#this was fun thanks!! i make a new playlist every week of what i have on rotation so i pulled from that

[madamechrissy]

Took you Like a Shot

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- gonna be flashbacks to the rivalry/that night, nerdjo but make him a fratboy, enemies to kind of begrudging partners, but then as the pregnancy progresses, they fall in love hehe (gojo is an idiot) MDNI - flashbacks of their past rivalry, Satoru being silly but sweet, reader getting insecure, both are emotional, mentions of pregnancy/body changes, explicit sex, oral (f recieiving) cervix kisses, squirting, mirror sex, talking you through it, LOTS of humor- WC- this chap- 8.4k - art in the banner by Yuana on X

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3 (extras here and here)

<<<Chapter Two - Masterlist - Playlist- Chapter Four>>>

Chapter Three

A month later- four months along

You really hope Satoru makes it in time, he’s texted you plenty and sent you many silly selfies - fuck the two of you had phone sex - you blush as you remember just what kind of picture was sent after that. He’s called every single night to speak to you, to the point the two of you are learning more and more about each other, yes he’s kind of an idiot, but he’s also kind of brilliant.

Conceited and cocky, yet slightly insecure about things and vulnerable, terrified of having a baby but excited, the duality of Satoru Gojo was never anything like what you knew him as for the past five years. You remember hating his attitude, his advances, remembering how ‘easy’ things were for him, but the more you all talk, the more that changes.

You’re not mad he went on his trip, everything would change for him, why not let him have fun, but you find yourself… lonely. You don’t know what that sex meant to him, but it was almost as if… maybe you could see that future? Maybe you could see something coming of it.

Are you way off?

You’ve seen the numerous pictures of Satoru and his friends all over every bit of instagram, girls in their bikinis surrounding the group, you never see Satoru not around someone, though he keeps the distance, his arm is usually around Suguru’s shoulders. He looks so happy, so carefree you muse, feeling the complete opposite of just how you feel - exhausted.

You’re already more than ‘poochy’ though many people still haven’t assumed you’re pregnant, flowy empire waisted dresses have curbed anyone assuming so, which is ideal considering you just started getting on camera. Last week was the start of your new segment, where you go over the current news, it’s for celebrities for now, but you hope one day to get to the heavy hitting things.

“And with that, I send it back to you.” You finish your segment with a smile at the camera, the director shouts - cut! - and everyone starts clearing up, getting ready for the next person on the floor.

You blink a bit, bright lights shooting in your face are still overwhelming, when the director comes up to you, smiling, his eyes roving just a little too much on your body. “You did great.”

“Oh thank you!”

“You look great, too.” The female director steps up, snidely scowling down at your body now, making you tense.

“But remember the camera adds ten pounds, maybe a salad for lunch instead of those hot cheetos?” You feel your cheeks heat up furiously, as the crew watches curiously at you.

You’ve gained five pounds this month and it’s all in your tummy and tits. “No, I think you look great, don’t worry.” He says again, but the snobby woman rolls her eyes at him.

“Just looking out for you. Maybe we could be… friends?” She suggests, making you blink in shock and embarrassment.

You want to tell them you’re pregnant but you’re too terrified- it’s too new, so not just yet, you’re so worried they’ll take this away after working so hard… you’d eventually have to tell them, when you can’t hide it anymore, but for now, you’ll pretend you’ve just eaten a lot of hot cheetos.

“No, that’s true I will remember the camera adding ten pounds. Thanks for looking out.” You manage, this was Hollywood and this was the norm, you expected just about this much anyway, ten extra pounds is a lot for the position.

God how big would you get!?

You’re frowning then, when you recall the conversation, and see it.

A stretch mark.

“Fuck… shit. Already!?” You’re panicking, how do you get one four months in!? You look like you have a food baby, surely, it’s not even that big yet and there it is, clear as fucking day.

You hear the doorbell ring then, sliding your shirt down to hide the evidence of it, how much cocoa butter did you need!? You basically bathe in the shit every fucking day- and now this already. You expected some later on perhaps, when you were bigger. Frustrated and upset, you open the door to see Satoru’s face, just a little sunburnt, and his eyes are bloodshot red even as he grins.

“Hey sweets. Miss me?”

Yes.

“Maybe.” You murmur, glaring just a bit while Satoru struggles to focus, head hammering then.

“Can I get some water, ibuprofen, some eggs-” He blinks you into focus now, seeing tears in your eyes, hitting him over the head like a freezing cold bucket of water suddenly. “Shit, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing… just…” You can’t take it then, you’re sobbing, as he fumbles, trying to pat your back, pulling you against him just a bit.

“Missed me that badly?” You take a shaky breath, swiping at your tears now.

“I’m getting…” You pull back, and in one month your tummy has rounded some, a gentle curve, your tits are swollen already, begging for his mouth. Satoru can’t take just how gorgeous you are then, exhaling, hands on your hips.

“Getting sexy?” He asks softly, and you shake your head.

“You’re fucked up, that’s why you think it.”

“What now?” He glares, sobering up with every moment you’re acting like such a brat. “What funhouse mirror are you checking? Are they being mean at work or some shit!?”

“They mentioned I should stop eating hot cheetos. But… they don’t know I’m pregnant so.” Satoru frowns then, brushing his hand across your hip now, thumb pressing little circles, making your breath catch with the intimacy.

“You didn’t tell them?”

“I’m too scared to lose the job…”

“But you can’t hide it forever.”

“I know.”

“Is that why you’re crying?” His surprisingly sharp gaze flickers when you shake your head. “Why are you?”

“I have a stretch mark already.” He frowns when you lift up your shirt, showing him it, a mark that glints under the lights. “I’m eating too many fucking hot cheetos, they’re right, ugh!”

He laughs then, thumb brushing the mark, seeing goosebumps raise as he does so, before getting on his knees, making you gasp. “This right here?” He asks softly, eyeing you under his snowy lashes, your hands come to rest on his shoulders, nodding a bit.

“Y-yes, already Satoru. And I’m meticulous about this stupid cocoa butter.” You’re exhaling as he kisses the mark, lips against your skin, your tummy flutters with desire, fuck you had missed him.

“It’s sexy.” His whisper sends shivers across your body, you almost whine out how good it feels.

“It’s so not.”

“I like it. Stop being mean to yourself, what will the baby think if they hear this all the time, hmm?” He presses another kiss on your tummy, touching your heart then, right above your belly button, as his hands warmly palm your hips. “If you’re mean to yourself the baby will get upset.”

“How does it know?” You’re sniffling now.

“Babies know their surroundings, you don’t want to stress them, hmm?”

“You… read up on it?” He smiles a bit, nodding, your earlier response of being so irritated at him is fading, you find yourself stroking his hair, as he rests his forehead on your tummy. “You’re right. You’re right.”

“I love to hear that, where was this all of college, hmm?”

“I bet you do.” You pull him up now, seeing him sway just a bit, sighing. You want to tell him he shouldn’t show up fucked up, but the sweetness of the moment speaks louder than his immaturity. “Let’s get you some food before we go.”

“I think I love you.”

After you’ve made Satoru an enormous omelette, which he devours with fervor in your little kitchen as you sip on a decaf- that’s depressing isn’t it? - something almost feels… natural about it. About the sunlight filtering through those blinds, lighting the two of you up, little dustmotes floating through the beams of light, flashing just so on his pretty face.

Satoru leans back, grinning and rubbing his tummy. “I’ll have a food baby, we could match you know.”

You snort, rolling your eyes and sipping the hot liquid. “I can’t see you matching this, I feel like a whale.”

“You’re not at all.” He frowns now, eyeing you slowly. “You look so good I’d like to put you on this table and eat you.”

You blink at his bold words, igniting something insane inside you, color dancing on your cheeks as your thighs shift, earning his smirk. “You’re so crazy.”

“You want it. Well, c’mere then.” He shoves his plate out of the way, tapping the table as you can’t help but giggle. “Think I’m kidding? Think I don’t want you spread for me?”

“Jesus Satoru…” You take a step now, then another, setting down the coffee on the counter. “Did you miss me so bad?”

Yes, he did.

He wants your taste to soak into him again.

He smiles though, hands on your hips when you finally stand right between his spread thighs, just inhaling you. “God you smell so sweet.”

“Mnh…” Just a kiss and a tug over your shorts has you weak, your fingers brushing through his silky locks, when your phone starts blaring the alarm. “Oh shit… the ultrasound.”

“Mmm, can we be late?” He raises a brow and you feel so sexy then, it’s like all your worries fade for just a moment.

“No, but…” You kiss him quickly, disentangling yourself now. “Thank you.”

“Don’t have to thank me for wanting to have two meals for breakfast. What do they call that, nerd, hmm?” Your lips twitch as he stands, so tall his hair is just a couple inches from your ceiling, you feel so small then, your heart thrumming in your chest as the two of you stand in your homey little kitchen.

You shouldn’t feel so much, think so much, he’s being sweet and supportive but… your heart and mind are racing places they should not. Thinking you’d love to just have him here, how funny a man who you used to ‘hate’ has become so precious in a month to you, even his phone calls and texts were more comforting than either of you are willing to admit.

“Second breakfast.” You answer, he chuckles just a bit, tilting your chin up then, sighing.

“You’re prettier.”

“No…”

“Why would I lie? I’m not nice am I?” His brow raises, and you bite your lower lip then. “Remember when I hung all your panties all over and everyone took pictures?”

“Oh jesus, yes. You were so mad I beat your ass at beer pong.” You shove at him now, glaring and looking far too fucking cute as he grins.

“You lost at the drink off. And you shouldn’t have had so many panties.”

Oh yeah.

You almost forgot.

Gojo was a little fratboy ASS.

******

Two years ago

You throw your arms up, cheering along with everyone as you land that last bouncy white pong ball right inside Satoru Gojo’s last red solo cup, essentially tearing down the ‘king of beer pong’. A man that had never lost, just lost to a girl who never played, and the horror on his face, his parted glossy lips and wide blue eyes, were so amusing you couldn’t stand it.

Good.

“I want a rematch!” He demands, in the middle of a toga party, everyone dressed in wrapped sheets with gold glitter on their skin, the loud music reverberating as you cross your arms, grinning. “Damn demon.”

“Demon? No.” You giggle though, demonically he swears, batting your pretty lashes up at him. “Just bested you and you’re salty.”

“Me!? No, beginner’s luck, fuck that.” You’re deviously laughing again, when Satoru smirks. “Fine, a drink off.”

“A drink off!?”

“Yep, the loser gets to embarrass the other, they have to deal with whatever the winner wants. Agree?” He raises a thin white brow, as you eye him, he’s slender sure but he’s six foot four, he clearly could handle more than you. “Whoever can not puke, and still walk a straight line, wins.”

“Bet, I will own your ass.” Your girls, especially Shoko and Utahime giggle, cheering you on, as Suguru and Sukuna smirk at each other, high fiving, and soon an entire party is damn near silent, watching you two.

“Feeling weak, sweets?” Satoru taunts, slamming back a shot then, and you’re already fucking tipsy, three in, but you damn sure won’t show it, even as the liquor warms your entire body.

“Hah, no, m’feeling great.” You down yours, a droplet falling across your chin then, he touches you with a thumb before he can stop himself, making you both pause, and whispers amongst the party goers. Shit even the music is softer, as everyone watches the two rivals of their college go at it.

Satoru Satoru Satoru.

There’s a quiet chant of his name, and he downs another, throwing his arms up like the annoying frat boy he is, chiseled muscles glinting under the strobing leds ahead, you try to ignore how it makes you feel. You try to pretend the losers you’ve fucked with could compete with how badly you truly want Satoru, but you’d die before you ever told him the truth.

And as Satoru sits back down, and your girls chant your name, he can’t stop but look at just how beautiful your skin looks glinting with glitter under these lights, how you look like a fucking goddess in your tied up sheet. So gorgeous for a moment he forgets just where he is, who he is, tired of acting like any girl that joins his bed tonight could touch your beauty.

Not that he’d tell you, he’d die before he did, looking at your petulant little scowl, your haughty raised brow, as you cross your arms and tap your foot, he hates that he notices your pedicure. He hate that he loves the pretty white glitter, that even your fucking feet in sandals turns him on, and he especially hates one thing, how unaffected you are.

You’re the only girl ever that was.

And the only girl he’d die to have.

Satoru spent all of last night jerking it to your latest instagram post, not that you’d ever know, so fucking sexy, smart, your attitude even just makes him hard in your presence. In a room full of writhing bodies, giggling girls and drunk ass men, all trying to party and forget that finals are looming, that the real world is just a couple years away, all he can see is you.

He watches you down another shot, as you just get even hotter, the more you challenge him, feisty little brat, taking on a huge, grown ass man and giggling like you’re big and bad. He talks shit, you talk it right back, until Suguru calls it. - “Time! Let’s see who can walk a straight line, huh?” 

Both groups chant your names, but you do stumble then, and Satoru catches you in his arms, grinning as you pout. “Ugh no way!”

“He won.” Sukuna announces, everyone starts cheering or booing depending on whose side they were on, and Satoru tries not to think how good you feel in his fucking arms, how he’d love you to just stay there.

“Not fair, sweets, I’m way taller.”

“Whatever I tried!” You shove at him, stumbling again, and he frowns, tilting your chin up and looking into now drunk, dilated eyes.

“Let’s… get you to bed… and some water?” He murmurs then, you blink in your drunken haze, biting your lower lip, trying not to let the words out that always loom to the surface, that you want him, that you enjoy him, enjoy all your dumb ass fights, all your rivalry.

He motivates you, pushes you.

He’s gorgeous, his arms feel too fucking good.

Your brain swirls, tummy lurching just a bit, as you realize you’re good and fucked up. “I can do it myself.”

“Will you ever just let someone help you?” You shake your head, Satoru rolls his eyes, following you when you trip on the stairs now, giggling, landing right in his arms once more. “Let me take you to bed, brat.”

“Oh fine.” You let him pick you up in his arms, inhaling that expensive fucking cologne, the one only he wears, Creed something- you looked it up one day and knew this fucker was rich. “You smell good.”

“You are wasted.” He smirks as he carries you up the winding stairs, heading to your hall now, murmurs of curious partiers ensuing, and you’re just clinging even tighter to his neck. “Which room is yours?”

“Mmm, 6A.” He opens your door now, Satoru has never been in your room, he can’t help but smile when he sees the amount of Harry Potter merch, and the Lord of the Rings posters all over.

“So nerdy.”

“I’m a Slytherin, sss.” You earn his laughter, as he eases you down, eyeing how the sheet is falling, making him flush, clearing his throat. “Satoru is scared of a naked girl, no way.”

“You’re terrifying is all. In general.”

“Mmm, it’s the Slytherin in me. Whoopsie, I’m naked.” You’re giggling now, stumbling over to your dresser, Satoru faces away quickly, one thing he’d never do is take advantage of a drunk girl.

Even though he’s dying to know what your body looks like, he busies himself by going to your little fridge, pulling out a cool water bottle. “You need water.”

“Thanks dad.” You’re giggling as he turns back around, your top half off and turned, shorts barely on, Satoru grimaces, handing you the bottle, gently moving your top. “You’re not shitfaced?”

“Nah, I can hold a drink, lightweight.” You glare a bit, downing the bottle in thirsty gulps, moaning, the sound so sexy his dick twitches in reaction.

“Why do you hate me?” Your question catches him off guard, he gets your top adjusted just to see perky nipples pressing thin material.

“Why do you hate me, drunky?” He asks softly, and you sigh, stumbling a bit as he helps you into bed, leaning over you now, tensing as your fingers trace his jaw.

“You’re beautiful.” He pauses, laughing now.

“You’re annihilated.”

“You’re beautiful alright. Mmm. No wonder they all line up.” He’s setting your water down as you doze off now, kissing your head gently, something he never thought he’d do, let alone with you.

“And you’re gorgeous, stubborn brat.” His whisper is met with your snore, he can’t help but stare at you for longer than he should, before he smirks, looking back at your dresser.

He sure won.

And that means…

Revenge.

*****

Present day

“You hung up all my boxers as revenge, even my Digimon ones! I’d say you got revenge.” Satoru teases, not knowing if you remembered any of that night after you’d been so drunk, and you show no signs of recollection as he wolfs down the food hungrily.

“I sure did. Those Digimon ones were cute.”

He smirks now. “Those Slytherin panties were sexy.”

“Oh yeah?” You raise a brow, and he grins.

“Oh yeah.”

The ultrasound this time was over the tummy, thank goodness, and this time it’s a little different, Satoru’s hand is on yours as he sits next to you, much different than the mess the two of you had been last time. The cold clear ultrasound liquid pours on your slightly rounded tummy, the cool wand pressing, just a little uncomfortable as they press harder, and you two look at the screen.

“There it is.” The doctor says, and you and Satoru hold your breath, the baby already looks more like a baby, this time you see it moving, it’s little legs, it’s head, making you tear up, and Satoru holds his breath.

“Look, long legs like dad already.” He says, voice just a bit husky, you’re blinking tears back as you grin.

“Can we see if it’s a boy or girl?” You ask, and the doctor smiles warmly, nodding at you.

“We should be able to, yes. Let’s see…” The doctor looks this way and that, pressing in different places, taking pictures on the black and white screen, when they finally get the view. “You’re having a little girl.”

“Oh my god.” You both whisper at the same time, you smile tremulously at Satoru, who’s enamored so clearly.

“Satoruette!”

“No.”

“A girl, huh?” Satoru’s murmuring later, as he takes you back home, hanging in your doorway, resting his elbow on the frame, and your bright, pretty smile nearly ends him.

God he wants you.

“A girl. Here…” You take one of the photos, handing it to him, he pulls out a black leather wallet, putting it in delicately, smiling so big. “She’s beautiful already.”

“How could she not be? You see her parents?” You flush a bit, looking down as he caresses your cheek.

“I’d really… love company tonight. If you could stay.”

“One sec.” Satoru practically bounces to the car, telling Kiyotaka he could head home, you’re smiling with amusement as he runs back, clearing his throat and grinning down at you. “Are you making dinner?”

“I’m making dinner.” The two of you, it feels so comfortable, so fucking natural, as you all talk, about his business, about your career, about the little girl growing inside of you, both of your little girl.

“You’re an amazing cook, shit.” He’s rubbing his tummy, sipping on the tea you’ve made to go along with dinner, and watches you rinse off the plates, looking over your shoulder at him. “Be a cute housewife.”

“Oh whatever!” You splash a little water from your hands as you dry them then, and he stands, coming so close to you, voice husky as he presses you against the counter.

“You would be. Barefoot, pregnant, look at you.”

“Misogyny!” You’re giggling when he picks you up, kissing you, the motion ruining any hope you have of acting normal, you tremble in his hold, in how good you feel in his arms.

“Feminism is so overrated.”

You roll your eyes, heating up at your proximity, at how your body reacts to his nearness. “You’re too much.”

“Hmm…” He’s kissing down your neck now, sighing as he pulls back then, looking down at you, blue eyes lit up so bright they’re insane to take in. “You got something for me to sleep in?”

“Your boxers work.”

“Oh yeah, so slutty.” He’s murmuring, raising a brow, as the two of you start kissing over and over, until he’s lifted you right on the kitchen table, just like he did this morning. “Did she miss me?”

“Fuck yes.” He’s chuckling, slipping up your skirt now, finding your cunt hot and eager, slipping two fingers in and earning your soft whine, kissing down your throat as your head falls back. “Please.”

“Who knew all this time, just had to get you to cum to be nice?’

“You- mnh!” He’s cutting your protest off with another kiss, a curl of his fingers in your slick, eager cunt.

“How many times did you cum thinking of me?” His cocky question earns your half assed glare, before you whine out and he pulls back, sucking on his fingers and moaning. “Answer me if you wanna cum.”

“You’re the worst. How many times did you stroke him, hmm?” Satoru cries out as you turn the damn tables on him, stroking him over his slacks, finding him hard and throbbing, precum leaking even through the material, which you thumb now. “Every night looking at my picture?”

“Brat. Evil. Demon.” His cheeks flush as he eagerly unzips his pants now, and hungrily leans down, lapping at your cunt hungrily, tongue slipping up your slit, moaning at your taste. “You this soaked baby?”

“Fuck me, fuck me please!” He’s in a rush, he’d like to take his time, but he can’t stand not being inside of you one more moment. He shoves his cock in your tight little cunt, making you cum then and there, shattering and making him sensitive as he watches you, kissing your plump lips, hand entangling in your hair.

“God, fucking feel her. So wet, so perfect.” His words along with his strokes end you, as he presses you harder against your own kitchen table, dishes and utensils clattering to the floor.

Satoru is still dressed, shit so are you, as he slides his cock in your eager hole, stuffing you so full, your cunt dripping all over, pooling on the wood underneath the two of you, and your head falls back, smacking it with a loud thud then. You wince and he panics, holding his hand under your head now, pausing.

“Shit you good!?” He huffs, pausing his strokes, you nod now, as he rubs the growing bump.

“I’m good, please more.”

“Baby you’re pregnant, should you be bashing your head!?” You glare up at him, cunt gripping him and eliciting a whine.

“Fuck me.”

“Demanding!” You’re giggling, he hopes you aren’t loopy, when he fucks back into you, careful to keep a palm under your head.

“You’re… so thick, mnh, there!” He’s groaning, losing himself inside you, feeling your soft curves under him, your breasts in his grip before he pulls back, finding your clit and rubbing, making you convulse under him. “Satoru!”

“That’s it baby, that’s it… f-fuck oh my… are you…” You’re gushing now as he elicits an orgasm that has you squirting all over his cock, screaming out, slamming your damn head back again as he pauses. “Water break?’

“You!” He’s chuckling, playing with your cunt in wonder, easing back a bit, slapping his cock right on your clit, making you gush more clear arousal all over, as you grip him, cunt pulsing more and more.

“You squirt?”

“I g-guess…” You’re damn near delirious, blushing as you see the mess you’ve made now. “Oh I…”

“Messy girl, tsk. Don’t do that when you’re far along, I’ll panic.” You scowl again, as he’s chuckling, fucking his dick into you deeper, as you cling to him, and he hears the wet sounds of his fucking echo in your kitchen.

“You’re… ridiculous- ah!” He’s moaning now, closer and closer, tip leaking precum and dragging just that spot, having you cumming all over once more, until you’re so weak and fucked out that you can barely function, just clinging to him as he pushes you further, a hand entangling in your hair at the nape of your neck. “Yes, yes, yes…”

“Bossy. Bratty. I’d spank you, choke you if you- ah, cumming from the thought, can’t help yourself?” He’s talking shit but you can’t argue, not when you can’t stop cumming, and he’s looking down at you with those eyes of his. “Beautiful.”

“Mmm!” You drag him down for a kiss, whispering - ‘cum in me’ and Satoru is not going to deny you it, no he fills you so good, until you’re both a complete fucking mess, sweaty, sticky, coated in both of your cum. You laugh after a moment, and he leans up a bit, looking at you curiously. “You really said, ‘Did my water break’ you jerk!”

Satoru laughs with you, easing out and pressing sweet kisses on your cheeks. “It scared me.”

“Whatever! I didn’t know…” You trail off, so cute Satoru can’t stand it, as the realization that he did that makes him damn near feral.

“I’m the first to make you?” You nod shyly, burying your face, inhaling that cologne that always tantalizes you, and he hums a bit. “I like that.”

“Making me cum so much?”

“I like that it’s me that has. Maybe I’m… feeling a little possessive, you are my baby mama.” You giggle now, and he pulls back, lips parting, wanting to say more, but stopping himself a bit, dizzy off you. “Let’s clean up.”

Soon you’re both all ready for bed, and Satoru hops in first, taking over your bed almost entirely with his long lanky body, patting a spot next to him and grinning at you, you roll your eyes a bit. “You’re too big for the bed!”

“You could come to my house anytime you know. Way bigger beds.”

“Hmm.” You come to lay down now, and he pulls you against him, the two of you try to ignore just how good and right it feels, while he presses little kisses on your bare shoulders.

“Why’d you want me to stay, miss me so bad?”

“I’m… lonely without you.” He pauses, faltering in his teasing, leaning up on an elbow, turning your face to him, sighing as he sees the emotions there. “Ignore it.”

“Ignore it?”

“Yeah. We have our lives, I don’t want to complicate it more for you. It’s fine that you went, that you had fun.”

“I didn’t.” You blink curiously, as he sighs, pulling you even tighter against him, hard chest against your back, arm wrapped around your waist, a hand splaying your tummy, feeling so perfect, so right.

“You didn’t?”

“No. I missed you too. Okay?” You nod then, he kisses you softer, sighing, breath tickling your swollen lips. “Alright waterfall, go to bed.”

“Waterfall!?”

“Mmhmm, monsoon.”

“Oh jesus.” He’s chuckling, the mood is eased, but the two of you lay there for far too long, as he holds you tightly in his arms, thinking.

A girl, you’re both having a girl.

The baby feels so real now, as he holds you close, burying his face, hearing you lightly snore, smiling against your neck. He dreads going back to work, he dreads doing anything but holding you, kissing you, being with you. Of course having you cum all over his cock was amazing, but this is just as good, fucking…

Terrifying.

He doesn’t know if you feel anything close.

******

Three weeks later- five months along

The next few weeks fly by in a blur, no doctor appointments but Satoru frequently calls and messages. Once you heard a party in the background, and part of you feels this… sadness, you can’t just do that ever again. It’s fine, sure, but your life now is work, trying to make sure they still don’t ask you if you’re pregnant, despite your tummy growing, and tits swelling, and then…

Studying.

The more you do learn about being a parent, the harder it becomes to fathom it, the responsibility, shit at any moment a baby can just… not live anymore, and you have to be afraid of everything. Is the baby getting the right nutrition, will you have a normal labor, will the baby be healthy inside your tummy. So much information the stress eats at you.

You have no reason to really see Gojo, so when he pops up knocking on your door suddenly, you falter. You see him on your app, and use the buzzer to murmur ‘hang on a minute’ as you hurriedly rush and wash your hot cheeto dusted fingers, and brush your teeth. You peer at your dark circles- another pregnancy gift, surprise, you’re anemic!

Shit.

Why would he find you attractive, in your dumb little sweats that you’re almost not able to pull over your ass, that has just gotten bigger. Apparently girls do that, they make your ass and hips huge too. You frown as you turn in the mirror, tummy pooching out of the tee shirt that once covered it, and Satoru is still annoyingly ringing at your door bell, at ten pm.

“Hold on!” You stomp over to the front door, opening it then, and he’s still got stupid black shades on, grinning down at you, as he leans a hand on your doorway, you see his car right behind his body in your parking lot. “What’s up?”

“I needed to… see you, it's been weeks. I…” He trails off, eyes darting down your body, nipples that just want to poke out of your white tee shirt, then lower to your tummy, making him falter. “You’re showing more.”

“Yeah, I know.” Your dejected voice makes him frown. “Did you need something, or…”

“Just… I felt like… I should be here?” You blink a bit then, flushing in his presence, finally stepping aside.

“Come in, I’m sorry. I’m cranky.”

“You were before the parasyte-”

“Satoru!”

“Sorry, sorry.” He holds his hands up in defeat, and you relax just a bit.

“I’m feeling so achy, tired… I’m anemic I guess.”

Satoru frowns now. “That’s low iron, yeah?”

“Hot cheetos aren’t a good source of iron.” You’re smiling just a bit, and he’s chuckling, brushing back his white locks and easing off his shades now, blue eyes so pretty they wreck you, even as used to them as you are.

“Iron supplements then. Are you taking any?” You nod a bit, tugging at your shirt, and his hand comes to touch your tummy now, making your breath catch. “Bad girl, better take that iron.”

“You gonna punish me, hmm?” He’s leaning lower now, stepping further and further inside your quiet little home, hand firmly on your tummy as he backs you until you’re against the opposite wall.

“Think I won’t? Did you miss me sweetheart?” His voice is cocky, full of himself, but you hear it, the vulnerability, the raw need.

Your heart pounds as you nod just a bit, before you can stop yourself, shaking your head. “No way.”

“Did she miss me?” He’s got a thigh between yours, moaning as he feels your heat, hands on either side of your head, his own resting on yours as he bends over, earning your whine as he presses his thigh up.

“You missed me? Or her?” Your breathy words are right against his lips, and he dies to tell you, how badly he’s wanted to come over, how badly he needs you, all of you.

But he gulps instead, lifting that strong muscled thigh higher, watching your pretty face falter, breasts that have gotten so much fuller rising with your breaths enticing him, making him lower a hand. He brushes the sides of them with his fingertips, watching your nipples perk out more in response, cock throbbing with need now.

“Maybe I missed you both.” His hushed declaration ends you, your hands slipping up his polo now, gripping the material tightly and yanking him lower, while you arch your hips.

“Am I still sexy, Satoru?” Your whisper ends him, he moans now, hands finding purchase on your hips.

“So sexy I can’t think of anything but fucking your sweet little cunt, hmm?” You’re tearing his clothes damn near off him, releasing every bit of anything you’ve been holding back, as you both stumble back to your room. ‘Missed you, fuck’

You think you heard that, but it’s hard to hear when there’s ringing in your ears, when you’re struggling to catch your breath, with just how good Satoru fucking feels, the way he touches you, how he just lifts you like you’re nothing, even as you feel so weird in your own body. He just forces your brain to think of one thing- fucking him, kissing him, feeling him.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” He whispers, on his knees as he slips off the rest of your clothes, falling in a whisper to your ankles, kissing a new little mark left by his baby, making him feral, groaning as he inhales you, but you’re yanking up on him.

“Satoru, please fuck me.” Satoru’s not going to turn you down, ever, he’s immediately hard, kissing you deeper and deeper, hand reaching down to grip swollen breasts, moaning.

“Which way, baby, hmm?” He’s whispering, you press him down then, right on your bed, and he tries to take your shirt off, making you pause. “Lemme see you, fuck, please…”

“I’m all jiggly ugh!” He’s shaking his head, lifting your top now, your tits bounce out, full of milk already, while his cock strains against his black boxers, his snowy lashes lowering and casting shadows against his high cheekbones.

“Fucking sexy, shit.” He’s running a hand over your tummy now, thumb brushing a new stretch mark, as you hungrily kiss him, grinding your slick cunt against him, soaking his denim. “Lemme touch you.”

You nod weakly, as he reaches down, rolling his thumb against your clit, which twitches and throbs in reaction, soaking him further. Your head falls back, it feels so fucking good, the two of you have barely seen each other with your work, and his running of his company, so much that it’s probably been a few weeks since you’ve cum at all.

“So eager, baby, huh?” His taunting should annoy you, but it doesn’t, you’re whining and nodding, as he taps your hip, urging you to kneel, and he slips his pretty cock out, smacking his belly button with precum. “God, so wet.”

“Need it, fuck, please.” You’re grinding your slick, eager cunt along his length, as Satoru moans out, urging you with your hips, fingers gripping the curve of them.

“Then take it baby.” You whine out, leaning forward, titties in his face, he sucks at a nipple, sore and sensitive, making you wetter, tummy clenching.

“Satoru!” You’re reaching down, gripping his thick length with a small little hand in comparison, looking down as you guide his tip against your entrance.

“C’mon, sweetheart, you can take him all, can’t you?” You shake your head, struggling to take just the tip of him, whining out, he chuckles then, flipping you over, kissing down your tummy, as your hands enwrap in his hair.

“Satoru…”

“Let me get her nice and ready, huh?” You’re flushed as he kisses even lower, spreading your thighs and groaning at the sight of your slick, glistening pussy, latching his mouth right around your clit, sucking it in as he holds your lips open, moaning as he eyes you.

Your breasts bounce, so full, his hand resting right on your rounded tummy, while you yank on his silky locks, gasping. “There, oh there, please don’t stop- m’so close, Toru please…”

“Mmm, that’s it, cum all over m’face, sweetheart.” He urges, and you shatter, thighs trapping his head in the best position he can even imagine, shaking on either side while your cunt drools out more and more. “That’s it…” He’s mumbling, yanking you closer on his face now.

Everything that’s been swirling through your mind shuts off completely, as your orgasm rocks through your body by his far, far too talented tongue, teeth, fingers, all of him working you so fucking well. ‘M-missed you’ may have slipped from your lips, earning his widened blue eyes.

“Missed me?” He repeats, pressing a kiss on your quivering little clit, slipping two fingers inside your heat as you nod then, tears making your eyes glimmer from just how good it feels. “Missed me making you cum?”

“And more, shh.” You shut him off as you stroke his cock, making him groan, he leans over you now, lifting a thigh and sinking inside you in one stroke. “Fuck, so big oh my god…”

That’s nice to hear.

He’s smirking as your eyes roll back, fucking into you, careful to keep his weight off your tummy, but suddenly as you’re rolling your hips up, he feels something. You’re clinging to him, he’s sucking on a puffy little nipple, moaning at how good you feel, trying to ignore what just occurred, what he just felt from you, when suddenly it happens again, and he pauses.

“Is that… is she kicking?” He whispers now, pulling back, your face is covered in a thin sheen of your sweat, as you lean your head up a bit, looking down and touching your lower tummy.

“Probably all the excitement. It’s fine.” You’re yanking him down for another kiss, and Satoru yanks back. “Satoru, please…”

“The first kick and I’m… oh my god.”

“You’re getting soft, ugh!”

“Sorry, but oh my god.” Satoru pulls back, huge cock even on soft, as he panics, hand slicking through his white locks, shaking it in shock. “What if she knows!?”

“Satoru, she doesn't know, stop it.” You’re up on your elbows, trying to catch your breath as you watch your… baby daddy?... panic.

“What if the first thing the baby knows is my dick!? Shit!” He’s hopped off the bed now, pacing completely naked, and you grimace, laying back, body on edge, pussy still fucking pulsing around nothing now.

“It doesn’t know that, there’s a cervix there!”

“I’m huge, what if-”

“Oh jesus, why did I think you’d want to?” You’re sniffling now, standing and rushing over to your dresser, starting to snatch up clothes, and Satoru immediately stops you.

“No, no I want you, I swear.” You turn and he sees your tears, cursing. “I do, you’re gorgeous like this.”

“I am not, you were just being nice. I’m all jiggly ugh! And you don’t even… I shouldn’t have suggested that.” You’re a mess as you dress up, Satoru’s pulling you against his chest, leaning down as you shake your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. “It’s okay if you don’t anymore, I’m sure you can have anyone.”

“What now?” He glares down at you, cupping your face, feeling you tremble in his hold. “That’s bullshit. This is not about you it’s… I’m scared I’ll hurt the baby.”

“Sex is fine, even close to delivery, I’m not so far we can’t go at it.” You eye him now, shaking your head. “Pregnant sex can be weird I’m sure, I shouldn’t have… pounced on you, shit.”

“Stop it. Now.” He grabs your chin, pressing a kiss on your lips, feeling how tense you are as his other hand slips up your back. “I want you. I just got… scared. It’s not how I wanted to know she kicks now.”

You sigh now, nodding and kissing him again, letting him hold you so tightly, fuck it feels good, just being in his arms. So good it’s scaring you. “You’re a good person.”

“What now? You bonk your head again?”

“You are. You’re sweet and caring, and you’re sparing my feelings.”

“Oh fuck this.” He glares, turning you around now, until you’re facing your dresser mirror, looming so tall over you as he arches your back, slipping your shorts right back off. “Look at you.”

“A mess…” He sighs, yanking your top off, a hand gripping a tit, squishing it in his big palm as he presses his cock back against your entrance, watching as your eyes dilate in the reflection, your teeth catching your bottom lip.

“Beautiful mess. Sexy, these tits, this ass? This body… those eyes…” He presses his cock inside you, lifting your thigh up as he bends down, resting your thigh up on your dresser, holding you like you’re nothing. “This perfect, tight little cunt around me.”

“S’good, you’re- ah!” He’s slammed his cock deep then, your hand comes to rest on the cool glass of the mirror, leaving a palm print as he shoves his cock so deep, throbbing in your slick walls, which gush down his length.

“You’re gorgeous, talk shit again and I’ll punish you, hmm?” You nod eagerly, as he laughs against your neck, fingers twisting your nipples. “This is what you wanted, should have asked me over. Needed to cum all over my cock, sweetheart?”

“Y-yes, please, please- mnh!” You’re done as he fucks into you, a little rougher but still cautious, holding onto you, your head falls back against his chest, his reflection revealing eyes nearly black with desire, his huge hands overtaking you by every inch of your skin, his teeth sinking into your neck when he hits deep, making you gasp.

“That’s it, cum f’me baby…” His words end you again, when don’t they, but something is so intimate when he tilts your chin down. “Watch how pretty you still are, you’re prettier, okay?”

You tear up as you nod, and one thing hits as deep as his long, curved cock against your cervix-

Your feelings.

You’re in love with him.

Fuck.

You’re convulsing when he presses in once more, having you watch until you can’t even see anymore, until your eyes roll back and you’re blinded, drool falling right out of your mouth as your walls flutter around him. Satoru groans, you’re so sensitive you can’t stop cumming, when he fills you so good, cum coating every bit of your slick hole now.

He’s whimpering in your ear, clinging to you, and one thought reigns through his ringing ears, as he feels you twitching and shaking in his embrace, as he feels your muscles pushing his cum all down his length, mixing with your slick arousal. One thought infiltrates his mind as he watches your beautiful face, as he hears your whines, as he sees your eyes open back up.

He’s in love with you.

Fuck.

Has he always been?

He eases you down now, gently, eyeing the condensation left from your breath against that now messy mirror, both of your hand prints against it, his so big, yours so small in comparison. He places your feet on the floor after pulling his thick cock out of your tightening cunt, still staring at you in the mirror now, gulping down the heavy emotions of the moment.

He knew it wasn’t just sex, he knew something deeper was there, but the way your eyes meet him, the way you’re clinging to him, the way his hand brushes your tummy, pressing just a bit, it’s so intimate it takes his breath. The madness, the passion, it’s just pieces of it, the connection, then and there, without words, overwhelms his senses so badly he can’t imagine not having this.

“Thank you for it, all of it. Thank you for-”

“Shh.” He turns your chin, lowering his head, taking over your every sense, when you taste yourself on his plump lips, pressing kisses against yours. “Don’t thank me for showing you the truth.”

“Satoru…” You turn now, pulling him down, kissing him over and over, as he pulls you gently against him, picking you up in his arms, lifting you until you’re sitting on your dresser, exhaling and running his hands down you. “You make me feel so pretty.”

“You should. One thing you’ve always been is pretty, even when you’re mean, or… psychotic.” You’re laughing now, as he continues to swipe your tears. “I’d never be here if I didn’t want to be.”

“I know that. I got in my head?”

“So did I, shit.” You both laugh softly, and Satoru’s alarm goes off, he grimaces as he looks at it. “I have work in the morning or I’d stay.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You can go if you need.” He frowns now, shaking his head just a bit, brushing your hair back off your neck, as the ceiling fan works overtime to make either of your overheated bodies cool.

“Come stay with me for a couple days, help me set up a nursery? You can spend all my black card you want.” You giggle now, nodding, earning his relieved little smile, you’re so stressed, he can feel it in your energy, he can see it on your pretty, exhausted face.

“I’d love to. I’m so excited.” Soon you’re both by the front door, and Satoru’s kissing your head, holding you against him tightly.

“We are naming her Satoruette, right?”

“No way.”

“Maybe you are still mean.” He pouts, earning more of your laughter, tilting your chin up as the cool breeze from the dark, starry night pours in.

“Kiyotaka better get good money for all this.”

“He’s richer than me, psh.” You roll your eyes, falling back into his hug.

“I’m… excited to spend time with you.” Your whisper touches him then, as he holds you close, falling deeper every moment, feeling a little kick against him.

“All you need is dick hmm?”

“Oh god!”

He’s grinning, so fucking handsome then, with the moonlight enhancing that tall silhouette of his, your heart races. You almost say you love him, fuck it feels horrible not saying it, but what does that make the two of you? So far you’re practicing being friends, co parents, sleeping together, but tonight, when he whispered how pretty you were?

When he held you?

When he reassured you?

Fuck you can barely hold the words back.

“Get some sleep, go eat your hot cheetos.”

“Oh!” You shove at him playfully as he grins, leaving you alone, back resting against the cool wood of your door, mind whirling.

After a nice hot shower, you get your text, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t look forward to them, to them all. Even his pervy, ridiculous and goofy texts- like this one.

 Fratboy Gojo🙄 Tell Satoruette good night from her Papa <3 

You giggle, shaking your head, sipping on some water as you set the smut book you’ve been reading on your tablet down.

Sorority Brat 💦😻 Satoruette will never be her name, but I will tell her good night for you.

Satoru smiles down at his phone, he can still taste you, he can still inhale your scent all over him, see your pretty face in his head. He turns on his side, dying to hold you in his arms once more, only once he ever had really, but he longs to have you, to have you all the time.

Fratboy Gojo🙄 Daddy says good night to you too.

Sorority Brat 💦😻 I’m never calling you daddy!

Fratboy Gojo🙄 You will one day ;) 

Sorority Brat 💦😻 Lol, good night Satoru, see you soon.

Fratboy Gojo🙄 Good night, sweets.

The two of you fall asleep, love deep in your hearts and building with each breath, him holding a body pillow, picturing you, as you touch your tummy lovingly, feeling a little kick, smiling now. “Dad said good night, sweet girl.”

They're in lovvvvvee- I snorted at several scenes here, I have way too much fun with him. I said four parts so expect either a VERY long next part for the last, or two more (it's me lol) hope you enjoyyy

taglist #1- @jannythewriter-pt2 @gojosoups @lycoris-radiata-4-sale @cutiepi-iee @closerbutnevertogether @myahfig4 @coq1myun @rinny27 @abibliolife @coq1myun @megumisthirdog @p4lli @turtlebangtan @webshooterrr9 @aldebrana @msqudo18 @s0ulsnatchaaa @ovela @midnaamethyste @nearlyfuckingwitches @shibataimu @msniks @missthatgirl @fantasy1nightmare0 @maddyhehehehhe @yourst3pm0mmy @haithamsbb @rentheannihilator @ilovebeansyay @lemonswirlz @dilfkentolover @evelynxxo @bkgnotsuma @suki91 @burntasian @nakiich @hyunjinsruinedpainting @miniv1x3n @minascasket @ihrtmack @contaminatedcupcake @girlwithn0j0b @tokyi999 @queenofthekill @verriees @vullzo @jkslaugh97 @howmanytimesamigoingtotrythis @nkpajares @emonaculate

[carmenized-onions]

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. 

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

[thealchemistbae]

If Your Moon Sign Had a Finsta: What It Would Say, Post, and Overshare 🤳

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

Let's be real...if your Moon sign had a finsta, it would be unhinged, unfiltered, and probably shadow banned by now. The Moon rules your emotions, your moods, your 3AM thoughts...basically, the version of you your group chat kinda knows about but your situationship definitely doesn't. So let's dive into the tea, shall we?

🌕: Aries Moon -> Finsta Bio: "IDGAF but like....i lowkey do"

This moon sign posts gym thirst traps and unhinged rants about how they're "so over it" (they are not over it). Deletes posts just to repost them 3 hours later with a new caption. First to subtweet, last to apologize. Probably posts fight videos for fun.

🌕: Taurus Moon -> Finsta Bio: "Soft life only. I'm unavailable unless you're feeding me."

It's giving aesthetic dinner pics, sleepy selfies, and long captions about their skincare routine as a form of therapy. Might overshare once every retrograde then disappear for weeks. Their finsta feels like a velvet blanket and a warm croissant.

🌕: Gemini Moon -> Finsta Bio: "I change my mind. A lot."

They post memes, conspiracy theories, and flirty thirst traps all in one scroll. You never know what you're getting but it's always a show. Will overshare their drama then ghost mid-story. Loves posting screenshots with zero context like "and this is why I'm unwell."

🌕: Cancer Moon -> Finsta Bio: "I'm fine." (They are not fine.)

Their finsta is 60% crying selfies, 20% Lana Del Rey lyrics, and 20% blurry photos of the ocean. They post love letters to people who will never read them and get nostalgic over things that happened yesterday. You'll cry, they'll cry, it's a vibe.

🌕: Leo Moon -> Finsta Bio: "Main character energy even on my worst day."

Every post looks like it belongs on a moodboard. Their captions? Straight from a movie script. You think it's a thirst trap but really it's them processing childhood wounds through ring light therapy. They love attention but make it ✨emotional✨.

🌕: Virgo Moon -> Finsta Bio: "I have 47 drafts and zero chill."

They post pretty pictures with overly long captions that start like "not me being vulnerable..." and end in a thesis statement. Overshares via infographics. Will cry, journal, then edit a photo dump with healing playlist recs.

🌕: Libra Moon -> Finsta Bio: "Love me, but like, don't look directly at me."

Their finsta is a curated heartbreak museum. Aesthetic breakup posts. Mirror selfies mid-spiral. They're going through it, but make it cute. Passive-aggressive quotes and "I'm just reflecting" captions that are 100% about their ex.

🌕: Scorpio Moon -> Finsta Bio: "Trust issues & immaculate vibes."

They only post when something's really wrong or really hot. Their page is dark, sexy, poetic, and a little scary. Caption: "No one knows the real me." Comment: 56 people claiming they do know the real them. They're watching you watch them.

🌕: Sagittarius Moon -> Finsta Bio: "I said what I said and I'm probably gonna say it again."

They're either posting wild travel pics or rants about life's purpose after one edible. Overshares like it's a sport. Finsta feels like a TED talk with tequila. Unfiltered, chaotic, and accidentally inspiring.

🌕: Capricorn Moon -> Finsta Bio: "Feelings are expensive. Pay up."

Doesn't post often, but when they do, it's emotionally calculated. Soft spoken captions hiding deep rooted boss energy. Finsta looks minimal but holds MAJOR weight. Might drop a single selfie that screams "I'm thriving" but won't explain.

🌕: Aquarius Moon -> Finsta Bio: "Just here to observe the chaos (and stir it).

Posts memes that don't make sense and deep thoughts that slap. You're like "what does this mean?" but also "wait...that's me." Might go on a rant about society then post a pic of a frog in sunglasses. Their finsta is a social experiment.

🌕: Pisces Moon -> Finsta Bio: "Too emotional for this planet."

Their stories are just Spotify lyrics and angel numbers. Posts dreamy selfies with captions like "I dreamt we were together in another life..." and it's about someone they met once. Chaos, compassion, and soft girl spirals. A safe space for crying and creating.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

[sleepyystories]

Hogwarts Legacy

Ominis Gaunt & Sebastian Sallow Modern Day Headcanons

What I imagine the life of the boys is like in modern day, what their interests are, as well as what they would be like in a relationship.

I started playing Hogwarts Legacy and I'm kind of obsessed with Ominis, as someone who has family members who are blind we love representation

I definitely projected on some of his... 😭

I am working on requests but I have been quite busy recently so I'm sorry I haven't gotten to them yet!! Thank you for your requests!! :))

Ominis Gaunt

• Knows a bunch of random fun facts

• Some of those about braille!

• He learnt it quite late since his family never took to teaching him and, although yes he can use magic to read, he also likes the option to use braille to read and write

• Would offer to teach you braille, and often shares fun facts about it or the new things he's learnt

• Your parents love him, even though his family may have their own reputation, they know that the last thing he wants to do is follow in their footsteps

• Collects vinyls.

• He doesn't listen to much music, but there are a few artists that he enjoys and he collects their vinyls.

• He prefers using vinyls to anything digital.

• This goes for books too, he prefers something he can hold to something on a screen. (Although he does listen to audiobooks sometimes as that's the easiest way for him to read if not using magic)

• Definitely that one kid with the pet snake

• Likes to ask everyone what color they think his eyes are and likes to see how they describe it to him (he gets a different answer every time and it's very interesting to him)

• He doesn't have a favorite colour (for obvious reasons) but if he did it would be blue

• Although he's not very good at video games, if you play them, he likes to get involved. Narrate to him what's going on, let him play for a little with your guidance, explain if you're stuck somewhere and he might help you solve the puzzles

• Really good at wordle and crosswords

• Loves old romance, Romeo & Juliet, Pride and Prejudice, Titanic. He's a sucker for a love story

• Loves exactly like the men in these books (actually I've only seen a couple, so only the good ones 😭)

• His nicknames for you: My love, Darling, Honey, Angel

• I feel like his parents would've been the type to make him learn to play an instrument, and piano seems very him

• Although (and huge projection here) (this is why it's his last one) I think his blindness is like my grandmother's where he can see light and shadow but everything is just very blurry (kind of like if you wear glasses and they steam up and you can kinda see but also you very much can't), so he can make out shapes and knows if he's going to bump into something, but he can't really make anything out, hence using magic to aid him, so I'm not sure if he would be able to tell the difference with colour or not (my grandmother struggles even though she has some sight) (To add to this he has very bad peripheral vision)

Sebastian Sallow

• He can sing and was a part of a local choir or the Hogwarts choir for a short period. He acts embarrassed if anyone asks about it, or if anyone catches him singing, but he's actually really good!

• He has a playlist dedicated to you, it's either his own music that reminds him of you, or music you both like

• Genuinely likes Buddy Holly by Wheezer (I'm projecting, we will vibe together.)

• His household keeps chickens. He's that one friend who owns chickens. (Anyone else always had that one friend in a group who owns chickens or is that just a me experience?)

• Does not read. "Hey Seb, have you read this book?' no he has not. Do not ask him when the last time he read a book was, you will not like the answer. (Unless it was a school textbook because somehow his grades are still amazing)

• He kinda just listens to anything, like he doesn't have a specific music taste, if he likes a song/artist then he likes them 🤷 (projecting)

• Has a 3 week Minecraft phase at least once a year, he always makes servers but they always die out for some reason

• Speaking of he was 100% a Minecraft kid and 100% had one of those creeper hoodies that zipped up all the way

• Was really good at math and was known as the math kid in his primary school but that kinda faded out when he started at Hogwarts and now he can solve equations really quickly but he doesn't think it's a big deal

• His favorite colour is green or orange

• He may be a bit boisterous, but he is such a gentleman. Before you were dating he was so respectful (and he still is!) and it's not just to you. Before his mother passed she always taught him how to treat women right, and that never faded

• His nicknames for you: Pretty girl, Princess, Love, Beautiful

• I feel like he would learn to play drums

• Although he has big ambitions he always comes to you for advice (or if you don't like giving advice he just sort of tells you what he's gonna do)

• And if you ever tell him he's about to do something really stupid (as in dangerous) he wouldn't hesitate to take your advice because he trusts you

• He was actually really nervous to meet your parents for the first time, but after a few visits he really warmed up to them and now it's like he was always a part of the family

• Type of boyfriend to let you sit between his legs and let you play his game with his hands over yours on his controller

• Was semi-popular on musical.ly ... I'm sorry, but tell me he does not give that vibe /hj

---

Sorry if this isn't the best, as I said I've been so busy recently and wanted to get something out. These aren't all of the headcanons I have but I hope you enjoy them :) Also, sorry about how much I projected on some of them 😭😭

- Sleepy

[mononijikayu]

kayu's playlist — side 2500;

The question is somehow inevitable. No matter how many interviews you do for anything you do, no matter how much you try to steer the conversation toward your work, it always circles back to your personal life. "Are you dating any of your coworkers or friends?" It’s phrased casually, like an afterthought, but you know better. The tabloids, the press have been relentless. But what do you expect?

You were intriguing. It was as if you wanted them to chase after you. It's like you wanted them to keep up with you, like it was a game. And people like to play.

hello this is kayu!!! wow, i'm really surprised and overwhelmed that people continue to follow up with me and read my work and it's just, its been an incredible two years!!! it's genuinely such an overwhelming feeling, to be so adored by so many of you. thank you for 2.5k followers!!! i never expected that i'll ever end up in this position where i'd get such an opportunity to write and read and experience multiple lifetimes through all of this with you guys. its still just an incredible situation, a privileged one, to be able to be with yall like this. and i don't take it for granted. i don't meet up a lot of my friends nowadays, because we're all growing older and doing other things. so in some ways, you guys have become new friends and comfort me in my own grievances in life. so i am grateful, to have some people in my life like you all. there will be many things that changes, but i hope you know its always an honor to write for you and be a writer that comforts people and makes people feel things. i genuinely am so happy to do things like this and know that you both of us find comfort in it. this playlist will not exist if it wasn't for your love, none of this would exist without your love. so i am grateful. i always will be. and i hope you know how much i love yall. please enjoy this little gift, from me to you and that you always know how much i adore all of you. i'll see you starting this week!!! i love you all <3

when people ask you in interviews if you're dating, you end up smiling and saying 'spoilers'. but all they had to do was analyze your instagram to see why you smile so slyly. and when they do, all they can do is gasp. guess what? there's two of them!

There were too many pictures of you leaving dinner with Geto Suguru, laughing backstage with Satoru Gojo, leaning a little too close in some candid shot taken at a party. Or sometimes you would be dancing around with Nanami Kento at an afterparty wrap up, or end up drinking at a cafe with Kamo Choso. Fans dissect every interaction, every glance, every social media post, desperate to piece together a narrative. That's just how it was, when you're a known name. So you think to yourself, you might as well play the game too. I mean, they don't mind. So, you smile. A slow, knowing smile, just enough to fuel the curiosity. You could shut it down with a simple no, or confirm something with a straightforward yes, but where’s the fun in that? Instead, you lean forward slightly, letting the moment stretch just enough to build anticipation. With a teasing glint in your eye, you simply say with a grin."Spoilers." The interviewer laughs, caught between amusement and frustration. The audience reacts instantly, murmurs rippling through the room, tweets flying in real time. Just like that, you’ve sidestepped the question without giving anything away, while making sure the speculation never dies down. It’s a game at this point. And it's one you’re more than happy to keep playing. A text comes through. And then another. 'you're a vixen, aren't you?' 'well, aren't you fun to play with, baby ;)))' You smirked at the messages.

you took him back, and you do love him. but toji knows that you will never love him the way you did back then. that's why he knows when you're not home, you'll be in someone else's bed. and all he can do is swallow his pride. after all, you'll always come back home to him. like he does.

Fushiguro Toji reads the headlines with a scowl, jaw tightening as his eyes flick over the words on the newspaper. He doesn't read it often, if he was being honest. But the more he sees more about it, the more he knows he can't avoid it. "Co-stars or Something More? Sparks Fly Between Y/N L/N and Nanami Kento on Set." Tch. Too well, huh? He scoffs, but the irritation sits heavy in his chest. Every article, every damn picture of you laughing with Nanami, standing close to him, looking at him like he’s the only one in the room. It grates on his nerves more than he wants to admit. Jealousy curls in his gut, sharp and bitter. But what right does he have to say anything? None. Not after what he did. Not after the way he shattered everything between you. He cheated. He ruined it. He was the one who left you picking up the pieces, and if Nanami Kento—or anyone else, for that matter—was helping you put them back together, what could he really say? Still, the thought of you moving on, of someone else having your smiles, your time, your heart. Everything about it drives him insane. He exhales sharply, tossing his phone onto the table. It’s his own damn fault, and he knows it. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

< READ HERE >

you and sukuna have gone through everything together. from all the hardships of his late night practice to your continuous studies making you tear up. to every misunderstanding and to every fight, there was one thing that brought you both back together. and that's the warmth of love.

Ryomen Sukuna leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring down at the contract like it personally offended him.

The offer from the national volleyball team is everything he’s worked for. It's all he's every wanted since he was a kid. It was everything he'd risk everything for. And yet, he hesitates. “You’re thinking too hard, 'kuna.” you tease, nudging his side. “This is a no-brainer, Sukuna. You should go for it.” He doesn’t respond right away, just clicks his tongue and exhales through his nose. You recognize that look on his face. It was hard to miss. It was the one where he’s overanalyzing, masking his real concern behind a layer of indifference. Finally, he mutters, “I’d miss your graduation. You said it was that date, right? The first game is during your graduation.” Your chest tightens at that. He says it like it’s just a fact, but you can hear the frustration underneath. The regret. Your boyfriend always feels like he's going to miss so much on what you have going on. He doesn't like it, that he can't be there for you the way you are. You smile, softer this time. “And I’d miss seeing you play on the national team if you don’t take this. We’ll make up for it, I promise.” His gaze flickers to yours, searching. “…You sure?” “Absolutely.” You step closer, squeezing his hand. “I’ll be cheering for you from where-ever I am. Whether I’m in the crowd or watching from a screen. So go. Do what you were meant to do.” He holds your stare for a moment longer before exhaling, shaking his head with a smirk. “Tch. You’re annoying.” But when he finally signs the contract, you don’t miss the way his grip on your hand lingers. He looks at you and you couldn't help but smile. You loved this man too much.

< READ HERE >

[kiwii-11]

.*• KEEP AN EYE ON YOU •*.

» 90s NIGHT

cw . . . drinking mention, sex mention, fighting,

no previous week || event calendar || next week

the music was so loud that you had to lean over the bar counter to hear your customers. you didn’t mind, though — lane was doing what they did best and entertained the whole entire building. there were people up on the balconies dancing as if their lives depending on it.

the night had just begun and it seemed that today would be another crazy one shift for you. behind the bar, you had a tally of how many shots you and river had poured so far, where you had written 18 under your name and river had 23 under theirs. you had last seen sam before he left to play bouncer outside, and he already seemed to be waiting for the worst. on the other hand, vincent was sprung and full of energy like always. his lovely wasn’t able to make it tonight due to some studying, so he had to have fun for the both of them.

as you hand the last few drinks to another customer, river tapped your shoulder.

“got a couple of girls who asked for you specifically.” they claimed as they jutted a thumb out behind them.

“is that so?” you replied as you peeked over their shoulder to see two girls waving at you, “seems i’m a fan favourite, huh?”

“always.” river chuckled.

you squeezed between the counter and your coworker to make ways to your new customers. once close enough, you greet them with a wide smile.

“hello, pretty girls. was waiting for my night to get better, thank you,” you say as you watch them giggle to each other, “now, what are you itching for?”

you listen to their orders and begin to prepare it for them just as the line outside begins to die down.

lane was going absolutely wild on the dj deck tonight. when you heard their playlist, you weren’t surprised to hear banger after banger for about 30 minutes straight before you had to get ready for work.

it was an hour or so into 90s night now and david stood outside the club having a staring competition with who milo claimed was the owner before they walked up to him. the southern accent threw him off despite warning, and he could tell the other man was sizing him up just in case.

“hey, sam. how’s it goin’?” milo asks with a bright smile.

“pretty good, if i do say so myself,” sam replies with crossed arms as he shrugs his shoulders, “good to see ya’.”

“likewise, man. oh, this is david, asher and tank.” milo gestures to his friends behind him one by one.

david gives a short nod as asher waves. tank only stares at the bouncer for a few seconds before clearing their throat and nodding too. sam smiles.

“evenin’. always good to see some new faces.” he hums, mostly looking to the last mentioned person.

“how’s lane been doin’ tonight?” milo questions.

“like usual; the crowd loves ‘em,” the southerner chuckles, “now, i oughta’ let you ‘n your friends in before lane tells me off. welcome to whirlpool.”

the music was blaring in david’s ears as soon as the door opened. he could see all the lights moving in every direction and how bodies bumped against each other in every corner if the room.

he glanced to his right, where asher was mouthing some words.

“huh?” david huffed. he could only catch a little of what he was saying.

“… never been here for a theme night before… careful of… drinks!” asher spoke in broken moments.

david blinked at him in the dim lights before he feels tank gently nudge his side.

“i think that guy has his eyes on you.” they state as they point across the room to a booth.

the said man had a girl on each arm with another guy leaning over his shoulder and whispering words into his ear. empty bottles of booze pooled on the table. one hand twirled a girl’s hair between his fingers whilst the other held a glass of ice and brown liquor. when their eyes met, the man winked.

but david only rolled his eyes.

“not interested.” he grumbled.

“you’re no fun at all, shaw,” tank scoffed, “i’m gonna go say hi to lane and meet the bartenders.”

“ooh, i’ll come along! let’s see if the british guy is still there.” asher hums as he trails behind them.

david turns to milo, who is already eyeing the dance floor.

“you wanna get a couple moves in before it gets worse out there?” he chuckles.

“it gets worse?” david scoffed at the already packed floor.

“lighten up, you gotta’ let loose, yeah?” milo hummed.

david ended up following him to the dance floor. it was stuffy, everyone was much too close to him. while lane was definitely an amazing entertainer, he couldn’t help but wish for them to tone it down when he was elbowed in the rib for the fifth time in the same hour. he felt out of place, even when asher and tank made it around and had space for david.

after an hour and a half of trying to move around, he ended up at the bar. a deep sigh left him as he leaned against the counter. he wiped his face.

“you doin’ okay?” a voice called from over the music, in front of him, “i don’t recognise you, which means i haven’t poured you a drink yet. lookin’ for something to satisfy yourself?”

david glances up to see one of the bartenders. you give him your signature smile and lean against the counter as he is. even in the bad light, you can see his eyes and his half-pout. he’s cute, you decide.

“uh, no thanks. not yet. i think i’ll have to get a few drinks in me to survive the night.” he grumbles.

“ooh, spend time with me and i’m sure you will,” you chuckle, “good-looking guy like you should be having anyone with a right mind asking for—”

“hey, this is from the woman at the other end of the bar.” river cuts in as they hand him a drink before going off to put their ingredients away.

sure enough, you and david look to the other side to see a woman waving a hand at him before turning and heading to the dance floor with her friends. david stared at the drink.

“you not a fan of it? i can make you a new one.” you offer.

“no, it’s fine,” he says as he picks up the drink and downs it in one go, “you friends with lane?”

he’s saying just about anything to not have to go back out there now that the woman was there. he knew it would send the wrong message.

“of course – they let me drink all their orange juice,” you retort as you take his empty glass, “i’m guessing you’re one of the 3 friends of theirs that’s… single?”

you raise a brow at him with a short smile. david is unimpressed but nods nevertheless. you shrug your shoulders.

“you could be a bartender too, i bet. i’d buy top shelf shit if you asked me nicely,” you admit, “but you’d definitely have to dress up on theme. what… is going on here?”

“what the hell does everyone have against this?” david scoffs as he looks down at himself, “it’s not not on theme.”

“right,” you roll your eyes and laugh, “so, what do you do for work?”

david raises a brow at you and tilts his head to the side. “gettin’ a bit ahead of yourself, don’t you think?”

“if we’re talkin’ ‘bout a ‘bit of head’—”

he scoffs again, unamused at your joke. as you begin to cut some lemons to pass time, david watches. in the end, he replies to you, “i work in security.”

“ooh, so you got all that muscle for a reason,” you purr, “pretty face and good in the field. the whole package.”

he dismisses the comment as you put the lemons in a secure tub by the bar. he wonders to himself why he even showed up tonight, but deep down he knew that if he didn’t, the others wouldn’t be letting loose and they deserved it. maybe he could relax tomorrow.

you hum as you grab him a glass of water, “so, what’s your name?”

he takes a sip and notices how you hold your chin in your hand as if you were analysing him. you definitely caught onto how overbearing he found this place, yet you didn’t say anything.

“david,” he replies, only to see your hopeful eyes to which he gives in to, “and yours?”

the music is just low enough for him to catch your name, but for safe measure, you lean forward across the bar, place a hand on one shoulder and move your lips towards his ear on the other side. he freezes up.

when you say your name, he almost instantly forgets it. not because he wanted to, but because the music was pounding in his head. as you pull away with a grin, david is clearing his throat. you let go of his shoulder.

“have fun tonight, davey,” you say as you watch new people come to your bar, “if you want a really good time, catch me after work.”

he stammers for a response as you walk away to greet your new customers. while he’d like to enjoy his alone time for a little longer, he hears a gasp behind him.

there, in the corner of the dance floor, some guy had thrown a punch to another guy. they were both obviously tipsy. hearing the commotion, you groan and begin to walk over when david stops you.

he comes closer to the duo pushing at each other and separated them easily, exchanging a few words before the two decide to leave each other alone. you watch as two other people come across, one pulling up their sleeves with an excited look on their face. david shakes his head, making the excitement go away.

you wish you could’ve heard what he had to say, but before you can ask he returns to the bar and lane walks over to you with a new person.

“[angel], come n’ meet milo,” the dj calls as a playlist of music begins, “he’s the guy i told you about.”

“ooh, mr 8-month-relationship,” you say as you hold out your hand to shake his, “i’ve heard good things about you. we’ve never bumped into each other at lane’s before.”

“yeah, i’ve usually got work durin’ the days and you guys typically work at night, so,” milo retorts as he slides a hand around lane, “it would be nice to see ya’ more often, though.”

“you could always work a job here.” lane begins to sing out, as if they’d mentioned this a thousand times before.

“what do you do for work? must be tiring to come and unwind at whirlpool.” you claim with a hand on your hip.

“i’m a security guard for hire. i work for shaw security.” he informs you.

“oh! like that guy over there…” you begin as you turn around, only to be met with no sight of the man at the bar, “uh, you’re friends with a really cute guy named david, right? probably work together?”

milo blinks at the mention of him before nodding his head. “yeah, that guy’s actually my boss. but we’re childhood friends. you two know each other, huh?”

“i was talking to him before. hey, if you’re actually interested in working here, i can have a talk with vincent. i’ll, uh, just need a way to contact your boss…” you say slowly as you prise your lips.

a smile grows on his face as he understands your intentions. “y’know what? i got just the thing for ya’.”

staff secrets…

» asher and tank met vincent on the dance floor and thought he was just another guy before lane (sweetheart) called him “boss”

» milo is a little sneaky, he caught onto [angel] as soon as they mentioned david. he asked lane about [angel] later on in the night

» asher would not stop hanging around the bar when he met river (babe). the two hit it off almost immediately, and asher was able to awkwardly ask for their number whilst tipping generously

» david drank his drinks and then went to the bathroom to gather himself. but he got stopped by a few people on the way, and literally thought he was about to lose it

» the security team left at around 3am since tank got into a fight and them and ash were drunk. david spent the whole night watching from afar, sometimes watching [angel] and other times watching his friends. milo had to apologise to vincent for the ruckus

taglist: @sunsickcrab @vimiti-x @n9nno

[gaveyouigaveyoui]

SWIFTIE SLEEPOVER SATURDAY

DAY 2, February 15th, 2025

Welcome, welcome to the second weekend of Swiftie Sleepover Saturday!

Hello all! My name is Jen, and I've been a Swiftie since 2008. I wanted to organize a fun, weekly sleepover event where we can have fun discussions, analyze lyrics, post beautiful edits, take polls, and connect with each other in so many other ways through our love of Taylor and her works of art! Each week will have a new theme or discussion prompt, please post all contributions with:

#Swiftie Sleepover Saturday

First and foremost, thank you to everyone who took part in the first week’s prompt - it was really fun to see so many of your dream setlists and how they compared to my own, each other, and the actual tour! I hope that each week we continue to make this fun and inclusive and exciting for everyone who wants to be part of it. 

It’s the weekend for romance, hearts, pink, and every kind of love to be appreciated! For this week’s Swiftie Sleepover Saturday, we are going to be discussing and celebrating Taylor’s song Lover! Sitting pretty as the third song on the album of the same name, Lover is one of Taylor’s most intimate and passionate tracks, a bold confession of true love that she blissfully sings with great confidence and joy. 

Discussion Prompts (Optional!): 1. Is Lover a song that stands out to you on Taylor’s discography? Why or why not?

2. What aspects of the song make it special? What lyrics stand out?

3. What are some good songs for Taylor to do a Lover mashup with?

4. What are some strengths of the song? Are there any weaknesses?

You can feel free to make edits, gifs, playlists related to the song, polls about the song, poetry/fanfiction, or make your own post discussing and analyzing the song (everyone is welcome to use my discussion prompts)! Whatever works best for you! Anything is welcome as long as it is kind and you show respect for others and their opinions. This event goes until the next Swiftie Sleepover Saturday next weekend! Please reblog to spread the fun!

*Posting a bit early, feel free to start making your posts whenever!*

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Chapter X: The Destruction of Your Innocence

masterlist | playlist | pinboard | prev | diaries coming VERY soon

songs for this chapter: an ode by mat kerekes, the price of growing up by watsky

summary: an evening of fun with the party, and for once nothing feels too heavy... until it does.

chapter tags: none! Just a good wholesome dose of friendship on all counts… the calm before the storm, if you will.  | fic tags: angst, hurt/(eventual) comfort, (eventual) smut, slow burn, enemies to friends to lovers, Eddie Munson x Fem!OC!Reader, Modern AU | This fic is rated 18+ MDNI each chapter will have its own content/trigger warnings

a/n: I would consider this the end of Act I.... meaning.... well. I'm sure you can figure that out. Happy new year everyone! 🎉

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog to support the author!

taglist @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever @taccobelle @micheledawn1975 @mewchiili @dreamerjj @losingmygrasponreality @munsonburn3r | comment/message me to be added!

--

“Good morning!” Robin answers the door to her apartment with far too much pep for eight am. Your ears are still ringing from last night, and you wince at her volume. “Oh, sorry. Forgot you’re so not a morning person. Come in!” She whispers the last part, and you chuckle lightly as you cross the threshold, only for your smile to fall from your lips. Eddie is splayed on the couch, a black coffee in his hand as Steve talks at him about how important reading the instructions is. 

“Hi, Bee!” Steve greets you from the kitchen, and Eddie offers a brief wave.

“Mornin’. Sorry, I didn't know it was a party, I would’ve dressed nicer.” You’re suddenly embarrassed by your choice of outfit: A pair of bike shorts and a massive t-shirt draped over your body like a nightgown.

“Oh, shush, you look great. Especially for what we’re doing today.” Robin, clad in overalls, walks by you and into the living room, where differently sized planks of wood are spread out on the carpet, a pile of screws in a bag next to them, and the instructions booklet flattened to the first page. 

“What exactly are we doing?” Eddie asks, sitting up. “I was just told I was needed, I was never told why.” He looks at you, as if asking for help. You shrug.

“We’re putting this thing together,” Robin toes the mess of boards. “Need all hands on deck, this ain’t no IKEA furniture.” 

“Good thing, IKEA’s shit would fall apart in a week.” You kneel in front of the pieces, examining them closely. “Shouldn’t be too difficult, looks like everything we need came with it.”

“Okay, great! Steve, put on some jams. Bee, come with me for a second.” Robin offers her hand, and you stand up to follow her into her bedroom.

“What’s up?”

“Are you, like, good?”

“What?” The question confuses you.

“Like, with Eddie here. I know we didn’t tell you, it wasn’t really planned, Steve just texted him for extra help and I didn’t wanna argue because I don’t wanna be the one to have to help him move the thing when we inevitably have to.”

“Rob, it’s cool. I’m over the initial shock of Eddie being here every time I see you guys. I  know it’s been awhile, but this was a normal occurrence once.”

“Yeah, I know, it just hasn’t been for a really long time. Wanna make sure you’re okay, that’s all.”

You kiss her cheek, smiling warmly. “It’s okay, Bob. Thank you.”

With that, she leads you back into the room, where Steve and Eddie stop speaking abruptly, as if they’d been conspiring something you aren’t allowed to know.

“Okay!” Steve claps his hands together, breaking the tension. “Let’s do it, we’re losing daylight.”

–

“Okay, this goes here–” “No, Rob, that goes there, this goes here–” “Bee, hand me the screwdriver–” “Would you move, Ed, you’re in my light–” The four of you talk over each other for hours, screwing and hammering pieces into place, groaning when you realize something is upside down. 

“Wait, wait, shut up!” Robin eventually exclaims before standing up to admire the fruit of your labor. “We fuckin’ did it!” In front of you sits a complete, sturdy entertainment center, every piece where it belongs. You feel a burst of pride as you stand up next to your friends, resting your hands on your hips to take in the sight before you. 

“Look at us! And in a miraculous turn of events, Bee and Eddie didn’t maim each other to death!” Steve adds, elbowing Eddie in the ribs and earning himself a shove. “You know, this might be cause for a gathering.” Eddie announces, earning groans from you, Steve, and Robin. To Eddie, a gathering didn’t mean the usual party with beer and weed, loud music and the likelihood of drama. For that, you were grateful. However, it did mean a very loud, passionate game of Dungeons & Dragons with four teenage boys. The cleanup is comparable, and you don’t count on Eddie helping out. 

“Please, Rob? I promise, we’ll be out by ten. There’s just barely any room at my place, and you guys always have the good snacks.” You cock an eyebrow at Eddie, but he’s too busy pouting at Robin to notice. 

“Ugh, fine! Out by ten, no exceptions.” He opens his mouth to thank her, but Robin quickly adds, “And only if Bee will come.” She crosses her arms over her chest triumphantly, like she’s found the secret way out of the deal.  

“What? Why is this suddenly on me?” You look from her to Eddie, whose eyes are wide with his friend’s betrayal. 

“Because I know you hated those things.” She grins. You remember, consistently left out of the games in high school because you were friends with a couple cheerleaders. Instead, being forced to watch from the corner, mumbling under your breath every time one of them did something stupid, and throwing popcorn into Eddie’s hair. “Y’know what, I might actually join you. If they let me play.” You glare up at Eddie, like you’ve passed the grenade. To make you show up, he has to let you play. If he doesn’t let you play, the gathering is off. The snake eats its own tail. 

But he shrugs. “Okay, yeah.” 

You and Robin share a look of exaggerated surprise, gasping in unison like he’d dropped to one knee. “What happened to the golden rule? No Darksiders!”

Eddie throws his head back with laughter, chest heaving as he tries to compose himself. “Guys, I’ve matured a little in the past few years, would you give me some credit?”

It shifts something in your chest, hearing him say it. You forget sometimes that Steve and Robin had also been together without Eddie for a while. When he’d finally graduated, Eddie skipped town without a word to any of his friends. You’d even gotten an influx of calls and texts, friends of Eddie’s you’d only met in passing asking you if he was out in New York with you, having no idea you already hadn’t spoken in two years. 

“Okay,” You resign, remembering your brother’s plea from last night for you to be nicer to him. “Then a gathering we shall have.”

—

The apartment quickly becomes a playground, a mass of what you can’t exactly call children flooding through the front door, immediately taking up any available surface. The boys: Lucas, Will, Mike, and Dustin, are loud and excited, spreading out their game pieces on the kitchen table with intention. The girls, El and Max, make their way to the pantry for snacks and soda, opening every cabinet until they find what they’re looking for. You brace the tornado, still as possible until everyone is settled. 

“So,” Max sits on the empty cushion beside you, crossing her legs to rest a bowl of popcorn in her lap. “Long time, no see!” You’d always been closest to Max, even closer than you’d gotten to Dustin just by being friends with Steve and, at the time, Eddie. Max, though, seemed drawn to you specifically. Your senior year, when she was in seventh grade, she’d started wearing her hair like yours, asking you where you bought your clothes, what kind of music you liked. It was cute, really. You’d always wanted a little sister, and Max was probably the coolest thing you could have imagined.

“Hey, Maxy.” You nudge her with your shoulder. “Look at you, all grown up.” She’s flourished since the last time you saw her, which would have to have been right before you’d left for New York. “Sorry I didn’t come visit more.” 

She shrugs. “No biggie, I get it. Although, it is weird to see you two in the same room again.” You know she’s referring to Eddie, but she sends a less than subtle glance in his direction, and you follow it to find him conducting yet another Hellfire pre-campaign meeting. You indulge in watching the show for a minute, the way Eddie leans forward in his chair at the head of the table, face expressive as he alludes to the battles he’s written for his little goblins and you should probably be paying attention to what he’s saying. You hear Max giggling beside you. 

“What’s so funny?” 

“Well, despite all this time, you haven’t changed at all.”

“What are you talking about?” You raise an eyebrow at her.

“You still look at Eddie like a lovesick dog.” She rolls her eyes, and you dart yours to the floor. “Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I kind of always knew you two wouldn’t be apart forever.” 

“Okay, missy, you’re gettin’ a little too big for your britches. Eddie and I are barely friends. Acquaintances by circumstance.” Even to yourself, you sound unconvincing. 

“Mhm, sure.” She teases as you turn back to watch the theatrics of the Dungeon Master, despite yourself. 

“Take a pic, Bee, it’ll last longer!” You feel your cheeks burning as Dustin cackles, followed by the groans of the gaggle of boys surrounding him. You stare straight ahead, doing your best to avoid the way Eddie’s eyes are penetrating the side of your face. 

“Dustin, shut the hell up. Upsetting Bee is almost worse than upsetting Eddie.” Mike elbows his friend in the ribs.

“It’s true, dude, you’re playing with fire.” Lucas adds, tone heeding a warning. You hear a thump under the table, followed quickly by Dustin’s cry of “Ow, you bitch!” Followed by a 20 sided die flying at Eddie’s head. Luckily, his fluffy curls soften the blow, Eddie barely even flinching. 

“Oh, you’re in for it now, Henderson.” Eddie practically growls at the boy, eyes darkening with the mischief the rest of them have grown familiar with.

–

“Well, well, well.” Eddie leans back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest with an aura of smugness. “Looks like you’re all out of options.” Your character is mostly unscathed, but you can’t say the same for your campaign party. All of the kids’ characters are on their last legs, Dustin’s even literally, having lost his left lower limb to a corrupted mage about twenty minutes into the game. “Any last words?”

You can tell Dustin regrets his joke from earlier, face trembling with anxiety so palpable you’d think he’d seen this type of horror in real life. “I choose to surrender.” The party only mumble in agreement 

“Roll to see if your surrender is accepted.” Eddie leans in, the grin on his face widening.

Dustin rolls a three. “Shit.”

Eddie throws his head back, a devilish cackle releasing into the air of the apartment. “Oh you poor, poor thing. Looks like your begs for mercy go unheard.” Eddie rolls the die himself, landing on eight. “Hm, seems like you’re getting off a little easy. You may leave unscathed.” Dustin squints his eyes at the older man, waiting for the catch. “All you must do is leave your strongest soldier as collateral.” He leans his elbow on the table, and Dustin follows his gaze to where you sit across from him, too distracted by the look on Eddie’s face to pay attention to what he’s saying. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Bee?” Will’s voice snaps you back to reality. “What do you think?”

“What? Oh,” You look from Eddie, with that stupid smirk on his face, back to your teammates. “You want to sacrifice me?”

“Well, we don’t want to. Clearly you’re the reason we’re still alive here.” Dustin grumbles, fiddling with a handful of dice. “The second we give her to you, Ed, you’re gonna destroy us!”

Eddie only shrugs, giving none of his diabolical plan away to his opponents. “Only one way to find out.”

Dustin looks at you, eyebrow raised. “What do you think, Bee?”

You try to focus on the game. If you surrender, you become what Eddie likes to describe as a henchman. Your moves from here on in are only to benefit him. You’d be turning on your team, but they’d be free to walk away. If you don’t surrender, who knows what the sick and twisted Dungeon Master has up his sleeve for them?

“I guess… I will bravely sacrifice myself for your freedom.” You decide, gracefully gesturing to the younger boys. “I would be honored to die for the good of the campaign.” 

The boys look at each other, ultimately deciding to accept your sacrifice. Eddie, though, throws his head back with his in character evil laughter, swiping your game piece from the board. “And so it shall be! The mage has been sacrificed, and captured by the darkness to distract from the escape of the rest of the party.” He looks from the boys back to you, the smile on his face a little softer. “An honorable risk, indeed.”

–

As promised, the younglings are kicked out promptly at ten, and Eddie is nice enough to bring them all home.

“Bye, guys!” Steve gives a wave before closing and locking the door. “I am fucking exhausted.”

“Yeah, it’s really tiring work sitting on your ass eating pizza.” You snort, clearing the paper plates from the table.

“Hey, you’re one to talk. You got to play a game all night while Eddie made googly eyes at you.” 

His comment stops you in your tracks. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, please, like you have no idea!” He looks at you, face contorting from amused to bewildered. “Oh, you really have no idea.”

Robin snorts behind him. “Neither of them have a clue, Stevie.”

“Can someone please explain to me what the hell you’re talking about?” You’re exhausted, and you can’t keep up with your friends’ cryptic bullshit. 

“C’mere.” Robin walks around to sit on the couch, patting the cushion next to her.

“Rob, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Relax, Steve. Bee’s gone through enough, the least we can do is tell her what we know.” You plop down beside your friend, and Steve joins you on the other side. “Bee, what do you know about Eddie coming back to Hawkins?”

You squint at Robin. “As much as you do, I thought! He came back when Chris got released. I still don’t even know where he went after he graduated. Before then, it had been years since we’d spent any time together.” 

Robin nods thoughtfully, like she’s considering your words. “Well, think about it. Why would he choose now to come back? Why would he put the effort in to hang out with us, with you?”

You shake your head, growing more frustrated by the second. “You know I don’t have the answers to any of that. All I know is that Chris told Eddie to rat on him, to save his own ass from being tormented by Hawkins PD. And I only learned that, like, yesterday.” 

Steve chimes in. “Well, at least he finally told you some of the truth.” 

“What?” You turn to face him, your voice straining. “What more is there?”

“Bee,” Robin rests a hand on your shoulder. “He broke up with Macy, he’s hanging out with us every damn day. Don’t pretend you haven’t figured out Eddie’s obsessed with you.”

This shit again. You groan, throwing your head back into the couch cushions. “This is bullshit. You’re making shit up.”

“Okay, if that’s your theory, why the hell would we do that?” Steve seems offended by the accusation.

“How should I know? You guys love to meddle, why would I be exempt from your torment?” 

“It’s hopeless, Rob. We’re gonna have to show her.” 

She shrugs. “Guess so.” She plucks her phone from the coffee table and begins scrolling. “Ah! Here it is.” She turns her phone to face you. Displayed is a picture from the Chappell show, the four of you posing in front of the stage with big, excited smiles on your faces. Well, you, Steve, and Robin are smiling. Eddie isn’t even looking at the camera, but at you. His arm is wrapped tightly around your shoulder, and he’s smiling, eyes focused on the side of your face. Robin hadn’t posted this picture, and you can now understand why. The best way to describe the look on Eddie’s face is lovesick. You feel a lurch in your throat, still examining the photo, the way you hadn’t even noticed him. 

“What am I supposed to take from this?” You try to play it off, despite the impossibility of denying what you’re looking at. “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Please, Bee. Don’t tell me you can’t feel it. You know there’s something there.” Robin is practically pleading with you. “I know he has a lot of making it up to you to do, but, what if you gave him the chance? I’m not saying you have to fall in love with him or anything,”

“Though, that would be kind of awesome!” Steve interjects.

“But, I dunno, maybe you guys could be friends again. Maybe things could start healing themselves.”

“Would it get you two off my back?” You half joke, feeling your palms sweating under the pressure. They nod eagerly. “Okay, fine. I’ll try my best to give him a chance. That doesn’t mean I believe a word of what you’re telling me, though.”

Robin and Steve high five over your head. “We’ll take it!” Robin exclaims, jumping from her seat. “And, if he ends up being a total douche bag, you have all the right to say you told us so.” She holds out her pinky to you, and you grab it with your own, sealing the deal.

[dedeinthewild]

Heyy would you do prompts 20, 44 and 2 for Marcus Armstrong? Please and thank you💜

it took a while, and I'm really sorry for that! x

marcus armstrong x reader, bestfriends to lovers

 “I might have gone a bit overboard,”

summary : A birthday party, a villa by the beach, and a group of friends who can’t stop teasing each other. Between cooking fails, a poolside dance-off, and some very questionable alcohol choices, Marcus finds himself realizing that sometimes, the best moments are the ones you least expect.

"Remind me why we didn’t book that place you love?" the girl asked as she sliced salmon, a black elastic band wrapping her arm in the crook of her elbow.

"’Cause you cook way better than them," the driver replied.

"Have you ever wondered why they own a restaurant and a massive villa in some tax haven?" she teased, glancing up from the fish to the New Zealander, who was peeling avocados and washing the bowls she handed him.

It was early August, and after spending two weeks at home with his family, the IndyCar driver had decided to celebrate with friends, enjoying a night of fun like he used to as a kid. And what better way than with a load of seafood, a few of his favorite dishes, and good company?

She had filled the house with the kind of aroma only her chaotic cooking could produce—messy enough to make him smile but still his favorite. If anyone had caught Callum Ilott drunk after a bad day, he probably would’ve told them the story of Macau: how, during the famed race, the New Zealander had spent an entire night in a feverish haze, hallucinating about her focaccia.

"Could you just shut up and have a little confidence?" the IndyCar driver grinned at her.

"You’re so complicated, guys," James interjected as he entered through the door, holding two boxes that looked packed with liquor and wine.

"Get that out of this house," the girl gestured dismissively.

"Party," the Brit dragged out the word, savoring every syllable just to annoy her, as he greeted Clem and Marcus.

The house was one of those typical villas with massive glass windows you only ever saw on Mexico’s touristy coast—large dark stone pools, rounded conversation pits, and bedrooms the size of apartments, all in raw concrete or wood. The idea of spending the next two weeks there was, to say the least, enticing.

It had all been a happy coincidence since the New Zealander’s original plan was to celebrate just with his two Screaming Meals co-hosts and the girl. But some old friends from his junior formula days happened to be in Mexico, and he couldn’t not invite them.

"How many are we going to be?" she asked to make sure she’d prepare enough food.

"Me, you—" Marcus began.

"Yeah, that’s it," Clement joked, grabbing a chip from the open bag in front of him with a smirk on his face.

"Oh, screw you," Marcus shot back. "Me, you, them, JM, Mick, and his girl."

The girl nodded, watching as James, with a single-handed motion, pulled off his shirt and made his way toward the pool just outside the living room.

"Want me to help?"

She looked up at Marcus, locking her eyes on his pale ones as a soft smile spread across her lips.

"Alright, I’ll go," he chuckled, knowing how much she hated being helped in the kitchen, even if he felt guilty about leaving her to do all the work.

Once outside one of the sliding doors, sunglasses perched on his nose, he leaned around a column, his enormous white smile on full display.

"Are you a hundred percent sure?"

"Go, Marcus, for god’s sake," she said, the same playful expression on her face as a strand of hair fell across her forehead and she chopped tomatoes with a rhythm that mesmerized him.

"You could’ve just said you wanted to listen to that questionable playlist of yours," he teased.

She watched him walk toward the pool, his t-shirt in one hand, the other scratching the back of his neck, his confident stride practically designed to make him look taller next to shorter people. They were so chaotic.

She was sure the guys would drink themselves into oblivion that night, leaving her to deal with them the next day—herbal teas, paracetamol, and pounding headaches included. But deep down, they were good guys, and since they’d started spending so much time together, she’d had more fun than ever before.

"You and Mick are down to settle?" James asked, sitting in the hot tub corner of the pool with his arms crossed.

"What kind of question is that?"

"There are only two girls tonight," he shrugged.

"I’m really, really sorry that my birthday party won’t be real-life Tinder for you," the New Zealander quipped, bowing mockingly to him with an amused snort.

"Have you ever thought of taking her out?" Clem asked, floating gracefully on the water’s surface, his gaze shifting to the trees that shaded part of the house.

"He did," James answered for him, watching as Marcus leaned against the edge of the pool, his arms spread out and his lips pressed together as he stared into the house.

The glass wall acted like a filter, reflecting their images and the backyard—complete with trees and a vast lawn leading to the beach. But in the transparent sections, he could see her moving occasionally, tasting something with her fingertip or swaying her shoulders to the rhythm of a song she was quietly singing.

"He undoubtedly does," Clement laughed, thinking how clichéd the moment was. If it had been someone else in their place, they’d probably poke fun at it in one of the Screaming Meals episodes.

"You see, I could never, like, think of her romantically," the IndyCar driver said, splashing some water onto his chest and shoulders before wetting his hair. "You know what I mean?"

But she was just a few meters away, wearing her light fabric shorts, her favorite t-shirt, and a sunburnt nose, preparing dinner for the evening and tidying up a bit.

"I don’t know what you mean this time," the Frenchman muttered, maybe a bit more grounded than the Brit.

And perhaps Marcus didn’t know either, something she confirmed about half an hour later when she emerged through the same glass door he’d been watching her through. Now in her swimsuit, she seemed ready to cool off after finishing her preparations.

"All set, birthday boy," she said, easing into the water bit by bit, lowering herself with her arms as her legs slipped into the pool.

"I would marry you," James declared, making her laugh as she soaked her hair, her lips curling into a smile as she closed her eyes and sighed.

"What did you say Mick’s girl was called?" she asked, curious.

"Laila, a Nordic blonde. She’s really nice," the Frenchman answered, having met her by chance at an ELMS race they’d both attended as spectators.

She nodded, instinctively leaning against the pool’s edge, unaware that Marcus’s strong arm was just behind her, ready to drape itself over her shoulders. He kept his hand at a respectful distance, so she’d only feel his presence, a few centimeters from her skin. He mentally traced every freckle, every mole, every imperfection the droplets highlighted. How many times had he thought about how similar they were and how much they had in common, all while he tried to hold together a relationship born under the wrong star and pushed to break into IndyCar?

She let him be the twenty-four-year-old he actually was outside the track, with her bright smile and witty comebacks, while she was simply awkward and adorable.

"What were you saying, Marcus?" the Brit teased before diving underwater.

This place was incredible, and the company even more so.

I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this, but Marcus was at a point in his life where he’d let anything happen—friends that made him feel alive, a job that fulfilled him, and a whole lot of passion. So, with a bit of warm air, eyes as blue as water, and forgotten shoes, he was on cloud nine.

"That’s a lot of stuff," he said, looking at the table she’d prepared as the others showered and she dried off with a towel.

"We should celebrate your womb escape for what it is," she smiled, joining him and looking at the table from his angle.

"Did you just call my birthday my 'womb escape'?" he asked, staring at her as she wrapped herself in the towel like it was her cocoon.

"Did I?" she shot back, keeping up the game, a playful smirk on her face.

He leaned in slightly, her familiar scent brushing over him like a caress, as Clement yelled from the bathroom that the body wash had run out.

"I wish they were like you," the New Zealander murmured, smiling against her cheek.

"You don’t, believe me," she replied.

He pressed a gentle, friendly kiss—at least to the untrained eye—just below her ear before disappearing into the bathroom, where he stayed until everyone else arrived.

"That’s what I was thinking about," she joked, seeing him emerge like Bradley Cooper in The Hangover. He wore a white shirt paired with lightweight trousers made of the same material, perfectly complementing his tanned, athletic figure.

"I never disappoint," he shrugged, flashing her a wink.

"After an hour, it’s understandable that you don’t disappoint," she teased, adjusting the final touches on the table, dressed in a black t-shirt and similar lightweight trousers.

"You’re so feisty today," he pretended to pout, stealing a pretzel and turning on the living room lights.

She laughed, leaning against the wall as Clem and James came out, already slightly tipsy before the evening had even begun. Each held four shot glasses, which they placed on the kitchen island.

"You know I don’t drink," she reminded them.

"This is some bullshit without alcohol, smartass," the Brit ruffled her hair, holding up the bottle.

"Almost forgot you’re some liquor connoisseur," she quipped, sniffing the shot glasses’ contents before everyone grabbed one, clinked them against the concrete, and downed them in one go.

"This sucks," Marcus grimaced, his face twisting in disgust as he tried to wash away the taste of the liquor by swallowing repeatedly.

The others laughed, patting him on the back just as the rest of the guys arrived, flashing bright smiles and wearing the carefree expressions of people on vacation who had no intention of leaving anytime soon.

“God, she's gorgeous,” said the girl as she caught sight of Laila approaching.

“Sometimes I think you're way fruitier than you let on,” Clem teased.

“You’re so childish,” she said, giving him a playful punch on the arm before following him to introduce herself to the girl and her boyfriend, whom she hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting yet.

And maybe she had imagined that, within a couple of hours, they’d all end up sitting together under the villa's patio, alcohol flowing through their veins like transparent blood and laughter echoing in a way that was anything but sober, as the evening began to devour the Mexican coastline. Even in the neighboring houses, parties were in full swing, with loud music, beautiful girls twirling in wide, flowy skirts, and someone serving appetizers that they seemed to enjoy almost as much as their cocktails.

Mick and Marcus were dancing like those girls, trying to mimic their graceful movements but ending up with clumsy moves that made the others laugh, while Clem and the other two guys stayed seated on a sofa, chatting about this and that.

“They’re little kids stuck in grown men’s bodies,” Laila said, handing her a small gift bag. “I thought you’d like a little something.”

She smiled, taking the bag as she leaned against one of the house’s walls, her expression lighthearted and carefree, as if she had no intention of thinking about anything other than enjoying herself and celebrating with the lively group that had suddenly burst into her life.

“That’s so nice of you,” she said gratefully, opening the bag. But before she could reveal its contents, Marcus’s voice cut through the others’.

The speakers set up in the garden were playing a catchy playlist, and there he was, standing in those linen trousers that fit him perfectly, with one of his signature smirks on his face and his piercing eyes looking straight at her with an intensity that could break through any barrier.

His gaze wouldn’t slip past any filter, and above all, it wasn’t just the result of a few too many drinks downed in good company on a day dedicated to celebration.

“Look at her, guys,” he said, an arm slung around Mick’s shoulders, while Mick looked at Laila with concern.

“Who are you talking about?”

Then the blonde girl shifted slightly, revealing the shy yet amused face of Marcus’s friend. She had let her soft, fragrant hair down, letting it fall over her shoulders and partially obscure her face—only to end up accentuating it.

“It’s not like I’m that special,” she laughed toward the German girl, trying to divert attention away from herself.

But Marcus was focused on how she played with the little piece of paper she had pulled from the bag, twirling it between her fingers, and on how she leaned against the wall, feet crossed in front of her, her face slightly lowered, drawing attention to the pendant necklace that stood out against her black shirt.

“I told James not to bring alcohol,” she said, shrugging as she glanced at the other girl, her nose slightly crinkled.

“He means it. I don’t think he’s looking at you like that just because he’s drunk,” said the German girl with an accent that made her smile, noting how perfectly her white dress fit her.

“We always joke around like that. We can’t take anything seriously.” She could have talked for hours about Marcus, about how he was often irreverent and silly, and how he always made her laugh without stopping, finding it hilarious when she cried tears of laughter.

Marcus had always said he’d never see her that way, that he’d never have romantic feelings for her. Yet, that night, she was the main topic of his conversations, and the only gift he seemed to want for his birthday was her voice—bright and cheerful—scolding him when he didn’t tidy up or spent the afternoon asking him how he wanted his tacos.

“I just hope he doesn’t jump into the pool fully clothed or pull one of his dumb tricks,” she laughed, watching the New Zealander approach with open arms.

“You’re not loosening up,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m celebrating in my own way.”

“I want you to tell me if you’re having fun. If not, I’ll kick everyone out.”

She shook her head, once again captivated by his green eyes.

“Don’t worry about me,” she told him, smiling.

A few minutes later, the two women were sitting in the living room, chatting as the girl taught her how to make flower garlands—a skill she had learned from an elderly local woman on their first day there. Between words and smiles, they hadn’t noticed what was happening outside.

“They’re probably at the karaoke phase,” she said with a grin, recalling all the karaoke sessions she’d ended up in with the New Zealander, having the time of her life.

“Mick isn’t exactly the best singer,” the German girl replied, mimicking her hand movements and feeling as if she had found someone quite similar to herself. “How did you and Marcus meet?”

“He gave me a lift to the track, and I didn’t even recognize him at first.”

The blonde raised her eyebrows, holding her garland up before turning around to look at the guys beyond the glass door. But the reflections from inside masked what was happening outside.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, it must be Clem’s beach stuff. He always leaves it there,” she replied.

But Laila wasn’t referring to the sandals and straw hat resting near the fireplace, which, of course, they had never lit.

“No, what’s that?” she emphasized the last word, standing up and moving closer to the glass door with a puzzled smile, catching sight of some messy letters.

“I love” was what someone had started writing on the glass.

“Mick’s so cute,” said the other girl, moving closer to her, the garlands they had made draped over her arms.

But the person writing wasn’t Mick. He wasn’t even remotely blonde, nor was he wearing a black polo with blue eyes and silver rings. Outside, there were thick arms, a delicate touch despite the alcohol, and the concentration it had taken to write the letters backward so she could read them from inside.

“You, yes, you” completed the phrase.

Clement and James were standing next to the New Zealander, arms crossed and enormous grins on their faces, while he worked on finishing his masterpiece, likely borrowing something from the nearby partygoers. After adding a heart, they all pressed their faces and hands against the glass, trying to gauge her reaction as her hands trembled slightly under the garlands.

“At least he’s still smart; the letters are in the right order,” the German girl said with a smile.

Their faces squished against the glass made her laugh so hard she had to cover her mouth with her hand, trying to contain herself. The scene was simultaneously ridiculous and adorable. Laila, beside her, watched with an amused smile. “Well, I guess that’s their way of being romantic,” the German girl commented, trying to figure out which one of them was responsible for the message.

But she knew exactly who it was. Those green eyes, so intense, had been fixed on her all evening, leaving no room for doubt. Marcus had always been like that: unpredictable, playful, but with a sweetness that surfaced in the most unexpected moments.

She turned to Laila with a smile that hid a mix of embarrassment and joy. “I think he’s drunk,” she said jokingly, though part of her knew it wasn’t just the alcohol driving him to do such things.

“Oh, honey, drunk or not, that’s a bold move,” Laila replied, giving her a gentle nudge toward the glass door. “Go see what he wants to say.”

She hesitated for a moment, then approached the sliding door, slowly opening it to step outside. The cool evening air brushed against her face, mingling with the sound of the distant sea and the laughter of the others.

Marcus, his hands still dirty from whatever he had used to write, turned toward her with a guilty but hopeful smile. “I might have gone a bit overboard,” he admitted, raising his hands in mock surrender.

She crossed her arms, trying to keep a stern expression, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Only a bit?” she asked, gesturing toward the glass behind him. “Do you plan on cleaning that up later, Mr. Birthday Boy?”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “Depends. Did it work?”

“Did what work?”

“Making you smile.” His voice softened, becoming more serious, and for a moment, his expression changed, revealing something deeper beneath his usual playful facade. “I just… wanted to make sure you know how special you are to me.”

His words hit her like an arrow to the heart. She didn’t know what to say, at least not immediately. She felt her cheeks warm, and for a moment, she lowered her gaze, playing with the hem of her shirt.

“You’re impossible,” she finally said, but her tone was affectionate.

“Why couldn’t you tell me the old-fashioned way?” she asked as Clem and the others left them to their moment, shifting their focus to the cake she had baked for him.

“I thought this was the old-fashioned way,” the New Zealander replied with a smile, towering over her, sunglasses hanging from the open buttons of his shirt and his bare feet on the villa’s tiled floor.

As if realizing that everything was becoming real, she blushed, feeling her heart skip a beat.

“You were right about drinking. I do dumb stuff when I drink.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said with a smile as the driver’s hand reached her cheek, caressing it gently.

Clem peeked out from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame, a bit of whipped cream in his hair.

“Does that mean I can keep this? It was supposed to be your womb escape gift,” he said, holding up a gray, short-sleeved vintage-style T-shirt with the girl’s name written in large blue letters and her face printed in various sizes and angles.

“Why is everyone calling it ‘womb escape’?” the New Zealander laughed, turning toward the Frenchman.

“So you’re not going to ask anything about the questionable gift?” Juan Manuel said, raising a glass of water to his lips.

Marcus sighed and turned back to her.

“Maybe I should have done this when we were alone.”

“Blame the vodka,” she said with the sweetest, most beautiful smile as he gazed at her with those green eyes she had always loved, even if she had tried to ignore the way they lingered on her.

“You love me too. Admit it,” he teased, running his hands through her hair, brushing it back.

“Unfortunately for my own good, I do.”

I really hope you all have enjoyed it, Marcus has been my first feeder series favourite, and I still have the softest spot for him... if you're watching Indy or are a fan, could you give me some advice to start and facts overall/things to know before starting?🍀

[alotofpockets]

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 💗

[koolades-world]

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?'"

[imisscherryboy-blog]

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

[gallapiech]

Weekly Tag Wednesdaaay

Sorry I'm a little late! [eto bleh~!] I've been a bit busy this week but I'm excited to be doing these again! Thank you for the tags @femboymilkovich @heymacy @kiennilove @suzy-queued @mybrainismelted

& @spacerockwriting!

What is the last song you listened to? En nuit - Videoclub

Have you read anything lately, fanfic or published? I've been reading a book that @jrooc recommended to me 😁💕

Are you doing anything fun this year you’re looking forward to? So many things! I haven't planned ahead much, but I'm going to the upcoming Final Destination movie once it releases, I also hope to get at least 1 new tattoo this year!!

What is your favorite type of weather? I think that as long as the sky is blue that my mood will be better tbh.

Do you have a favorite word? A top favorite I'm not sure... But off the top of my head I do love saying 'Jest.'

Do you make playlists for music? If so, do you have a favorite one? omg no I'm so bad with organizing stuff. I usually listen to all my auto generated mixes & playlists lmao.

Do you have a favorite trope to read? Pretty much any variation of enemies to lovers! I eat it up every time.

Do you have any tattoos or piercings? I have 4~11 tattoos depending on how you count them? LOL We'll go with 4. I only got my ears pierced but those are closed by now. I've been meaning to reopen them though.

If you could visit anywhere in the world, where would you go? your house

If you've already done this then im sauurryyyy!

@jrooc @deedala @deathclassic @ian-galagher @spoonfulstar

@burninface @fireballazalea @romidoes @lingy910y @thepupperino

@creepkinginc @transmurderbug @roryonic @spookygingerr @doshiart

@matt404b @gustarrunz @awa444 @lazystargazy @heymrspatel

@milonata @vintagelacerosette @blue-disco-lights @bluelightning00

I tagged some new people! Don't feel forced to participate! ♥ Let me know if you want to be excluded in future tags ^^; ♥

[mybrainismelted]

Weekly Tag Wednesday! 🏷️

Thanks for the game this week @femboymilkovich, and for the tags @heymacy, @energievie, @kiennilove, and @suzy-queued! What is the last song you listened to? Apparently it was Roar by Katy Perry

Have you read anything lately, fanfic or published? I read fic pretty much every day, although I've definitely slacked of while I was sick. But I've been really enjoying The Alpha's Handmaid by @notherenewjersey

Are you doing anything fun this year you’re looking forward to? Well I HAD plans for a couple of trips to the US this year, but... I don't think those will be happening. So I guess I need to find new plans!

What is your favorite type of weather? Warm but not crazy hot, just a touch of a breeze, and with a few clouds to keep the sun from being overwhelming

Do you have a favorite word? no fucking clue.

Do you make playlists for music? If so, do you have a favorite one? I mean, sort of? I have a few, but I'm not hugely into music, so they are mostly just a few songs that hit a specific mood or vibe. "sappy shit", "happy shit"... you get the picture. My favorite is "stuff". It's currrently just shy of 16 hours long.

Do you have a favorite trope to read? hmmm, I don't think so

Do you have any tattoos or piercings? 5 tattoos, zero piercings

If you could visit anywhere in the world, where would you go? The giraffe hotel tags under the cut

@deedala, @michellemisfit, @gallapiech, @lazystargazy, @spoonfulstar

@blue-disco-lights, @francesrose3, @crossmydna, @deathclassic, @spacerockwriting

@rayrayor, @runawaybrainsc, @lingy910y, @sam-loves-seb, @sgtmickeyslaughter

@heydumby, @heymrspatel, @jessij1997, @nozenfordaddy, @atthedugouts

@thepupperino, @creepkinginc, @mickaleks, @gallawitchxx, @stocious

@geonbaeeeesblog, @runninonemptyy, @sickness-health-all-that-shit, @iandarling, @darlingian

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

2025 is gonna be the year of me posting fic ideas and drafts rather than hoarding them in a single notes app file:

Satanized: The making of the music video.

(this is all because @rainsbasspick said Rain looked like he'd rather be anywhere else lol)

oh and hi @cosmicseafoam since you asked to be tagged in anything I write!!

After the success of Rite here Rite now, and following a rocky start as Frater Imperator, Copia had been given one final task before handing over the reins to the new Papa Emeritus V: organising the music video announcing his succession. Psaltarian was in charge of everything else; from the smoking billboard, to the coded playlist, to the aggressive marketing campaign, and yet Copia was still feeling the pressure of his task.

Between the new Papa and the ghosts of Sister and Nihil, they had concocted a rough plan for how the Satanized video should go: black and white, and set in some unspecified time in the past. Most importantly, it had to fit within their limited budget; despite the record popularity of Ghost currently, custom-made cassocks didn't come cheap. Papa V had wanted the best, of course, something Copia with this collection of bespoke lamé jackets more than understood. That didn't stop him grumbling about it however as Sister's ghost appeared to remind him that he had less than a week and that his budget had been slashed even further.

While they might not have any money for fancy scenery, costumes or hired actors, Copia knew the Abbey wasn't lacking in the things that mattered here; enthusiasm and talent. By lunchtime, word had spread throughout the halls that he was casting for a music video filmed here at the Abbey, with it's most devout worshippers in the lead roles.

The queue of siblings of sin had formed outside his office within hours, and Copia had found himself running auditions quite by accident. What he hadn't expected though was to find his - V's now, he had to remind himself - entire cohort of ghouls waiting patiently for their turn.

Copia was a man of principles, and he had spent his entire tenure in the band striving to be the best frontman he could be. He had dedicated years of his life to the project, improving it in any way he saw fit and ultimately leading them to greatness. That didn't mean he wasn't deeply biased towards the ghouls who had helped him achieve everything, however.

That bias was how, with less that two full days until the video was due to be released, Copia found himself directing the gaggle of ghouls onto the makeshift film set, dressed in borrowed siblings' albs and costume wigs bought hastily on the internet.

The ghouls were technically playing themselves in half of their scenes, he reasoned, and who better to act as members of a band that the members themselves? They were already needed on set for the final shot of Papa V, after all. He chose to ignore that he had written the scenes requiring them to play their instruments into the script at the last minute. He didn't need to justify his choices as Frater Imperator, but a part of him would always be that young Cardinal, desperate for validation and compelled to justify his every move.

They had proven themselves in the movie, Copia thought to himself, Rain especially with his small speaking role. All of them had showed they could be trusted to represent the Abbey and attract more followers all on their own, so what better way to thank them than allow them in front of the cameras again? They had had so much fun, Copia remembered fondly. From their silly skits backstage at the Forum to their unforgettable performance on the stage, the ghouls were an integral part of Ghost.

Playing the lead role in his little production was one of the Brothers of Sin, a devout member of their church who had been at the Abbey for as long as Copia could remember. As he had learned in his brief audition, the Brother had been an aspiring actor before joining their ranks. Educated in one of the finest drama schools, he fell into the role better than anyone the Clergy could have paid money to hire. Even the more esoteric moments of Copia's script couldn't match the Brother breaking out into jazz hands halfway thorough one of his solo scenes. Playing opposite him as a priest was another Brother, one whom Copia had selected for the role solely because he thought his eyebrows fitted the part. His natural confusion lent him just the right air of disgust Copia was going for.

Any air of solemnity the pair of brothers conjured up in their early scenes was dashed as soon as the camera was on the ghouls however. Trustworthy enough to maintain their glamours and entrance audiences as they were, Copia had made one grave mistake when directing them prior to filming their ensemble scenes: he had told them to pretend they were back on stage, take it as seriously as they took the rituals.

In the many months since his final tour had ended, Copia had forgotten exactly what that looked like. Cameras rolling, the ghouls had swayed and bobbed to the music, nearly bumping into each other with every movement given how tightly they were squeezed into an old choir pew. It felt strange to them, performing without masks to hide behind. Dew especially was taking some small comfort in the pressure of the silly wig on his head, the familiar albeit uncomfortable feeling actually helping him concentrate.

Nothing could stop their antics however. Cumulus had flapped her hands directly under Dew's nose during his solo, trying to put him off, while Swiss seemed to be trying to claw back every missed second of screen time he had lacked in the movie by acting up here. Rain looked markedly more subdued that Copia had been expecting however, especially given how he had been dubbed the pack's movie star after his one line of dialogue. What the Abbey's new director was unaware of however was the small spat he and Dew had had only moments before; with Dewdrop teasing the water ghoul over stealing the show in the movie and the water ghoul resolving to act as nonchalantly as he was capable of as a result. Copia supposed that explained Cumulus' determination to annoy Dew in response.

Despite whatever quarrels they may have, the ghouls were keenly looking forward to the filming of one specific scene. Ever since they were summoned, each ghoul had received countless lectures and training on how they were not to hunt the humans, on pain of banishment back to the pit. The line in the script, originally written for other Siblings of Sin, in which they were to pin the lead Brother to a low stone altar went against everything they had been trained not to do topside. The novelty of finally getting to give in to their baser instincts was enough to get all of them to put their quarrels aside. The cat-like grins on the faces of the ghouls as they slunk forward inspired the best performance from the Brother yet; the look on his face one of pure terror. Phantom even licked their lips as they readied to pounce, the Brother of Sin regretting all his life choices that had led to this moment.

Still though, he couldn't criticise them; so much of their popularity came from their antics on stage, and he supposed he couldn't fault them for doing what they did best. Copia was infinitely proud of them. Hearing of his retirement had been hard for them - "retirement" held a scary double meaning for many at the Abbey - but they had taken the news that they would be performing with a new frontman better than he could have expected.

As admirably as all of the ghouls and siblings alike acted, he had to admit that the reveal of his successor was quite spectacular. With the fog machine he had dug out of the basement blasting and a MacGyvered camera boom sweeping around him, the dark Pope was resplendent in his new cassock, surrounded by the ghouls. Copia deeply wished it was still him up there, singing to their ever-increasing legions of adoring fans, but alas that was not to be. Looking up at Perpetua, oozing confidence as he smouldered down the camera lens he smiled weakly to himself: at least their congregation ought to like him, and that was all that truly mattered.

[aikohellscape]

Im working on this Evo nightsilver fic on and off since 2019. I only really got into it while I was manic. So now I have to go back and deep edit so the characters are more themselves and not just pining idiots right off the bat. I pulled out my sketchbook and have written down the plot so I can see where things are clearly too rushed. I feel bad cuz theirs this one active reader who’s always in my comments (I love her she’s so nice) and now she’s gotta reread all my bullshit if she wants to be up to date. Cuz I’m making major plot shifts to push the actual story line, I’m trying to push myself threw the editing so I can focus on the part I want to work on, Lance, Toad, and Tabitha. So i wrote some small things to help me cope with being stuck editing

Here are some fun little drabbles from my fic:

Toad is 100% the Brotherhood’s biggest stoner and unofficial weed dealer, always carrying pre-rolled joints like it’s part of his daily essentials. He’s got a steady supply from some sketchy high school connections and will smoke just about anywhere, anytime. Lance, being the opportunist he is, bums one off him at least once a week—not because he doesn’t have his own stash, but because why waste his when Toad practically hands them out for free? It’s an unspoken agreement at this point. Toad never complains, and Lance never thanks him, but they both know the deal.

Toad and Lance have a standing tradition of getting their piercings done together, hitting up the same slightly sketchy shop run by some dude who definitely doesn’t check IDs too hard. Lance plays it cool like it’s no big deal, but Todd treats every new piercing like a badge of honor, hyping it up way more than necessary. Meanwhile, Tabitha? Absolutely not. She has standards. No way she’s letting some back-alley piercer with a questionable sterilization routine put a hole in her body. She’s got her own guy—professional, expensive, probably does celebrity clients on the side—and she never lets the boys forget it.

Lance is Peruvian, not that he really talks about it though. Family isn’t exactly an easy topic when you’ve spent more time in the foster system than with the people you came from. Most of his early memories are hazy, blurred at the edges, but one thing that’s always stuck with him is the sound of his mom playing Peruvian cumbia while she cleaned the kitchen. He doesn’t remember much else—what she looked like, the exact shade of her eyes—but he remembers that. The music, the warmth, the way the whole house smelled like lime and cilantro. Sometimes, late at night, when everything’s too quiet, he’ll pull up an old cumbia playlist and let it play low in the background. He misses her. He just… never says it out loud.

Before the amnesia, Kurt had this habit of picking out jewelry for Toad, always keeping an eye out for pieces that would suit him. Toad acted like he didn’t care, like he’d wear whatever just to humor him, but the truth was, he never took off the stuff Kurt picked—especially the little star-shaped septum ring. It was Kurt’s favorite, said it made Toads canines stand out when he grinned, which made Toad show his teeth more often, made him smile a little wider. He’d never admit it, but even now, with Kurt not knowing who he is, Toad still wears it hoping Kurt will remember why it’s important.

Before the amnesia, Pietro barely spared Kurt a second thought. Sure, they argued sometimes—Pietro lived to get under people’s skin, and Kurt, bless his heart, was basically Xavier’s walking, talking success story. Too easy to poke at, too predictable in the way he’d get frustrated, which made it fun. But it wasn’t deep. Not to Pietro. Just another way to entertain himself, another game to play. Kurt, though? Definitely took it deeper than it was meant to be. Maybe it was just frustration, maybe it was something else buried too deep for even him to recognize, but Toad saw it. Saw the way Kurt would get way too in his head after a fight, the way his tail flicked sharply whenever Pietro so much as breathed too cockily in his direction. Yeah, maybe Toad tried to steer him away from that mess, kept nudging him toward literally anyone else, because come on, Speedy was the worst option possible. Not that he was jealous. Nope. Not even a little.

Scott has absolutely no idea what Kurt sees in Toad—seriously, out of all people, why him? But it doesn’t really matter, because here Toad is again, climbing through Kurt’s window like a little goblin, tracking mud onto the carpet, and grinning like he just thought of the world’s dumbest, most annoying prank. And of course, Kurt’s laughing, already in on whatever disaster is about to unfold. Scott can feel his blood pressure rising because he knows—he just knows—that his night is about to be ruined, and there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop it.

Kurt likes hanging out with Todd because, for once, there’s no pressure to be anything other than himself. Even with the X-Men, there’s always this quiet weight pressing down on him, this reminder that no matter how much they accept him, they don’t have to hide like he does. They get to be themselves without a second thought—he has to put on a mask just to exist outside. But with Todd? There’s none of that. Todd leans into being the scrappy outcast, the guy nobody wants around, and somehow that makes it easier. He doesn’t make Kurt feel like he stands out—he just makes him feel like he belongs.

Jean doesn’t understand why she can’t sense Kurt. Ever since he went missing, she’s tried—God, she’s tried—stretching her mind out again and again, searching for even the faintest whisper of his presence. But there’s nothing. No thoughts, no emotions, not even that subtle, familiar hum of his consciousness at the edges of her awareness. Just a void where he should be. She tells herself it’s fine. That there’s an explanation. That maybe he’s just too far or something’s blocking her. But every night, when she’s alone with her thoughts, the truth slithers in—the one thing she refuses to say out loud. Maybe he’s dead. Maybe that’s why she can’t reach him. She can’t tell the others. If they knew she couldn’t sense him at all, they’d think it too. They’d believe it. And if they believe it, then it’s real. So she keeps pretending. Forces herself to act like she’s still trying, like there’s hope. Because as long as no one asks, as long as no one knows, then maybe—just maybe—she can keep pretending he’s still out there somewhere, waiting to be found.

Back when Toad was living in Brooklyn, he picked up bits and pieces of different languages—some conversational Mandarin from the old ladies who ran the corner store, but a lot of Spanish from growing up around it. It’s not perfect, and his accent is definitely rough, but it gets the job done. Lance loves that he finally has someone who actually understands him when he slips into Spanish, even if that someone is Todd. He also loves to give Todd endless shit for his pronunciation, mocking the way he butchers certain words just to get a rise out of him. Toad, of course, just rolls his eyes and fires back a stream of insults in Spanish, half of which don’t even make sense, but all of which are deeply offensive. It’s their thing.

When Tabitha got her navel pierced, it basically became her entire personality for a solid few months. Every outfit? Crop top. Every movement? Deliberately positioned to make sure people noticed. Didn’t matter where she was—school, the Brotherhood house, committing minor crimes—she was showing it off. It took actual winter weather to finally break her streak, and even then, she only caved begrudgingly. Of course, Lance and Toad immediately seized the opportunity to tease her about it. Every time she wore a normal shirt, one of them would casually go, “Wow, guess the belly button era is over, huh?” or “Damn, we really lost something special.” Tabitha would glare, threaten violence, maybe even chuck a small explosive their way, but the second it was warm enough again? The crop tops were back.

Toad is secretly way more sentimental than anyone would ever guess—not that he’d ever admit it. He’s got this whole stash of photos and videos saved up, just little moments of the people he actually gives a damn about. A lot of Kurt, because, well… obviously. But he’s got plenty of Lance and Tabby too—dumb inside jokes, random nights of them messing around, even the rare, unguarded moments where they actually look happy. And then there’s Pietro. The problem with Speedy is that he’s either moving way too fast for a normal camera or he’s making some deeply annoyed face at Todd for even thinking about taking a picture. The result? Pietro is mostly just a collection of motion blur and irritated side-eyes in Todd’s little archive. Toad hates that his collection of memories is full of useless, streaky nonsense instead of actual pictures, but whatever. Speedy will just have to live on as an artistic choice.

Pietro doesn’t mind when Kurt gets high—hell, he knows now that Kurt and Toad used to get high together all the time, which is honestly kind of hilarious. He even joins in sometimes, though it never lasts long. His metabolism burns through everything way too fast, making him the ultimate heavyweight. Joints and edibles don’t do much for him—he’s more of a dabs guy, the only thing that actually lets him feel anything. Still, just because he’s chill about it doesn’t mean he’s not watching Kurt like a hawk. No way is he letting his boyfriend green out or, worse, try to keep up with Pietro’s freak metabolism like it’s some kind of challenge. If Kurt’s getting too spacey, Pietro’s the one making sure he’s got water, making sure he’s eating, making sure he’s not about to tip over somewhere dumb. He plays it off like it’s just because he doesn’t want to deal with a mess, but the truth is? He’s stupidly protective, and no amount of weed is ever gonna change that.

Toad doesn’t really care what people call him—nicknames, insults, whatever, he’s heard it all—but there’s something kinda nice about hearing his actual name from his friends. Lance only ever calls him Todd when he’s exasperated, usually after Toad’s done something particularly dumb, like, “Todd, for the love of—can you just not?” Meanwhile, Kurt started calling him Todd the second he found out it was his real name, like it was the most natural thing in the world. No teasing, no hesitation—just Todd, warm and casual, like it belonged to him. Tabitha, on the other hand, takes it to another level, dragging it out into Toddy whenever she’s feeling playful—or right before she’s about to blow him up. And then there’s Pietro, who only calls him Toad—except, every now and then, he slips up, a careless Todd tumbling out in a moment where he’s not thinking. Toad never calls him on it, but they both know what it means. He doesn’t need some big declaration to know Pietro cares—he just needs to hear his name.