#wanna guess that i added two of my own

[goryhorroor]

2024 horror + letterboxd reviews

[sunbedo]

Hey guys. gay rights

[orcelito]

for additional context for the tags on the post i just reblogged (about the mile long mostly "constructive criticism" comment)

this is it. i have to literally zoom out to capture all of it.

and here it is with a red line showing where the divide is between the praise and the "constructive criticism"

I Literally Did Not Ask.

[bueckers]

UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers

i don’t wanna fight, but you got the wrong vibes. let me get you right, it’s how i apologize. ���

synopsis: she broke it off, but has since had a hard time leaving her alone… especially when having to see her in person.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc

warnings: smut with plot, p eating ( p is literally EATING ), fingering, thigh riding, and slight angst.

notes: this is ridiculously long. in honor of her fit here, enjoy.. i loved writing this almost as much as i love the song lol. lmk if i should make a part two or maybe a series!

Nervous, excited, and borderline bald from tugging at my hair—these were all the things I had felt the moment I stepped into the WNBA 2024 All-Star Game.

I would be seeing Paige tonight. Paige would be seeing me tonight. Paige knew I knew she would be seeing me tonight, and I knew Paige knew she would be seeing me tonight.

When Paige and I first started hooking up, it was never supposed to be anything serious. She was sidelined with a torn ACL, and I knew she was in a dark place, struggling with everything that came with being forced off the court. I think that’s why it started, honestly. She needed an escape, something to make her forget for a little while, and I was there.

Paige and I have known of each other for years, though. We both came up in the basketball world at the same time, our names being tossed around in the same circles since high school. We’d cross paths at AAU tournaments and national showcases, always on different teams but always aware of each other.

Back then, our support for each other was more from a distance, and it wasn’t until college that things started to shift. We crossed paths more often, whether it was at games, media events. The rivalry between our schools added a new layer to our interactions, but by then, we had leveled up from distant competitors to something more like casual friends.

Those moments were what led us to where we eventually ended up. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we actually had in common—our experiences, our struggles, the pressure to perform, and the constant scrutiny. It felt natural, easy, to let our guard down with each other, which is why when her injury happened and everything else in her life felt like it was falling apart, I wasn’t surprised when we fell into it.

We had an agreement. Not one that was ever talked about soberly, but the way it happened just fell into place so perfectly that we didn’t need to. We’d meet up when it was needed, no commitments, no expectations. Just two people finding comfort in each other, filling a void that we couldn’t fill on our own. It was convenient, effortless, and most importantly, it worked for the both of us. I guess I figured if I kept things casual, I wouldn’t get caught up in something messy. I didn’t want to be the one to complicate her life even more.

We’d cross paths after games, during off-season, or whenever our schedules aligned, slipping into each other’s lives for a few hours at a time. She knew how to keep me at arm’s length, just close enough to keep me coming back but far enough to never let me in too deep. She knew exactly how to make me feel needed without ever giving too much of herself away. It was maddening, really—how she could be so vulnerable one minute, showing me sides of herself that no one else got to see, and then switch off just as quickly.

The more we hooked up, the more I started to realize I was getting too close. I could see it in the way she’d look at me sometimes, like she knew I was starting to care too much. And the worst part was, she didn’t seem to mind pushing me right to that edge. She’d say something that made my heart race, or she’d touch me in a way that felt like it meant something, only to pull back and remind me of our status. She was always in control, always the one with the upper hand, and I hated how easily I let her have it.

And then it was all done. She cut things off with a cold finality that I still can’t even believe. No explanation, no soft letdown—just a sudden, brutal end. It was like she knew exactly when I’d reached that point and she didn’t hesitate to remind me that it was never supposed to mean anything at all.

“I’m gonna go grab some snacks, alright? Try to look a little more happy for the jumbotron,” JuJu teases, getting up from her seat. I gasped, barely having any time to process her insult as she scooted between me to get to the stadium stairs.

“Very funny,” I muttered, watching her walk away.

Alone now, I focused on the game, doing an extremely good job at hiding the gnawing in my chest. I’d say I have a good poker face, but Paige would agree to disagree. My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was her and she’d finally found you. She was on the other side of the arena, clearly getting a kick out of having you in her view.

you mad at me or just deep in thought?

I rolled my eyes back to the deep depths of hell. Another text from her.

you look good tonight

you too. how’s the game?

As soon as I hit send, I regret it. I should have ignored her. I should have said something snarky.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

could be better. thought about coming over

what stopped you?

You watched her text bubble practically stutter, making you quirk an eyebrow.

juju. i didn’t wanna make it awkward.

lol. okay.

actually, scratch that. leave w me.

I shifted in my seat, my hands suddenly clutching my phone a little tighter.

paige, no.

why not?

I shut off my phone just in time for JuJu’s return, watching as she squeezed through mounds of people to get back to me. She handed me a cherry slurpee, which would however be gone in ten minutes.

“Thanks, sugar,” you teased her, wrapping your lips around the straw and taking a nice, long sip. She shook her head at me as she focused on the game again, nachos in hand. Ping.

Tell her don’t get too comfortable 😂

I could even feel her eyes boring into me from the other side. I could picture the stupid smirk or gummy smile she’d have. I turned my ringer off and silenced Paige’s notifications before slipping my phone into my back pocket and reverting my attention back to the game. It’s almost over.

Fast forward to the final buzzer, and Juju and I made our way down to the court, weaving through the crowd of fans and players. I always loved the energy in a room of women’s basketball players and fans— there were always a million things going on at once. As we reached the court, we spotted Caitlin, who was already deep in conversation with a couple of other players.

“Great game, Cait,” I said, pulling her into a light hug. “Guess nobody busts your butt as good as SC, huh?” I pulled back first, resting my hands on my hips. I could say I’ve known Caitlin as long as I have Paige, but Cait doesn’t know me the way Paige does.

Caitlin laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, Miss Championship. but don’t get too cocky now.”

Juju laughed alongside me, adding a quick comment about how USC would give her a run for her money next time. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of post-game analysis and friendly banter. I scanned the court for a brief moment, knowing exactly who I was looking for.

Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flau’jae and Paige making their way over. I braced myself, knowing the cameras would be all over this reunion, and the media would have a field day with it. Paige looked as confident as ever, her stride always one that grabbed attention.

“Hey, y’all,” Paige said, her voice smooth, effortless. She exchanged hugs and high-fives with everyone, her presence commanding attention as always. When she reached me, she didn’t hesitate to pull me into a hug, her hand resting on my hip before snaking around to my lower back.

And then I felt it—her hand slipping lower, fingers grazing the fabric of my mini skirt. I could hear the smirk in her voice as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Good to see you.” Just close enough to keep me coming back.

I pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. There was that smirk. My heart was pounding, a mix of frustration and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You too,” I managed, keeping my tone as neutral as possible, pulling back with a tight-lipped grin that looked friendly enough to anyone who didn’t know what was going on. Which was everyone.

The group continued chatting, oblivious, obviously. You’d found out the one thing you hated about being around Paige was the overwhelming current of being the only ones in the room who knew how each other was feeling. Paige, ever the actor, kept up her usual easygoing demeanor, but I could feel her gaze on me, like she was waiting for something. I tried to focus on the conversation, but it was impossible with her so close, the warmth of her hand still lingering on my skin.

When the small talk finally wound down, and the others started drifting away, Paige moved closer, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned in again, her voice low, almost a whisper. “C’mon. Meet me,” she coaxed, her breath warm against my ear. Her fingers brushed lightly against my side, tracing a path.

I hesitated, the resolve I’d built up over the past hour crumbling under the weight of her presence. She was testing me, pushing every button she knew she could. And damn it, it was working.

I finally nodded, barely audible. “Okay.”

It was all she needed. A single, one-word confirmation that I wanted her as bad as she does. She took my phone out of my pocket for me, placing it my hand as she said her goodbyes to everyone else, leaving me there. I suppose it was smarter for her to do that anyway.

Shortly after Paige’s departure, I made my way out as well. JuJu wasn’t a tough barrier to get past. I told her to finish up her conversations, and that I’d see her back at the hotel. I wasn’t quite show how long my excuse would suffice, but I hoped she’d find her way to the bar or something after.

I don’t know why I listened. Watched my fingers click on her contact and give the driver her hotel’s address. It was like I was compelled from the moment she’d touched me, and to be honest, I don’t think I’d be surprised if that was the case.

The Uber ride felt interminable, each passing moment only heightening the anticipation and anxiety. I could barely focus on the city lights flashing by outside, my mind consumed with the impending confrontation and whatever would follow.

Finally, I was able to make my way to her room, feeling the cool air of the hallway against my skin as I knocked on the door. When Paige answered, her smile was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and she pulled me inside with a warm, yet testing glint in her eye.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, Paige’s demeanor shifted. Before I could voice any protest, her lips were on mine, kissing me with an urgency that made my heart race. I barely had time to process the sudden change before she deepened the kiss, her hands roaming possessively over my back.

I tried to pull away, my mind still reeling from the fact that I was even here, but her grip tightened, pulling me closer. “Paige,” I murmured against her lips, trying to catch my breath. “We need to talk—” but as much as I tried to voice it, I knew that isn’t what we both really planned to do.

She silenced me with another intense kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair, guiding my head to tilt for better access. Her touch was relentless, her body pressing against mine with all the need in her body. “I don’t wanna fight,” she whispered between kisses, her breath hot and heavy against my skin. “Jus’ wanna be close to you.” She breathed in my scent, and I melted.

The words were almost lost in the heated moment, but I could feel the sincerity. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze smoldering with an intensity that made me rethink actually standing on business. She waited, trying to see if I was really against this. I licked my lips, glancing at hers.

I didn’t stand a chance.

Her lips found mine again, and the world narrowed to the press of our bodies. Our kisses were feverish and desperate, each touch holding some type of meaning. Paige’s hands roamed over my skin like there were so many options in a candy store and she couldn’t pick just one. In this case, one spot to focus on. Her mouth trailed down my collarbone, leaving a path of pinkish marks.

Our bodies were pressed together and refusing to let go. Paige guided me towards the bed, her hands never leaving my body, her lips continuing their assault on my skin. When she finally lowered me onto the bed, I was needy and breathless and finally feeling a little more realistic.

“P, I’m still mad,” I tried to insist, though my voice wavered as I watched her begin to undress. She unzipped her Nike vest slowly, the sound of the fabric sliding down her body making my pulse quicken. It fell to the floor, and she ripped off her shirt with a sudden, breathless intensity, revealing her sports bra. The sight of her, partially unclothed and vulnerable in front of me again left me speechless.

“I know,” she murmurs, her head slightly tilted as she looked at me all-knowingly. “And ima’ make it up to you, I promise. Just let me get you right.” Her fingers trailed up my bare legs, eliciting a small gasp from my lips. She tugged at the hem of my skirt, pulling the fabric down and grabbing my panties in the process. I watched her do it, in utter disbelief that this was how I was spending my night.

Her fingers graze teasingly against my kneecaps, sending shivers through my body, before she gently but firmly peels my legs apart. I look down at her. “You’re just trying to distract me,” I say, but there’s no heat behind the words.

Paige smirks, a knowing look in her eyes as she falls to her knees, her hands sliding over my thighs. “Maybe,” she admits, her voice dropping into a low, sultry tone as she tucks her lip between her teeth. “But you can’t say you don’t want this too.”

She’s right, and we both know it. The way she’s touching me, the way her eyes are locked onto mine with that look. The same one that knows she’s getting her way tonight. My worries seem so distant now, nothing more than a whisper of irritation in the back of my mind, easily drowned out by the way Paige’s hands are moving.

I begin to say something, but she easily cuts me off by diving into me with no warning, immediately humming against my cunt in satisfaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed as her tongue made some deliberate strokes, seemingly in disbelief of the way I tasted. She looks up at me as she delves in, a sight beautiful enough for the Louvre but way too sinful.

She says something I can’t hear, but I do catch a, “Can’t leave you alone, ever. Fuck.”

“Yeah?” I muster out, my breath a careless whisper.

Paige smiles against me, loving the cocky tone in my voice as she responds with a fast nod, the movement making me gasp. “Yeah.”

From there, every moan and gasp from me seems to fuel her desire, making her work even harder to drive me wild. Her hands grip my hips firmly, keeping me in place as her mouth and tongue continue their relentless assault. In the haze of ecstasy, all I can focus on is the feeling of her between my legs, making good on her promise to get me right, leaving me utterly consumed by the pleasure she’s giving.

I come, loud enough that the neighbors might know Paige’s name, but she keeps going. It becomes too much, enough for me to whine and pull away, scooting a little bit higher on the bed. She isn’t going for it, though, and immediately brings me back to her mouth, wrapping my legs in her thick arms.

“Where you tryna’ go, princess?” she teases. The sensation of her mouth and fingers on me is so intoxicating that I can barely respond before she pulls back entirely, rising to her feet. She begins to peel off her pants, her movements slow, leaving me breathless and frustrated.

“Seriously?” I complain.

“Chill,” she responds with a husky chuckle, towering over me in the sexiest way explainable. It’s like she contemplates something in her head for a moment, leaving me dripping wet and needy before her.

Finally, Paige steps closer, her hands sliding down to her sports bra. With a teasing glance, she pulls it off, revealing her bare chest. My eyes widen as I take in her form, unable to tear my gaze away. She then sits back down, positioning herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Want you to get on my thigh, baby, m’kay?” And there was no room for argument.

I crawl toward her, a mixture of urgency and anticipation in my movements. Once I’m seated on her thigh, I start to ride it slowly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me. I truly can’t believe we haven’t done this before. The way she flexes, the way I can feel her muscle.. it’s all too much.

I roll my head back, needing more. My hands find Paige’s boxers, slipping into them with ease as she watches, her eyes moving more than her actual head. My fingers find their way to her core, exploring.

Paige’s breath hitches, her fingers gripping my hip as she watches me intently. “You like that, don’t you?” she breathes, her voice filled with a mixture of desire and all things Paige. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”

I stare at her. My body and arm moving repeatedly, my hair a bit puffy at this rate, and a panting mess. Paige raises her thumb to my plump and parted lips, slipping it in. I moan out, forced to suck around it as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Paige is in a trance, completely focused on the warmth around her thumb and how your small fingers disappear into her. “So, so, so good. Love seeing you above me, baby. So pretty.” I couldn’t understand how she could say things like these, and happen to not mean them, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Mfmfmm, I’m gonna come. Again.”

Paige’s response is a series of breathy moans, her hands gripping my hips tightly as she keeps me pressed down, every thrust and touch pushing us both closer to the edge.

As she finally shudders, her release crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body trembling violently. The sensation of her coming around my fingers makes my own climax come shortly after. I cry out, my own pleasure peaking as I grind against her, my fingers thrusting in and out.

Our combined releases feel explosive, a storm of heat and passion that has us both gasping and moaning. I feel her tremors against my fingers as I continue to move, riding out the last waves of ecstasy before finally collapsing against her, both of us spent and tangled together in a sated, sweaty mess.

I think I’ll regret this in the morning. But right now? I’ve never been happier.

[renranram]

Maid dress

nsfw!!

schlatt jerking off to reader while she's streaming, obvi inspired when j bought wenston some maid outfits and people were calling him his sugar daddy lols

a/n ; 886 words :)

reader flaunts herself at the camera, spinning whilst she tries on the maid outfit schlatt had bought her, " chat, do i look pretty? " she smiles as she assembles the outfit

meanwhile schlatt was on the call with her, eyes immensely focused on her live stream, " jesus fuck, you look worse " he mutters as reader glares at him through the camera

" well, you bought this for me, so maybe it's not me who's the problem " she rolls her eyes at him as schlatt chuckles, not taking his eyes off his screen once

the two had been close friends for over a year now, meeting through, shamefully, the dsmp, the duo are very different ccs on their own, reader being more into makeup and gaming whilst schlatt's varies

ever since they first met on the server the two just sparked a connection, coming off as frenemies for the public, a banter of theirs but exactly off camera, it was a whole different story

schlatt is reader's sugar daddy

at first reader would just joke about being broke, " oh my fucking godd it's so pretty but i dont wanna waste my money ", " that's so fucking expensive ", " okay im broke " until schlatt got tired and actually offered her to be her sugar daddy

at first reader thought it was a joke, a silly new banter for them but nope!, every week, new parcels would arrive on the streamer's doorstep with small notes, but chat doesn't know that, chat doesn't need to know that

" fine, ill get you a new one done " he mumbles, as he scrolls through amazon, " anime french maid apron lolita fancy dress cosplay costume furry cat ear gloves socks set " he reads out the title causing reader to chuckle as they wear the stockings for the uniform

" oh it comes in pink " he added as reader smiles, " i like pink " she replies as schlatt scoffs, " of course you do "

as the girl sits down on her bed to wear the stockings, schlatt's eyes linger down on her bare thighs, enjoying the view as he leans back on his chair

" do you need something else too? " he mutters as reader gasps, " oh my gosh! you should buy me that uhm... blaire doll thing " she smiles as schlatt shakes his head, " blaire doll thing? " he repeats her, " the fuck is that? "

reader tries to wear the collar to complete the look, " it's like a doll! " she states as she grabs her phone to show off the picture

" that's an ugly looking doll " he mutters, as he gulps, looking down at his now hard on, unironically finding reader in a whole cat maid dress... hot

" more uglier than you are " she retorts as he chuckles, " guess no more doll for you then " schlatt replies, shrugging as reader gasps, now pouting

" im kiddingggg pleaseee buy me one? " she pleads looking at the camera as her live chat speeds up, " .. fuck.. " he groans out, not loud enough for his mic to pick up, him slowly sliding in his hand inside his shorts

" please please please " she continues, as she reads off the chat, " please jschlatt senpai " she bursts out laughing, mentally cringing as schlatt chuckles, " ..fine "

" yay! chat! we fucking wonnn! " she celebrates as she jumps around the frame, clasping her hands together, " we're the best at this shit " she shrugs, smug, unaware that the man she's in a call with is already jerking off to her

" reader.., think im gonna mute for a sec, gotta do something " he mumbles as reader nods, understanding, " bet, im gonna talk with chat for a bit " she smiles, as schlatt immediately mutes himself

" fuck.. what a fucking whore.. i didn't actually think she'd do a stream " schlatt chuckles, amused as he palms himself, as reader did what she said, interacting with her audience

" what a pretty slut holy shit " he chuckles, clearly amused as he bites his lip, his rough hand playing with his dick

" chat i look so pretty right? " reader asks, fixing her hair as chat spams yes, " you damn sure are " he mumbles, as he grabs the base of his cock, using his saliva for lube

" ah fuck, fucking.. so fucking pretty " he breathes out, his body shuddering slightly as he jerks himself off, his eyes never leaving her

" fuck.. fuck.. " schlatt throws his head back as he leans back on his chair, fastening his pace, " stupid fucking whore.. "

he moans out, lifting his shirt up, as he continues to palm himself at the sight of her, he's never gonna buy her those stupid costumes again

or maybe he'll rain her with more gifts, then maybe a flight to texas so she can show everything off to him... maybe

his lashes flutter, fastening his already fast pace as he continues to moan, " stupid fucking slut, .. shit... pretty- pretty whore " he stammers

he can feel his precum leaking as reader talks with her chat, innocent yet suggestive, that stupid maid dress, if schlatt can immediately fly to london, he fucking would, he'd immediately bend her over, not caring if she was streaming or not and fuck her like some animal

" ah fuck! " he moans loudly, his semen, spurting on his keyboard making a fucking mess, " shit... " he groans out

maybe instead of ordering her a new costume, maybe he'll fly her out instead

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 13 ] || [ Chapter 15 ]

Pairing: Gaz x Reader x Ghost || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.6K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: this is purely self-indulgent. I wanted them to kiss.

Click here to see some fanart of this chapter by my lovely moot @xxshadowbabexx.

Chapter 14: (B)romance?

After that conversation, things got slightly easier. You found yourselves talking about random things, Simon showed off a few bandages from fresh injuries he got just this past week on a mission…

And almost an hour after they arrived, you were all sprawled from the couch and over the coffee table, watching one of the original Scream movies, much to Ghost’s delight and your displeasure… Which soon switched and turned into your and Gaz’s pleasure and Ghost’s dread.

“Look, it’s you.” You pointed at the TV for the fifth time in the row every time Ghostface was seen.

“I hate you.” Ghost groaned playfully. “Kyle, why’d you tell ‘em I wear a skull on the job?” He scoffed.

“You’re the one wearing it and you wanna blame me?” Kyle quipped as he cocked his brows. He had his arm draped over your shoulders and he used his hand to nudge Ghost on the shoulder.

“It’s making me look bad, mate, it’s the principle of the thing!” Ghost retorted as he snaked his arm between your back and the back of the couch, nudging Gaz’s exposed side with his own finger.

It was the first time that Gaz had ever heard Ghost call him, or anyone, mate. It would’ve made him smile, if the bloke wasn’t poking him.

“Oi! Watch it!” Kyle complained as he squirmed a bit against you.

“You ticklish, Garrick?” Simon quipped with a mischievous glance.

“Will you two stop it? I’m trying to watch the movie!” You scolded them, nudging them both with your elbows, causing them both to squirm, though Ghost’s squirming was much more stiffening than wiggling. “Childish…” You added.

“Not childish.” Simon retorted. “I’m 3-fucking-4.” He replied.

“You’re what?” Kyle asked as his head turned sharply to look at Ghost. “I thought you were 40.”

“You thought I was as old as Price is?” SImon asked as he turned to look at Kyle too.

“No wonder you look young, I thought you looked good for your age because of the mask and not being in the sun all day.” Gaz explained.

“Oh. My. God. Are you two having a moment right now?” You asked them, making them both turn to look at you with wide eyes. “Your little bromance is interrupting the movie.” You quipped with an impish smirk on your lips.

“Oh, we have a ‘bromance’, is it? You wouldn’t talk like that if you had my tongue down your throat like a few weeks ago.” Simon asked with a look in his eyes that said he did not appreciate the joke. But that just made you start giggling and biting your nail.

“Wait, you’ve kissed?” Kyle asked in surprise as he bounced up a bit and turned to look at you both.

“Yeeeees…?” You replied with a sheepish reply.

“So you’ve seen what Ghost looks like?” Gaz added.

“Noooo…?” You added as you casted Simon a glance, which only made him chuckle behind his mask.

“I said I’d let ‘em in due time.” He explained for you as he gave you a little squeeze.

“So, you’ve gotten drinks, eaten dinner, played videogames, had a movie night, slept together… All with the mask on?” Kyle asked, flabbergasted.

“Well, no. I took the mask off to sleep.” Simon replied.

“YOU TOOK THE MASK OFF TO SLEEP?!” You shrieked a bit, which only caused another grin to form on Simon’s face, his brown eyes crinkling smugly.

“You were asleep. It would’ve stank up if I slept with it on, I’m a mouth breather.” Simon replied.

“Ew, a mouth breather.” Gaz quipped, making you both laugh.

“I guess we’re just… not gonna watch the movie, huh?” You remarked as you glanced over at the TV where some blonde was screaming bloody murder.

“Guess not.” Gaz replied and shrugged a bit. After a beat of silence, he glanced over at the two of you again and narrowed his eyes. “How was it?”

“Hm?” You asked with a cocked brow.

“He means the kiss.” Simon replied as he nudged you with his shoulder, his arm lightly squeezing at your waist.

You scrunched up your lips sheepishly and shrugged. “It was good…”

Gaz and Ghost shared another look over your head, silently communicating between one another while stealing glances at you.

“Just good? And here I thought you’d liked it.” Simon remarked in mock offense.

“Right? I was going to say that doesn’t sound very convincing.” Kyle quipped.

“I-” You hesitated and sighed. “Will you two stop that? I know what you’re doing! Don’t fucking bully me!” You scolded them and you immediately noticed the smirk on Kyle’s lips, which you knew Simon was mirroring.

“Maybe I owe you a repeat.” Simon quipped as he shot Kyle a look and then looked down at you.

“A repeat?” You asked in shock as you blinked lightly. 

“And I definitely owe you one for comparison.” Kyle added.

“But…”

“But what? You talk that big game and act like a brat this whole time, trying to embarrass us…” Simon trailed off. “I think it’s time we get payback.” He added.

“Only if you’re okay with it.” Kyle interjected.

“Of course they’re okay with it.” Simon added and glanced down at you.

Sheepishly and with very warm cheeks, you found yourself nodding, not quite knowing the mess that you were about to get yourself into.

But, then again, when are you going to have the opportunity to have two blokes wanting to kiss you at once? Mia and Leah would kill you if you didn’t take the opportunity.

Simon’s warm, calloused and rough hand grabbed reached up to cover your eyes and after a second, the other clamped around your jaw the same way he had done weeks ago. You could hear Kyle’s breath hitch behind you, a sign that Simon had taken off his mask.

Then, Simon’s lips crashed into yours, his tongue already pushing its way inside. Once more, your tongue found the metal of his barbell piercing, the cold and hard texture drawing a whimper out of you as Simon dragged it over your own tongue.

You could feel Kyle’s warmth next to you, his arm slightly tightening his hold on you so you wouldn’t escape Simon’s kiss. Your hands gently grabbed onto Simon’s forearms, fingers digging in as the kiss left you light-headed.

After a moment, Simon pulled back, fixed his mask back into place, and uncovered your eyes. “So?” He teased when your eyes adjusted to the darkened room, illuminated only by the blue light of the TV playing the movie.

“Hm.” Was all you could reply with, a stupid little sound that didn’t at all convey how good the kiss felt. But it made Simon laugh, open mouthed, belly laughter, his head falling back over the edge of the couch.

“Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait, no, it’s me.” Simon bragged and you could swear he had a massive shit-eating grin on his stupidly kissable lips.

“Let me check.” Kyle replied and his own hand snaked to grab you around the neck. Before you had time to register it, your head was being dipped back and his lips were against yours.

Unlike Simon, Kyle’s lips were thick, warm, smooth… His tongue was a lot wetter, probably a consequence of Simon’s throat being permanentely dry from wearing the mask too much.

Now that he was so close, you could feel everything. The way his fingers gently rubbed at your pulse points on your neck, the scent of coconut oil that emanated from him, the light prickling of his goatee against your skin, when Simon’s was completely shaved clean…

Simon’s hand snaked down to your thigh and rubbed it lightly as you lost yourself in Kyle’s kiss, your hand grabbing and softly tugging onto his purple jumper.

You were the one that broke the kiss with a gasp for air, your eyes snapping open and finding Kyle looking at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he licked his lips. “So?” He echoed Simon’s earlier question.

Looking away, you sunk back on the couch and scoffed. “I hate you both.” You grumbled, making them both laugh.

“Damn, I didn’t think I kissed that badly.” Gaz quipped playfully.

“I sure as bloody hell don’t.” Simon replied. “I think they just have poor taste.”

Crossing your arms, you glared at them both. “Yeah? Well… If you’re both such great kissers, then why don’t you prove it?”

The two men looked over at you with raised brows and blinking away their shock at the suggestion. Then, they glanced at each other and seemed to be communicating wordlessly again.

“I’m fine with it.” Gaz quipped, humourously.

“Makes no difference to me.” Ghost replied. “C’mere, Garrick.”

Before you even had time to say you were joking, Simon tugged up his mask with one hand, enough to reveal his jawline and mouth, while the other wrapped around the back of Kyle’s neck with more aggression than necessary.

It was the first time you got to see a snippet of Simon’s face and his jawline was just like you had expected. Harsh, sharp like diamonds, free from any type of hair, and riddled with rough scars and a Glasgow smile carved from the corners of his mouth.

Their mouths collided so harshly that Kyle’s eyes doubled in size before he let go and closed them. Your eyes widened as well as you watched them locked in a kiss that was more passionate than I think any of you expected it to be.

As they pulled away, Ghost pulled down his mask again and glanced over at you, while a very shocked Gaz stood perfectly still, eyes widened and mouth left hanging open… Before he shook himself awake from his trance. “You have a piercing?!”

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

taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

[hellsenthero]

Kinktober Day 5: Overstimulation

Moon Knight System X Reader

Kinktober Masterlist

---

You smile up at your sweet, sweet boyfriend. His brown eyes wide with adoration. Just looking up at his little dopey smile, you know that it's Steven that's fronting.

"Enjoy your nap, love?"

"Yeah," you answer as you nuzzle your face into his palm. He's leaning over you, one hand propping himself up while the other gently cups your face.

"I've been waiting for you to wake up for a while now." Steven admits.

"Oh?" Steven nods, his dark hair falling in front of his face. "You have something planned?" You ask.

Steven shrugs a shoulder before leaning down and kissing you softly. "Not really, just miss your company."

"You were napping with me, Steven." You laugh out.

"Yeah, but I want more." You don't need to ask what more means. You can tell by the way Steven trails his lips down your neck, mouthing at your pulse point.

"Is someone feeling a little needy?" You tease.

"No." Steven says.

"Oh, so I guess I can get on with my day then?" You ask as you push Steven away from your neck. You nearly coo at the little whine he let's out.

"Yes," Steven admits quickly. He's always quick to fold. "I'm needy. Been missing you."

"Baby," you coo. "That's all you had to say."

No more words are spoken for a while as Steven trails his hands up your shirt. Skimming his fingers up your naked torso. He nips and sucks at your neck like a child with their pacifier. Your own hands run up his naked back, trailing through the ends of his hair and lightly pulling. You're quick to capture the moan Steven let's out with your mouth.

"Bloody hell," Steven breathes out as he pulls away from the kiss. His hands make their way to your underwear, having taken your pants off before getting into bed earlier for your nap."I need you, darling."

"You got me, baby." You tell him as you shimmy out of your underwear. They're damp with your arousal and Steven is quick to toss them off the bed along with his own.

"Just wanna be in you, love." Steven admits.

"Go for it." You tell him, but he's quick to shake his head.

"No, love. Gotta prep you, yeah."

"Steven," you whine as he slips a finger inside of you.

"Been waiting for this for a while." Steven tells you as he thrusts his finger inside of you. He adds a second finger when you start to tilt your hips down towards his hand. "Now you gotta wait just a bit, love."

"Steven," you warn. Wanting nothing more than his cock in you right now.

"Almost there, love."

After adding a third finger and thoroughly teasing you, Steven slips his fingers out of you and lines his cock up at your entrance. He's slow to push in, much unlike his alters, Steven likes to take his time entering you.

"Oh God," You moan.

"Not God, love, just me." Steven says rather cheekily.

You laugh as you move to meet his thrust. "I need you to pick up the pace."

"You got it love." Steve says and true to his word, his next thrust comes faster and harder than the last. "Like that?"

"Yes," You hiss in pleasure as Steven continues to fuck you. When it comes to sex, hard and fast isn't typically Steven's style. But he likes anything that brings you pleasure and today that's this. "So good, Stevie."

"Oh love," Steven coos. "Feel so good wrapped around me. Gonna make me come."

"Do it." You order.

"Not without you. Gotta make you come."

"I'm close," you whine. "So close." Your hands grab onto Steven's ass, pulling him in closer. "Gonna come, Stevie."

"Oh love, come for me." Steven begs. You moan and cry out as you reach your climax, crying Steven's name just as you feel him reach his own end, filling you up with his spend.

You expect Steven to pull out next. To get started on cleaning the two of you up and laying down for cuddles. But instead he's lifting your legs over his shoulders, his cock still hard inside of you.

"Steven!" You shout as his cock hits even deeper into you.

"Try again." A deep voice orders. You look up to meet your boyfriend's gaze and you can tell that Steven is no longer the one looking back at you. Marc is fronting now and he doesn't seem to be satisfied the way Steven was.

"Marc," you lament.

"There we go." Marc chuckles. "Thought you were done?" He asks.

"Wasn't expecting you." You tell him truthfully.

"Oh, would you rather Steven come back?" He asks. Despite his hard cock inside of you, you know that if you said yes that Marc would get Steven back in the body instantly.

"No, aa long as he's not upset. I know he likes our down time after sex."

"He does," Marc says as he slowly thrusts his cock in and out of you. "But he's happy to watch, too." Marc leans down and kisses you. It's different from Steven, harder, but still tender. "Let's give him a show."

You can't help but cry out in shoke and pleasure as Marc gives a hard thrust into your channel. Your hand comes down to grab the meat of his thigh and your sure that the both of you are going to have bruises from each other once this is done. "You know," Marc grunts as he fucks you. His hair falls into his eyes but he doesn't move it, his hands stay wrapped tightly around your ankles, holding them over his shoulders. "I've been watching for a while now. Watching you moan and cry for Steven."

"Oh fuck," you babble. Your eyes close in pleasure for a moment before opening back up and meeting Marc's dark gaze.

"All I could think while I watched you get split a part on his cock was that I could do a better job."

"Marc!" You cry as you quickly reach your second orgasm. Still sensitive from Steven, you're quick to climax a second time.

"Now I gotta show him how a real man does it." Marc says before crashing his mouth onto yours. Your kiss is dirty, a mess of teeth and tongues. Your hands reach up for his dark strands of hair, pulling and grabbing.

"So good, Marc. So good." Your words are slurred with pleasure, more babbling than anything. But Marc answers you still.

"Gonna come inside of you, baby. Gonna pump you full. You'll be leaking with me."

"Fuck Marc please!" You beg.

"Fuck baby, take it!" Marc orders. His grip on you tightens as he reaches his end. "Fucking take my cock, take my come!" Marc groans as he comes inside of you. Leaning down his his face buried in your neck. Marc pulls his cock free of you and you whine at the emptiness despite feeling the beginnings of being overstimulated. You don't register that he's moved again until you feel a mouth at your entrance, a tongue licking up the come that leaks out of you.

"Fuck!" You cry as you jolt back, further into the pillows. "Too much!"

The licking stops for a moment before you hear your boyfriend speak. But it's not Marc that speaks this time, but Jake. "Common princess, you can handle it. Just tryna clean you up a bit." You don't get a chance to answer before you feel Jake's mouth back at you entrance, lucking and sucking you clean. You squirm away, for back into the headboard, but Jake is quick to grab onto your legs and pull you back to were he kneels between your open legs. He doesn't appreciate you trying to take away his little treat and pinches your thigh in warning. "Stop moving." He orders before he continues to suck your fucking soul out of your body.

"Jake!" You yell. You yell loud enough for the neighbour's to hear, no doubt giving them the idea you're having one hell of a foursome. Your next release comes so fast it's nearly painful. There's no more of the slow, teasing buildup. "Too much," you sob just as Jake pulls away from between your legs. His right hand rubs you leg gently, a stark contrast to his attitude earlier.

"Too much?" He asks with a faux pout.

"Too much, Jake."

"Okay, " Jake says softly. "In that case just one more then." You don't get a chance to answer before his mouth is back on you. Licking and sucking and devouring. Somewhere in the back of your mind you know that your boyfriend is full of his when he says just one more, but you can't complain. Not too much, at least. Not when he's making you feel so good. Your body is limp and your half conscious by the time your faith, six? Climax comes barrling through you. Jake's mouth must be sore, he's been at it for a long time, but he doesn't say so.

"Too much." You whimper. Your limp hand gives a weak attempt at pushing Jake's head away, but it quickly falls flat on the bedsheets.

"I know, princess. All done." You breath out at the promise of an end. You're more than ready to take another nap now, to go back to sleep and not wake up for hours. You're just about to do so when your boyfriend's voice has you peaking your eyes open at him. "We're all done." He promises again. "Just as soon as I get one more from you." He says with a smirk before diving back into your center.

[mydarlingclaudia]

you wanna guess the color of my underwear

note : divider is from @/anitalenia. I wrote this because I listened to that Charli and Billie song on loop and couldn’t get it out of my head AND I ONLY FOUND IT THIS MORNING UGHHH this is literally just smut. I also kinda already wrote something like this but I love pussy eater Leon he’s real in my head. mdni

wc : 1k

tags : @lottiies

desc : Leon just loves eating you out. smut!! - oral (f receiving), not proofread, fem!reader, ID!Leon

Leon always paid the utmost attention to you when the two of you were alone. It didn’t even stop there, he’d send you gifts if he could when he was away, always adding a note to let you know how badly he missed you. Other times just finding a way to call you and let you know how badly he wanted to come back home.

And he was eager, too. Even better.

You and Leon must’ve been dating for two years by now, he knows he’s handsome, you couldn’t help but feed his ego day by day. Although, when he’d come home from a mission he’d be stuck in his own head and a lot of the time it was your job to get him out of it. It never took long, you’re pretty sure he’d do anything for you, especially when it comes to making you happy.

Leon’s always ready to get on his knees for you, too. Once again, even better.

You didn’t even have to ask for him to eat you out most of the time. It’s like it was the first thing in his mind when it came to making you feel good, or proving how badly he missed you, maybe even just doing it because he loved having his head buried between your legs.

He’s quick to work happy to please you for as long as you’re willing to let him. The achey jaw and sore knees come with the job.

He doesn’t even wait to get you inside the house today, he’s got you laid out in the backseat of his car, kneeling down o the floor between your legs. The angles odd, but he makes it work.

Leon hasn’t really even done anything yet, just holding your thighs in place atop of his shoulders as he licks over the center of your panties, the skirt you previously wore tossed aside somewhere in the car, he’s still in the suit he wore to work today. This has been going on for five minutes, not that you minded, he bought you these panties for a reason. You’ve been a bit of a tease since before the two of you even slept together, this problems only grown since you found out he’s obsessed with you.

Leon looks up at you through his eyelids all the while, stopping for a plot second to shoot you a smirk.

“You gonna keep me waiting?” You ask him, moving your thighs to adjust the position you’re laying in, only for his grip to tighten.

“No, ma’am.” Leon licks over the wet patch on your panties one more time before he lets go of your thighs and leans back. He takes his left hand, pulling your panties to the side. Leon’s other hand pushes your thighs a bit further apart, then trailing down to let his thumb rub against your slit. His thumb slips between your folds to gently pull them apart, you study his face carefully, letting out a shaky breath as his thumb rubs over your clit.

Leon swallows before he spits onto your already wet cunt, continuing to use his thumb to tease your clit and rub his spit around.

“Don’t take too long,” You mumble, following it with a small giggle. Leon smiles at you, his movements stopping so he can move his hands to help angle your hips up a bit.

“You know I always take care of you.” He whispers, his mouth is on you not even a second later, dragging his tongue through your folds and sucking greedily. The moan you let out is almost embarrassing, your hands go up to dig your palms in your eyes as he continues to lap up your arousal.

Leon’s gotten better at eating you out over the years, you never complained much, previous boyfriends you had had refused to even do this, Leon found that ridiculous. But having his face stuffed between your legs at least once a week was an amazing feeling.

You whine when Leon pulls off of you the tiniest bit, letting your arms fall to the sides of your head as he peppers kisses up and down your slit.

“Taste so good,” He murmurs against your heat, his kisses becoming a bit sloppier as his tongue slips out once again. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Your voice is all breathy when you say it. You gasp when his thumbs push your folds apart again, pressing his face further into your cunt as he sucks and licks at your entrance, his nose bumping against your clit.

This time, one of your hands makes its way into his hair, holding him against you. Leon’s chuckle is muffled against your pussy, you can feel his drool and your juices coating your sensitive flesh, your back arches as his tongue probes against your hole. His movements only get more aggressive after that.

You whine out his name, he hums against your skin and turns his attention to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and running over it with his tongue.

“Jesus, L-Leon- fuck-!” You moan, your grip on his hair tightens and you hear him groan, but he doesn’t let off.

“I know,” His voice is still muffled, “C’mon.”

Leon continues to urge you on, you can’t find any words to respond with, the only noises coming from your throat being moans and whimpers. You cum into his waiting mouth not even two minutes later, he still doesn’t pull away from you.

After he’s sure you’re all cleaned up, he presses one more kiss to your cunt before he pulls your panties back over, giving your clothed heat a soft slap. Leon rests his arms over your thighs and looks up at you as you sit yourself up, his face is all wet, he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re my favorite girl.” His voice is a bit rough, you love it.

“I better be.” You pant softly, bringing one of your hands up to run over his tousled hair. Leon’s hands move to run up and down your sides, giving you a soft squeeze.

“Hungry?”

“Yeah,”

“I’ll help you up. Let’s go, pretty girl.”

[livwritessometimes]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

: Mason Mount x singer!reader

: Y/n can do it with a broken heart

: Prev (Love Lost Series) | Next

: Begin Again Series

: Love Lost Series

: Main Masterlist

: Author's Note: It’s finally here!!! The spin-off series for Love Lost! Lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist

…

liked by kellypiquet and 92,780 others

Yourname: Just me, my niece, my Kelly, and some guy we found on the way 🌊

view all 79,721 comments

kellypiquet: the best way to spend summer 🩵

*liked by Yourname*

User21: “my Kelly” 🥺🥺

maxverstappen: Excuse me ☝🏻 what do you mean by some random guy???

-> Yourname: I think I was pretty clear by what I meant 😌

-> kellypiquet: ya seemed crystal to me 🤷🏻‍♀️

-> maxverstappen: why do I even bother anymore 🤦🏻‍♂️

-> User69: ya max at this point just admit it’s Y/n and Kelly in a relationship and you’re the other woman 😙

*liked by kellypiquet and Yourname*

liked by maxfewtrell and 65,528 others

👤: magui_corceiro

landonorris: Summer has never been better ☀️

view all 52,301 comments

magui_corceiro: ily sm ❤️

*liked by landonorris*

-> landonorris: ily too 💘

maxfewtrell: It’s ok 👌🏻 no need to thank the photographer or anything

→ landonorris: 🙄

User09: Ahhhh so cuteeeee!!!!

User86: I love them SO MUCH 💗

liked by kellypiquet and 122,710 others

Yourname: Lights, Camera, Bitch Smile! 📸

view all 97,578 comments

maxverstappen: P says she loved the show a lot!

*liked by Yourname*

-> Yourname: Tell P I love her!! And that I’m getting her all the merch from the shows 💕

-> kellypiquet: Y/n no ☝🏻 she already has a lot of merch

→ maxverstappen: Yes Y/n - P :)

-> Yourname: 😊

-> kellypiquet: 😠

-> Yourname: 🏃🏻‍♀️

-> maxverstappen: 🏃🏻

-> maxverstappen: 🏃🏻‍♀️- P

User43: Another day of Y/n and Max testing Kelly’s patience

*liked by kellypiquet*

liked by User84 and 32,942 others

👤: Yourname

Y/nUpdates: Y/n L/n was spotted taking pictures with a fan. According to her fans, she seems to be in a good place. Many are happy to see the singer smiling again, especially after the breakup of Lando Norris and Y/N L/n. Since then, Norris has started seeing Portuguese model Margarida Corceiro. There is no news about whether L/n is seeing someone or not. Stay tuned to find out more about what the singer has been up to these days. 

view all 26,305 comments

User04: I'm so happy that she’s better now!!!

User79: she's so pretty 😍

User66: Who needs a man to be happy anyways 😊

liked by User04 and 247,974 others

👤: Yourname, carlossainz55, joaofelix79, puma

scuderiaferrari: Stay tuned for this week's video with Puma’s newest ambassadors, Y/n L/n and João Félix. Watch the magic happen as the two partner up with our very own Carlos Sainz in an interesting video, wherein you’ll get to see them take turns at tongue twisters in each other’s native language. We can’t say much about the video, just that our stomachs still hurt from laughing so much 🤭. Video out this Thursday!

view all 163,590 comments

Yourname: 💕

*liked by scuderiaferrari*

carlossainz55: Can’t wait 🙌🏻

*liked by scuderiaferrari*

joaofelix79: Had so much fun 🫶🏻

*liked by scuderiaferrari*

User55: Ferrari you dirty dirty bastard 😏

User08: Puma said let’s play matchmaker and picked the two people who would actually break the internet if spotted together 😩

User78: If I were Lando or Magui I would be so salty tho 😝

User00: Not them throwing Carlos being in the mix 😭 cherry on the top for little lando norris!!

liked by joaofelix79 and 95,728 others

👤: joaofelix79, carlossainz55

Yourname: Cats out of the bag ig 🤭

view all 64,262 comments

joaofelix79: i guess so 🤔

-> Yourname: Seems like we can’t do anything now 🤷🏻‍♀️

-> joaofelix79: 😏

User89: ok wtf? I was not expecting them to be interacting like this! It’s kinda 😳

User64: why do I suddenly crave more João and Y/n content in my life!!

carlossainz55: I still think it was unfair 👎🏻

-> Yourname: Chilli you’re just upset cause you lost 😜

-> User11: She has a nickname for CARLOS ❤️❤️

liked by kellypiquet and 148,611 others

👤 : maxverstappen, redbullracing, joaofelix79

Yourname: This week’s episode of Keeping Up With Max-Emilian 🇳🇱

view all 94,729 comments

joaofelix79: Best paddock partner 🫱🏻‍🫲🏼

*liked by Yourname*

-> Yourname: Honestly! Like what would you have even done without me 💅🏻

-> joaofelix79: hmm 🤔 probably gotten to the garage faster 😊

-> Yourname: I see how it is! Good luck trying to navigate through the area next time 🙂

-> joaofelix79: now now Y/n I’m just joking 😅 why aren’t you answering your call?? I still don’t know where the exit is!! Y/NN

-> Yourname: 🦗🦗

maxverstappen: 💙

*liked by Yourname*

redbullracing: At this point it should be ‘Keeping Up With Y/n’ who is this Max anyways 🤷🏻‍♂️

→ Yourname: maybe it should be 🤭

-> maxverstappen: Betrayed by my own team 💔

User99: Y/n and João dating was not on my 2024 bingo 🫨

User02: Did he take…no he didn’t…is he wearing her cap in the 3rd photo??? 🧢

-> User81: WAITTT HE ISSSSSS

joaofelix79 added to their story!

seen by Yourname and 53,490 others

liked by User66 and 57,821 others

👤: Yourname, joaofelix79

FootballUpdates: Y/n L/n and João Félix were spotted at a cafe near L/n’s apartment. Rumor has it, the two have been close ever since they shot a video together for the Scuderia Ferrari x Puma collab with Carlos Sainz. Many fans are excited about the potential for the two to become a couple, although some find it odd. It also should be noted that L/n’s ex, Lando Norris, and Félix’s ex, Margarida Corceiro, are currently in a relationship. There has been a lot of talk online about this newfound relationship between the two being the ‘ultimate revenge’ but only time will tell whether the two are dating or not. 

view all 41,921 comments

User04: Shut upppppp there is now wayyyy!!

User33: they’d be kinda cute don’t you think 💭

liked by landonorris and 78,761 others

👤: redbullracing

magui_corceiro: With the bulls today 🩵

view all 53,711 comments

landonorris: That’s okay your heart is at papaya

*liked by magui_corceiro*

magui_corceiro: Always baby 🧡

redbullracing: Happy to have you with us this week 💙

*liked by magui_corceiro*

User11: nah red bull did Y/n dirty 🙂

User02: Max looked so awkward 😭😭

User67: You’re so prettyyyy 🧡

liked by alexandrasaintmleux and 106,829 others

👤: alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari

Yourname: Just met the love of my life 💕 Never gonna leave Leo now 🐕

view all 82,832 comments

alexandrasaintmleux: You told me you won’t post that picture 😕

-> Yourname: nooo don’t be sadd! You looked so cute I had to 😫

-> alexandrasaintmleux: 😊

scuderiaferrari: So does this mean that you’ll be at our garage from now on 😌

-> redbullracing: ah ah not so fast 🙅🏻‍♂️

-> scuderiaferrari: shooo 🤺

User09: Y/n x Ferrari Content>>>>>>>>

joaofelix79: ready to be the tour guide for Ferrari then?

-> Yourname: depends on who is looking for the tour 🗺️

-> joaofelix79: hmm okay 😏

-> User99: WHAT ARE THESE INTERACTIONS???

-> User71: Are you dating or not???? Just tell us please 😭😭

liked by kellypiquet and 162,829 others

👤: kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmleux, joaofelix79

Yourname: In between the studio 🎶

view all 99,626 comments

User65: ARE WE GETTING NEW MUSIC????

joaofelix79: Ofc you used that photo 🙄

*liked by Yourname*

-> Yourname: you love it 🥰

-> joaofelix79: Debatable I’d say 😬

kellypiquet: 🤭🤭

-> Yourname: 🤭🤭

-> User82: Kelly what do you know????? TELL US!!

charles_leclerc: ok it’s all good, hang out with my girlfriend and my dog but don’t tag me in the photo (even tho I took the second picture) 😃

-> Yourname: you’re just jealous they like me more 😌

-> alexandrasaintmleux: ya Charles, even Leo ran towards Y/n when you asked him ‘Leo my child who do you love more Y/n or your father?’ 😂

-> charles_leclerc: Alex that is OUR CHILD 😭

-> alexandrasaintmleux: life is so tough as a single mom 😔

-> Yourname: It’s okay Alex, I’m ready to be Leo’s other mom ☺️

-> alexandrasaintmleux: 🥰

-> User61: I don’t even know what to say to Charles at this point 😭😭

liked by User04 and 107,618 others

👤: kellypiquet, alexandrasaintmleux, joaofelix79, maxverstappen, charles_leclerc, masonmount

F1updates: It seems like these stars have taken dancing the night away to a whole new level. F1 driver Max Verstappen was spotted at a club along with his longtime girlfriend Kelly Piquet, friend and fellow driver Charles Leclerc, and his girlfriend Alexandra Saint Mleux. Fans also spotted singer/songwriter Y/n L/n and football stars João Félix and Mason Mount with the group. According to bystanders, the group was celebrating Verstappen and Leclerc’s podium. In an interesting turn of events, some fans also spotted L/n getting involved in some serious dance floor action with a certain someone. Unfortunately, none of the people around were able to see the guy's face, but it is believed to be someone from the group. Now the question is: could it be one of the single footballers, or was it one of the committed F1 drivers?

view all 89,672 comments

User04: WTFFFFF

User29: That has to be João!!!!

-> User06: Ikrrrrr like there is no question! The two have been so mysterious ever since the shot that video for puma

User52: The question is what is Mason doing there?

-> User03: Mason and João are good friends and João has been hanging out with Y/n a lot so maybe he called him? Who knows tbh 🤷🏻‍♀️

User77: Wow was Lando not enough for her? Now she is planning to ruin Max and Charles life too???

-> User88: let’s not forget featuring in a video with Carlos!! Like you know they’re good friends, I bet Carlos rejected her 😌

liked by masonmount and 216,618 others

Yourname: You know you’re good when you can even do it with a broke heart ❤️‍🩹

My new single out at midnight 🏆

view all 186,527 comments

kellypiquet: I’M SO PROUDDDDD ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

*liked by yourname*

maxverstappen: Ngl P and I play this every night before bedtime 💕

*liked by yourname*

-> Yourname: Maxieee you love me 🥹

-> maxverstappen: ok maybe a little 🤏🏻

alexandrasaintmleux: I’m so obsessed with you it’s not even a joke at this point 🤩

-> Yourname: I’m still saying I’m ready to be Leo’s other mom, just say the word and it’s done 🧑‍🧑‍🧒

-> charles_leclerc: It’s okay I have faith in the power of our love ❤️ (Alex please I’ll start crying right in the middle of the garage)

charles_leclerc: It’s gonna be such a hit Y/n/n I know it 🫡

*liked by yourname*

joaofelix79: It’s gonna create quite the buzz when it comes out 🤭

-> Yourname: what do you even mean 🤔

-> joaofelix79: we’re gonna play coy now are we? 😏

User59: that guy HAS TO BE JOÃO!!!!

-> User31: I SWEARRRR 😭😭 please let it be him 🙏🏻

…

Tags: @jobesbabe | @fifantasys | @evans-dejong | @msliz | @lokideservesahug | @jpg3 | @jxnellat | @spoodergirl | @themirrorballgal | @sarah-thatstings-ann | @newlifeforus | @eiaaasantha | @hotgirlslikemax | @2pagenumb | @avni-sarai | @wobblymug |

[chuuyasheaven]

Lovely wife on the surface, freak under the sheets !! (Fyodor, Dazai, Chuuya)

TAGS. F. Dostoevsky, D. Osamu, C. Nakahara (separately) / Wife! Fem! Reader, p in v, oral sex, Fyodor’s might not be as spicy as the other two, masturbating (Fyodor), teasing, pet names, slight praise and degrading, slight brat taming (Fyodor, Chuuya), breeding kink (Chuuya), mentions of getting prego (Chuuya), might have grammar errors, etc.

NOTES. First two finals were good, yesterday in the english one, there was a task of writing a story and guess what I did? I wrote a cringy angsty soukoku fan fic 😭 but yeah small Drabble to feed y’all pookies!!!

F. DOSTOEVSKY

Everyone thinks you and Fyodor are a good match, because look at you! His pretty little wife who does everything she’s told, never thinking of saying ‘no’ to her husband.

But sometimes, you like being a little disobedient just to get punished by him. So that’s why you probably were fingering yourself, the cold wedding ring adding more to the pleasure. When Fyodor caught you, your legs were spread and your wet cunt was on display for him, so he obviously knew that you let yourself get caught on purpose.

“Such a naughty little wife, hm?”, Fyodor hummed as he slowly let his finger drag across your wet folds, picking up your wetness. “My, my, look at how wet you are, darling. Couldn’t even wait for me to come back, no? You know your fingers aren’t good as mine.”, he was right, his pale, long slender fingers could reach spots you never could on your own. “I know, but you took so long!!”, you whined, “Please help me out, Fedya.”, Fyodor chuckled, two fingers, going around your dripping cunt to avoid it. “I don’t know, a naughty wife who doesn’t follow her husbands orders shouldn’t get the pleasure they crave.”, wasn’t he right though? He specifically told you not to pleasure yourself when he wasn’t around, didn’t he?

“C’mon, Fedya, please!”, you begged him, moving around to get his fingers to touch your cunt at least once. “So desperate, aren’t we?”, he teased, a smirk making it on his face. “I’ll never do it again, promise. . You were gone for too long and I just missed you! Please, please, please, Fedya! Need your fingers in me.”, aw that’s cute, maybe he should give in to your pleas? “Do you think you deserve it, my dear?”, you better not lie and say something he didn’t wanna hear. “No but I’ll make it up to you! I will earn it.”, Fyodor really didn’t think of this answer, but went with it either way. “You’re gonna earn it?”, you nodded and sat up. “Promise.”, He was satisfied with that.

“Then come and earn it, love.”

D. OSAMU

Dazai wasn’t the possessive type, but when it came to you, his wife, then he might be. Especially when a man was flirting with you, even though you clearly have a ring on your finger! Luckily for you, Dazai was with you when this happened earlier. All that happened because of the dress you had on, a dress which was hugging your figure nicely, hell, if he didn’t know any better he would be flirting with you too!

Well, bless the heavens and the above for catching you before anyone else did, because you feel way too good than you should, he also had the privilege of ripping the very same dress of off you.

“You look way too sexier than you should, ‘donna.”, Dazai was working his tongue on your cunt, sending light vibrations to it by talking to you. You just nodded, being a little spent because this was going on for two rounds straight. “Oh, so you agree?”, he asks you, his hot breath moving further away from your cunt. “No, Dazai— don’t stop!”, you whined, but Dazai just chuckled deeply. “I gotta disagree with you on this one, sweetheart. . I think you’re rather divine, your taste especially.”, this teasing asshole, why was he asking you questions instead of making you cum for a third time. “My beautiful wife, thinking she isn’t sexy. . Maybe I need to convince her?”, Dazai was standing up, giving you the illusion of depriving you of your— much deserved in your opinion —orgasm. But no, he was far from done with you.

The amount of bliss you felt when he pushed his cock in you, nearly screaming of how sudden it was to you. “I think I already know how to.”, his hips started moving against yours while his hands were holding onto yours. Your moans were pulled from you again, you grabbed the sheets in the amount of pleasure he made you feel.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby. . Just keep being such a good wife for me, ‘kay?”

C. NAKAHARA

Before your husband, Chuuya, came through the door, you were backing him a small cake. Just like a good wife should, also wearing a cute apron with the saying “Kiss the chef”. All went well so far and Chuuya walked through the door, not to greet you, that is.

You are a good wife, but sometimes you can be a little deceiving. A prime example being those photos you sent Chuuya at least a hour before his work ended, photos which included you in his favorite lace lingerie with the caption “miss you”. And what was your reason? Just to tease him a little, maybe a little motivation to work faster to get home earlier.

He was impatient, he’s been waiting for a hour to get home to you, just to not even get to the bedroom. That’s right, he was gonna take you right at the kitchen counter. Chuuya took off your shirt to see you were still wearing the set, a smirk was curving up on his lips. “You’re still wearing this, doll?”, he asked you, since you were bent over the counter he couldn’t see your smile on your face, but he could hear your giggle. “Yeah, just for you.”, you admitted in a teasing tone. “Just for me? Well then allow me. .”, he replied, pulling your lace panties to the side.

Chuuya wasn’t going slow at it, he was basically going so fast and hard that the counter legit started to shake slightly. His hips slapping against your ass, your moans filling the kitchen along side by his groans and breathy cursing. “Couldn’t wait for me to— mhm, fuck —to come home, hm? Sendin’ me photos of you looking so perfect sayin’ you miss me.”, he groaned, all you replied with was a moan. “Such a little slut, you jus’ wanted to get fucked, didn’t you? Teasin’ me at work just for a good fuck.”, Chuuya could feel his orgasm approaching, your cunt clenching around him only sped up the process.

“Ch–chuuya— ngh!”, you moaned out his name in bliss, Chuuya sped up the pace. “Want me to cum inside you, baby? Want me to fill you up so fuckin’ good?”, he asked in a low mocking tone, waiting for a response from you. “Y–yes! Ah— please!”, his cock twitched when you gave him the permission. “Yeah? Gonna fill you up so much you’ll be leakin’. . ‘till you might get pregnant.”, he didn’t really mean it, did he? It was all in the heat of the moment, right? Nonetheless, it turned you on with the way he said it. A deep chuckle was heard from him as he felt you clench down again. “You like that, doll? You wanna get pregnant with our child— oh fuck —you’re squeezin’ me so tight. . You sure you want it?”, you repeatedly moaned a yes, making him smirk. “C–cumming!”, you almost screamed, the amount of pleasure being a bit overwhelming.

“Yeah, just like that. . Take it like a good girl, baby. Hm— keep clenchin’ like that so nothin’ spills, understood?”

Hi again 😋 hope y’all are well fed now :3

[carmenized-onions]

Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you, Amish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

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

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

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

“I just like making my own lunch.”

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

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This fucking guy. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fak.” 

“Carm?”

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

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

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

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

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

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.” 

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

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

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

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

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

“You're the baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Your hair is fucked.” 

“And the food?”

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

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.” 

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye aye, Rich.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin!” 

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

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She had to leave early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

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

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how it starts.”

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

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

“How long you been stable, again?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

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

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

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

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

“What?”

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

“Fuck you mean what?”

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

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

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

“You said she failed him.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same team.”

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

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

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

“Six hours. Same team.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re multiplying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Can you stay after close?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, “Can you do that?”

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

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

“Insane, Uncle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I believe in you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wish you did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

“It’s not.” “It is! We will get there!” “I’m not. You’re gonna get there, I’m not.” “That’s not true!” “I love you but we both know this was a pipe dream.”

“Mikey—”

“Chip, I’m not going anywhere. You’re— You’re fucking going somewhere. I can’t— I can’t let— We both know where I’m going and it’s nowhere you should begin to be.”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me. You don’t get to make that call. I decide what I bet on— Mikey, where are you?” You’re walking out of your place, you hadn’t even closed the door before leaving again.

Fucking idiot, you should’ve bought a car. How are you supposed to get to him on foot and train? Fucking idiot. The snow is beating down, the wind is cutting into your face. ‘My best friend died on February 22nd. On the State Street Bridge.’— Why didn’t you get a fucking car? You didn’t do enough. You can’t remember any of your training, right now. What are you supposed to say? “Are you using?”

“No. No. I’m— This is me, Chip.” “No it’s fucking not, Mikey! Shut the fuck up, where are you!?”

“I love you, I didn’t want this to be— I-I—I’m not killing myself, Chip.”

“You’re not?”

You shouldn’t have believed him. You should’ve just kept walking. You would’ve figured out where he was, eventually. You should’ve called the coast guard, or some shit. Should’ve just figured it out.

“I’m not. I’m— I’m okay, I’m really just going for a walk— I-I just— I had a… I— I don’t want you to be my sponsor anymore. That’s it.” It made sense. He didn't want you to feel hurt, so he was hesitant. It made sense.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re a kid, and I can’t make you responsible for what I do.”

“I’m not a kid.” “To me, you are.” “Then we’ll find you someone else.” “Yeah, okay.”

You pause, for a good bit, listening to the shakiness of his breath. “You’re cold, Mikey.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re just cold.” That’s all that’s wrong. He’s just cold and he doesn't want you to be his sponsor anymore. “Go inside, soon. Come home.”

“I will.”

Mikey always had that way of making you think everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn’t. “Okay.”

“I want you to start treating our joint like an advanced payment, by the way. A million things are always fucking breaking at The Beef, there’s no point in wiring all the time.”

Mikey wants this to be clean and square, too. Because he couldn’t figure out the wiring by himself— He needs to make sure his baby brother is taken care of, he needs to make sure his restaurant is taken care of, he needs to make sure that you have something to do because Michael fucking saw you. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You nod to no one. “I think your toilets fucked, speaking of.” You laugh, everything’s okay. There’s a long silence, and you think he’s hung up. 

“Good. Okay— You should— You should come fix it, sometime soon… Love you, Chip.”

“Love you, Bear.”

You will tell your therapist that after that phone call, you went back inside, cleaned yourself up, unpacked unused toiletries, changed out of your borrowed brother’s sweats into your nice pajamas, because Mikey said he would come home. He said he would come home and you believed him because he never lied to you before. You set up the things he left for you in your handmade clay dish tray; so he can take them back. Just because you’re not his sponsor, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his chips. 

You will tell your therapist that you fell asleep on the couch, waiting for Michael. You will tell her you woke up to a phone call from Richie, and all he said, wavering, was, “You should come over.” Richie doesn’t ask things. Richie will always say, come over. You don’t know why that’s the signal you get, since you seemingly must have missed so many other obvious signs, but you know then that your— Your— Your best— Fuck, the knots are fucking debilitating, fuck fuck fuck. 

You will not come over. You will walk, in the cold, to your dad’s place. You will not bring anything with you. You will stay there and rot for two weeks, as will everything in your apartment. He will force you to go to this several hour long therapy appointment because he can’t keep watching you do this, and you will resent the woman you are telling all this. 

You will continue to see her, for five more sessions, because the first six are covered under your insurance. She will help in a lot of ways, she will hurt in others.

Wells-Fargo will ask if you want to close your account. You don’t want to, but it’ll accrue monthly banking fees, so you take the money out and close it. You buy a shitty maroon 2004 Dodge Intrepid off Facebook Marketplace with the two and a half grand. It barely functions as a car. But it will drive. The next time someone needs you. You can drive. Next time you’ll think of everything, next time you won’t fail.

You stop paying the phone bill, for your business line. It goes defunct. You just don’t think you should be trusted to be helpful, for the next little while. You will blame your father for this, when people ask about it.

On the day of his funeral, you will go. You will go, and you will sit on the curb across from the church, and you will not go inside. It's just not possible. You will buy a pork chop-cheese sandwich from a bodega nearby and you will eat it on that curb and it’s only then, after shoving it down for so long, that you will scream and cry.

You will leave before anyone sees you, and you will go to State Street Bridge, and you will set up a small vigil. You will finnick with the candles and the flowers until you feel they are perfect. They will never get perfect. You just don’t want to leave. You have a tendency to do that. 

You will stare at the little stuffed bear, the roses, the picture frame of him, and you will finally say it aloud. 

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

When Carmen shows up, two hours later, not honestly that long after you finally left, he will add a bouquet and a prayer candle. He will readjust all of your work, to his preference, and then readjust it again and again and again— and he will finally say it aloud. 

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

No matter how you say it, it won��t roll off the tongue.

And about thirty-nine weeks from that day, you will be in New York, at a wedding, talking with the virgin Michelin star ranked brother, as you promised.

You will have abandoned your bar after making confessions under the counter, and have instead co-opted the single stall gender-neutral bathroom to have ample time and space to tell each other everything you’ve told your therapists. Even now, neither of you can get the words to roll off the tongue. 

But Carmen manages to make “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry— I will never be able to surmise, how sorry—” roll off well enough. Alas, he’s interrupted, by a knock on the gender-neutral bathroom door, made by the only fuckers that knows you two are in here. 

“Guys I— Guys I don’t know how to run bar, and I don’t think I should’ve been trusted, with this.”

Carmen will not look away from your bleary-eyed face, he will not break his focus even when you laugh at the sudden tension break. He will just tell the Faks to fuck off and figure it out.

“I’m gonna fix it.” Carmen will tell you, and you will nod and say, “I will too.”

Because it’s not just on one of you, anymore. It can be both. The shared burden. The shared grief. No more fucking shoes, because it's all out now.

It’s not negotiable.

I love when tumblr drafts fully start to lag and my macbook lights on fire because the post is too fucking long. I have so much to say about this chapter but I think I will just make a separate post entirely about this. Because I’m. I’m really proud tbh not to toot my own horn but I think I kind of maybe a little bit ate with this one. 

Fun fact, that you may or may not believe: The Carmen scenes? Not planned. Fully did not plan to do any of that. This was going to be entirely Mikey flashbacks, originally— There might’ve ended up being more honestly, if I didn’t add Carmen, but after Something to Do when I started writing I was like,,, these cats aren’t cooking, Carmen’s side is missing a second beat before the third. And so, here it is. 

I know everyone was expecting a depression week for Carmen— And to be fair, I also kind of was. But I then thought, nah. They’d done too much work, and I don’t think Rich/Syd would allow him to wallow. Like get your shit together, not for you, for her. Ugh. 

Speaking of Rich and Syd— FUCK man my heart. The way their scenes from the past and present meshed together in such a deeply painful way I’m sooo SICK WITH IT!!! WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!! Just fuckin— The way Tony was too scared to reach out to Syd but it’s SO FUCKING OBVIOUS that Syd was on the other side of Chicago thinking the exact same shit i’m SO SICK!!!!! I’M HACKING UP A LUNG HERE!!

Anyways it’s my birthday send me well wishes and an essay on what you thought I’d love to hear it. I know this was a tough one. Thank you for getting through it with me lmao. Tag list! Hope I didn’t forget anyone, pwease note i ownwee add pweople who swend theiw twoughts— It also may or may not hurt my feelings when people don’t read this text at the bottom. It might. It might a lot.

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

Next Part

[anchoeritic]

「 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞. 」

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jake sully x fem!human

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: nsfw(18+), minors dni. clit play, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (sweetheart, baby, etc.), fingering, squirting, use of “girl”, size kink/difference.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: “i'll touch you as you wish, but only if you can stay quiet for me.”

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: two jake fics in a day? i might as well make my comeback now. reblogs and feedback are appreciated but never pressured! feel free to send in requests while you’re at it.

“you’re so pretty, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he would whisper against your lips, hoping to hear the smallest whimper from you.

his hands were always quick enough to make you answer; caressing your breasts through the thin fabric.

his hands could cover your entire body: him compared to you was the biggest difference and he loved that about you.

he knew he would always tower over you and make you say yes. you were his prey.

nipples erected and clearly toyed with, he licks his lips, observing the way your eyes would roll back for him. “jake,” a whine came out from you, earning a devilish smile from him.

“hm, talk to me,” he would reply, starting to trail kisses along your jaw, “tell me what you feel, baby.”

he knew what he was doing when he teased you. he always made you say what you wanted, felt, before he continued to pleasure you. he was a man of control, he needed those sweet words to come out from your mouth before he could devour you.

you bucked your hips on his lap, biting onto your lip softly. “i need you.” toying around with your nipple, he pinched it gently.

“you sure you can take it?” he teased you, brushing away a fallen strand behind your ear to see your eyes clearer.

his tongue traced circles into your cheek, the slight coldness of his teeth pinching your flesh.

you agreed obediently, nodding your head.

he could only reply with a laugh, caressing your jaw softly. "so needy to be touched," he started. "can i make a deal with ya?"

humming, you laid your head against his chest still rocking yourself softly against his thighs.

“i'll touch you as you wish,” his hand slides up from your breasts, wrapping around your neck tightly before you could react. his breaths grew heavy against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

there had to be a catch to it. he'd never give in to you so easily, right?

“but only if you can stay quiet for me.”

there it was.

“you want me to stay quiet?” you whispered.

“that includes no talking, sweetheart,” he smirked, slipping a finger between your wet folds. he watched as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.

struggling to stay silent with one finger inside you, he slipped a second one, pumping them into you with no mercy.

caught by surprise, your immediate reaction was to close your legs, but jake thought otherwise.

with his strength, he used his arm to pull your leg up, holding it up against your chest as his other was playing with you.

struggling to stay quiet, you bit onto your own leg, burying your face against it.

“still wanna be mean, sweetheart? guess who gets to tell you when to cum.” he pinched the inside of your thigh.

“such a needy, needy girl. i wonder what'll happen if i end up making you squirt.”

a third digit is added, stretching you out beyond what you can take, but could never compare to jake.

you shake your head attempting to push his hand away, only to be met with a hiss from him and a quickening in pace.

“i feel you getting tighter,” he added as you clenched around his fingers. "c'mon, make me happy, baby."

shuttering, you spread your legs wider, trembling when you felt the cold air hit in all different places.

“i know you want to cum,” he mumbled into your hair.

your hips could no longer control themselves, trying to ride for the high. your arousal was already dripping down from between your thighs, drenching jake's lap.

“cum for me.”

his words sent you over the edge, body shaking into an orgasm.

a low groan was heard by jake as you brushed against his bulge, turns out you weren’t the one that had to be quiet.

you threw your head back onto his shoulder, breathing heavily. that had been one of the best of your life and you were silent.

bite marks were scattered around your knee: all made by you attempting to keep yourself quiet.

smiling down at you, he placed gentle kisses on the crown of your head.

“so good for me.” he praised.

“sìltsan 'eve.”

[d4yl1ghts]

stuck

mark sloan x shy, fem!reader

summary: you and mark get to know each other when you get stuck in an elevator

A/N- i feel like he would love star wars (not as much as bailey tho)? but this gives me such katniss and peeta vibes

-

You read the files that Doctor Shepherd had given you to take a look through because he thought his new patient may have some sort of problem with their heart and cardiology was your specialty. You were currently in the elevator, heading up to find an empty room to study your new case when the elevator suddenly came to a halt. Confusedly you glanced around and noticed Mark Sloan, the world’s number one man-whore was the only other person there.

He glanced up from his papers and made eye contact with you. “What happened?”, he questioned with a hint of uncertainty in his voice. This was the first time you’d heard him so nervous. “I think the elevator just broke.”, you sighed as the realisation just set in once you said it out loud. He huffed to himself. “Hopefully they’ll be able to fix it soon, I have a surgery in an hour.”, he stated, checking the time on his watch.

“Might as well get comfortable.”, he added as he fixed himself on the floor and placed his files beside him. You copied his actions and sat opposite him. “So, what case have you got there?”, he asked you, striking conversation. “Oh, just a new case Derek wanted me to check up on. What about you?”, you awkwardly asked as your cheeks blazed. “Just some boring charts of burn victims, I have to reconstruct their faces, arms and legs.”, he said. “Oh, lovely.”, you replied sarcastically.

You stared at the wall of the lift and zoned out into your own thoughts. It must have been around five minutes of silence before Mark started speaking again: “If we’re gonna be here for a while then we may as well get to know each other.”, he said, looking into your eyes. It wasn’t a bad idea, there was nothing else you could really do.

“Tell me three random facts about yourself. I’ll go first: I used to live in New York (I’m sure you’ve heard about that), my middle name is Everett and I love the Star Wars movies.”

“Uhm… this is actually hard to think about, hold on.”, you said, embarrassed. He chuckled slightly. “Okay, I hate posh restaurants, I also love the Star Wars movies and I have a pet cat named Jack.”

“Cool, why do you hate posh restaurants though?”, he questioned as he turned to you with amusement in his eyes. “They’re just so intimidating and I just generally don’t like the vibe of the, do you know what I mean? Also, they’re so overpriced like you could find some cosy place that sells nicer food for way cheaper.”, you said passionately. You did not like posh restaurants at all. “I get what you’re coming from to be honest. I always preferred a cute and little cafe opposed to a fancy restaurant.”, he reasoned.

“If I ever ask you out on a date, I guess I’ll know where to take you.”, he flirted which left your cheeks on fire, well that’s what it felt like anyway. “I’m not surprised everyone calls you a man-whore.”, you said as you ignored what he previously said. “That’s not my proudest nickname.”, he responded. “I want to change my nickname, I don’t want to be known as that anymore. I don’t want loads of hook-ups and flings, I want a real relationship.”

He gazed at you. “I swear we’re having a whole confession session here. Oh my God, it rhymed.”, he laughed to himself. You laughed along with him, he was pretty funny and cute. If you looked past his reputation, he was a nice guy.

After another fifteen minutes of talking and joking, firefighters had arrived and gotten the two of you out of the elevator. “Hey, Y/N, do you wanna hang out one day? Not in an elevator, of course.”, he asked you, almost anxiously as he awaited a response. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“I promise I won’t take you to a posh restaurant.”, he added as he walked away and charmingly smirked at you. You laughed to yourself and waved him off. “We can work out a date.”

[therealcocoshady]

Hi coco I wanna try putting in a request

Marshall x fem reader

Marshall and reader have a child there 4 or 5 (boy or girl idc ) and marshal and reader are indulging in late night activities (18+) and there child wakes up screaming bc they heard y/n screaming . So they come running knocking on the door to see if she’s ok .

You don’t have to do this kinda a bad idea

Hey ! Thanks for your request ! I love your idea ❤️. I had a lot of fun writing it, I hope you enjoy reading !

The Monster

Eminem x Reader Fanfiction

Summary : Lily gets scared when she hears Reader screaming during sex. Her and Em need to come up with some explanation.

Tags : Smut - Fluff - Comfort

Warning : SMUT (P in V, use of toys, anal, oral, biting, squirting…).

Author’s Note : I decided to use the same characters as in the one shot « One more baby ? » because why not ?

Your daughter was finally in bed, which only meant one thing : it was on. Baby-making time. Ever since you had decided to try for another child, your evenings with Marshall were filled with… spirited activities. Your sex life had always been active, but trying for a baby had you ten times hornier than you usually were. Same for your husband. For the past two months, as soon as Lily’s bedroom lights were out, you couldn’t jump on each other fast enough.

Trying for a baby not only made you hornier, it also made you more daring, more creative, much to Marshall’s delight. He was definitely enjoying the many new lingerie sets you had bought, as well as the toys and accessories. Since you had Lily on your own, with IVF, you decided to have as much fun as you could as you tried to give her a sibling. New positions, games, accessories, toys… as long as he was cumming inside of you, everything was fair game.

You were ovulating and had been a horny mess since this morning. It didn’t help that your dutiful husband had decided to work from home, staying in his grey sweatpants that you found him so sexy in. Days like this, he would usually stay in his home office but, for some reason, he had decided to work in the dining room. You weren’t going to complain : at least you got to admire him.

It was the holidays so were taking care of Lily but you couldn’t help but throw longing glances at each other. Every time he got a chance, he would tease you, brushing against you, gently squeezing your butt… and you got right back at him, leaning and bending forward every time you were in front of him so that he could have a good view of either your ass or your boobs. You felt your phone buzzing in your back pocket.

From Husband ❤️ : Keep on teasing me like this and you’re not walking for the next week.

You flashed him a smile and « accidentally » dropped the pencils you were holding.

- Mommy, did you drop something again ? Lily asked in an annoyed voice.

- I did, baby, you replied as you tried to hide a smile. I guess I’m really clumsy today…

- Daddy always says that we should be careful with our things, your daughter reminded you.

- And Daddy is always right, Marshall added with a smirk. I swear, Lily is the only good girl around here…

You giggled and bent to pick up the pencils as your husband stared at you - or rather at your cleavage that also showed a hint of the lingerie set that was waiting for him. You saw him licking his lips. Obviously, black lace was always a good choice. You forgot where you were and eye-fucked each other for a second before being taken out of your trance by Lily.

- Daddy, will you come and draw with us ? She asked.

- I have work to do, sweetie, he said with a small pout. I’d love to draw with you but Paul is going to be very unhappy if I don’t review these contracts for tomorrow.

- Uncle Paul always gives you work, she complained as she rolled her eyes.

- True, he chuckled. Next time you see him, you tell him he needs to leave Daddy alone, alright ?

- Yes, she said. You’re my Daddy and I miss drawing with you.

You could see Marshall’s heart melt at these words. He threw a guilty glance at the contracts on the dining room table and you could tell he was tempted to drop everything.

- I really have to work, baby, he said. But if you let me work in peace, I can go quicker and then we can do something together, ok ?

- Ok, she said. Can we make pizza just the two of us tonight ?

- Of course, he said with a smile. We can cook for Mommy. I think she’s a little too clumsy to be in the kitchen today anyway.

You giggled and took your daughter to the living room to draw for a little bit. As the evening came, Marshall kept his promise and cooked with Lily. Pizza was her favorite thing to make with her Dad. The two of them always made a mess in the kitchen, but it made them so happy that it was worth it. When it was time for bed, she insisted that Marshall be the one to tuck her in and read her a bedtime story. She was clearly in her « Dad phase » and he was her favorite parent. You’d read it was normal so you didn’t worry much. Plus, it was fair : he was working a lot lately, so she probably missed him.

You decided to make the most of it and wait for your husband in the bedroom, only wearing your lingerie and high heels. With a 5 year-old, you didn’t wear your heels too much, but you knew how much Marshall loved the sight of your legs when you wore these red bottoms. You were searching for something in a drawer when you heard him enter the bedroom and lock the door. The familiar sound was always arousing to you. It was time to play.

- I have a bone to pick with you, Mrs Mathers, he said playfully in your ear as he stood behind you.

- Do you ? You giggled.

- You drove me crazy all day, he whispered. Time for consequences.

You were about to turn and face him when you felt his hands on the back of your neck, forcing you to bend over the dresser. He got closer to you until you could feel how hard he was. You couldn’t help but moan. After all, you had spent the whole day waiting for this moment. Little did he know that you were soaking wet.

- I could take you right here, he whispered in your ear.

- Please, you moaned.

- Not yet, he chuckled. Let me enjoy the view.

He ran his hands on your sides, your back, your legs, spilling kisses all over your body as you stayed in this position, all his to enjoy. He kneeled behind you and kissed your ass cheek before making your lace panties slide off your legs. He kissed your thigh, going higher and higher until you felt him kissing your pussy, from behind. You let out a soft moan as he ran his tongue up and down your slit. He slid a finger inside you, feeling how wet you were.

- For me ? He asked playfully.

- I was actually waiting for someone else, you couldn’t help but say.

He stopped and you felt a slap on your butt. Of course you had to run your mouth. It was going to be the death of you. You silently cursed yourself for making him stop what he was doing. You wanted his mouth and fingers back to your pussy, in their rightful place. He got up and whispered in your ear.

- Am I not enough ? He asked teasingly. Do you want more ?

- Marshall, you moaned. Please.

- No, he chuckled. I’ll give you more.

He opened the drawer next to you, where you kept your toys, and got your butt plug. He put it in your mouth, telling you to suck on it. When it was wet enough, he inserted it in you, before resuming his initial position and sliding two fingers inside of your pussy. His tongue worked his magic on your clit and you tried hard not to make too much noise. The sensation of the plug, his fingers and his tongue at the same time was sending you in overdrive. It was delicious. You thought you were about to come in no time but he seemed to have other plans.

- I’m not done with you yet, baby, he said. You teased me, now it’s my turn to have fun.

He just loved driving you crazy and you knew he got off on seeing you wrestle with your pleasure. Not that you were going to complain, mind you. After years of dating selfish men when it came to sex, Marshall was a breath of fresh air. You knew you had married the right man but, in that moment, you wished he would just pound into you and make you come already. Patience was definitely not your strong suit, and especially not when you were ovulating.

He grabbed your hand and pushed you on the bed, ass up, face down. In no time, he got rid of his clothes and he did not even bother undressing you. He just pushed your panties aside before entering you. His hip thrusts were painfully slow and you knew it was on purpose. However, you were not having it, so you rocked your hips in turn, owing you another slap on the ass. However, he indulged you and started moving faster. He reached for the plug and moved it a bit, causing you to whimper in pleasure. You were on verge of orgasm when he stopped again and laid down on the bed.

- Get on top, he said.

- You’re killing me, you groaned.

- Told you I’d get my revenge, he chuckled. Now, get on top before I leave you high and dry.

You were pretty sure he wouldn’t do this to you, but you were so needy that you weren’t willing to risk it. You were craving for release and he knew it. This gave your husband way too much power over you. He was smirking I when you got on top and lowered yourself on his length, taking all of it. The presence of the plug in your butt maximised the sensations and Marshall felt even bigger than usual. You moaned as you started moving, closing your eyes and chasing your high. Your man seemed to enjoy the sensations, too. He was usually a rather quiet lover but you could hear him whimper.

- God you’re so tight, he moaned.

- I’m close, you warned.

- Come for me.

Your movements started to become sloppy, much to your frustration. You were on the edge but couldn’t quite get there. You looked at Marshall. You didn’t have to say a word for him to understand you needed a bit of help.

- I got you, he said.

He reached in your nightstand and grabbed your Satisfyer. He turned it on and put it on your clit. Your body’s response was immediate. You were shaking on top of him and your soaked sex was clenching around his. It was so strong that you let out cries of pleasure. Marshall captured your lips in an attempt to shut you up, but to no avail. Your nails were digging in his chest.

- Fuck, he said as you felt him twitch inside of you, his release being imminent.

There were too many sensations at once for you to be able to think straight and control yourself. Every inch of you was stimulated. You let out screams of pleasure as you reached orgasm. You could feel your husband try and cover your mouth but you instinctively bit his hand. He pulled you close to him and your teeth found his shoulder as you kept on having spasms. It felt like never-ending waves of pleasure. You weren’t even sure if that lasted seconds of hours. Time and space had become vague concepts. All you could hear were your own sounds.

Your head was buried in Marshall’s neck as you came to your senses, both of you panting.

- Holy shit, you managed to mumble.

You were taken out of your zone by Lily screaming. Parental instinct kicked in and you stared at each other. « On it », Marshall said before hurrying into some clothes and out of the room. You quickly got out of bed and got rid of the sextoys before getting dressed as well. You were about to check on Lily and Marshall when you heard a knock on the door.

- Mommy ? Your husband asked. Can we come in ?

- Yes, you said.

He opened the door and you could see he was carrying Lily who seemed terrified.

- Mommy ! She cried.

- What’s wrong, my love ? You asked. Did you have a nightmare ?

- I heard you scream ! I’m scared…

You threw a glance at Marshall who was trying to hide a smirk. You never realised you could be this loud.

- It’s alright, you said as you walked to them and kissed her head. Everything’s fine, baby.

- Why did you scream, mommy ? She asked nervously.

- I was… scared, you said, trying to come up with a quick excuse.

- Of what ?

- Of the monster under the bed, Marshall tentatively explained. But don’t worry, I got rid of him.

She looked anxiously at her Dad, who have her a reassuring smile. The mark your teeth had left on his shoulder caught her eye and she looked at him anxiously.

- Did the monster bite you ?! She asked.

- What ? Oh uh… yeah, he said. I had to wrestle him. Scratched my chest too. But you should see him. He looks worse.

You let out a giggle. Thank God for his brain and quick thinking. Your daughter looked at you.

- Are you alright Mommy ? Did the monster bite you too ? She asked nervously.

- He didn’t, you said reassuringly. Thank God for your Dad. He’s a hero.

- I am a hero, Marshall said proudly.

Lily hugged him tighter and gave him a peck on the cheek.

- Thank you for saving my Mommy from the monster, she said. I’m proud of you, Daddy.

- Of course, he said with a big smile. I’ll never let anything happen to Mommy, or to you, or your sisters.

- Mommy… did the Monster pee on your bed ? Lily suddenly asked.

Marshall and you glanced at the bed. There was a huge wet spot, caused by a mix of squirt and sweat. You couldn’t help but blush. You might have had your most powerful orgasm ever, tonight, but you were definitely paying for it. You were absolutely mortified, while Marshall was trying really hard not to cry from laughter.

- I guess he did, you said sheepishly. That’s how scary Dad is.

- Why don’t we go downstairs for some water ? Marshall asked Lily. So that Mommy can sort the mess the monster made in bed.

- Yes, you do that and I’ll join you, you said.

- You should also open your window, Mommy. The monster stinks, Lily pointed out.

She wasn’t wrong. The room reeked of smells typical of sex : sweat, squirt, pheromones and God knows what else. Marshall chuckled and winked at you before carrying her downstairs. You opened your bedroom window and changed the bedsheets. When you joined them in the kitchen, they were eating ice cream. You frowned, as they both knew what you thought of having sugary snacks before bed.

- We’re having a celebration, Marshall grinned. We’re celebrating the defeat of the scary monster under the bed.

- Oh, you giggled. In that case, I won’t say anything.

Lily was sitting on Marshall’s lap. She still seemed a little freaked out. He talked to her reassuringly as she asked some questions.

- I don’t want to go back to bed, she whined. What if the monster comes back ?

- I beat him real bad, you know ? He pointed out. I don’t think he will be bad anytime soon.

- What if his family comes back for revenge ? She asked nervously.

- I’ll wrestle each and everyone of them, he said. Come, I’ll tuck you in.

As he carried her up the stairs, she started hiccuping again. He stopped in his tracks and looked at you. Her cries were heartbreaking. You were a little mad at yourself for scaring her with your screams. You joined and hugged the two of them.

- Can I sleep with you tonight ? She asked.

- Of course, you said. But just for tonight, ok ?

The three of you settled in bed and you were ready to turn the lights out when she started asking about the scary monster again. Both you and your husband kept on trying to reassure her but it didn’t seem to work too well. Marshall sighed and got up. You wondered what he was up to, but you quickly understood as he came back with his huge lightsaber replica from Star Wars, which served as decor in his home office that also doubled as a man cave.

- I thought it was not supposed to be taken from the wall ? Lily pointed out.

- Yeah… except in case of monsters, duh, Marshall replied with a grin. If anyone comes in here, I promise you they won’t last long.

Your little girl nodded and settled between you and Marshall. You kissed her forehead as she held your hand tightly. Your husband smiled at you and mouthed « I love you » before turning the lights off.

In the morning, everything was back to normal, though Lily still mentioned the monster. You weren’t too sure how to deal with it and you were a bit scared you had unlocked a new trauma… you were anxiously staring at Marshall, who proved (once again) to be a quick thinker and the real genius in the house.

- How about we call Lainie and ask her if you can have a sleepover at her house tonight ? He asked Lily.

- Why ? She asked.

- Well, I think Mommy and I should check the whole house for monsters tonight, he said as he winked at you. Just in case, you know ?

Author’s Note : I hope you enjoyed this short story ❤️. I really like writing with these characters (I think Marshall and Lily are so cute) so if you have any requests for them, please keep them coming 💖.

[bratzkoo]

yours, always and forever | jeonghan

Author: bratzkoo | beta read by: @spnyin Pairing: perfumer! jeonghan x estrange wife! reader Genre: fluff, angst Rating: PG-15 Word count: 5.9k Warnings/note: went on a shopping trip with my mom and i cried when i smelled rose kabuki by dior. Happy National Boyfriend's Day to our boyfriend, Jeonghan.

summary: Perfumer Yoon Jeonghan took the Perfume industry by storm with his intriguing perfume names that seems to be inspired by one specific person which makes the industry question, who is he even naming his creations after? Only Y/N, Jeonghan’s estrange wife knows the answer.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The soft glow of the setting sun painted the New York skyline in hues of gold and pink, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern interior of the penthouse apartment where Yoon Jeonghan stood, gazing out at the city he'd conquered. In his hand, a delicate crystal glass held a swirl of amber liquid, its aroma mingling with the lingering scents that always clung to him—a symphony of olfactory notes that had become his signature.

Jeonghan took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. His eyes, dark and intense, reflected the city lights beginning to twinkle in the twilight. At thirty-two, he was at the pinnacle of his career, a prodigy in the world of perfumery, and the toast of the fashion and beauty industries. For the third year in a row, the title of Perfumer of the Year sat comfortably on his shoulders, a crown he wore with a mixture of pride and nonchalance that only added to his allure.

The gentle ping of his phone drew his attention away from the view. Another congratulatory message, no doubt. They had been pouring in all day, ever since the announcement of his latest triumph. Jeonghan ignored it, choosing instead to walk over to his workspace—a sprawling, custom-designed lab that took up nearly half of his living area.

Here, amidst the orderly chaos of beakers, pipettes, and countless vials of essences and extracts, was where the magic happened. This was where he crafted the scents that had taken the world by storm, perfumes that didn't just smell divine but told stories, evoked memories, and stirred emotions in ways that left critics and consumers alike in awe.

Jeonghan's fingers trailed over the labels of his latest collection, a small smile playing on his lips as he read each name aloud:

"You, in the Garden."

"You, in Greece."

"You, in the Club Holding Your Favorite Drink."

"You, in New York."

Each name was a whisper of the past, a fragment of a story that the public could only guess at. And guess they did. Entire forums were dedicated to deciphering the meaning behind Jeonghan's enigmatic perfume names. Who was this mysterious 'you'? A lover? A muse? A figment of the perfumer's vivid imagination?

Speculation ran rampant. Some theorized it was a marketing ploy, a clever way to personalize each scent for the wearer. Others believed Jeonghan was leaving breadcrumbs, telling his own story through these olfactory chapters. The more romantic souls insisted it was an ode to a lost love, each perfume a memory crystallized in scent.

If only they knew.

Jeonghan's smile faded as he picked up the bottle of "You, in New York." The weight of it in his hand felt heavier than it should, laden with memories he both cherished and tried to forget. He uncapped it, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Notes of crisp apple and bergamot gave way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by a base of sandalwood and vanilla. But beneath these carefully orchestrated notes lay something else, something only he could detect—the ghost of her perfume, the one she wore on that last night.

Across the city, in a modest but charming brownstone in Brooklyn, Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper and birthday cards. The celebration had been small but joyful, a gathering of the close friends who had become her support system over the past few years. As the night wound down and the last guest departed, she found herself alone with her thoughts and the pile of gifts yet to be properly examined.

One box in particular caught her eye. It was elegant, wrapped in matte black paper with a single silver ribbon. There was no card, no indication of who it was from. Curiosity piqued, Y/N carefully untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper.

Her breath caught in her throat as she revealed the contents. Nestled in a bed of black satin was a bottle she recognized all too well, even though she had never held it before. The clean lines of the glass, the minimalist label with its distinctive handwritten font—it was unmistakably one of Jeonghan's creations.

With trembling hands, Y/N lifted the bottle. "You, in New York," she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. A humorless laugh escaped her lips. How fitting, how cruelly ironic that of all his perfumes, this would be the one to find its way to her.

New York. The city where dreams came true and hearts were broken. The city where, five years ago, she had celebrated her last birthday with Jeonghan. It had been magical—a surprise weekend getaway, a whirlwind of Broadway shows, candlelit dinners, and long walks through Central Park. It was the last time she remembered feeling truly, incandescently happy.

It was also the weekend that marked the beginning of the end.

Y/N uncapped the bottle, hesitating for just a moment before bringing it to her nose. The scent hit her like a wave, transporting her instantly back to that weekend. She could almost feel the crisp autumn air on her skin, hear the bustling streets, see Jeonghan's smile as he pulled her close on top of the Empire State Building.

Unbidden, tears began to fall, leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. Five years. Five years since she had spoken to him, seen him, been in the same room as him. And yet, with one carefully crafted scent, he could still reach across that divide and touch her very soul.

They weren't divorced—the paperwork sat untouched in a drawer in her study, a task neither of them seemed able to bring themselves to complete. But they might as well have been strangers for all the communication that passed between them. Estranged was the word the media used when they bothered to mention her at all. Jeonghan's mysterious wife, who had disappeared from the public eye as swiftly and suddenly as Jeonghan had risen to fame.

Y/N set the bottle on her nightstand, unable to put it away but unwilling to hold it any longer. She reached for her phone, scrolling through the countless birthday messages until she found the one she was looking for. It was from her best friend, Mina:

"Hey birthday girl! Hope you loved all your gifts. That last one... the perfume. I hope it wasn't too much. When I saw it, I just thought... well, maybe it was time. You can't run from the past forever, Y/N. Call me if you need to talk. Love you!"

So it had been Mina. Y/N wasn't sure whether to thank her friend or curse her for this unexpected trip down memory lane. She fell back onto her pillows, staring at the ceiling as her mind raced.

Did Jeonghan know his perfume had found its way to her? Did he still think of her when he created these scents? Was she the 'you' in every bottle, or had someone else taken her place in his heart and his art?

Questions she had buried for years bubbled to the surface, demanding attention. Y/N closed her eyes, willing sleep to come and provide a temporary escape. But the scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a persistent reminder of all that had been and all that was lost.

Meanwhile, in his penthouse, Jeonghan had moved from his lab to his home office. The wall opposite his desk was covered in framed magazine covers and articles, a testament to his meteoric rise in the industry. His eyes, however, were fixed on a single frame tucked away in the corner of his desk. It was turned face down, but he knew every detail of the photograph it held—him and Y/N, laughing and in love, on their wedding day.

He reached for it, hesitating for a moment before picking it up and turning it over. They looked so young, so full of hope and dreams. Jeonghan traced the outline of Y/N's face with his finger, wondering not for the first time where she was, what she was doing, if she ever thought of him.

A notification on his computer screen drew his attention. It was an email from his publicist, marked urgent:

"Jeonghan,

The press is buzzing about your win and the launch of 'You, in New York.' Vogue wants an exclusive interview, and they're particularly interested in the inspiration behind your perfume names. I've held them off so far, but we need to give them something. The mysterious artist angle only works for so long.

Also, there's been some renewed interest in your personal life. A few gossip blogs have dug up old photos of you and Y/N. Nothing scandalous, but we should be prepared for questions.

Let me know how you want to handle this.

- Somin"

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his brow. He had known this day would come eventually. The perfume industry thrived on stories, on the personalities behind the scents. He had managed to maintain an air of mystery for years, letting his creations speak for themselves. But now, with his continued success and the increasingly personal nature of his perfume names, the world wanted more.

How could he possibly explain the truth? That each perfume was a love letter, a memory, a piece of his heart poured into a bottle? That 'You, in the Garden' was born from lazy Sunday mornings spent in their tiny apartment's rooftop garden, Y/N's laughter mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers? That 'You, in Greece' captured the essence of their honeymoon, sun-kissed skin and salty air and the intoxicating feeling of being young and in love?

And 'You, in New York'... Jeonghan's gaze drifted back to the photograph. Their last happy moment, preserved in glass and scent. He had poured every ounce of his skill into that perfume, trying to capture not just the smells of the city, but the feeling of that weekend—the joy, the love, and the bittersweet edge of what was to come.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Y/N's contact. He hadn't deleted it, couldn't bring himself to erase that last tangible connection. But he hadn't used it either, not in five long years. What would he even say? 

"I'm sorry"? 

"I miss you"? 

"Every scent I create is a desperate attempt to hold onto the memory of us"?

Jeonghan set the phone down, leaving the call unmade. Instead, he turned back to his computer and began to type a response to his publicist:

"Somin,

Set up the Vogue interview. I'll give them the story they want.

As for my personal life, it remains personal. No comments on old photos or relationships.

- Jeonghan"

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. It was time to give the public a peek behind the curtain, to feed the curiosity that had been building for years. He would craft a story, something romantic and mysterious enough to satisfy the masses without revealing the raw, painful truth.

After all, isn't that what he did best? Create beautiful illusions, capture feelings in a bottle, tell stories through scent? This would just be another performance, another carefully constructed facade.

But as Jeonghan stood to pour himself another drink, his eyes fell once more on the photograph of him and Y/N. For a moment, the mask slipped, and a look of profound sadness crossed his face. All the success, all the accolades, all the adoration from fans around the world—none of it filled the Y/N-shaped hole in his heart.

In the quiet of his luxurious apartment, surrounded by the fruits of his success, Yoon Jeonghan—three-time Perfumer of the Year, creator of the most sought-after fragrances in the world—had never felt more alone.

As the night deepened, two souls on opposite sides of the city lay awake, each haunted by memories and might-have-beens. The scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a fragrant bridge across the chasm that separated them. Neither knew that this birthday, this perfume, this moment of remembrance, was about to set in motion a chain of events that would force them to confront their past and decide their future.

-

The sleek, modernist interior of Vogue's New York office buzzed with nervous energy as staff scurried about, making last-minute preparations. Today was no ordinary day—they were about to interview Yoon Jeonghan, the enigmatic perfumer who had captivated the fashion world with his mysterious creations.

Jeonghan sat in the makeup chair, his eyes closed as the artist applied a light touch of powder to his already flawless skin. He exuded an aura of calm, but beneath the surface, his mind raced. This interview was a calculated risk, a chance to satisfy the public's curiosity while maintaining the mystique that had become his trademark.

"Mr. Yoon, we're ready for you," a young assistant called, clipboard clutched to her chest.

Jeonghan opened his eyes, meeting his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his tie—a deep, midnight blue that brought out the intensity of his gaze—and stood. With a deep breath, he stepped into the lion's den.

The interviewer, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara, greeted him with a professional smile. "Mr. Yoon, thank you for joining us. Shall we begin?"

As the cameras rolled, Clara launched into her questions, starting with the safe and expected before gradually probing deeper.

"Your latest fragrance, 'You, in New York,' has taken the world by storm," Clara said, leaning forward slightly. "Can you tell us about the inspiration behind it?"

Jeonghan's lips curved into a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "New York is a city of dreams and memories," he began, his voice smooth and measured. "I wanted to capture the essence of a perfect moment in time—the crisp air of a fall evening, the excitement of possibility, the bittersweet beauty of a fleeting experience."

"And the 'you' in the title?" Clara pressed. "Your fragrances all seem to be addressing someone specific. Is there a story there?"

For a fraction of a second, Jeonghan's composure slipped. A flicker of something—pain? longing?—crossed his face before the mask slid back into place. "The 'you' is everyone and no one," he said carefully. "It's the wearer of the perfume, the object of desire, the memory of a love lost or yet to be found. I believe that the most personal stories are often the most universal."

As the interview continued, Jeonghan wove a tale of inspiration drawn from travels, fleeting encounters, and imagined romances. It was a beautiful story, crafted as carefully as his perfumes. But those who knew him best might have noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers occasionally twitched as if reaching for something—or someone—just out of grasp.

---

The publication of the Vogue interview sent shockwaves through the fashion and beauty world. Social media exploded with theories and interpretations of Jeonghan's words. Fan forums dissected every sentence, looking for hidden meanings and clues about the mysterious muse behind his creations.

@ScentObsessed tweeted: "OMG, did you catch how his voice changed when talking about 'You, in New York'? There's definitely a real story there! #YoonJeonghan #PerfumeMystery"

A popular beauty vlogger released a 20-minute video analyzing Jeonghan's body language during the interview, claiming to have spotted at least five instances where he seemed to be holding back tears.

Even serious fashion critics couldn't resist speculating. A piece in WWD posed the question: "Is Yoon Jeonghan's entire oeuvre an olfactory autobiography? The clues hidden in his fragrances."

---

Across the city, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee growing cold beside her as she stared at her laptop screen. The Vogue article was open, Jeonghan's face looking back at her from a series of artfully shot photographs.

She had promised herself she wouldn't read it. Had sworn she was past all this, that she had moved on. But curiosity—and perhaps something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name—had gotten the better of her.

Now, as she read his carefully crafted words, Y/N felt a complex mix of emotions churning inside her. Anger at the half-truths, sadness at the memories his words evoked, and a traitorous flutter of her heart at the moments where she could see through his facade to the man she once knew so well.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. Y/N closed the laptop quickly, as if hiding evidence of a crime, before going to answer.

"Ms. Y/N?" A woman with a press badge stood in the hallway, notepad in hand. "I'm Mia from Style Weekly. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Yoon Jeonghan's latest interview."

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," she said, moving to close the door.

The reporter's foot blocked the doorway. "Please, just a moment. Your connection to Mr. Yoon is a matter of public record. Surely you must have some insight into the inspirations behind his work?"

"No comment," Y/N managed, her voice strangled. She pushed the door closed with more force, hearing the reporter's muffled protests from the other side.

Leaning against the door, Y/N slid to the floor, her heart pounding. It was happening again. The life she had carefully rebuilt, separate from Jeonghan and his world of glitz and glamour, was threatening to crumble around her.

---

In his penthouse, Jeonghan paced back and forth, phone pressed to his ear. "Somin, I thought we agreed to keep my personal life out of this," he said, frustration evident in his voice.

His publicist's calm tones came through the speaker. "Jeonghan, we did our best, but you have to understand. The public is hungry for this. Your story, the mystery—it's what sells. The interview was a huge success."

"At what cost?" Jeonghan muttered, more to himself than to Somin.

After ending the call, he walked to his workspace, surrounded by the tools of his trade. His fingers trailed over the bottles of his creations, lingering on "You, in New York."

For a moment, he allowed himself to remember—truly remember, not the sanitized version he had presented to the world. He saw Y/N's smile as they watched the sunset from the Top of the Rock, felt the warmth of her hand in his as they strolled through Central Park.

Almost without conscious thought, his hand reached for his phone. Y/N's contact information stared back at him, unchanged after all these years. His thumb hovered over the call button.

A war raged inside him. The desire to hear her voice, to explain, to apologize, warred with the fear of rejection, of reopening old wounds.

In the end, he set the phone down, the call unmade. But the desire, the need, lingered.

---

"Y/N, have you seen this?" Mina's voice came through the phone, excitement evident. "Jeonghan's Vogue interview. Girl, he's talking about you."

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mina, please. You know I don't want to hear about—"

"No, listen," Mina interrupted. "He talks about a moment in New York, watching the sunset from a rooftop garden. That was you two, wasn't it? On your last birthday together?"

Y/N's breath caught. She remembered that evening with painful clarity—the golden light, the gentle breeze, the feeling that everything was perfect. It was mere days before it all fell apart.

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Honey," Mina said gently, "I think it does. He's been telling your story all along, in every bottle. Maybe... maybe it's time to tell yours."

After hanging up, Y/N found herself once again staring at the bottle of "You, in New York." She uncapped it, letting the scent envelop her. In that moment, she allowed herself to truly feel everything she had been suppressing for years.

The realization hit her like a wave: Jeonghan hadn't forgotten. Every perfume, every story, was a message in a bottle, cast out into the world in hopes that someday, somehow, it would reach her.

---

The charity gala was in full swing, the cream of New York society mingling amidst the glittering decor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Jeonghan moved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, the perfect image of the successful artist.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a fashion designer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with an old friend—one he shared with Y/N.

"Jeonghan," the friend said, a strange mix of emotions playing across their face. "It's been too long."

As they talked, catching up on the years that had passed, Jeonghan found himself hungry for any scrap of information about Y/N. He tried to be subtle, but his old friend saw right through him.

"She's doing well, Jeonghan," they said softly. "She's strong. But... I think she misses you too."

The words hit Jeonghan like a physical blow. He excused himself, making his way to a quiet corner of the museum. His carefully constructed world felt like it was shifting beneath his feet.

Across the city, Y/N was experiencing a similar upheaval. A mutual friend had let slip that Jeonghan had asked about her, that he still kept a photo of them on his desk.

As the night wore on, both Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves standing at a crossroads. The walls they had built, the distance they had maintained, suddenly seemed more like obstacles than protection.

Unbeknownst to each other, they both reached for their phones at nearly the same moment. Fingers hovering over screens, hearts pounding, they stood on the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

In the air, the faint scent of "You, in New York" lingered, a reminder of what was lost and what, perhaps, could still be found.

The stage was set. The next move was theirs.

-

The Autumn chill nipped at Y/N's skin as she stood outside the small café, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. Her eyes darted nervously up and down the street, searching for a familiar face she hadn't seen in years. Her heart raced, a mix of anticipation and fear coursing through her veins.

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed. A text from Jeonghan: "I'm here."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she spotted him rounding the corner. Jeonghan looked much the same as she remembered, yet somehow different. His hair was styled differently, and he carried himself with a weariness that hadn't been there before. But his eyes—those eyes that had once looked at her with such love—were as intense as ever.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the busy New York street faded away. It was just the two of them, standing on opposite sides of a chasm five years in the making.

Jeonghan reached her first, stopping a few feet away. "Y/N," he said, his voice a mix of relief and uncertainty.

"Jeonghan," she replied, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded.

An awkward silence fell between them, years of unspoken words and suppressed emotions creating an almost tangible barrier.

"Should we..." Jeonghan gestured towards the café, and Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion.

Inside, they found a quiet corner booth. The warm, coffee-scented air was a stark contrast to the tension between them. They ordered—an Americano for him, a latte for her, just like old times—and then faced each other across the small table.

"You look well," Jeonghan said, his fingers fidgeting with a sugar packet.

Y/N managed a small smile. "So do you. I... I've seen your interviews. Congratulations on all your success."

Jeonghan's face tightened almost imperceptibly. "Thank you. I hear you're doing well too. Teaching, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, literature at NYU. It's... it's good."

Another silence fell, heavier this time. Y/N took a sip of her latte, using the moment to gather her thoughts.

"Why did you want to meet, Jeonghan?" she finally asked, setting her cup down perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Jeonghan looked up, meeting her gaze directly for the first time since they sat down. "I... I missed you, Y/N. Every day for five years, I've missed you."

The raw honesty in his voice caught Y/N off guard. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked them back furiously.

"You missed me?" she repeated, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. "You're the one who left, Jeonghan. You chose your career over us."

Jeonghan flinched as if he'd been slapped. "I know," he said softly. "And I've regretted it every day since."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, familiar bottle. Y/N's breath hitched as she recognized it—"You, in New York."

"Every scent, every name," Jeonghan continued, his voice thick with emotion, "they were all for you. About you. My way of holding onto what we had, what I threw away."

Y/N stared at the bottle, memories flooding back. The laughter, the love, the pain—it all came rushing back in a dizzying whirl.

"I thought I was protecting you," Jeonghan said. "The pressure, the spotlight—it was destroying us. I thought... I thought if I let you go, you could have a normal life. Be happy."

"That wasn't your choice to make," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You should have talked to me. We could have figured it out together."

Jeonghan nodded, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it made Y/N's heart ache. "I know that now. God, Y/N, I know. I was young and stupid and scared. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just a coward."

Y/N felt the walls she'd built around her heart begin to crumble. She reached out, almost unconsciously, and took the perfume bottle from Jeonghan's hand. As she did, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them.

"I tried to hate you," Y/N admitted, her thumb tracing the label of the bottle. "I tried so hard to forget, to move on. But then I'd catch a whiff of one of your perfumes, or see your face on a magazine cover, and it all came flooding back."

Jeonghan leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... is there any chance? For us? I'm not the same man I was five years ago. I've learned, I've grown. And I know now that nothing—no amount of success or fame—means anything without you."

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. When she opened them again, she saw that Jeonghan's eyes were also wet.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "You hurt me, Jeonghan. Deeply. That's not something that can be fixed with a conversation and some pretty words."

Jeonghan nodded, his face falling. But before he could speak, Y/N continued.

"But... I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you too. That I didn't still love you, despite everything."

Hope bloomed in Jeonghan's eyes. "So... what does that mean?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "It means... it means maybe we can try. Slowly. No grand gestures, no rushing back into things. We need to relearn each other, rebuild trust. Can you do that?"

Jeonghan reached across the table, gently taking Y/N's hand in his. The familiar warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"Y/N, I would wait a lifetime if that's what it took. We'll go as slow as you need. I just... I just want a chance to make things right."

For the first time since they sat down, Y/N felt a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's try."

-

The gentle spring breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms through Central Park, where Jeonghan and Y/N walked hand in hand, their steps slow and purposeful. Two years had passed since that fateful night when they both reached for their phones, finally bridging the gap that had separated them for so long.

"I still can't believe we're here," Y/N said, squeezing Jeonghan's hand. "Sometimes I think I'll wake up and find it was all a dream."

Jeonghan brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "If it's a dream, then I never want to wake up," he replied, his eyes shining with emotion.

They found a quiet bench overlooking the lake, the same spot where they had sat years ago, planning their future together. Now, older and wiser, they sat again, the weight of their shared history and renewed love settling comfortably between them.

"The launch is tomorrow," Jeonghan said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Are you ready?"

Y/N took a deep breath, nodding. "As ready as I'll ever be. It's still surreal, you know? Being back in this world, but on my own terms this time."

The past two years had been a whirlwind of rediscovery and healing. After their reconnection, Jeonghan and Y/N had taken things slowly, rebuilding trust and relearning each other. Y/N had been adamant about maintaining her independence, refusing to be swallowed up by Jeonghan's world as she had been before.

To everyone's surprise—including her own—Y/N had discovered a talent for perfumery. What had started as curious questions about Jeonghan's process had evolved into a genuine passion. Under his guidance, she had begun to create her own scents, her natural intuition complementing Jeonghan's technical expertise.

And now, tomorrow, they would launch their first collaborative perfume.

"I have something for you," Jeonghan said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, elegant bottle, its contents shimmering in the afternoon sun.

Y/N gasped, recognizing the prototype they had been working on. "Is this...?"

Jeonghan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "The final version. I wanted you to be the first to see it—to smell it."

With trembling hands, Y/N took the bottle. The label read "Essence of Us" in Jeonghan's distinctive handwriting. Below it, in smaller letters: "By Jeonghan & Y/N."

She uncapped the bottle, bringing it to her nose. The scent enveloped her immediately—bright citrus notes of bergamot and lemon, giving way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by warm sandalwood and a hint of vanilla. But there was something more, something uniquely them—a note that spoke of long nights of conversation, of laughter shared over coffee, of gentle kisses and whispered promises.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "It's perfect," she whispered.

Jeonghan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "It's us," he said simply. "All of us. The good, the bad, the journey we've taken."

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jeonghan and Y/N sat in comfortable silence, the scent of their creation lingering in the air around them.

The launch event for "Essence of Us" was the talk of the fashion world. Held in the same New York hotel where Jeonghan and Y/N had celebrated her last birthday before their separation, it was a poignant reminder of how far they had come.

Cameras flashed as Jeonghan and Y/N stepped onto the red carpet, a united front. Y/N, dressed in a flowing gown that shimmered like liquid silver, looked every inch the confident co-creator, a far cry from the woman who had once hidden in Jeonghan's shadow.

Inside, the room was transformed into a sensory wonderland. Different stations represented the various notes of the perfume, allowing guests to experience each element individually before sampling the final product.

As the crowd mingled and the excitement built, Jeonghan clinked a glass, calling for attention. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the stage where he and Y/N stood.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Jeonghan began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "This launch is special for many reasons, but none more so than the fact that it represents not just a new scent, but a new chapter."

He turned to Y/N, love evident in his gaze. "For years, my perfumes told the story of what I had lost. They were messages in bottles, cast out into the world in the hope that someday, they might find their way back to the one who inspired them."

Y/N stepped forward, taking Jeonghan's hand. "And I heard those messages," she continued, her voice strong and clear. "Even when I tried not to listen, even when I thought that chapter of my life was closed forever. They called to me, reminding me of a love that never truly faded."

Together, they unveiled the perfume—an elegant bottle that seemed to capture the light, refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

"'Essence of Us' is more than just a perfume," Jeonghan said. "It's a testament to the power of love, of forgiveness, of second chances. It's the scent of two people who lost their way, only to find that all paths led back to each other."

Y/N nodded, adding, "It's also a new beginning. A declaration that our story isn't just about the past, but about the future we choose to create together."

As the crowd applauded and the first samples of "Essence of Us" were distributed, Jeonghan and Y/N shared a private smile. They had poured their hearts into this creation, distilling years of love, loss, and rediscovery into a single, perfect scent.

Months later, as "Essence of Us" continued to top bestseller lists and garner critical acclaim, Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves back in their favorite spot in Central Park. The trees were ablaze with autumn colors, a crisp breeze carrying the promise of winter.

"I've been thinking," Jeonghan said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of nervousness. "About the future. About us."

Y/N looked at him curiously. "Oh? And what have you been thinking?"

Jeonghan took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. "I've been thinking that maybe it's time for a new scent. Something... permanent."

He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning ring. The design was unique—a delicate gold band that twisted into the shape of an infinity symbol, set with tiny diamonds that caught the light like drops of perfume.

"Y/N," Jeonghan said, his voice thick with emotion, "will you marry me? Again? For real this time, for always?"

Tears sprang to Y/N's eyes as she nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. As Jeonghan slipped the ring onto her finger, she finally found her voice. "Yes," she whispered. "Forever and always."

They sealed the promise with a kiss, the scent of "Essence of Us" mingling with the crisp autumn air. As they broke apart, both laughing and crying, Jeonghan's eyes lit up with that familiar spark of inspiration.

"I think I know what our next perfume will be called," he said, grinning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh? Do tell."

Jeonghan pulled her close, whispering in her ear: "You, Forever and Always."

And as they walked hand in hand through the park, already discussing notes and accords for their new creation, both Jeonghan and Y/N knew that this—their love, their passion, their shared creativity—was the most intoxicating scent of all.

[romeolucci]

What the ghouls from the same house think about each other

It’s one of the questions that appeared in the latest B’s-log magazine issue. I decided to share this one because it’s fun.

DISCLAIMER: I’m not a translator, so please take this with a huge grain of salt because I don’t speak let alone read Japanese very well. I mostly used machine translation and some of the little knowledge I have to get through this. I added the original Japanese script if you wanna read that on your own.

Jin, Tohma, Ren and Subaru didn’t receive the question unfortunately

Frostheim

Lucas: “Ever since I transferred to this school, Kaito has been my first friend and has always been very kind to me. I'm also grateful to Ishibashi-san for all his help. As for Kamurai-san, I hope he'll just fulfill his duties...”

「この学園へ転校してきた日から、魁斗は俺の初め ての友人として、ずっと仲良くしてくれている。そ れに磴さんにも、とてもお世話になっているよ。あ とは、冠氷さんが責務さえ果たしてくれれば良いん だけど･･････」

Kaito: “Hmm... To be honest, the captain and vice-captain seem like people way above the clouds... Rumor has it that the two of them are in collusion with the school and are doing terrible things. What? Luca? ...I've never heard of such a faceless bastard.”

「ん~………………寮長と副寮長は、正直雲の上の人って感 じだしな〜………………噂では、ふたりとも学園と癒着して、 えげつないことやってるって聞いたことあるけど。え? ルカ? ………………あんな顔面無双野郎なんか知らね」

*I’m really not sure what あんな顔面無双野郎 means.

Vagastorm

Alan: “We're just half-baked people who happened to have powers. But they're willing to die and crawl back up... they have the potential.”

「俺たちは、たまたま力を持っただけの半端もんだ。 だが、死ぬ気で這い上がる･･････あいつらには、その 素質がある」

Leo: “No matter how you look at it, our captain is a complete loser. As for Sho-chan... I guess he's my slave♡”

「誰がどう見ても、うちの寮長サマはポンコツでし ○よ。え~、翔ちゃんはね･･････オレの奴隷、かな♡」

Sho: “Ahh... Leo and I are just old friends. We've been hanging out since middle school. Mido-senpai... I don't really know what he's thinking. He's a man of few words, right?”

「あー…………………玲音とはただの腐れ縁な。中坊の頃か ら、なんとなくつるんでるっつうか。御堂センパイ は･･････何考えてっかよくわかんねぇわ。あいつ、言 葉が足りねぇタイプじゃん?」

Jabberwock

Haru: “Both Ren and Towa have good bodies, so if they could put that into use and work, they'd be a lot more reliable than they are now...huh? What's that sound...Hey Towa! Wait a sec!!”

「蓮も叶空も、せっかくええガタイ持っとるけぇ、 そいつ活かして働いてくれりゃ、今よりずっと頼も しいんじゃがのう･･････ん?この音は･･････おい叶空! ちょ~~~待て~~~~~~~!!」

Towa: ~~~~♪~~~~!!

Sinostra

Taiga: “That Lulu gets so angry every day, I don't know how he never gets tired of it... Ah? Shinjo? Who’s that?”

「ルルのやつ、毎日あんなキレまくって、よく飽き ねぇよな~･･･････あ〜? シンジョ? 誰だそれ」

Romeo: “I’m disgusted by my boss. No matter how many times I say the same thing, it's WEFCP. What? It's "waste of effort", "fist-clenching" and "pressing". As for Shinjo, I'm going to give him a thorough training from now on, and we'll see how he turns out.”

「うちのボスには呆れる。なんべん同じこと言った って、N・U・Oだからさぁ。は?「暖簾に」「腕」「押し」 だよ。まぁ針条に関しては、���れからみっちり教育して、 どう化けるかってとこだねぇ」

*I tried my best to translate Romeo’s abbreviation but it’s still bad I’m sorry…

Ritsu: "I have concluded that it is futile to try to change the tyrannical behavior of our Sinostra’s captain, Taiga Hoshibami, and vice-captain, Romeo Scorpius Lucci. From now on, I will defend them and definitely obtain the 'Laurel Crown'."

「我がシノストラ寮長の星喰大我、および副寮長 のロミオ・スコーピウス・ルッチについて、その横暴 な素行を改めることは不毛という結論です。今後は、 私が彼らを弁護することで、必ず『栄冠賞』を手に入 れてみせます」

Hotarubi

Haku: “Another difficult question. Hmm... Subaru-san is simply great. However, his tendency to take on too much is his only flaw. Zenji-san... Well, you see, being with him makes me feel energized. I'm grateful for that.”

「また難しい質問ですこと。うーん･･････昴流さんは とにかく出来が良い。ただ、何かと抱え込みすぎる のが玉に瑕だな。善治さんは･･････まあ、あれだ、一 緒にいると元気になる。ありがたいことですよ」

Zenji: “If I had to describe Subaru-kun in one word, it would be...heart of glass...but in contrast, I can't help but worry about Haku-kun's lack of enthusiasm. As my manager, I would say he should be a bit more considerate.”

「昴流クンを一言で表すならば･･････ハート・オブ・グ ラス･･････それに引き替え、伯玖クンのスコドンぶり には気を揉まずにはいられないよ。ボクのマネージ ャーならば、もう少し気が利くべきだと言っている のだがねえ」

*Zenji says “hāto obu gurasu”, I’m not sure, but I think he means to say heart of gold? lmao

Obscuary

Edward: These two are young and strong, I'm so envious of them. When I was their age... Oops, it was so long ago that I’ve completely forgotten."

「ふたりとも、若くて体力もあって羨ましい限りだよ。 俺があの子たちと同じ年頃の時は･･････おっと。もう 随分昔のことだから、すっかり忘れてしまったな」

Rui: “Ed-san has no ability to live on his own, so he's really a pain to look after. At this point, I’m in charge of nursing care... and then what about Lyca-kun... Huh? I'm taking care of the kids... What do those two think of me!?”

「エドさんは生活力なさすぎて、ほんと世話が焼け るんよね。もはや介護っしょあれ･･････そんでライカ くんは~･･･････あれ? こっちは子供の世話だ･･････あ のふたり、俺ちゃんをなんだと思ってんの!?」

Lyca: “They're that moth-eaten Casanova and that blond gigolo. I'm human, so why am I not in the same place as Suba-kun and the others!!”

「色魔ジジイと金髪ジゴロだろ。おれは人間なのに、 なんでスバくんたちと同じとこじゃねーんだよ!!」

Mortkranken

Yuri: “You're talking about Jiro-kun, who is both Yuri Isami's assistant and patient? He's still in training. He still lacks knowledge, skills, experience, and culture. It'll probably take another 100 years for him to become a doctor at my level.”

「この衣佐美佑理の助手であり、患者でもある次郎 くんのことです? 彼は研修中の身ですからね。ま だまだ、知識も技術も経験も教養も足りていません。 僕レベルの医師になるまで、あと100年は必要でしょう」

Jiro: “Oh, the only ghoul in my house is Yuri. He's my doctor. If it weren't for Yuri, I'd probably be dead by now. Well, I'm grateful.”

「はあ、同じ寮のグールは、佑理しかいませんけど。 俺の主治医ですね。佑理がいなければ、俺、今頃死 んでるらしいんで。まあ、感謝してます」

If a professional sees this, feel free to translate it yourself