this was the only thing i did last week aside from shake like a chihuahua and sleep. very slow going! may have to ship the package off to my brother with an IOU bc it is already stressfully late.

made the bean influencer soup (creamy miso coconut butter beans). i made a batch before the hurricane last week so most of my notes are from then. the grocery did not have canned butter beans so i made the same thing (big lima beans) from dry. i have not made beans from dry since i was very small. these beans were so large, so pale, so aggressive.

changes: i was able to find a little carton of straight coconut cream at the grocery but they were out of miso paste. i did have miso soup mix and plopped that in. i also used frozen spinch bc it’s cheaper and i felt better about it than the somewhat questionable fresh spinch on offer. also used two onions instead of one and a hearty dollop of minced jarred garlic bc who do u think i even fucking am. i would have loved to use fresh dill, bc i did plant some and it was growing very well, but the caterpillars were very intense and ate almost everything on my balcony.

going in the rotation! im making it AGAIN as im typing up this post! pretty cheap, very tasty, i don't regularly keep butter beans or coconut cream in my pantry but that can change!

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Youtube #Spotify

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tellmegoodbye · 2 months

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Hello, I hope August is treating you all well so far.

For the next couple of weeks, we're going to have a special edition of music monday. In coordination with @lonestar-s5countdown we are going to be doing themed music mondays every week of the event!

This week's themes are Found Family and Paul & Marjan. If you don't have any songs for these themes, you can still participate in the tag as normal. I will still be adding to the playlists as usual.

Make sure to check out the countdown blog and all of the other fun activities they have going on! And thank you @lemonlyman-dotcom for reaching out to me about setting this up!

Flares - The Script

But did you see the flares in the sky? Were you blinded by the light? Did you feel the smoke in your eyes? Did you, did you? Did you see the sparks filled with hope? You are not alone 'Cause someone's out there, sending out flares Someone's out there, sending out flares

This is the ultimate found family song to me! It makes me think about where everyone on the 126 was before the pilot, and how they didn't know that they were all about to meet these amazing people who would become family.

Anthem - Yonaka

They say we won't get far, but who the hell are they to judge? When they don't know a thing about where we've come from No, they don't know about us

And when they think there's nothin' left They'll try to put you in a box to fit in with the rest But what they don't know is that we answer to no one 'Cause we're an army now and you can't take us down We're the new gang in town

Well, I heard it on the radio That we could be somebody now And we could rule the world And I seen it in the videos People just like you and me Are takin' back control

This song makes me thing about how these characters all have their own unique life stories and backgrounds, and how they proudly embrace it all. The 126 + Grace & Carlos showed up, said "this is who we are, and we're not going anywhere" and I think that's beautiful.

Also, the lyrics in the chorus specifically made me think of how Marjan probably inspires so many young people by having such a huge public following.

Raise Your Horns - Halestorm

Burn every fear, every doubt like a funeral fire Scream every anthem and follow your reckless desires Take back the crown that hangs at the gate Ready your march, steady your aim For the heart is a soldier that never loses its way

Forgive every fear that convinced you to put out your light Show every flaw, every scar that this world made you hide From who you are

Raise your horns, raise 'em high Let 'em soar, let 'em fly

So this song echoes a lot of the same sentiment Anthem does, but this one also specifically makes me think about each individual healing journey each character has had, and how they all learned to love themselves a little more along the way with each other's support.

Tags!

@strandnreyes @heartstringsduet @bonheur-cafe @herefortarlos @lemonlyman-dotcom

@goodways @paperstorm @guardian-angle22 @reeeallygood @butchreyes

@ironheartwriter @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @firstprince-history-huh @goldenskykaysani

@theghostofashton @alrightbuckaroo @nancys-braids @captain-gillian @reyesstrand

@freneticfloetry @carlos-tk @literateowl @eclectic-sassycoweyes @toomanycupsoftea

+ open tag

#har rambles #music monday #music tag #911 lone star #911ls music mondays #911ls season 5 countdown #s5cdmm

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icycoldninja · 3 months

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Heyo! Thought I'd send In a silly one for the dmc men

Basically just having a reader who loves doing vocaloid dances (maybe k pop dances too but I feel like vocaloid is a different type of intensity)

And snice this is dmc it'd be fun if they're a hunter who mixes the dance moves into their fighting style

Gn reader is cool but it'd be neat if it was a masc reader snice you tend to get a lot of fem requests, you know, variety (and maybe plays on the dances being seen as primarily girly)

Love your stuff! Have fun!

Thanks! Hope you enioy!

Sparda boys + V x Vocaloid-loving!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-So, you like changing your voice with software and/or listening to bouncy, upbeat songs made with said software? Great, so does he.

-It's a little known secret that Dante likes upbeat music with unnatural singing in addition to metal.

-He'll give you recommendations and will gladly accept any suggestions should you have some.

-He managed to get his hands on some vocaloid software with his boomer brain and spent a whole day making auto tuned noise with you.

-Thinks the dances you do are pretty cool, even if they're more "girl coded" than anything else.

-Guess what? He's started doing them too, and believe it or not, he might actually be doing them better than you.

■ Vergil ■

-Being the extremely motivated person that he is, Vergil scoffed at vocaloid and its somewhat annoying, perky beats.

-He first thought of the music as screechy, fake, and irritating, undeserving of his attention.

-Or so he said, for you see, after about a week of you forcing the bubbly, upbeat stuff into his ears, he started to enjoy it.

-Though he'd sooner die than let anyone else know this, he's added a great deal of vocaloid songs to his playlist, alongside Bury The Light, of course.

-He doesn't like watching you do your goofy dances because they're cringe, and they activate his innate desire to destroy all cringiness, which he must now suppress because he doesn't want to hurt you.

-Tried doing one of your dances in private and didn't like how it felt, or how it looked, so he stopped and vowed never to do it again.

□ Nero □

-Nero thought vocaloid was alright. It wasn't his favorite style of music, but it wasn't his least favorite either.

-Nero prefers edgier, borderline emo songs as opposed to this high-pitched squealing, so you'll have to understand.

-Another reason why he might not be so fond of the stuff is because he can't understand most of what the singers are saying, thanks to the language barrier, which, for some reason, bothers him.

-Won't stop you from enjoying it, though; to each their own.

-Thinks the dances you do are so ridiculous and exaggerated, so he teases you (lightheartedly, of course) about them nearly every chance he gets.

-Won't let anyone else do that, though. Nero and Nero alone is allowed to make fun of your dancing, not a single other soul.

● V ●

-V has little to no musical knowledge aside from Classical, so he was very interested in this all-new concept that he was discovering.

-Like a teenager falling into their first nightcore phase, (believe me, I've been there) V became obsessed with vocaloid.

-He listens to every song and playlist of songs he can find, getting really excited whenever you recommend something to him.

-You two gush about your favorite songs, singers, etc. nearly all the time.

-Thinks the dances you do are pretty cute (V is the definition of a simp) and wants to learn how to do them too.

-If you decide to teach him, you'll discover V would make a far better kpop idol than an old-timey poetry nerd.

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baby-alien11 · 1 year

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Late Prom Night (Y/N Ulrich Universe)

This is long, so grab something to eat and drink and make yourselves comfortables

taglist: @volturi-girl-imagines @dessxoxsworld @aonungsgirlfriend @ethanlandryluver @wenvierismycomfort @aliciacat20 @gabbylovesreading @nikfigueiredo

Thanks to the fact that Jack just finished filming his new movie last week he was back in town, which meant make up for the time they were separated (except for the birthday weekend and the TS concert)

The gym dates every morning were also back, so after Jack picked you from your house in his car, both of you entered the gym greeting Josh, Hayley and baby Rogue to start streaching for the workout of the day

"Y/N, thirty minutes in the treadmill", Hayley instructed next to you, "The first ten minutes at velocity three, the next ten at five, and the last ten at seven, understood?"

"Absolutely", you nodded

Placing your phone, water bottle and towel in the small table next to you, you configured the treadmill to start with your workout, at the same time that yours and Jacks workout playlist started to sound throught the speakers

While you were focused on the first part of your routine, you couldn't ignore how your phone started to sound with a lot of notifications of messagges, which you asumed they were from the groupchat with Jakob and Naiia

After finishing with the treadmill, you took a big sip of water and grabed your phone to see a lot of messages from your old high school group

'This is weird', you though while frowned, the group was dead since the graduation

Openning the group chat, you were quick to notice a lot of excited text along with gifs, stickers and memes making you smile in fun, until you saw a flyer

"You've got to be kidding me", you murmured

"Are you okay?", Jack asked aproaching you

"Remember how I didn't had a prom because of covid and ended up graduating via zoom?", you asked at which Jack nodded in response, "Well, the school is making a dance for us in two weeks"

"I would say that sounds cool, but based on what you told me about your high school experience I don't know exactly what to say"

Smiling with sweetness bacause of what he said, you were quick to tangle your fingers in his hair, which caused Jack to put his head in your shoulder

"So, what are you going to do?", Jack questioned

"I don't know, I mean I hope the two years of quarantine helped some people to be better", you rambled, "But I still friends have from there who I rarely talk lately and it will be nice to see them in person again"

"In that case, what's the veredict?"

"We are going to that dance"

"Yes!", Jack exclaimed rasing his hand for a high five which you did, "Is there a theme?"

"Hollywood Extravaganza", you responded looking at the flyer, "Babe, this is our theme"

"We are going to be the best dressed", Jack nodded

"Guys, we are happy that you're having a prom night", Josh interrupted, "But we still have to finish the training"

Laughing a little, you and Jack shared a small kiss before continuing with your routines

When Jack said to be the best dressed, you didn't expected to see two designers from the Armani team in your doorway, and even more surprised when they started to fill the dinner table with books with designs and fabric samples

"Dad, what the hell is happening?", you murmured next to him, both with cups full of coffee

"First, don't say bad words in my presence", Skeet said in the same low tone making you smile in fun, "Second, I don't know"

"Y/N", one of them called interrupting the little conversation, "We are ready to start"

Sharing a glance with your dad you aproach the table to sit in front of them, while Skeet went to his office

"We can see the confussion in your eyes, so here it goes the explanation", the other one spoke, "First, we loved to work with you and Jack for the looks for the LA premier of Avatar, and his stylist called us a few days ago about asking for some options of suits for a prom dance, and we instantly asked for you, about what you were going to wear"

"That explains why the other day Jack called me for a second asking me that", you joked making them laugh

"After he told us that you didn't even started to look for outfits, we decided to pay you a surprise visit", the first one continued, "Armani is going to dress you both, so, is there a theme?"

"Hollywood Extravaganza", you nodded

"This is perfect", one of them commented, "You are a legacy child and VFX artist in the making and Jack is a rising star"

Starting with the meeting, they show you some haute couture and ready to wear which none of them catched your attention even if they were beautiful, so the next option was to do something custom made

During the next hour, the three of you spend the time making different designs acording to the theme and looking at the fabric samples, until one of them was the chosen one

"You are going to shine with this dress", one of the designers commented making you smile, "Before we start taking your measurements, we need to disscus the shoes for the lenght of the dress, do you have any that can go with the dress, if isn't the case we can also provide them?"

"I have a pair of black Aevitas that Camila Mendes and Lili Reinhart gave me this Christmas", you answered, "The ones with the 15.5 cm heels"

"They perfect, those are kinda like universal shoes, they go with everything", the other designer said, "Can you bring them so that way we can start with the measurements?"

Nodding, you were quick to go to your room and take the shoes and return to the living room to continue with the dress making process

When the day of the dance arrived, your living room was full since early in the morning with your dads stylist who were also yours arrived to get you ready for the night, starting with some facials to get your skin ready and get your nails done during noon

At lunch time, Jakob and Naiia arrived with food for everyone before starting with the hair and make up

"Look at you, getting all glamed for your prom dance", Naiia joked sitting next to you while the team started with their work, "By the way, the dress is beautiful"

"Thank you", you smiled in response

"So, how do you feel going this late to your prom?", Jakob asked eating french fries

"It's only like year and a half later but a little nervous", you answered with sincerity, "I don't know, I haven't seen any of them in person since the pandemic started"

"And now you are returning in your way to be succesful, and with a boyfriend that we all love, and both dressed in Armani", Jakob said, "Let's hope that that girl Kira has changed in these years"

"Amen", you and Naiia exclaimed

A few minutes later, the front door was knocked which made Skeet leave his spot on the dinning room to attend, returning two minutes later with a big floral arragement

"Tornado, this is for you", Skeet announced leaving it in the center of the dinning table

"Oh my God, they are so beautiful", you exclaimed streching your hand to take the note attached to them reading the envelope, "It's from Jack"

Happy prom night gorgeous! I'm so happy that we get to do this together

I can't wait to see you in a few hours

Love, Jack

Smiling because of the sweetness of his words, you took your phone to send him a text thanking him the flowers, before taking a photo of them and uploading it to your instagram stories tagging him

"I don't know where are going to put them", Jakob commented, "This isn't the Kardashians household"

Thanks to that comment, you, Naiia, Skeet and the rest of the glam team started to laugh

"We are not the Kardashians", Naiia said still laughing

"We should have our own reality show", you joked, "Keeping up with the Ulrichs"

"Screaming with the Ulrichs sound better", Skeet pointed

Keeping with the little jokes and conversations, the hours spend quickly until the front door was knocked again, when your make up in dark blue and silver colors with your nude lipstick and hair styled like Gigi Hadid in the 2018 MET Gala were ready, and again, Skeet went to answer the door this time returning with Jack (who was completely ready) and Anna

"Hi, beautiful", Jack greeted sitting next to you taking your hand, "You look absolutely gorgeous"

"You look handsome as well", you responded smiling, "I love the flowers, they're beautiful"

"I'm glad you loved them"

"Guys, sorry for interrupting the moment", one of the stylist spoke, "But we have to get you dressed right know, but the shoes are going first"

"Okay", you nodded

With the help of the girl who did your nails, you put on the high heels adjusting the straps in your ankles in a way that they don't feel loose before walking to the makeshift dresser in the living room with Naiia and two more styilist to help with the dress and gloves

Once everything was put in place with the outfit, you along with the little crew came out of the makeshift dresser getting instant reactions for everyone

While the glam team put the silver earings and a small and simple silver chain style choker (one of Bailey's gifts for your birthday), the Armani photographers started to take photos of Jack to post later on Instagram, then it was your turn with the whole outfit, and last of both of you, and they were lucky to have two serious photos because after that, the rest were doing funny faces and silly poses

Lastly, before leaving, family photos were taken which ended up being funny because your dad and siblings were basically in pajamas

After a twenty minute car ride, your old school was in sight, also noticing some students of your generation in the entrance

"I haven't been here since march 2020", you sighed while Jack drove towards the entrance were a red carpet was placed, "It feels weird and nostalgic"

"Are you comfortable with this?", Jack asked before stepping out of the car

"Totally", you nodded, "Besides, as you said, we are the best dressed"

Kissing your gloved hand, Jack got out of the car which caused a reaction in some of the ex-students because they didn't expected to see one of the young actors of the moment in there, and they were more surprised when he opened the passenger side streching his hand to help you get out of the car and helping to fix your dress, while one valet went to park the car

Interwining hands, both of you started walking throught the carpet to the inside of the school towards the gym

"Y/N!"

You heard someone screaming your name, which caused both of you to turn in that direction

"Sarah!", you exclaimed with excitement

Happy to see one of your friends in person after months, you almost run towards her which ended up in a hug, while Jack stayed a few steps behind smiling

"I thought that you wouldn't come", Sarah said breaking the hug but still holding your hands, "That dress is amazing"

"I contemplate about coming or not, believe me", you laughed, "Your dress is also amazing, and I want to introduce you to someone"

Being his cue, Jack stepped closer taking your waist

"This is Jack, my boyfriend", you introduced proudly, "Jack, this is my high school best friend Sarah"

"Nice to meet you", Jack smiled with a hand shake

"It's nice to see my best friend happy", Sarah responded watching your face, "Let's go to the gym, almost all our group is in there"

Interwining your free arm with hers and Jack now holding your small purse, the three of you walked towards the gym now decorated as if it was from an award ceremony

"This remind me of the Critics Choice", Jack commented

"But with more space between tables", you joked remembering how small the space was

"One of you has to invite me to a future premiere or event", Sarah spoked with fun, "I want to experience that world"

"Dude, you went with me and my dad to the season one premiere of Riverdale", you pointed with fun

"Yeah, in 2017", she reminded

Laughing, the three of you continue walking throught the gym until a table with familiar faces for you and Sarah, ending in an excited reunion with hugs and meetings, before taking seats

"Dude, I'm going to be honest with you", Noah, another friend of the group spoke towards Jack, "I was scared of you in Scream"

"Thanks, I guess", Jack laughed with his arm in the back of your chair

"You went all psycho killer", Abby, one of the girls of the group said, "Y/N, you nailed your five second cameo, I actually went to see the movie multiple times just to spot you"

"Abby, I love you, you are the sweetest", you said with sincerity, "So, what is everyone doing?"

"Studying fashion design in New York", Scott said

"Training to be a cast member at Disneyland", Abby continued

"Studying law at Standford", Sarah spoke

"Gamer in twitch", Noah finished, "What about you?"

"Practicing to be a VFX make up artist", you answered proudly

"She is awesome at that", Jack exclaimed showing some of your early works making you blush, "Like, this looks so real"

Before anyone of your friends could say something, one of your former classmates stopped by the table interrupting the conversation

"Y/N, hi!", Diana greeted at what you get up from your chair to hug her since she was polite and friendly during your school years, "I'm so happy you are here"

"I'm also happy to be here, I missed you girl", you responded breaking the hug

"Me too, I'm glad that you changed your mind and actually came", Diana smiled making confussion in you and your group, "See you around"

Waiting until she was far, you turned facing your group

"First Sarah told me something similar, now Diana", you pointed taking a seat in your chair, "What the hell is happening?"

With a hand signal from Scott everyone inclined in a way to be closer and listen

"I heard from Irma, who heard it from Daniel, who heard it from Bethany, that Kira said that fame just got to your head and you felt superior to any of us", Scott explained leaving you shocked, "Kira actually tweeted it"

"Is she fucking for real?", you yelled-murmured, "I'm not the egocentric one, she is"

"She has always been ridiculous and jealous of you", Abby pointed, "Like, starting rumours about you is pathetic"

"Here is the tweet", Noah gave you his phone with the tweet on screen

Recieving the phone you read the tweet that only had two likes, but what caught your attention was the username

Leaving the phone on the table you reached your phone which was on one of Jack's jacket pockets unlocking it to enter to your saved tweets

"I thought you quit them for there", Jack frowned looking at the hate tweets from two months ago

"I forgot to do it", you responded finding the ones with the user name, "For context, two months ago I found hate tweets towards me, some of them were from the user name ReginaGeorgeHeir"

"That's Kira's username", Sarah exclaimed

"Yeah, two of them were 'she isn't that pretty' and 'she's a nepo baby, you know how they are'", you read with anger in your voice

"Fucking bitch", Noah exclaimed noticing movement at the entrance, "Speaking of the devil"

Hearing that sentence, the six of you turned towards the entrance of the gym to watch how Kira and her minion Bethany entering

"Wait, that dress looks familiar", you pointed with narrow eyes

"I think is the same one that you wore to the Los Angeles premier of Avatar", Jack said remebering were he had seen it

"More like a dupe", Abby commented

"Girl, if you want to let go your Billy Loomis side on her we won't blame you", Sarah spoke in your direction, "We will help you hide the body and be your alibis"

"And if they ask where we were, let's say we where at econ", Jack joked, "It worked for me"

After that reference joke, your whole table started to laugh incontrolable gaining the attention of people next to you, including from the mean duo

"I give you an advice", Scott talked after the laughs calmed, "First, what are you wearing?"

"Custom Armani", you answered

"Girl, you already won the one sided battle", Scott continued, "I mean, your dad is an icon, you are starting to gain more fame of your own, you are wearing Armani to your prom, you and Jack are the IT young couple of the moment, Kira is the girl who peaked at high school and stayed mean because is everything she has"

"Scott, is right", Sarah nodded, "So let's forget about her and have some fucking fun!"

Agreeing with her, the six of you continued to talk and update about everything, taking pictures, even the boys imitated Jacks "chad face" for some pictures, doing tik toks and sharing the snacks the school provided

When people started to fill the asignated dance floor, your group did the same founding a spot for the six of you

During the next hour and a half, the time was spent dancing the popular songs of the moment that the DJ played and having fun with each other, until a slow song "Love On The Brain" by Rihanna started to sound causing the couples in there to start dancing slowly

"Are you having fun?", Jack asked with his arms circling your waist

"Lots", you smiled with your arms around his neck, "I'm glad that we came"

"Me too", Jack smiled in returned, "And your friends are really cool"

"I think they like you more than they like me", you joked making him laugh

"I actually think that they are testing me to see if I'm good for you"

"You are perfect for me"

Following that small conversation, both of you shared a small kiss that was followed with smaller ones accompanied with giggles from both of you

A few more slow songs followed after the music was stopped causing everyone to look at the stage were Kira was taking a microphone and Bethany was standing in the corner behind her

"Don't tell me she's going to do a speech", Noah groaned

"Hi everyone!", Kira exclaimed

Hearing her voice made your group (and some other people in there) groan in silence

"It's so nice to see everyone here in person", Kira continued with a fake smile, "Like we all look so expensive with our dresses and suits, so as former student president I'm honnored to give a little speech, first of all, I'm so happy to see that every one of you is being succesful, some in college, some working, some having personal bussiness, others taking advantage of parents fame"

"Someone shut her up", you murmured making your group to hold back the laughs

Unfortunately, she heard that thanks to the silence in the room noticing your group a few meters from the stage

"Y/N Ulrich!", Kira exclaimed which made all the heads to turn in your direction including a light from the stage focusing in the six of you almost blinding your group, "So happy to see that your fame didn't stop you from being here with your friends and your famous boyfriend"

"Yeah, I'm not happy to see you ReginaGeorgeHeir", at the moment you said that phrase her face fell, "I know you were one of the people who send hate tweets towards me two months ago"

"I don't know what your talking about", Kira laughed nervously

"Wasn't you the one who tweeted 'she isn't that pretty'?", Abby exclaimed reading her phone

"Or 'she's a nepo baby, we know how they are'?", Scott continued

"It was a little joke", she tried to minimized the situation but you already were walking to the stage with Jack behind you

"It's not funny to bully someone, online or in person", you replied starting to climb the stairs with the help of Jacks hand on your waist and holding one of your hands, "Thanks babe"

"Anytime, gorgeous", Jack nodded staying in the gym floor

"Okey, I tweeted that", Kira admited rolling her eyes, "But everyone was doing it, I just jumped in"

"It's wrong to do that", you claimed, "You bullied me for years in person until you knew who my dad was, and it was because you saw him on Riverdale, and tried to be my friend after years of torture, that's hypocrite, and you and Bethany also torture a lot of us during school years, and know you claim to be happy to see us?"

"You need to chill", Kira replied not knowing what to say, "And if I were you, I would use my dad connections to be succesful as an actress, not singer because your voice is horrible"

"There is the bitch, and your voice is also horrible, well, all your personality is horrible", you spoked causing all the ex-students to cheer, "Fuck, it feels good to finally say this!"

"You know all this that you said people are going to twisted make you seem like the bully, right?", Kira tried to intimidate

"Actually not, I'm live on instagram!", one of your former classmates yelled with his phone up, "1,504 people are seeing this"

"See, I'm not the only one in here that you bullied", you shrugged

"So what, you are going all ghostface on me?", Kira joked

"I mean, people callme the 'Ghostface Princess', my dad was a ghostface, my uncle Matthew was a ghostface, my boyfriend was a ghostface, it wouldn't be weird", you threatened now close to her face, "Boo"

Even if that was a whispered word, she still jumped in fear a little causing everyone to laugh at her

Smiling because she now felt how it was, you started to walk to the stairs taking the hand that Jack was holding to help you

"Oh", you exclaimed turning to look at her, "Nice dupe dress"

"It's original, idiot", Kira argued trying to gain the situation

"It isn't, I know it because I wear the same dress in december, to the Los Angeles premier of Avatar", you smiled, "The original has higher neckline"

"I had it to do some changes"

"It's actually a 2009 Giorgio Armani, basically an archive piece, those are only borrowed, which means no drastical changes can be done"

Smiling and feeling powerful, you and Jack walked with your hands interwined followed by your friends who soon joined you while the rest of ex-students laughed at Kira and Bethany

jackchampion, naiia, madelyncline, and 97, 216 more

yn.ulrich succesful prom night

tagged jackchampion, sarah_woods, abbycutie, not.scott.disick, noahtwitch

jackchampion I said it before, but I'm glad we get to do this together

› yn.ulrich I love you

› jackchampion I love you more

not.scott.disick thank you mom and dad for taking us for a snack after prom

› jackchampion anytime my child

madelame shine my baby, you deserve it

› yn.ulrich thank you favourite red

#baby alien creations #y/n ulrich universe #jack champion #jack champion imagine #jack champion scream #jack champion x reader #jack champion x you #scream #jack champion fanfic #ethan landry x reader #jack champion fluff

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eomayas · 1 year

Text

new thing (pt.3) • pcy

pairing: chanyeol x f!reader, age gap

genre: fluff & angst

synopsis: reader discovers shocking news about chanyeols past

warnings: swearing

series masterlist

seulgi drives while you handle the aux, playing songs that you both like and put into a joint playlist called ‘roomies on the road’. you’re currently on the way to mr. kims sons 5th birthday. you tagged along because you like the kims, and want to see their two kids, jisung and jimin. also, chanyeol is going to be there.

nobody, other than seulgi, knows about your little rendezvous with chanyeol. it’s been more than rendezvous, now being a month since you first fucked, and two and a half weeks since your first date. you see chanyeol almost everyday, and stay at his house at least once a week. you’ve moved kind of fast, but it’s pretty easy when you’ve gotten over the hump of having sex.

seulgi pulls up to the kims’ house, parking her car behind mrs. kim’s like she normally does. you both get out, grabbing the gifts for jisung. she bought him a lego set and a stuffed bear, and marked your name on a card.

you two walk up to the door, and she knocks. a few moments later, mr. kim opens the door, a big smile on his face when he sees seulgi. “hi, seul! hi, y/n, thanks for coming!” he says, giving both of you quick hugs. he lets you two in and takes the gifts from seulgi. “you know you really didn’t have to buy him anything.” mr. kim says. seulgi waves him off and tells him she really had to. “the kid is spoiled enough.” mr. kim says, glancing back at you, and you give him a smile.

he leads you two to his large backyard, where a ton of kids run around and adults stand around mingling. you follow seulgi to the table of presents, not really into being left alone without her. “there’s so many kids here, fuck. and ms. choi is here—she’s the one who flirts with mr. kim all the time,” she whispers, leaning in close. you follow her line of sight, and raise your eyes when you see her talking amongst mr.kim’s wife juhyun and a few of the other mothers.

“damn,” you say, shocked at this lady’s boldness.

“yeah, but i think mrs. kim knows,” seulgi says. you snort and look around. the backyard is divided between the children, all of the women pairing together, and the men hanging out. you recognize a few of the men from the bar, but there’s no chanyeol.

you decide to busy yourself with talking to the women while seulgi goes to play some games with the kids. “y/n! it’s so nice to see you!” juhyun says, introducing you to the other mothers. the topics of conversation range wildly in a short span: from motherhood, to their work-life balance, their marriages. but it all gets brought back to you, and they start poking and prodding at your life.

“don’t get married young, y/n,” one of the mothers, mrs. park, says, leaning in close. you laugh awkwardly, marriage the furthest thing from being on your mind. “do you have a boyfriend? are you dating?” she presses, a curious smile on her face.

yes, he just walked outside, you want to say, catching sight of chanyeol entering the backyard. you cant look for long, and you try to play your smile off as you answer her questions. “sort of—i’m just having fun,” you say vaguely, and a round of oohs pass through at your admission. they’re all married and you’re the closest thing to freedom that they’ll get for the rest of their lives.

they try to press you about more details; who are the types of guys you’re dating, how they act, what your type is. all your answers remain vague, and you cast you discreetly cast your gaze across the backyard every few minutes. you catch chanyeol sneaking glances at you too, and it makes you smile every time, but you have to keep that to yourself so you’re not found out. “honestly, i take what i can from these guys, and then im onto the next,” you say, though your ways have changed since getting involved with chanyeol.

the women giggle and they leave you alone about your personal love afterwards, satisfied with your response. when the conversation changes, you take the time to excuse yourself from the group, claiming that you need to use the restroom and want something to drink from inside.

the men crowd around the back door, so you have to walk past chanyeol to get inside. he stands on the edge, his eyes flicking to you momentarily as you walk towards them to go inside. you don’t try to touch him or get his attention, but you really want to pull him inside with you.

making it in, you walk down the hall to the bathroom. you go inside and lock the door behind you.

as you wash your hands, a knock sounds at the door. “somebody’s in here,” you say.

“it’s me,” you smile at the sound of his voice and quickly dry your hands on the towel so you can unlock the door. he lets himself in, his lips on yours in seconds and he kicks the door closed with his foot.

“hi,” you say, a smile spreading across your lips as he pushes you up onto the counter and stands in between your legs.

“hi,” he replies, pulling away, his hands resting on your hips. he smiles at you and you blush, putting your hands on his cheeks to anchor yourself to him. “missed you.” he says, gently squeezing your hips.

you can’t help but blush harder. you don’t know what it is about him, but everything he does makes you nervous or giggly. you thought you’d get over it, but it seems to have gotten worse the longer you spend time with him. “i missed you too,” you say, kissing him again. he smiles against your mouth and pulls his hands down to the tops of your thighs.

pulling away again, you grab the wrist that he wears his watch on. you’ve been in here for at least three minutes, and another second may raise suspicions, especially since he’s been gone too. “gotta go,” you say, sliding off of the counter.

chanyeol catches your waist in his hands again, pulling you back in front of him. “can i see you later?” he asks, his large handing sliding underneath your shirt and splaying across the small of your back.

“you can come over,” you nod. it’ll be the first time he’s actually been inside your apartment ever. he’s dropped you off and picked you up a handful of times, but he’s never been through the door. it’s exciting and nauseating all at the same time—you want to impress him, and your apartment is a shoebox compared to his house.

chanyeol smiles and strokes the underside of your jaw with his thumb. you kiss one last time, your heart skipping every single beat as you hold him before you disappear back into the backyard.

after the birthday party is over and mr. kim’s kids are out down for a nap, you, seulgi, the kim’s and a couple of their friends hang out for a while in the backyard. you sit on the arm of the chair seulgi occupies, chanyeol standing across from the two of you in the circle you’re all in.

mrs. kim comes back from inside with a few beers in her hand and starts passing them around. “you two want one?” she asks you and seulgi. both of you quickly shake your head and politely decline, earning a few snickers from the adults around you.

a conversation breaks out that you and seulgi aren’t really in, and you allow yourself to ogle chanyeol. as always, your nerves lose control as you look at him, though this time it feels worse because he’s taken his jacket off, thus leaving himself in a muscle tank. he runs his hands through his hair and you press your fingers to your lips and look away.

“when’s the last time we were all together?” minseok asks, and you snap your attention back to the conversation at hand. “a few months ago, no?”

jongdae shakes his head. “no, it was over a year ago… before the divorce,” he says. you raise your eyebrows at the mention of divorce, but you sober up when you see mr. kim’s eyes cut to your boyfriend. divorce?

it gets quiet for a moment before mrs. kim speaks up. “speaking of, have you heard from yunhee lately?” she asks, and you feel your stomach drop. you glance down at seulgi and share a look. your friend pats your leg supportively, but you feel like you’ve been thrown onto a stage in front of a crowd of people, naked.

“uh, no, i haven’t. it’s been a few months since we’ve talked,” chanyeol says, swallowing. you try not to burn holes through him with your eyes, but this is all news to you. you’ve never heard of a divorce from him, much less an ex wife. he’s never hinted to ever being married—you feel like you’ve been lied to this whole time; though he’s just guilty by omission.

you can’t seem to focus on anything other than the fact that chanyeol was once married and failed to tell you that, even long after they’ve moved on from his ex. you hardly register seulgi tapping you incessantly on the arm until she pinches you. “hey, do you want to go now?” she asks and you quickly nod, standing up from the chair and pulling her with you.

you rush through saying goodbye to everybody, but accept the leftover cake that the kim’s force into your hands. you practically run to the car the moment the front door closes, diving into the front seat and pressing the start button on seulgis car.

“divorce?!” you scream as she pulls off of the curb.

“oh my god, i know! he didn’t tell you?” she asks, her voice full of shock. you feel embarrassed and slighted by him.

the whole drive home, the two of you freak out about how he couldn’t have told you that. it doesn’t stop, not even when you get inside of the door to your apartment. “i literally don’t even know how to feel,” you say, leaning against the counter. seulgi puts the cake away in the fridge and sighs.

“i know, right. you should talk to him,” she says and it dawns on you that you invited him over.

“oh my god,” you sigh, pressing the heels of your hands into your forehead.

“what?”

“i invited him over earlier—i kind of need you to bounce,” you say guiltily. she shrugs and you let out a breath of relief.

“that’s fine, i’m meeting yunho tonight so,” she says, a small smile on her face at the mention of the latest guy she’s been talking to.

you nod and pull your phone out of your pocket as it buzzes with a text message. you eyes nearly fall out of your head as you see the text on the screen.

chanyeol: i’m on my way up

“he’s here, oh my god,” you say, doing a quick scan of the apartment. suddenly, all of the little quirks that make your apartment what it is, like the lopsided cabinet or the permanent stain on the carpet, become hard to miss. you don’t love the way the paint is chipping on the bathroom door, or the scrape marks on the counter seem so huge.

before you even have time to cover anything up, there’s a knock at the door. you silently scream in the direction of seulgi, and then walk to answer the door.

your stomach flips wildly in your stomach when you pull the door open and see him standing behind it, a smile on his face and flowers in his hand. “hi,” he says, passing the flowers to you, a smile on his face.

you accept them with a “thanks”, and motion for him to come in before you turn to take them to the kitchen. “uh, this is the kitchen obviously. don’t mind the…everything,” you say, frantically opening cabinets in search for a vase. you know you have them, and you know they’re in the leftmost cabinet underneath the sink, but you search everywhere else because your brain cannot process anything properly at the moment.

finally finding what you need, you turn on the water and hold onto the vase with a shaky hand. it slips out of your grasp and chanyeol runs over, catching the bottom of it before it falls into the sink. “thank you,” you say, turning off the water.

“yeah, are you alright?” he asks, placing a hand on the back of your neck, softly kneading at the skin. you nod and don’t meet his eye as your set the vase on the counter and stick the flowers in it.

“that’s the living room and seulgi,” you say, gesturing across the kitchen to the open room. chanyeol and seulgi greet each other and then you walk him down the hall to the bathroom, and then your room. “this one is the bathroom, that’s seulgis room, and this is mine,” you say, pushing open the door to your room. it’s clean, minus the bag of laundry sitting at the foot of your bed.

chanyeol looks around and takes off his jacket before getting himself comfortable on your bed. the contrast between your light blue bedspread and his dark outfit make you want to laugh, but you’re so focused on the fact that he’s really here, in the place that you call home for the first time. “y/n, what’s wrong?” he asks, and you finally look at him and his legs hanging off of your bed even though his head is practically at your pillows.

“nothing,” you say, leaning against your dresser. he squints at you, but there’s a small smile on his face. “what?” you ask, face burning under his gaze.

chanyeol motions for you to come over to him and you walk over to your bed, standing above him. he grabs ahold of your hips and pulls you down onto him, making you yelp in surprise as he brings you down onto him. chanyeol kisses your face when you fall on top of him, one of your legs on the ground for support. “what’s the matter?” he asks.

letting out a breath, you cross your arms over your chest and look down as him. and just as quickly as you find the words to say to him, they’re lost on you. when you look down at him, your mind goes blank and your insides feel gooey.

you roll off of him knowing that if you sit on him any longer there will be no talking. you get off of the bed and stand up to lean against your closet doors, your hands clasped behind you. “why… why didn’t you tell me you’ve been married?” you ask him.

“you never asked,” he says, holding his neck up with one of his arms. you scoff and look away from him.

“don’t be like that,” you mumble, feeling stupid for asking and overall just annoyed at him. “you could have mentioned it.”

“it just never came up. i never asked you about anybody that came before me, did i?” he asks, and that only frustrates you more because that’s completely different.

“chanyeol, ive never been married and divorced! it’s not the same!” you say, running a hand through your hair. “i dont like how you’re acting like it’s not a big deal, because it is for me.” you add. and this is where the age difference between you really shows—he’s experienced things that you haven’t even dreamed of, like marriage, been places that you’ve only begun to wonder about.

he sighs and sits up on your bed. “okay, i’m sorry. will you come here, please?” he says, holding his arms out for you. you shake your head and stay planted to the floor. chanyeol takes the initiative and gets up to walk over to you, putting his hands on your waist and pulling you in close to him. “cmon, don’t be like this.” he says, looking down at you.

you look up at him and sigh, rolling your eyes off to the side because looking at him for too long makes you forget how to breathe, how to think, how to act. “you could have mentioned it, at least,” you huff, succumbing to his charm and hugging him close to you.

chanyeol decides to spill everything for you later, once you changed and laid down on the bed. his ex wife, yunhee, and him dated for two years before being married for only 8 months. he filed for the divorce because he felt like she fell out of love, and because she used to complain about how much he worked. it wasn’t physical cheating, but emotional cheating and it hurt worse. their divorce was finalized less than a year ago, and they keep in contact sometimes, but he claims it stopped once he started seeing you regularly.

it doesn’t feel good, but you feel some type of relief at him being upfront and honest with you. “oh god, did you have a pet together?” you ask, a hand on his chest.

chanyeol chuckles. “a cat. i let her keep it, i’m not really a cat person,” he says smiling up at you. you roll your eyes and he puts one of his hands on your high, hooking it over his lap and pulling you on top of him like earlier. you rest your weight on him and cross your arms over your chest. “you’re sexy on top.” he says, his fingertips dancing underneath the hem of your shirt on your skin.

you hum and let him drag his fingertips across your skin; you both pretend not to notice the goosebumps that arise. “are you still upset?” he asks. and truthfully, you’re not. he at least was honest in the end. and even then, once you looked him in the eyes, it got hard to remember why you were actually upset.

“how sorry are you?”

he smirks and puts his hands your ass, pushing your forward and shows you how sorry he is.

chapter extension: 3.5

#exo #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo x reader #exo x you #park chanyeol #chanyeol x you #chanyeol fic #chanyeol x reader #exo chanyeol #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol series

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michellemisfit · 4 months

Text

Weekly Tag Wednesday Thursday

Thanks for the game @jrooc and thanks for the tag @blue-disco-lights @deedala @energievie @lingy910y @creepkinginc @crestfallercanyon

Name: Mys

What is the most listened to artist in your music app of choice this month?

The Libertines - They’ve just released a new album

What song do you know all the lyrics to?

Erm… most? Well, at least most songs I regularly listen to. Back in the day when we’d still buy CDs I would get a new album and sit in my bedroom listening to it beginning to end, while reading along to the lyrics in the booklet. And oooooh, I would get so furious when bands had a booklet that did not include song lyrics. Wtf is wrong with you?? SO ANGRY! haha

What song do you pretend to know all the lyrics to and sing along to even though you don't?

It’s the End of the World As We Know It by R.E.M. I get to ‘eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn’ and then I’m lost until we hit the chorus lol But it’s such a fun song to pretend to sing along to, and really just making vaguely appropriate noises at the right time, until the chorus kicks in again… and of course we’re all ready to shout LEONARD BERNSTEIN! Hahaha

If you were to be crowned Queen/King/Royalty of listening to a band or artist, who would that be?

That would have to be Dirty Pretty Things. I fell in love with The Libertines just as they were falling apart and a few weeks away from calling it quits for good, so when Carl Barât announced the first tour of his new band Dirty Pretty Things I wasn’t gonna miss out again. So I flew to Ireland and then to England and attended the first 5 gigs of their first tour. And that pretty much set the tone for the next couple of years of my life. I ended up flying to the UK so much and meeting so many people that in the end it only made sense to move to London. Dirty Pretty Things had a tour booked starting two days after my moving day and we were gonna go to a few of the gigs. Then the day before I got on a plane they announced it would be their farewell tour, so we bought tickets for every single gig, which meant that I moved to the UK and then spent all of October, November, and half of December on tour… I didn’t start job hunting and thinking about real life until January lol

So yeah. Them. They’re my boys. As coined by the NME in their ‘sad to see them go’ article… “They were well fit and nice!”

What band/artist surprises you the most on your frequently listened to artists?

I’m ongoingly surprised by how much I managed to trick myself into liking Taylor Swift

Favourite line from a song (or one you have been thinking about lately?

Fame and Fortune by The Libertines

The deal was done, the trade was rough, Doubloons down for a double bluff, Dip your quill in your bleeding heart, Sign there and there and there

Guilty pleasure band or song?

I don’t believe in guilty pleasures.

Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch.

Okay let's talk fandom music:

Fave band or song you've discovered from a Fan Fic?

The Libertines lol My friend really wanted me to get into this band she liked, and I just wasn’t massively into music at the time, so she sent me a Libertines fanfic, and that, as they say, was that. Oh, she knew me very well… hahah

Fave Fanfic Playlist?

Right now I’m REALLY into The Menagerie playlist!

Fave Gallavich song?

Do you listen to music recommended by the writer or an included playlist?

Almost always, yeah. Though sometimes that can go terribly wrong. When someone’s like OMG THIS SONG!!! and you’re just like ‘eh, I don’t see it’ lol

What song do you think is Gallavich coded?

Well, thanks to @deedala this will never not be Season 5 Gallavich

What’s a bop you want to share with your mutuals today?

Love the original, but I also love Darren Criss

And this, because I’m dying for the next season of The Bear!!!!

Oooookay… I’m late and I’ve been way too busy, so if you’ve already played and I didn’t see please tag me in yours so I can check it out!! If not, and you’d like to do it, I’m tagging @heymacy @heymrspatel @darlingian @too-schoolforcool @palepinkgoat @vintagelacerosette @crossmydna @captainjowl @mikhailoisbaby @rereadanon @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @loftec @sickness-health-all-that-shit @deathclassic @rutherinahobbit @faejilly (you can skip the Gallavich questions!!! Hahahahah)

#weekly tag wednesday #tag game #Spotify #Mys stuff #music #why are my tag games always 4 times as long as anyone else’s???#I’m so sorry for everyone who bothers to read all the words 🤦🤦

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hengqarae · 2 years

Text

to the victor go the spoils

PAIRING ❄ lee chan x afab!reader WORD COUNT ❄ 11.3k GENRE ❄ chan is a bartender au, romance, smut (minors dni), mutual pining, angst WARNINGS ❄ legal alcohol consumption, making out, swearing, oral (f receiving), not proofread

chan is the bartender at your favorite restaurant, and you're his favorite patron: the person that comes in every single week with a new guy, always wearing the same perfume and always ordering the same thing, always complaining to him about the losers that your father keeps setting you up with. he'll lose his mind soon if he keeps having to watch you on these shitty dates. how much longer until he's declared the winner and you finally choose him?

PLAYLIST ❄ love language by sza / go crazy by leslie odom jr. / vanilla by kai / lies by marina and the diamonds / what can i do by reneé rapp / nervous by john legend / chance with you by mehro / maroon by taylor swift / toy by block b FROM THE AUTHOR ❄ thanks for reading <3 the beginning is stronger than the end because i got covid in the midst of this and lost my motivation, but i hope you enjoy it regardless! have a safe and fun transition into the new year, if you observe it :)

Chan thinks that he must be losing his mind.

He started bartending when he was in college, just as soon as he was legally able to do so. Known for having a competitive streak, the fact that he needed to pass a test to obtain licensure to serve alcohol spurred him on more than it should have. He was even more motivated when his friend, Soonyoung, wasn’t able to pass it himself. He landed a job at one of the more upscale restaurants almost immediately and being downtown meant that the people were more affluent and, thus, more generous. It was a total win for him, and nearly three years later, he’s still around. Chan only really bartends on weekends, reserving his weekdays to get his schoolwork done. In all honestly, he doesn’t need the job. He’s never needed it, but he’s stuck around for so long because he enjoys meeting different types of people; he likes hearing the deep, dark secrets that spill out once enough alcohol has been consumed; and he really appreciates the ego boost that he gets every time an older woman comes in and tips him generously, just because they think he’s cute.

It’s not his job that’s making him feel like he’s losing his mind. He likes his job, and he’ll be satisfied with the time he’s spent behind his bar once he finally graduates and moves on to something more applicable to his degree. No, he feels like he’s losing his mind because of one specific patron. There’s this one gorgeous individual that comes in every Friday night, always meeting a different man, but always wearing the same floral perfume and wearing the same silver necklace that dangles around their neck, resting on their sternum, glinting in the dim lights of the restaurant. This person always arrives early and sits at the bar, talking with Chan about school, about their family, about how poorly they know their date will go. They’re always sitting at the same table, one of the ones closest to the bar, and they always order the same thing. The dates always last two hours and not one minute longer, and Chan always feels a sense of longer after they bid him farewell and leave the restaurant, the scent of their perfume never lingering for long enough.

Chan is absolutely enamored with this one individual, but he’d rather plead insanity than admit that.

“Hi Chan,” You sigh, sliding onto the barstool that was situated directly in front of him. You shift until you’re comfortable, placing your bag on the counter. Chan, in the middle of washing and drying his shaker, offers you a smile without actually looking up at you. His heart has been racing since he caught sight of you walking in, and he’s afraid that if he looks at you, it’ll induce a heart attack. He could already tell from across the restaurant that you looked good, even better than usual. You smell even better than usual, too. He’s sure that nothing has actually changed, though, and that serves as just another sign that he’s losing his mind. “How was your week?”

You follow his movements with your eyes as he places the shaker on the counter, throwing his hand towel over his shoulder and wiping his forehead with the back of one of his hands. One of his rings catches the light and you’re drawn to his hand, shifting uncomfortably on your stool when you notice how pretty his hands are. It takes you another minute to notice, but his hair’s lighter this week than it was last week. He must have had more free time than usual, dying it and all. “It was okay. I lost a bet and had to dye my hair. I’m also considering sleeping with my neuroscience professor so that I pass the class. “

“Your exam didn’t go well, then?” Chan shakes his head. “Is she cute, at least?”

“Yeah, he’s pretty easy on the eyes!”

He’s able to make you laugh so effortlessly. You throw your head back, hands gripping the countertop so that you don’t lose your balance and slide off your seat. Chan smiles to himself, turning so that he can start mixing you up a drink. This week, like every other week, you were going to get whatever he decided to give you. It’s not like he charged you for drinks anyway. When you finally settle your laughter, wiping away a tear that had started to collect at your waterline, you watch him make his drink. You smoothen your expression when you realize the fond smile that was plastered on your face for everybody to see, and your heart aches when you think about leaving Chan to sit through another dry, humorless, boring date for two hours.

This was the reason you always made sure to arrive early at the restaurant. You always insisted on driving yourself, you always made sure to arrive thirty minutes early, and you always soaked in as much time as you could get with Chan before you were subjected to yet another torturous date that your father had planned out for you. Your dates were never able to hold a conversation as well as Chan could. With him, words flowed naturally. He didn’t talk about himself too much, and he remembered anything that you told him, and you had considered, on multiple occasions, skipping your dates in favor of sitting with Chan through your shift. Up until now, you had never been able to find the courage to do so.

Only recently, you had realized that maybe, possibly, you had started to harbor a little crush on him. Keeping that in consideration, it was unlikely that you would ever find the courage to engage in anything further with him. Your weekly chats were doomed to remain as weekly, thirty-minute occurrences, no matter how much more of him you found yourself craving.

“What about you? How was your week?”

“It was okay.” You echo his words, eyes trailing his movements again as he sets your drink in front of you. He steps away to tend to the other patrons, and your heart aches again as you watch him laugh and flirt with the females perched at the bar. You aren’t jealous, per se – you've known Chan for long enough to be able to recognize his fake, polite smiles from his genuine ones, and you’re able to find some comfortable in the fact that the smiles he gives you are different from the one he’s offering to those other customers right now. You hum quietly and take a sip of your cocktail, eyebrows knitting together as you taste it. When Chan returns, you ask what he made you.

“It’s called a Painkiller.” He grins, grabbing the bottle of rum he had mixed in to show you what he had used. “I figured you were going to need one. Today is lucky number seventeen, right?”

You raise your eyebrows, a smile growing on your face. “How did you remember that?”

“It’s a good number.” He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the other side of the bar. “So, your week was okay? Why’s that?”

You sigh, massaging your temples to prevent the headache that tended to appear whenever you recounted everything that was stressing you out. “I have my thesis proposal in a few weeks, and my defense closer to the end of the semester, but my dad is still incessant on setting me up on these dates. He wants me to be engaged by graduation, but I don’t even know if I want to be married. It feels like a war of attrition.”

“Should I make you another one? A little stronger?”

He’s just joking, evident by his grin, but you almost want to take him up on his offer. Tonight’s date, whose name you couldn’t even recall, was projected to be especially bad. The guys that your dad seemed to like the most always ended up being the worst. You straighten yourself back up with another sigh, and Chan curses under his breath as you offer him a tired smile that makes his stomach somersault in response. Your lipstick smudges against the glass as you take another sip of your drink, and he thinks that the shade you’re wearing tonight would look good on him, too.

Just not on his lips.

“It’s so tiring.” You take another long sip of your drink, your tongue poking out to collect the liquid that had gotten caught at the corner of your mouth. Chan has to look away, face nearly contorting in pain as he feels himself straining against his pants. He’s thankful to be hidden behind the bar tonight; you looked and smelled even better up close. He’s more thankful that your outfit is a little more conservative than what you had worn last week. That white outfit had revealed just enough to put his imagination into overdrive. He was still thinking about how good you had looked. He had jacked himself off to thoughts of removing the outfit, draping it carefully over the back of his desk chair before fucking you into his mattress, more times than he’d feel comfortable admitting to anyone. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and take a few breaths to keep from getting hard again, turning around only when he’s ready. You had descended into a rant about your love life, and he wishes that he hadn’t entered the conversation that you were having with yourself.

“--like, what if I don’t want to be married? That’s not crazy, it’s almost 2023! I haven’t even had sex in months because my dad keeps setting me up with losers. It’s not for lack of trying, either; these stupid dates occupy all of my free time, and the only redeeming part of these dates are the free meals and being able to sit with you beforehand. I’m exhausted, though, Chan. Seriously. I-I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be meeting tonight! My dad says that he really likes him, but I don’t even know what his name is. It’s either Minho, or Mingyu... it could be Minhyung, too, though. I don’t--”

As much as Chan would enjoy talking about your sex life with you, his attention is brought from you to the door of the restaurant, and he straightens up as a young man walks into the space. There’s no doubt that he’s your date, Minho or Mingyu or Minhyung or whatever, if his Armani suit, Rolex watch, and excess of hair gel is anything to go by. Chan clears his throat, looking from the man to you and then back as the man continues his trek toward the bar. “Should I start a tab for you?”

That was code. You straighten your own posture, taking a deep breath before turning in your seat, a saccharine smile decorating your features. Chan knows you too well by now to be fooled by the mask that you slip on whenever you’re on a date. He collects your bag as you’re led away by your date, tucking it underneath the bar while he starts washing some glasses. The sight of you getting whisked away had become nausea-inducing for him, and tonight was no exception. As soon as you had taken your date’s hand, Chan had looked away to avoid getting sick. He keeps an inconspicuous eye on you as your date pulls out your chair for you, busying himself as you get your date started. He knows that you’d much rather be spending your time with him – you'd said so just earlier, after all – but he can’t help the dull ache in his chest at the sight of seeing you with another man.

The only consolation for him was that he would see you again in a week’s time, laughing once again at his jokes, further exacerbating the symptoms of his lovesickness. He mutters under his breath as he finishes cleaning his glasses, setting them on the countertop to dry. He offers one final glance in your direction, his chest clenching when he sees that you’re already looking at him, in a plea for help that you both know he can’t answer.

The bar gets crowded as the night continues, and Chan occupies himself with other patrons. He’s trying to compartmentalize, trying to forget that you were somewhere else in the restaurant, but it’s hard; with every fake laugh that he hears from you, a warmth blooms in his chest. He’s the only person in the whole joint that has ever made you genuinely laugh, and he carries that knowledge with pride.

Two hours come and go, and just like clockwork, you bid goodbye to your date. It was unusual for you to settle back at the bar following your dates, but you chose to do so tonight. Chan knows that usually, you’re so tired from listening to your dates talk about themselves without reprieve that you just bid Chan farewell and leave immediately after your dates. He’s happy that you’re back, but there’s always a fear that lingers in the back of his mind that one day, the reason that you’ve come back is to tell him that you had a really good date and that you’d be going on another one with the same guy. He hasn’t prepared himself for when that day comes.

“That fucking sucked,” You groan, covering your face with your hands. Chan tries, and fails, to bite back a smile, setting a glass of water down in front of you. You grumble a quiet thanks, sipping your water as the bartender floats around behind the bar, checking in and cashing out his patrons. You lean back as best as you can while sitting on a barstool, watching him as he starts cleaning up. His shift should be over soon. You always scheduled your dates halfway through Chan’s shifts so that, whenever you stuck around, you could walk out with him. It felt like a reward for getting through the awful date in the first place.

Your breath hitches every time that Chan breezes past you, and you curse yourself for that. While your date with Minhyuk – you had learned his name, finally – hadn't been the worst date that you’d ever experienced, he was definitely getting struck from your father’s (dwindling) list of potential sons-in-law. You try to wrack your brain and figure out how many people were left on that list. Once you reach the end, you’ll need to find a new reason to come to the restaurant every week; having a crush on one of the bartenders, you’d rationalized, was not a good enough reason to come all the way downtown every Friday.

It feels like your heart is being squeezed when you dare to look to your left and see Chan flirting with one of his female customers. Her fingers are dancing on his chest, and you nearly fall off your stool when she dares to unbutton his shirt a little more. You know that you can’t fault him for someone else’s behavior, but if generous tips meant that you could help him out of his shirt, you’d start bringing some cash with you.

“Gimme a few more minutes!” Chan offers in passing, causing you to perk up a little. It was cathartic, spending time with him. Your dates were draining but being with Chan had the opposite effect. You felt like being with him recharged you, like you could endure another two hours with another loser if you had time with him in between. Two hours with one of your father’s dates felt like a torturous eternity, but two hours felt like ten minutes with Chan. It didn’t feel fair.

Your stomach does a flip when Chen rounds the bar. The sleeves of his black button-down have been pushed up to his elbows, and his shirt is unbuttoned dangerously low. You knit your eyebrows together, beckoning him closer so that you can button him back up. He laughs quietly as you do it, and you hope that by ignoring the warmth that’s flooding into your face, he won’t notice it. You use his shoulder to steady yourself as you dismount from your stool, smiling as he offers you your bag. You take it, slipping it over your shoulder, tailing him as the two of you make your exit out of the restaurant. He bids farewell to the remaining staff, holding open doors for you until you’ve both made it into the elevator.

Chan’s heart is thudding heavily against his ribcage, and he hopes that the elevator music is loud enough that you can’t hear it. This wasn’t a weekly occurrence, per se, but it was still rare that he was afforded the opportunity to walk you back to your car. His fingers itch to reach for you, to pin you against the wall of the elevator and to press his lips on every inch of your exposed skin, but he refrains. Instead, he leans against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant, while you stand, rigid, next to him, wringing your hands together. It’s not necessarily awkward, but you’re suddenly missing the bar that usually separates the two of you. Conversation flowed easier when you were able to sit safely on the other side of the bar.

“How was your date? Bad, you said? N-No, wait, you said that it ‘fucking sucked,’ right?”

You groan, shaking your head at the reminder of why you had come to the restaurant in the first place – something that had been lost as you sat at the bar, daydreaming about what it would be like to go on a date with Chan instead. “I-I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. It would be so easy to just, like, tolerate someone, right? I don’t know why I can’t just find someone that I can tolerate and call it a day.”

“You have standards. Big deal.” He scoffs, trailing after you once the elevator opens. Your pace is slow as the two of you meander through the parking garage, in pursuit of a goal (your car) but with no sense of urgency. You shake your head, letting your hands fall to your sides.

“Standards are one thing, Chan, but I haven’t had sex in months, and I haven’t even kissed anyone in weeks. I’m just so worn out from all these shitty dates. Between writing my thesis, studying and reading for my classes, and then carving out three hours every Friday night to listen to a different loser talk about himself and his stocks, I feel like I’m on a downward trajectory.”

Chan’s eyebrows raise, but he quickly smoothens his expression because you’re turning to look at him, expectant, like he should be offering something insight or helpful. He has nothing prepared. As soon as you mentioned kissing, he started thinking about how it’d be to have you pinned against the flat surface, to have your lips on his. He clears his throat. “W-Why haven’t you been kissing your dates?”

“I used to!” You groan, propping your hands on your hips. “I used to, but then they’d always call me the next day. So, I stopped kissing on the first date, and they stopped thinking that there would be a second date. None of them were any good, either! It was like kissing cement.”

“Soft yet firm?”

“Cold and wet.”

“God, where did your dad find these guys? Reddit?”

You laugh, and it echoes through the parking garage, and Chan feels light on his feet. He tucks his hands into his pockets, looking down at the asphalt as the two of you continue your stroll. He’s considering his options of what he could say next, and suddenly, he wishes that he’d thrown back a shot or two during his shift. “Y-You can teach someone how to be a better kisser, though. I don’t think that should be, like, a dealbreaker.”

“I mean, sure. Yeah, that’s true. It’s... less about the actual kiss, though. Y’know?” Chan knits his eyebrows together, confused, and you sigh before elaborating. “Like... I didn’t feel anything. There should be sparks or something, but there was nothing like that. It’d probably be more gratifying to kiss a piece of cardboard.” You catch a glimpse of a column and an image of Chan pushing you up against it, lips fiery against yourself, causes you to grimace. If only.

Chan hums in response, at a loss for words, afraid that there’s nothing left that he could offer to the conversation unless you were looking for him to get on his knees to beg, to plead, for you to give him a chance. He was a good kisser and everything! You stop walking and he lifts his head, his heart falling as he realizes that the two of you have reached your destination. He’d wasted all of his precious time convincing you that you should be less harsh on your dates if they were bad at something teachable.

How nice of him.

“Thanks for walking me.” You say, eyes fixating on the strands of hair that had come undone and that were resting in front of Chan’s eyes. You're itching to reach forward and sweep them out of his face, but you refrain.

“You’re welcome.”

The two of you lapse into silence, staring at each other. There’s a warmth that’s creeping across your body, starting in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was tactless to talk about kissing other men in front of Chan, but a small part of you had been hoping that he would contribute differently. Maybe he would offer to kiss you. Maybe you could fulfill your desire to have his hands on you. Maybe he would press his lips against yours, and there’d be fireworks, and you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about coming to the restaurant to see him instead of going on your stupid dates.

Chan is kind. He’s handsome. He’s gentle, and he’s funny, and he’s sexy, and there’s nothing more that you want in this moment than to have his tongue down your throat.

He forces a smile, nodding before turning on his heel, but you reach forward to wrap your fingers around his forearm. He turns back to you, eyebrows quirked upward. It’s sitting there, right at the tip of your tongue. Can you kiss me? Can we kiss?

You aren’t able to convince yourself to verbalize your desire, though. Instead, you open your mouth, and then close it, and release him. “S-Sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

No, I’m not okay, but it would make it better if you kissed me. “Yeah! I’m good. Sorry.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, and he hesitates to say or do anything else. He’s providing you with a window of opportunity, but you aren’t ready to take it. You want to take it – God, you want him pressed against you so badly – but you just aren’t ready. You’ll suppress your feelings, at least for another week. Maybe you’d have the courage next time that you see him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah! I’m sure. I’ll see you next week.”

He knows you too well to accept the fake smile that you offer him, but he’s too dejected to say anything. Next week. On another date. Another date with a different man. What did he need to do to show you that he was better than all of your stupid dates, combined?

“Okay.” He offers you a fake smile in return. “Goodnight.”

+ + +

You should have kissed Chan.

It was pathetic, the way that you got home that night, unable to stop thinking about him. You couldn’t stop imagining him, imagining what could have been, even after slipping your fingers into your underwear and making yourself cum... twice. You had hoped that you could scratch the itch and it would go away; that was not the case. You touched yourself while imagining that it was him, deep and slow, planting wet kisses along the column of your throat while your hands roamed all over his body. Even after orgasming, you still felt unsatisfied.

Maybe, if you had kissed him, your curiosity would have been squashed. Maybe there wouldn’t have been any sparks. Maybe he could have told you that he wasn’t interested, and you would have been able to return to the platonic relationship that you’d had before you’d fallen in love with him. Maybe you would lose out on Chan but, eventually, you’d meet someone that you could tolerate.

Or, maybe, you would have kissed, and it would have become something more. Maybe you could have asked him to take you in your backseat and he would have, deep and slow, fogging up the windows. Maybe you could have ignited the spark that’s always been there, and you would be able to convince your father that you were happy, that you didn’t need to meet anybody else.

That’s why it’s Saturday night, the very next day, and you’re contemplating getting dressed up and going down to the restaurant. You didn’t have a date – you never scheduled dates outside of your Friday nights. You would be getting dressed up and fighting traffic just so that you could sit at the bar and talk to Chan. Just so, for one more night than usual, you could bask in the attention that he gave you. You could take advantage of his availability and take more than you deserved from him.

Your body trembles at the thought of seeing him again. You could wear something more revealing; you could dress up even nicer than usual, and you could tempt him. You could dangle yourself in front of him and see if he, too, has an itch to scratch.

But would that be fair to him?

No, it wouldn’t. You might as well be throwing yourself at him, showing your tits and forcing him to look. Chan is a sweet guy. He’s kind and gentle, he’s funny and he’s compassionate, and you don’t need to stoop to the level of some of his other patrons, the ones that touch him and flirt with him and make him work even harder for his tips. As much as you’d love to have your hands on him, to flirt with him (and have him flirt back), you know it wouldn’t be fair to him. You’re friends now, after everything.

You’re friends. That’s how you rationalize showing up to the restaurant in a hoodie instead.

He spots you as soon as you walk in, smiling and laughing with the hostess, and your heartrate quickens as you cross the space. His eyes are on you the entire time, like he can’t believe that you’re real. It’s Saturday night, right? You wouldn’t be wearing that on a date, right?

“I never thought I’d see the day.” He laughs, nervously, arms crossing over his chest as you situate yourself on your usual barstool. Why are you here right now? Should he be worried?

You offer a bashful smile in response, face already feeling warm under his gaze. “Jenn said the same thing.” Chan continues staring at you, still trying to gauge if you were a mirage or not. You adjust the strings of your hoodie, shifting uncomfortably on your stool. “W-What?”

“It’s not that I’m not happy to see you,” He starts, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “I just don’t know if I should be worried that you’re here right now. This is out of character for you.”

“I just wanted to see you.” You scoff, suddenly scrambling to add to that once you realize how it sounded. “T-To hang out with you for m-more than, like, thirty minutes.”

Chan keeps his expression even, but internally, he’s screaming gleefully. Still, he can’t hide the small smile that blooms on his face. “Are you drinking tonight?”

You hold up hands up, absolving yourself from the responsibility of choosing a drink. “I have no free will here, Chan. You know that.”

“If you had done better research before showing up and asking for a ‘blue motherfucker,’ whatever the hell that even is, then I wouldn’t have taken away your freedom of choice.” He scoffs, turning around to start concocting you a drink. Today, you’ll get a vodka martini, just to keep things simple. Chan still isn’t fully convinced that he should be happy that you’ve come by, even though the warm feeling in his chest says otherwise.

You’re grateful to be able to take your drink and gulp it down. Hopefully, the alcohol will loosen you up. You’re practically buzzing, as if you were being risky or adventurous by visiting the restaurant just to see Chan, outside of your normal routine. He’s alarmed that you’re drinking so much right from the start, and so he leans forward, resting his arms on the bar top and speaking as low as he can. “Are you okay? Seriously.”

“Stop harassing me.” You frown, waving him off. “I’m fine, Chan. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

He’s not convinced, but still, he steps away and takes some time to check in with the other customers. It was slow for a Saturday night; you were surprised, and also thankful, that there were barstools open. Had you not been able to sit at the bar, you probably would’ve turned around and driven home. There was no reason to come to this place if you weren’t going to be able to see Chan.

“I’m just worried.” Chan sighs, sliding back in front of you. You groan and he holds his hands up. “Look, this is the first time I’ve ever seen you on any day other than a Friday, and this is the first time I’ve ever seen you in casual clothes, too. I’m trying to figure out if this is one of the signs of the apocalypse. There’s gotta be something you aren’t telling me.”

“I already told you that I came to hang out with you.”

“I’m not worth that.”

“Says who?”

You realize what you’ve said only after the words tumble out of your lips. You’re quick to raise your glass back to your lips, turning your face away. If Chan heard you, he doesn’t act like it. Instead, he clucks his tongue at you and steps away to tend to one of the waitresses that had approved the bar. You feel like you can stop holding your breath only after he’s stepped out of your zone of proximity.

Chan heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear, and now he’s afraid that his heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he won’t be able to hear anything else that anyone might tell him tonight. He fumbles his way through two Cosmopolitan orders and chooses to clean his spills immediately so that he has some time to even out his breathing before he faces you again. You really came all the way downtown to see him? It doesn’t seem real to him. Was this an episode of Punk’d?

He’s gone for long enough that you start to panic. You hadn’t betrayed yourself that badly, so why was he keeping his distance? Maybe he’s known all along that you have a crush on him, and maybe you just confirmed it for it, and now, you’ve ruined your friendship and any possibility of becoming more than friends, which means you can’t come back to the restaurant anymore and--

“Do you want another, or do you want something different?”

Chan gestures to your drink. You look down, see it’s empty, and realize that you hadn’t even realized you had finished it off. “Surprise me.” Preferably, with something stronger.

Your knowledge of cocktails and liquor in general was, admittedly, poor. However, you feel proud of yourself when you’re able to identify what Chan has made you before he even hands it to you. In fact, if you had to pick a favorite cocktail, you’d probably say Shirley Temple. Chan notices how wide you smile when he sets your drink down, and he makes a mental note to add Shirley Temples into your rotation of drinks.

“How much longer ‘til you’re off?” You ask, stirring your drink. Chan takes a moment to check his watch.

“In... eight minutes.”

You raise your eyebrows, checking the time for yourself on your phone. You had intended to leave your apartment right at seven, but it was already almost nine. You must have spent more time than you realized to deliberate coming here or not. “What are you doing after you’re off?”

“Usually, I’d be going home. Unless...” Your heartrate quickens in anticipation. Chan takes a breath, steeling himself. “I have another neuroscience exam coming up in a few weeks. What are the odds you’d want to help me study?”

“I’m better at human anatomy, but I can try.”

Chan realizes what you’ve said before you do, and he’s laughing so hard that he has to turn around to compose himself. You groan, rubbing your temples, a nervous smile decorating your features. If you had only used a different tone, you could’ve taken the opportunity to try and flirt with Chan. Instead, he wipes tears from his eyes, still laughing quietly. You’re left to ruminate while he starts his final rounds, cashing out patrons and bidding his farewells with a newfound pep in his step. You don’t notice, too focused on cursing yourself internally.

You’re forced to chug down your drink only when you notice that Chan is already rounding the bar. He gapes at you before laughing again. “You’re gonna be so drunk later.”

“I’ll be fine.” You huff, taking his outstretched hand to help yourself down from your stool. You almost whine at the loss of touch when he pulls his hand back, but your chest flutters when he settles behind you, hand pressing against your lower back to usher you through the restaurant that had finally started to become crowded. He bids one final farewell to Jenn, the hostess, his cheeks burning as she gestures between the two of you and winks. Chan’s thankful that you didn’t notice.

He knows that it’s only a matter of time until your intoxication hits, and since he’s never seen you drunk before, he needs to get you to a more controlled setting. Chan can only assume that you’re a lightweight based on the partying stories you’ve told him, and his hand had been a little heavier tonight than usual – he was going to blame that on you, breaking your routine and thoroughly shaking him up.

“This is the part where I find out that you’re actually a murderer, right?” You tease, rocking back and forth on your heels as the elevator makes it descent.

Chan laughs, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, I’m not a murderer.”

“Unfortunately?”

“That’s what I said,” He’s nonchalant as you follow him out and back into the parking garage. You’re getting déjà vu, but you’re trying your best to swallow down the same urges that you had last night. Instead, you’re quiet as you follow him through the garage to his car. Chan hums quietly to himself, his hands tucked into his pockets again. Only once you’ve reached his car does he pull them out, opening the passenger door for you. You quirk your eyebrows at him, an amused smile ghosting your lips. The tips of his ears bloom red almost immediately. “D-Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?” You laugh, feigning innocence as he closes the door, and you twist to buckle yourself in. He shakes his head at you again, climbing in and getting the car started. Almost immediately, his fingers itch to reach out and lace with yours, but he swallows thickly, choosing to ignore that urge. “Your car will be safe here while we’re gone.”

“This means that you’re committing to bringing me back here, though. No matter when we finish tonight.”

Chan holds up one of his hands while he eases his steering wheel with the other. “I promise to uphold that commitment.”

“You’re annoying.” You scoff, without any real bite to your words. Chan smiles in response, and soon, the car lapses into silence. The radio of his car plays softly while he navigates the car through downtown, but to your surprise, he’s pulling into another garage only a few minutes later. “Wait, do you live downtown?”

“Is that surprising?”

“Yes, actually. Why aren’t you walking to work?”

“Because it’s winter. Plus, I don’t want to get kidnapped.”

“Why would you get kidnapped?”

“Cute people get kidnapped.”

“So why are you worried?”

Chan sucks in a breath before he reaches over and pinches your thigh. You swat him away, laughing, warning him that he was going to crash if he didn’t pay attention to the road. Begrudgingly, he returns both of his hands to the steering wheel, but not without muttering a few insults back at you under his breath. You left that slide since you’d instigated it, but if it meant he’d put his hands on you, you’d probably try to rile him up a little more time.

He parks the car without any further hitches. He lets you open your door for yourself while he opens up the backseat, pulling his backpack over his shoulder. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, messy hair and unbuttoned shirt with a backpack slung over his shoulder; he looked less like Chan the bartender and more like Chan the student.

He looked good either way, but being a student yourself, you’re a little more partial to the latter.

It’s nice, being able to spend time with Chan outside of your... arrangement. Each time that the two of you fall quiet, it feels less and less awkward. The two of you stand closer to each other in the elevator this time, and even though the desire to ask him to stick his tongue down your throat is ever-present, it’s not as prominent. Chan is your friend. He’s your sexy, intelligent friend, and you’ve gotten off to thoughts of him fucking you with his tongue more times than you’d like to admit, but you feel happy, being invited to see this other part of his life.

“How are you feeling? Drunk yet?”

You shake your head, tailing after him as he lets himself into his apartment. Your first impression is that it’s clean, cleaner than you had expected from a college boy. After slipping your shoes off, you follow him into his living room, beelining for the pictures that were hanging on one of the walls. “Holy shit, is this you?”

“Don’t look at that!” He whines, grabbing you by your shoulders and turning you around. He shuffles you back toward the couch despite your protests. “You’re here to help me study. You are not here to look at my pictures from high school.”

“Your hair was so bad!”

“Do you want some water?”

You ignore him in favor of advancing toward his pictures again and he groans, grabbing you by your waist and dragging you back to the couch. You were definitely starting to feel the effects of the liquor, whether you realized it or not. “I’m going to tie you to the couch if you don’t stop.”

That’d be hot. Please do. “Fine, fine! I’ll look at them next time.”

Next time. That makes Chan’s stomach do a somersault. He can’t fight the smile that blooms on his face, sitting cross-legged on the floor and opening his backpack. You mimic his sitting position, tucking your legs under one another. He holds out a stack of index cards, holding them out for you. You take them, shuffling through them while Chan continues to dig through his bag. Once you look at him again, he’s wearing glasses, and you have to refrain from moaning out loud at how good he looks.

“Read me the cards. Does your vision go blurry when you’re drunk?”

“I’m not drunk, Chan!” You huff, lifting the first index card closer to your face to read it. “Broca’s Area?”

“Um... it’s where someone can, like, recognize something, but they can’t speak.”

“Hemisphere?”

“Left.”

“Is this the kind of study session where I’m supposed to remove a piece of clothing for everything that you answer correctly?” Chan’s eyes widen at your proposition, and you just laugh, setting the first card down next to you and moving onto another one. “Just kidding. Wernicke’s Area?”

“Th-That’s -- fuck, you distracted me – it's, like, the opposite of Broca’s Area. S-So, the language production component is still intact, but the words don’t really make sense.”

“Hemisphere?”

“Also left.”

You hum quietly in approval, picking another index card from your stack. “Hemispheric lateralization?”

“Okay, so, we have the left and the right hemispheres, right? Basically, the brain isn’t symmetrical. The left hemisphere doesn’t function the exact same way as the right hemisphere, and vice versa. The left hemisphere is responsible for certain things, like language production and stuff, but the right hemisphere is responsible for other things, like visual stuff.” You simply nod while Chan tries to fully answer the question, as if you have any idea what he’s talking about. Maybe with a clearer mind, you could contribute a little bit better. “There’s this whole debate about being left-brained or being right-brained, and also about how people are determined to be left-handed or right-handed.”

You look at the backside of the index card for a few beats before giving up. “I don’t know if you answered the question or not.”

“Because you’re drunk, or because I didn’t answer it correctly?”

He takes the card from you. His fingers brush with yours, and you suddenly feel like you’re on fire. “I think I’m a little drunk, actually.”

“That’s crazy!” He smiles, reading the card, his tone indicating that he does not find it to be crazy. “Do you want some water now?”

No, I think I just want to kiss you.

“W-What?”

“What?” You realize too late that you’d said that out loud and gasp, covering your mouth. Chan is equally surprised, eyebrows raised as far as they could physically go, and for a few moments, the two of you stare at each other like that.

Calmly, Chan clears his throat. There’s a hint of smile on his face that, unfortunately, you aren’t able to catch. “W-We can revisit that when you’re sober.” He wishes that he could be a little less polite in this situation – adrenaline is pumping through his veins at your sudden confession, and he wants nothing more than to pin you to the couch and give you exactly what you’d just asked for. But you’re drunk, and even though he knows that he’s not going to be able to retain any more information, all that he can do is continue studying while waiting for you to sober up. Hopefully, you’ll still want to kiss him when you aren’t being driven by your own intoxication. Chan, personally, has never needed alcohol to get the urge to kiss you, and he hopes that the same can be said for you by the end of the night.

You, on the other hand, are mortified. The alcohol is only just starting to hit you, and you had started off strong by telling Chan that you wanted to kiss him. You’re afraid now that you’re going to end up saying something even more embarrassing – that you love him, that you’d always loved him, or that you want him to fuck you until you’re seeing stars. Any of those things would certainly result in your own demise, and the destruction of your friendship, and for that, you’re terrified.

For better or for worse, you and Chan get through the rest of the index cards without any additional love confessions.

“How are we feeling now?” He asks, setting down a glass of water on the table after he finally convinced you to take some. To answer his question, you’re dizzy. You don’t dare try to stand up, but you’re also starting to feel tired. Crashing on Chan’s couch was definitely not what you had planned to do tonight.

“My head hurts.” You groan, massaging your temples.

“Drink your water, then.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” You huff, grimacing at the thought of putting any additional liquids into your body tonight. Chan quirks an eyebrow at you, arms crossed over his chest. You shake your head. “I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, but you need it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re gonna have a monster hangover.”

“I’ll be fine, Chan.”

“I’ll kiss you if you drink it all.”

Truthfully, Chan is not this bold. He’s been longing for you since he met you, but he knows that he doesn’t have a shot in hell. Your dad wants you to be with a particular type of person, the kind of person that he is not, even if Chan knows that he deserves you more than any of the guys you’d seen so far. He deserves you, and you deserve someone that can make you happy, to keep you laughing, and that will take care of you. He knows this, and he’s been waiting for you to figure it out, too.

He knows why you told him that you wanted to kiss him. He can easily think back to the night before, when you had been complaining about the physical contact (and lack thereof) that you’d suffered since being forced on all of these dates. Chan is convenient for you, and he’s safe, and fuck, if he can’t have you completely, then he’s willing to settle.

“Y-You’re blackmailing me.” You huff, snatching the glass of water and drinking from it, nevertheless. You choose to look away, to focus on drinking the water and not on Chan and the kiss he had just promised you. You’d make yourself choke if you thought too hard about that.

“No, I’m bribing you.”

You’re already feeling better by the time that you finish your water, and the expectant way that you look up at Chan drives his heart rate up. Still, he’s a man of his word. He takes a seat on the couch next to you, laughing quietly when you close your eyes, tilting your face toward him. He cups your face with both of his hands, holding you still while he leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You scoff, eyes flying open, grabbing his wrists.

“That is not the kind of kiss that I wanted, and you know that.”

“You’re still drunk! I can’t kiss you.”

“Fine, then stay still.”

Chan’s heart is pounding so quickly that he’s afraid he’s going to blast off. You, on the other hand, are eerily calm. Time almost feels like it’s standing still as you lean in, slow that you can offer Chan an out if he wants to take it. He doesn’t, and that’s how you’re able to press your lips against his. It’s a chaste kiss, devoid of any tongue or teeth or movement, but Chan is practically trembling against your lips. He wants to pull you onto his lap. He wants to let his hands snake underneath your sweatshirt and roam across your skin. He wants to stop holding back, but he can’t. Not right now.

You pull away after a few moments, still slow, offering him a chance to chase your lips. Your heart falls when he doesn’t, but you do your best to keep your expression even. You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at him.

He clears his throat. “More water?”

Only if you kiss me again. “Yes, please.”

+ + +

You don’t remember much about that night with Chan. You remember the kiss, and you remember going through his neuroscience flashcards again, but that’s it; any additional details have been buried in your consciousness, and when you woke up in your own bed the next morning, you have no idea what course of events led you there. You can only assume that they involved Chan.

And that’s why, contrary to how you usually felt in the days leading up to your weekly visit to the restaurant, you’re nervous tonight. Debilitatingly nervous. You don’t feel excited at the thought of visiting Chan. You don’t want to spend your whole date feeling his eyes on you. You’re afraid to face him, all because of what you can remember from last weekend. You kissed him, and he didn’t kiss back. You had forced yourself on him and you weren’t ready to face the consequences of that tonight.

That’s why you don’t come to the restaurant early. You meet your date in the parking lot and walk in together, and you burn with shame as you walk through the restaurant to a different table than usual. You can feel Chan’s eyes on you, practically burning a hole through you. You don’t dare to twist in your seat and look in his direction. You don’t get up, even when you need to use the restroom. You keep your eyes glued to your date the whole time. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol in your system, or the fact that you hadn’t had a meaningful conversation beforehand to tide you over, but this date was especially bad. You can’t even remember his name when everything is said and done, after two torturous hours have passed.

Your date was awful, and you don’t know if you did the right thing by avoiding Chan, but at least it was over. Maybe you could start having your dates at a different restaurant. Maybe you would be able to peacefully disappear from Chan’s life, and convince yourself that it was never love in the first place, and--

“So, you’re hiding from me now?”

The voice makes you freeze, fingers stilling in your bag since you’ve been searching for your keys. You don’t need to look up to confirm what you already know. Instead, you stay in place, a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach. “I-I’m not hiding.”

“Then look at me.”

That you can’t do. Chan scoffs, shaking his head even though you don’t see it. Internally, he’s pissed off. He, too, has been overthinking everything since Saturday night. He should’ve just kissed you, properly, like you’d asked. He should have just scratched the itch that had been plaguing him for months, taking advantage of your drunken state to confess how he really feels about you. He’d make mistakes, but he wasn’t expecting everything to backfire on him so badly. Were you upset with him for not going further with you? Had he done something wrong? Maybe, but does that excuse your actions tonight? Absolutely not.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing!” You scoff this time, squeezing your eyes shut. That same feeling of shame, that burning feeling, was beginning to overtake you. “Y-You didn’t do anything. I did something wrong.”

“What, by kissing me?”

“Yes!”

That hurts Chan, but for reasons different than you realize. His expression falls, and the prolonged silence is why you finally dare to look at him. The expression on his face squeezes your heart, and you scramble to try and rectify things as best as you. “I-I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was drunk, and I-I forced myself on you, and I’m sorry.”

“You...” He trails off, clenching his jaw. That’s what you think? “I-I don’t--” He doesn’t know how to respond, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that the two of you are on different pages. “I wanted to kiss you, too.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” Your words come out louder and clearer than you had expected. Chan pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to calm his own irritation, but unable to look past the fact that you’d ignored him all night because of a misunderstanding.

“You were drunk.”

“It was just a kiss!” Your own anger is starting to flare up. You’d been led to feel like you had seriously crossed a boundary, but as it turns out, Chan was just chivalrous to a fault. How annoying.

“You were drunk, and I was not, and that wouldn’t have been okay!”

“It was just a kiss, Chan!”

“Fine, since you’re telling me that it shouldn’t have mattered--” Chan is quick to bridge the distance between the two of you, cupping your face with one of his hands and gripping your hip with the other. He pulls you flush against him and then leans in, pressing his lips against yours. For a few moments, you don’t know what to do; it’s not a matter of whether you should kiss him back, but you don’t know if you and him need to talk through anything else. Ultimately, you decide that talking can wait and you wrap your fingers around his forearms.

You pull away just enough to dive back in, lips slotting between Chan’s. Your hold on him couldn’t get any tighter as he holds your head in place, capturing your lips again and again and again. Once bitten and twice shy, you wait for him to slip his tongue into your mouth to go deeper with things. The feeling of your mouth against Chan’s, your tongue sliding against him, quickly becomes intoxicating, but your desire to taste him trumps your desire for air. It isn’t until your lungs are burning that you finally break away, just enough to breathe. Your lips, swollen and chapped, remain pressed against his even as you pant quietly, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on your hip was tight enough to bruise, but when he finally realizes and relaxes his hold, he rubs his thumb against you to soothe the dull ache.

Chan doesn’t know when he’s supposed to release you, and truthfully, he doesn’t want to. He’s aware of how un-romantic it is, standing in the middle of a parking garage, clinging onto each other like this, but Chan will take whatever he can get from you. He isn’t involved in the revolving door of those stuffy businessmen that your father has been forcing you to date. He’s just... Chan, the bartender that’s in love with you. And he knows that fact won’t be able to sustain the relationship that he wants to have with you.

Where do you go from here? Neither of you have any idea.

“Chan...” You sigh. You’ve finally gotten exactly what you wanted from him, and unfortunately, you’re still craving more. The scent of his cologne is making you dizzy, and the feeling of being pressed against him is intoxicating. You’re afraid you’ll never be able to pull away from him.

“Don’t say my name like that. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous for who?”

“For you.”

You’re glad that Chan is holding you and supporting you, because otherwise, you might’ve keeled over at his response. You can’t count the number of times that you’d thought about Chan while touching yourself, fingers playing with your clit while imagining that it was him instead. There’s a carnal desire that has been driving a large part of your interactions with Chan, and yet, in this moment, you don’t have those same urges. Right now, you want tender touches and soft kisses. You want him to keep you grounded, to hold you and to never release you.

You want what you can’t have.

“Should we keep standing here like this, or should we go back to my place?”

You sigh deeply, and from that response, Chan knows what’s coming next. He’s gotten a taste of you, just enough to get addicted, and now...

“I still have a date scheduled for next week.” You say, reaching up to thread your fingers through the hair near the nape of his neck. “And the week after that, too, I think.” Your heart practically splits and shatters at the look at Chan gives you, but you spill out the rest of your thoughts as quickly as you can. “I-I’m going to talk to my dad. Tomorrow. Just... wait for me, okay?”

Chan has always waited for you, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

+ + +

It’s definitely causing problems for Chan, still having to watch you on your stupid little dates.

He shouldn’t be jealous, he knows that. You’ve already made it painfully obvious that you want him, and he’s still had a hard time wrapping his brain around the fact that he can finally call you ‘his’ -- almost.

You’d asked for time so that you could talk to your date, to tell him that you’d found someone and that you were done with the dates. Your dad hadn’t taken the news well, insisting that you needed to marry within your family’s tax bracket, that your marriage needed to help the family politically and fiscally. Chan didn’t know the rest of the details because you’d been too distraught to recount them, but he knew that you were still bound to go on your dates. He’s been understanding, but that doesn’t stop the ugly jealousy that rises in his throat whenever one of your dates leans in too close, gets too touchy.

Tonight, as he’s done every other night, he’ll just look away. He’ll take a deep breath. He’ll tend to his patrons and avert his eyes, even though he’s dying to get another look at you. Then, after his shift, he’ll go back with you to your apartment and remind you that you love him, that you’ve always loved him, and that he’s always felt the exact same way about you.

“How was your date?” Chan asks. It’s much later in the evening now. The two of you had gone back to your apartment. He’d tidied up your living room and kitchen while you changed out of your date outfit and taken off your makeup. Eventually, once both of you were ready, you’d both slumped on the couch. Chan was on you in an instant, touching you after another torturous evening of only being able to look at you. One of his hands is splayed against your head, his fingers pressing against the upward curve of your jaw while his palm cups the underside of it. He’s pressing wet, feverish kisses against the other side of your neck when he pauses to ask about your date. He doesn’t really care, though.

“Terrible.” You sigh, leaning in against his hand to grant him better access to your neck. He responses positively to this, dragging his tongue against your skin. You groan lowly as a result, clutching his t-shirt a little tighter. “I thought about you the whole time.”

“The whole time?” His tone is patronizing, but the words go straight to your cunt. “What were you thinking about?”

You bite your lip, suppressing a sigh that bubbles up as Chan sucks a patch of skin between his lips. “Y-You. This.”

“Yeah?” The feeling of his teeth forces a hiss through your lips, followed by his laughter. You would consider withholding the details of your thoughts from earlier if the desire to reenact them wasn’t so overpowering.

“Don’t tease.” You huff, threading your fingers through the hair near the back of his neck so that you can hold him a little closer to you. “I-I was thinking about being rescued from my date. You, meeting me in the bathroom and fucking me against the mirror.”

Chan has to still his movements so that he can fully process your words. The same thoughts now race through his mind, and he groans against your throat. He would be toast if he ever tried anything at the restaurant, but he could still indulge the thought – especially if those same thoughts were keeping you sane through your dates. He drags his hands down to your hips, squeezing and pulling you closer to him on the couch.

You’re folded underneath him in a matter of sixty seconds.

“F-Fuck, Chan--” He’s moving so fast that you don’t even realize he’d shimmied his way to between your thighs until he pauses, hands planted atop your thighs. Your heart is racing, and your lungs feel constricted, and as badly as you want this, there’s something terrifying about each and every new step that you take into this uncharted territory with him. You’ve been dreaming about having Chan inside of you, in every way possible, since you met him; your dreams never considered anything beyond that, though. “W-We-- hold on--”

“This doesn’t have to be c-committal.” Chan rasps, eyes flickering between yours and your core, likely indicated by a wet patch on your shorts. “I-I just really want to taste you, this doesn’t h-have to be anything-- y-you said--”

You want it so bad that you’re afraid to give yourself any additional time to overthink and ruin things. “P-Please, Chan, I want you.” He tugs your shorts down only enough for access to your cunt, flattening his tongue against the wet spot on your underwear. He rubs his hands up and down your thighs as he goes in for another taste, hot and wet and separated by such a thin layer. Your cries for more are weak but unnecessary; he hooks a finger around your underwear, pulling them aside for full access. His mouth is watering at the sight of you, and the moment that he gets his first real taste of you is one that he’ll cherish for eternity.

Chan eats your pussy like a man starved. You know that you don’t imagine the ripping sound that you hear before your underwear ends up on the floor, but then Chan immediately crams his tongue inside of you and fucks you with it, and you accept his form of apology. He pulls away only to press himself flush against you, slurping and sucking against your slit and collecting all of the arousal that’s been pooling out of you. You swear that your grip on his hair can’t get any tighter until he kneads your clit with his tongue, and then you’re pulling even harder.

“Chan, y-yes, fuck, p-please--”

“K-Keep saying that--” He groans into your pussy, and you involuntarily roll your hips in response to the vibration of his words against your folds. “--my n-name.”

You sigh his name again, untangling one of your hands from his arm to drape it across your face, eyes falling shut as you focus on the feelings of Chan’s tongue laving over your clit again and again. It feels even better than you had imagined it would, soft and slow and warm. Each involuntary clench of your thighs against his head is met with firm hands prying you back open, and the few times that you’ve dared to look down at Chan, you’ve been brought closer and closer to your orgasm. There are two reasons for the feverishness that’s overtaken your body: because you’re with Chan, and because you’ve never wanted anyone the way that you’ve wanted him.

Your orgasm rips you out of your bliss. It’s like you’ve been struck by the lightning, the way that your body writhes and shudders while Chan sits back, his lazy grin covered in your slick, admiring his work as you fall apart. He tells himself that, if this ever happens again, he should record you; the sound of you moaning his name is what he hopes will play on an endless loop for him in his afterlife.

His touches are soft as you come down from your high, brushing stray strands of hair out of your face. You grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him down to meet your lips, groaning softly when you taste yourself on his tongue. At the risk of doing too much too quickly, though, Chan pulls away from the kiss once he senses it’s about to escalate again.

“W-We— s-sorry, I--”

You’re, admittedly, disappointed, but you pull him back down into your arms, nuzzling your face into his neck this time. He relaxes in your hold, and the two of you lapse into a silence punctuated by the ticking of a nearby clock and each other’s heartbeats. Even in the comfortable silence, you still feel compelled to say your piece, though.

“I really like you, Chan.”

He only hums in response. He hopes that you can’t feel his heartrate increase as he lays against you. You wouldn’t break up with him right after he fucked you with his tongue, right? Of course, he knows that you wouldn’t, and yet...

“We’re gonna be together soon, okay? I promise. I-I'll find a way to stop the stupid dates, and then we can be together. That’s all I wanted to say.”

God, he hopes that you can find a way to keep your word.

+ + +

Truthfully, Chan can’t figure out if he’s lost his mind or not. He still thinks that he might be stuck in his own fantasies, dreaming up a life with you that doesn’t really exist.

Even as he helps you carry boxes from your apartment out to the moving van that you rented out, he’s not sure that this is reality. He pinches his fingers as he sets down one of the boxes in the truck, and still, he thinks that he’s imagined the pain. You plant a kiss on his cheek as you breeze past him and back into the building, and yet, he still can’t fathom that things had ended up as they have.

You’d actually been able to keep your promise. He still can’t believe that.

After months and months of dating in secret, you had managed to convince your dad that the family could survive without the nepotism marriage that he desperately desired. It had taken a few sabotaged dates where you’d spewed on and on about your sex with Chan, and countless conversations where you begged and pleaded with him to see things the way that you did, and somehow, Chan ended up victorious. You were someone that he only deserved in his dreams, and somehow, he had found a way to dream while he was awake.

He has to take moments to ground himself, to let himself remember that you are real, that you do love him back. That’s how you find him on your trip back to the van, zoned out and staring at the ground. He doesn’t snap out of it even as you slam the doors of the van shut. Only when you hug him from behind, cheek pressed against the center of his back, hands sliding along his chest does he finally descend from the clouds. You inhale deeply against him, smiling involuntarily at the scent of him that you were expecting to fully engrain to memory soon enough.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“Daydreaming again?”

Chan laughs, turning in your arms so that he can hold you, too. “Trying to convince myself that this is real.”

“Why wouldn’t it be real, Chan?”

“Because since I met you, I knew that I loved you. But that didn’t matter until recently.” When you open your mouth to reply, to scold him because he could’ve said something sooner, he shakes his head. “I always hoped that you’d be mine. I just didn’t think it was realistic.”

“It was never us against the world. Just... us against my dad.”

“Yeah, well, regardless of that,” Chan kisses you softly, pulling away only far enough to put distance between your lips as he speaks again. “I feel like I beat the world, and your dad, and won the most precious gift in the process.”

“You won?”

“I did. I won you.”

“Do I need to remind you that I’m not a prize?”

“You’re my prize.”

#dino x reader #lee chan x reader #svt x reader #dino scenarios #lee chan scenarios #svt scenarios #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios #hengqarae

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