#why is my line even fucking connected to my phone number

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

ceo!sukuna x secretary!reader, modern au

tags: degradation, daddy kink, videocall-sex, dirty talk, masturbation, sexting notes: minors dni, one sequel to "𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘊𝘢𝘯 𝘉𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘴" - you decided to text your boss Sukuna wc: 1.7k

Finally you arrived home, your steps heavy with exhaustion yet tinged with relief. With each passing moment, the weight of responsibility seemed to lift as you approached your doorstep. Unlocking the door, you stepped into the comforting embrace of your sanctuary, where the warmth and familiarity of your home enveloped you like a soft blanket. Sighing deeply, you kicked off your shoes and let the tension of the day melt away. Settling into your favorite armchair, you closed your eyes, letting the tranquility of home wash over you, yet you were restless.

Your fingers reached into the pocket of your coat to pull out the cigarette Sukuna gave you, his number written on it. “Hm…”, you took off your coat, letting it fall next to you on the ground. “Should I really?” Flashes of the previous event came rushing back into your mind – the way his fingers wrapped around your neck and his hot tongue pushing into your mouth. That kiss alone made you incredibly wet.

You saved his number under “Boss (Private)” and stared at the texting icon. It would be so easy and besides, it's just a text. He couldn’t fuck you over phone anyway.

Hello, this is y/n.

Eager little girl. Texted me as soon as you came home?

Dumbfounded, your eyes analyzed his (instant) reply. 

Don’t worry, princess. Not judging you. Bet your pussy is still wet. My cock didn’t go soft either.

Excuse me? This is highly unprofessional.

No, me fucking you bend over your workdesk would be highly unprofessional. Answer me: Is your pussy still wet, little one?

You should've known that it would end up like this. You shouldn’t reply. You should tell him that this is inappropriate. Remind him that you are his secretary and some may deem this interaction as unethical and not to forget that you are years younger than him. Why was it so hard to stop though?

Yes, Mr. Sukuna.

From now on you call me daddy.

Yes, daddy.

The sudden ring of your phone shattered the atmosphere. Surprised, you glanced at the screen to see a Facetime call flashing urgently. Sukuna was calling you. The surprise sent a jolt of excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a fire within you. nervous anticipation fluttered in her chest like a caged bird. For a moment, uncertainty swirling in your mind. With a deep breath, you accepted the call, your heart pounding in your ears. The familiar face that greeted you was enough to send a surge of desire coursing through your body. Despite your nerves, the thrill of your virtual connection stirred something primal within you, heightening your senses and leaving you longing for more.

“Wish you could see your face right now. You look like a needy slut, princess”, Sukuna snickered. His shirt was unbuttoned all the way, exposing his upper-body. Your eyes widened in shock as you saw it. He had–

“Like my tattoos, huh?”

“I-I just didn’t know that you had any.”

Smirking his finger traced the black lines across his chest. His phone was probably leaning against something cause you could see almost everything up to his knees. Even the way he was sitting, his legs spread and a hand wide on his thigh, screamed dominance and sent shivers down your spine.

“Wanna see more of you, baby, put your phone somewhere. I need to see your face and what’s between your legs. Can you do that for daddy?”

Every bit of self-control and resistance left your body as soon as he called himself daddy. It’s no wonder that every woman and man wanted him buried deep inside their guts.

“Yes, daddy”, a simple good girl fell from his lips as he watched you propping your phone on the table in front of you against a water bottle. “Is this okay?”

“It’s perfect, princess. You’re such a good slut for daddy, aren’t you”, Sukuna’s hand, which was previously on his thigh, was now on his crotch, grabbing onto his hard on, “Undress, baby girl.”

He didn’t have to tell you twice. With a subtle yet deliberate motion, you reached behind your back, fingers deftly finding the tiny buttons that held your blouse together. With each successive button undone, the fabric began to loosen, revealing tantalizing glimpses of the soft skin beneath. As you slipped the blouse and bra off your shoulders, a shiver of anticipation raced down your spine, the cool air caressing your exposed flesh. In that moment, you felt an exhilarating rush of vulnerability, a silent declaration of self-assurance and desire. You weren’t going to stop now so you silently took your skirt off, wiggling it off your hips. The only thing you were wearing now was your thong.  And Sukuna’s eyes were sitting on you the whole time, taking in every little detail. Your trembling hands, your moles and freckles, everything.He could feel himself almost bursting through his pants. At first he wanted to make you beg to see his cock but he was hard ever since you crawled over to him. Swiftly he unzipped his pants, just to give his cock a bit more space.

"Obedient little slut. Look at you, just taking your clothes off, obeying my words. Makes me want to ruin you even more, little one.”

The plan to forever reject him and never succumb to him was already forgotten. How could you ever reject him when he gets your pussy this wet?

“...I’m your slut, daddy”, it was a mere whisper but Sukuna heard every word.

Growling he pulled his cock out of his boxers. It was massive. Sukuna spit in his hand before he wrapped his rough hand around his shaft. Your eyes felt like they were bulging out of your sockets. His cock would destroy you, fill you up completely and turn you into a whimpering bitch in heat. YOu were certain of that.

“Come on, princess. Spread your legs for daddy, show me how wet your pretty pussy is”. His filthy mouth had you stifling a moan as you lifted one leg to rest against the back cushions of the chair and spread the other so that your foot rested on the floor. 

“Li-like this, daddy?” God, this was embarrassing and extremely hot at the same time. 

“Yes, baby, just like this”, he stroked his cock from tip to base, the other hand now palming his balls. “Now lick your fingers and rub that clit for daddy. Bet you wanted me to do that back at the bar, huh?”

You did as instructed, dragging the tips of your index and middle fingers across your tongue slowly before lowering them to your pussy, seeking your clit. Instantly your legs began to twitch – he was right, you wanted this all along.

“That’s it, little one. Fuck, imagine it being my tongue. I should’ve played with that sweet cunt after you crawled to my feet like the dirty slut you are.”

Breathy moans filled the air around you, your pussy clenching, yearning for something big to stuff it.

“Daddy…fuck, daddy”, Sukuna was still stroking his cock as he took in the alluring sight on his phone, “G-good…feels so good, Daddy.”

“Look at my cock, baby. I’m imagining that cute mouth wrapped around my fat dick. Like that, slut?”

“Yes, daddy, yes. I love it, daddy.”

His hand twisted around his tip, pre-cum leaking already. “Squeeze your tits, pinch your nipple,” he growled.  “That’s my fuckin’ teeth, slut. I can see your naughty pussy clenching through the screen. You need something in there, right? I should be pounding into that cunt, take what’s mine.”

“Please”, you started to beg, primal urges taking over you, “Please let me put a finger in, daddy.”

“Shove those fingers inside.  As many as you can fit. Tough it would never compare to me pushing my dick in that tight cunt of yours. You think you can take this cock, huh?”

Finally you pushed your fingers inside. Your pussy was wet enough that your fingers met no resistance at all. “Y-yours…yours is too big. Would break me.”

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy. My cock would fucking break you, fuck you real good, make you my personal fucktoy. Look at me, slut!”

Sukuna was pumping his dick to the same speed as you were fingering your cunt. This was driving you insane. He demanded you to pick up the speed, both of you did.

“Keep fuckin’ that pussy.  Yeah, just like that.  Go faster.  Use your other hand – rub that clit again. Tell daddy how much you want his cock.”

“Want–Want daddy’s cock…I want daddy to–to fuck my slutty little pussy, please. Need daddy’s cock.”

Sukuna could feel his climax coming, his balls pulsating, something building up inside him. If only you were in front of him, begging for him to ram into you and choke you while you whimpered and cried for sweet, sweet release.

“How far are you, princess?”

You couldn’t reply with words, only strangled cries as you climbed higher.  You hooked your fingers to drag across your g-spot, fucking yourself so hard that the squelching sounds could probably be heard from beyond the door.  Your cunt contracted around my fingers once, hard.  “Ahh…cl–close, daddy.”

“Shit, me too,” he groaned.  “Fucking look at me when you cum, slut.”   Sukuna started stroking his cock faster and faster while he continued to massage his balls.  You swirled faster and harder as you pumped your fingers in and out of your wet cunt.  

“Oh fuck daddy!” you cried, rolling your eyes back to his face as you felt your muscles tense. 

“Good girl,” he breathed, looking directly into your eyes.  “Cum for me. Do it.”

And, then the tension and pressure released all at once, making you scream “daddy” as the waves rippled through your body.  Your cunt clenched your fingers rhythmically and you continued to finger yourself through the aftershocks.  

“Fuck – shit, here it comes!” Sukuna moaned seconds before thick white ropes of his cum spurted from his cock to land on his stomach as he bucked up into his hand roughly.  “Fucking finally.”

Moments later you were still panting as Sukuna gave you one last order before ending the call.

“Don’t wear any underwear tomorrow at work and come in early.”

[carmenized-onions]

Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

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

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

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

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

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s snowing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you good?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah? What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want the old one?”

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

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

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

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

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

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

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

“...And you want that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So where should I send flowers?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Microgreens.” Says Syd. 

“Yes. Do less of that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cicero.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

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

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

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

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

“You got somethin’ better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A lot high.” He corrects.

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

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

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

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

“Does he now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your options are fucked.”

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

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

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, “Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A short amount of time, angel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, Adamu?!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

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

She sighs, “Trying to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

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

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

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Crime is bad in January.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

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

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

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds fucked.”

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

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

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

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

“Tricks?”

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

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

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

He’s the best? 

He’s the best. 

He’s the best. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d agree.”

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

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

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

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

“Come to dinner with us?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[leighsartworks216]

Angel, Please

Zayne x gn!Reader

Went shopping with my roommate thinking it would be really quick, and then spent like an hour in there just pushing the cart for them and losing all energy and ability to think. This is the result of that

Title is from the song "Angel, Please" by Ra Ra Riot

Warnings: sensory overload, anxiety, avoiding a mental breakdown, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2,103

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You stare down at the shopping list in your hand, written in a mix of handwriting. Some items listed were written down by Zayne, others were added by you. A culmination of a week or so worth of groceries. It’s harder to read the words than it should be.

You have milk, cereal… You look back and forth between your cart and the list, but you can’t connect the dots. Nothing is clicking together.

Milk. Check.

Cereal. Check.

Your skin feels uncomfortably hot and itchy, but you don’t take off your sweatshirt and you don’t scratch. Your chest is tight, and you can’t seem to get a deep enough breath in. You zone out while staring at the list, urging your body to get a hold of itself.

“Excuse me,” someone scoffs as they invade your space to reach for something on the shelf behind you. They give you a look, judgemental and cruel, and walk away with a huff. Their basket bumps your cart with a clang that makes you twitch.

God, could they please turn the music down? The lights down? You just- You just need everyone to disappear. You just need to disappear.

You bite your cheek long enough to suffer through a self-checkout. You rapidly scan whatever you do have - more than just milk and cereal, but you don’t even process them anymore - and pay as quickly as possible, conscious of the eyes of other waiting customers trying to check out boring into you, judging you, urging you to just fucking move already.

The cool autumn air doesn’t soothe you enough. You throw everything into the trunk of your car. The pavement of the parking lot vibrates your hands as you push the cart to the nearest return. You rub them on your sweatshirt desperately.

You have to keep it together. You can’t break down in a parking lot at a grocery store just because all of your senses were freaking out. You are a Hunter! You fight Wanderers! You put your life on the line every single day! Why are you losing it here of all places?!

Your hands shake as you find Zayne’s number. It connects to the bluetooth in your car and you pull out of the parking space.

Are you really 100% fit to drive? No. But you need to get away from here as soon as possible. As tempting as it would be to ask to be picked up, you don’t want to be a burden.

“Hello?”

You swallow thickly. Your hands rub restlessly at the steering wheel. “H-Hey.” You clear your throat. “Hey. I’m heading home now.”

“Are you alright?” Zayne asks.

You want to put your head on the wheel and cry. You feel pathetic.

“Did something happen?” You picture his frown. The way his eyes sharpen when he tries to pick apart a little mystery. You want him with you right now. “Please answer me.”

“I-I’m fine,” you answer quickly, a knee-jerk reaction to the question. You know you’re trying to convince yourself. You know he doesn’t believe it for a second. “Just… Just stay on the phone with me until I get back. Can you…? Am I bothering you?”

He hushes you softly through the phone. “You’re not bothering me, darling. I’ll stay with you.” You sigh shakily. His voice sounds so nice right now. Your left leg bounces restlessly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You scramble to think of anything. You anxiously wait for traffic to clear enough to let you turn out of the parking lot. Your mind is taking in too much and too little information at the same time. Cars are just colored shapes, but you know where every single light source is around you. They keychains hanging from the key in the ignition rubs your leg like someone is drawing fire across your skin with a paintbrush. You try batting them away, but the jingle grates in your ears like it’s been amplified.

You pull into the flow of traffic, at last.

“Why don’t we talk about that show you enjoy so much?” he offers carefully. “The one with the girl caught in a love triangle? What was her Evol again?”

“She…” You swallow and check your speed. As badly as you want to get home, you don’t want to get pulled over either. “She can feel other people’s emotions. And, and in one episode she changes them, too.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Does she feel the attraction from the other characters? The men from the love triangle. What are their names?”

“Joseph and,” you turn on your blinker and wait at the stop light, “Damien. She can, but she feels bad because she’s not interested in either of them. So she pretends she doesn’t feel it.”

“So if she’s not interested in the prospective love interests, who does she like?”

You slowly pull up as a yellow arrow blinks, waiting for a gap in traffic to pull through. Once you’re driving steadily again, you answer. “She has a crush on her bed friend in the show, Melina. It’s really sweet, actually. But Melina has no clue, even though Therese, the main girl, keeps hinting at it, because Melina thinks Therese is interested in Damien.”

“That would be a tricky situation to be in. Who do you think she’ll end up with by the end?”

You laugh, but it’s slightly airy and strained, like someone punched it out of you. “I hope she gets with Melina, obviously!” You turn your blinker on again at a stop sign and turn after a second. This road doesn’t get too busy. “There’s actually some hints that Joseph and Damien will end up together. Everyone online thinks they’re competing for Therese’s love to try hiding their own feelings for each other.”

He doesn’t respond for a second. “Are you almost home, darling?”

You blink, and just like that, you’ve been snapped back into your body, aware once more of your surroundings. You’re in the middle of pulling into the apartment’s parking lot. You don’t even remember the drive to get there. “Y-Yeah. I’m here, actually,” you murmur.

“Okay. I’ll meet you down there. Do you need me to stay on the phone until then?”

You fiddle with the keychains, considering it. Everything doesn’t feel so itchy anymore. Your eyes hurt, but it feels more like the sting of exhaustion. Your head still thuds with a headache, but the noises that fueled it before feel more bearable now. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Call me again if you need to. I’m on the way.”

The call ends and you turn off the car, pulling the keys from the ignition and holding them in your lap. You feel surreal, like your brain hasn’t quite caught up to your body now that it’s not screaming about every little thing. The parking lot outside your window doesn’t feel real. The bike you parked next to, your bike, feels out of place.

You groan and rest your head against the steering wheel, shutting your eyes tightly. Why can’t you just feel normal already?

A finger taps on the glass. You look up and watch as Zayne opens the door for you. “Are you alright?” he asks again.

You bite your tongue to avoid answering automatically. But the real answer eludes you. You don’t think you’re gonna freak out if your sweatshirt happens to brush your neck in a weird way, but you’re not exactly sure you could just calmly ignore it if it did happen either.

You slip out of the seat and out of the car. Zayne has that concerned look on his face, like you’ve just told him you haven’t slept for a week straight, but he doesn’t say anything, just shuts the door behind you.

He opens the trunk and begins gathering messily thrown-together bags of groceries. You grab one of the lighter ones that he leaves for you, and close the trunk. The car beeps when you hit the lock button on the fob.

Once you’re inside, you sit at the kitchen island and watch as he puts away everything you got. You find the crumpled list in your pocket. You have the clarity now to see just how many items you missed, including things you needed to make dinner tonight. You want to crumple yourself up into a ball like this paper.

Zayne’s hand comes into view as he slides the paper over to where he stands. He has a notepad and a pen, and he goes down the old list to write out what you missed.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t answer until he finishes the list, clicking the pen and setting it down. Then, his full attention is on you. “Can you tell me what happened now?”

You can’t meet his eyes. It’s hard enough admitting actual health issues to him, let alone stupid shit like this. Logically, you know he’s seen this happen to you before, know he wouldn’t think it’s stupid like you do. But it’s still difficult.

“I just got overwhelmed,” you mutter. You trace shapes into the marble countertop. “Everything was so loud and bright and… And I panicked, that’s all.”

“How do you feel now?”

You sigh and cross your arms on the counter, resting your chin on them. “I’ve got a headache, and I’m tired. But I’m not? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I’m in a dream. Nothing feels real right now.”

He hums in understanding. “I can think of several treatment plans that may help.” You finally look at him and he shoots you a wry grin. “First, I suggest you take some pain medication for your headache, before it gets any worse. After that, you have a few options. You can go take a nap or spend some time alone to decompress. You can put on your noise-cancelling headphones and listen to music or a podcast. Or we can watch that show you told me about, and I can make you some tea.”

“That’s a lot of choices, doc.”

“It’s in the patient’s best interests to have a lot of options,” he says. “You’re not beholden to any one choice.”

You look away as you think about it. What do you want right now? What do you need? “Can I mix and match?”

He nods. “Of course you can.”

“Tea sounds nice,” you start. “I don’t want to sleep right now, but I can listen to music, I think. But I just want to be with you.” You look at him again. “Is that alright?”

He smiles, answering you without words. Instead, he moves around the kitchen to fill a kettle with water and sets it on the stove. He disappears down the hall to retrieve two pills and your headphones, setting both on the counter in front of you. He fills a glass with some water for you to take the meds. You grab the headphones and slip them on, and head over to the couch to get comfortable. They connect to your phone once you turn them on. You scroll through your playlists for a while, but the more you look, the more unappealing it sounds to you.

Zayne comes in with a steaming mug of tea, prepared how he knows you like it. You hesitantly take off your headphones. “Actually, will you read to me?”

“What would you like to hear?”

You shrug. “Anything. I just want to hear your voice right now.”

He browses the bookshelf nearby. You set your headphones down and blow on the tea to cool it down. He slips one of the books out and carries it over to the couch. You curl into his side the second he’s sitting down.

The book is one of your favorites. You’ve never seen him read it before, but he’s seen you pull it out lots of times ever since you moved in together. You smile. A comfortable warmth emanates from your heart.

The paper slides gently from one side to the next as he turns the pages. It’s not grating. It doesn’t send shocks of discomfort through your body. You cradle the mug close as you rest your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes relax as you skim the familiar words. His shirt on your cheek isn’t scratchy at all. It’s nice and soft.

He begins reading and you close your eyes. You breathe in deep the cool scent of his cologne, the fresh smell of his body wash, the slightly bitter, rich essence of the tea.

You can relax here. You can exist here. This feels real.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope

[lostintransist]

.. that idea on ghost coming back with his therapist’s contact is brilliant, could we get a pt2 when we do hit him up cuz,,, it’s inevitable and he pulls up in that same motorbike and actually plans a banger date?

Just for you! A part 2! Original post for anyone curious is here.

Also thank you for what I am percieving as patience, I had things to accomplish today. But it gave me time to think about this...

CW: I can't think of any.

You held onto the business card. No real explanation that would satisfy you or anyone who might have asked. And your best friend did ask. Repeatedly.

“You still have the card?” She asked over drinks.

Running your tongue along the inside of your teeth you debate on how to answer.

“Yes,” you reply curtly.

“And have you called the therapist or texted him yet? Do you even know his name?” She followed her questions with a sip of her drink.

“All I know is that when I search up S. Riley I get a few hits about a brother to a home invasion that ended badly a few years ago and nothing else. No one on social media matches him and without his full name or maybe a birthday I can’t find much else about someone that might be him.” Flopping back into the couch you watch your drink slide side to side as you tip your glass.

“You don’t have to call him but you have to make a decision about this soon,” she chides.

“No decision is a decision though.”

She gives you the flattest stare she can muster. Seeing as your best friend is autistic it’s a pretty impressive flat look.

Heaving a sigh you concede the point.

“Fine. I get it. I can’t avoid this forever, what if he finds me at a coffee shop again and asks why I haven’t called? S. Riley sure does seem like a man who doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone.”

“I think you should call and tell the therapist to inform him that you would like to never see him again, but you have this whole ‘attracted to the adventure’ thing going on.” She rolled her eyes.

Aghast at being so well identified, it does not matter that she is your best friend, you fire off a rude gesture at her. She only laughs.

“At least I never have to worry about not realizing I fumbled the woman of my dreams three months late,” you say with a wicked grin.

“It was one time!” Your best friend launches one of the couch pillows at you.

“Twice.”

The purest look of concern crosses her face.

“Twice?” Comes her panicked ask.

“Once at the bar,” she nods, “And then last week at the bookstore.”

Watching her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open you can’t help the full-body laugh that overtakes you.

“I thought she was just being nice!” Her voice gets squeakier with each word.

You are laughing so hard you can’t breathe.

“I fucking love you and am so glad we are best friends,” you manage to croak out between ab-shredding laughs.

💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠💠

Your next early day off of work you pop in your headphones and call the number printed on the business card. It sat between your insurance card and your driver’s license. Those two cards didn’t see much action and would keep the business card from disappearing.

“Thank you for calling Healing Sky Therapy, how can I help you?”

“Yes, is Anna Mortz available?”

“For a phone call or an appointment?” The sound of clicking keys bubbles over the line.

“A phone call, I am calling to speak to her about a current patient of hers.”

“Okay, and are you a provider?”

This causes you to pause. Did you really need to explain why or how you were connected to this crazy situation? No. Bare bones it is.

“No, I should be listed as a person who can discuss the care of a patient of hers who goes by S. Riley?”

“Okay,” she drags the word. “It looks like I can drop a call in her schedule in about forty minutes if that would work for you?”

“That would work great, can I give you a callback number?”

“Yes, I can take that when you are ready.”

Finishing up the phone call you grabbed your grocery list and headed out the door. Your phone rang as you were transferring bags from your cart to your trunk. The number looked vaguely familiar and so you answered.

“Hi this is Anna Mortz, I am returning a phone call.”

“Yes, hi Anna. I am the one who called.”

“That was in regards to Simon Riley, right? Let’s go through some information on my end to make sure that we can discuss him first okay?”

“Absolutely,” you slam the trunk closed and return your cart while confirming all of your information.

“So, what questions can I answer for you?” Anna started.

“Let me get settled and I will give you the rundown.” Tossing your purse to the passenger side and locking the door you get situated in your seat. You push a large breath from your lungs and start. “Okay, so this is a weird situation. The long and the short of it is that Simon had been dating a friend of mine several years back and they were not good together. He was being a pushy asshole who refused to let the relationship die and she was codependent to a deeply unhealthy level. My friend asked for help in telling him off once and for all. She tended to cave and give into having sex every time he came by to start a fight. That is where I met Simon.”

Anna made a noise of confirmation. You took it as permission to keep telling your story.

“Nothing more came of that except my friend and I drifted apart, nothing major and not important to the story. I ran into Simon next at my friend’s wedding reception. I don’t know if he showed up to confirm to himself that it was really over or if she actually invited him but,” you paused here eyes tracing the dash of the car parked in front of you. With a slight shake of your head, you focus back on your phone call. “That is neither here nor there. He hit on me that night and I told him basically to fuck off and go to therapy if he wanted a shot at that conversation.”

Puffing your cheeks with air you slowly let it out, you felt like you were explaining a whole crazy situation to the principal.

“He ran into me at a coffee shop close to probably a year later, dropped your card on the table with his number on the back, and insinuated that I would call because I was interested in him.”

“Okay, that is pretty close to the story he told me as well,” Anna speaks with kind authority. “What I can tell you from a clinical standpoint is that Simon struggles with C-PTSD, which is complex post-traumatic stress disorder. This basically means that Simon has been through so many traumatic events at so many points in his life that he has a hard time functioning day to day without it affecting every aspect of his life. I can also tell you that we have been working on him gaining some coping abilities and practicing social skills.”

“Okay, I guess what I am asking is that if I go on a date with him will I end up with a stalker who will end up killing me in the night if I say I don’t want to see him again?” You lay your concerns bare. She’s not your therapist so her judgment worries you a bit less.

“While nothing is guaranteed,” she hedges, “I cannot see that kind of behavior occurring with the progress Simon has made. He has scheduled out appointments weekly for the next three months with me and has even mentioned he is working on some other types of therapy I have recommended to help him process his traumas further. He’s actually doing the work to deal with his issues. I think he is here because he wants to be, you happened to be the trigger.”

Resting your elbow on the steering wheel you leaned your head into your hand.

“Whew, okay. Thank you. That is actually really helpful. How is he about accepting boundaries?”

“He is familiar and comfortable with them in a work context but if you choose to interact with him I know personal boundaries will come up in our sessions. So, I would keep it in mind when interacting with him.”

“Okay, thank you so much Anna this call has been,” a slight pause, “Enlightening. I appreciate your time.”

“Happy to help. Have a good day!”

With that the phone call ends and you stare down at your phone. Flicking open your messaging app you add the contact you saved to it almost a month ago.

<Your therapist seems nice.

Three minutes pass as you watch the screen. It goes black once and you wake it with a tap on the screen.

Tossing it to the passenger side on top of your purse you put the text from your mind. You instead focus on pulling out of your spot. Parking lots are of the devil and you aren’t even religious like that.

Five days pass before a message dings on your phone from one S. Riley.

>Can’t say she is nice to me. I get a lot of mean looks from her.

Setting a timer for an hour and thirteen minutes you let the text simmer. You hope he can see that you have opened the message.

<You normally take a work week to respond?

>Only when I am on a job.

The reply comes in instantly.

<What kind of jobs keep you from your phone?

>Classified.

<Ooh big brain work then. Got it.

You snort at the eye roll emoji he sends.

>So, have you decided if I can hit you up yet?

<I’m thinking about it. If I were to say yes, where would you take me?

>Indoor sky diving.

You read the three-word message at least six times, check out the closest indoor sky diving place near you, and then finally reply.

Starting and erasing three messages you finally settle on one.

<Would we ride your bike there?

>Unless you would prefer to talk on the drive over?

What do you talk about with a man when you had to check with his therapist that he wouldn’t murder you?

<Bike sounds like fun.

>Saturday?

<Maybe. Time?

>2

<Done. Pick me up at noon and we can grab lunch?

>No, you’re going to want an empty stomach. Dinner instead.

Narrowing your eyes at the message you debate the logic of testing a boundary yet. The advice to not have a full stomach did look like a good one.

<Fine, but nowhere fancy. If I can’t roll up in the same outfit I don’t want it.

The only reply you get for several hours is a thumbs up on your message.

Guess you had a date coming up.

[noisyquokka]

Try Again

PAIRING - Hyunjin x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS - After a short-lived relationship ends, Hyunjin struggles with the idea of “just friends”. Three years later, it seems you haven’t lost interest either.

WORDCOUNT - 2.9k

WARNINGS - lovers to friends to …., mutual pining, jealous!Hyunjin, a lil playful banter/angst that turns kinda steamy, kinda left open-ended... part 2 perhaps? 🤨

A/N - Literal WEEKS late, but uhhh… that’s never stopped me before! 🤭 My little addition for Hyune Day! Enjoy, Darlings! 💛

(Based loosely on Try Again - PRETTYMUCH cause I've been listening to it on repeat and it feels like a Hyunjin song to me, personally. I also wrote this to satisfy my insatiable love for watching him practice, cause let's be honest... choreographer!Hyunjin just hits different iykyk)

“Would you at least take some videos if you’re gonna bury your head in your phone?”

Your eyes sweep up to the shadow of the man who pauses his movement in the middle of the studio. Hyunjin straightens up, his fingers reaching for the brim of his hat. He pulls it off and runs his fingers through his dampened tresses, already sweaty from the past hour of practice.

“Well, excuse me, Hwang,” you mutter, resting your hand on your thigh. “I didn’t know I was summoned here to be your videographer.”

“You’re supposed to be critiquing my choreo so far.”

He’s been working on this choreo for his new solo, and while he didn’t expect you to drop in, he knows Minho has some part in you ending up here. Why? Because he was stupid enough to spill his feelings to him in full confidence that Minho would keep his mouth shut. One could say he kept his word, but still, he plays with fire in his process.

“Ah, right…” God, is it fun to ponder your next remark. You smirk as you watch him reach for the open water bottle near him. “Not enough sneaker squeaks.”

His hand pauses mid-drink, bourbon eyes cutting to your proud little grin. Your eyes are already back on the phone in your grip, tapping away like you’re texting someone. For a moment, Hyunjin is itching to know who it could be. But then he reminds himself that you’re not together anymore. He tilts his head slightly, tries not to let it bother him.

“You’re so unserious, my god,” Hyunjin mutters, and swipes at his forehead with a huff.

Your grin turns into a playful lip bite, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“I’m being completely serious.” Your eyes find him again, and he exhales heavily. “The sneaker squeaks are an essential part of the performance. How will anyone memorize your routine if they can’t count the squeaks?”

“Okay.” He scoffs, pushing his hair back and putting his hat back on, swiftly turning back to his Bluetooth. You mock him with your typical Hwang Hyunjin voice, not noticing the way he shakes his head and smirks to himself.

Hyunjin taps the play button on his phone, taking a deep breath as he readies himself for another run-through.

It’s been hours since he started working on this specific number, and while the comeback wasn’t for a couple of months, he thought getting ahead of schedule would be nice. However, your being around brought on a difficulty to slip into the choreographer head space. Ever since his conversation with Minho, and Minho's comment about how you quote-unquote very well feel the same, I mean, have you seen the way they look at you?!, he’s been the embodiment of a goldfish in a bowl. He wishes things would’ve started off better because apparently, this lovers-to-friends plot line was only digging his early grave. Hyunjin’s fairly certain that after you two broke up, you only agreed to stay friends because you made good connections with the rest of the boys.

The rational side of him knows that’s not the truth.

Fucking less than five months and the metaphorical flames fizzle like a defective sparkler.

The only problem is that those feelings never fizzled for him. Even now, his heart stutters in his chest when you lock eyes with him. When you give him one of your little grins and cock your head as if to say you’ve won in the various dumb debates that you love to drag each other into.

Like right now.

“Seungmin agrees with me,” you say, standing up and shoving your phone at him right as he begins the dance. Hyunjin’s brows raise, blinking and tilting his head in a non-verbal question to get you to move.

“Seungmin agrees with you because it’s a dumb argument… and it’s you versus me.” he mutters the last part, watching you roll your eyes and backtracking to your spot.

“If you’re so confident in this, why am I still here?”

“You could leave,” Hyunjin says, his exertion making his comment sound harsher than he meant it to be. He locks eyes with yours in the mirror, his dark tresses falling in his line of sight. The smirk that threatens to quirk his lips sneaks in when you seemingly freeze on the spot, your eyes wider than usual. “I know you’ve got work in the morning.”

You’re mulling it over in your head now — a glimmer in your eye that Hyunjin pinpoints as he attempts to keep track of where he is in the choreography. He watches your eyes sweep to the phone, most likely checking the time. It’s roughly 1:00 am. You lock eyes again, the answer clear before you speak.

“Well, now I’m not leaving since you want me to.”

He gives a sardonic laugh, rolls his eyes as his foot slips and he misses a beat. Distractions…

“I didn’t say that,” he replies lowly, snatching the towel off the top of the stereo.

“You’re mumbling…”

“I said I didn’t say that,” Hyunjin speaks up, his hand bringing the fabric to his face to pat the sweat from his skin. You watch the drops of sweat as they drip off the ends of his hair when he pulls his hat off, and you feel the need to clear your throat. And then the towel is thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. All it has you doing is a double-take on the black tee shirt he’s wearing. The way it hugs his shoulders and chest should be outlawed, you think.

But then he reaches for the open bottle of water again, and you purse your lips. It’s another short swig, a singular drop of water escaping from the corner of his mouth. It travels down his chin, slowly slipping down the length of his neck, your eyes trained on the path it follows. It stops just before the collar of his black tee and you question why it’s suddenly hotter in the studio.

You swallow, forcing your gaze away and back to your phone before Hyunjin can witness any more of your blatant ogling. As you return your gaze to your phone, you feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You’re not embarrassed, not really, but the idea of getting caught sends your brain into overdrive.

“Still waiting on some critique I can work with~” he sing-songs, placing the bottle and towel back beside his phone.

“Maybe I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, and he chuckles.

“You?! With nothing to say? That’s a first.” He walks over, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.

With the wave of feelings you’re dealing with, Hyunjin’s comment has you bristling. You glare up at him as he arches a brow at you as if challenging you to say something. That stupid smirk quirks his lips. Butterflies swarm in your gut.

“Fine, then.” You lean forward, propping your forearm on your knee as the two of you stare each other down. “You’ve been favoring your right leg through the entire first verse of the song, your hip rolls aren’t deep enough during the chorus, you seem undecided on whether the overall choreo should be slower or faster—” You list off each critique on your fingers, and while Hyunjin wanted your genuine criticism to work toward a better overall performance, he’s clocked out to what you’re saying. His eyes sweep over your face as you continue listing the things he could improve, and he grins at the way your eyes seem to glow in the studio lighting. A fire. Passion for the things he’s passionate about.

“—And another… thing…” Your voice drops to a surprised whisper almost instantly when you feel Hyunjin’s fingers curl under your chin, feather-light against your skin. You blink, realizing just how close he’s gotten, having bent down so his elbows rest on his knees. His head cocks slightly, tongue darting out to lick the corner of his lips. Brown eyes flicker down to yours a moment later.

“Another thing?” Hyunjin repeats, his tone a low murmur. His breaths mingle with yours, your heart beating erratically in such close proximity. His index finger runs the span of your jaw as he stares, a tangible connection that still feels natural and electric to him. A reminder of the silent tension that has always lingered.

The familiar scent of his cologne clouds your senses. It brings you back to the nights he used to spend at your apartment, with the two of you watching K-dramas until 3:00 am. Your bodies a mess of limbs in your bed, his distracting kisses up your neck until you’d try to playfully shove him away. He’d reach for your jaw to pull you in for soft kisses that would evolve into slow and lazy make-outs in his arms. Your eyes dart down at the reminder, and you mentally curse yourself.

“I, Uh.” you stammer out a few words before falling silent, your eyes fixated on his. The moment hangs in the air, the tension between you thick and palpable.

Something, something, boundaries… Something, something, self-control…

Hyunjin can’t help the sly grin, feeling the skin under his touch move when you swallow. All logic has left you in favor of longing for those familiar caresses you had years ago. It sure hasn’t changed, every subtle brush of his fingers ushers forth shivers down your spine. You are teetering on the edge of a cliff, the question being do you jump? You want to. Hell, with the way Hyunjin’s gaze keeps darting down, you can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same way.

You attempt to regain control of yourself, but it’s futile — your focus is lost, distracted by the proximity of his lips. Fuck, is he leaning in…

“Your expressions.” You finally manage, the only lingering critique swirling around in your head. “They, uh, could be sharper…” You say, watching Hyunjin sharpen his gaze like a conniving fox. And like a trickster, his fingers drag from your jaw to your neck, dark eyes following its path until the steady thrum of your pulse halts his journey. Your eyes drink him in, lips parted as Hyunjin’s brow twitches in a knowing gesture.

We can’t do this, not after all this time.

The silence crackles with anticipation. You’re fairly certain that Hyunjin knows some part of this is dangerous cause he hesitates for a moment. But then he’s leaning in, his thumb tracing circles against your neck. You mirror his movements, so close that this sliver of distance feels like a challenge. Unspoken desire hums between you two, a heat that has always lingered, just waiting for the right moment to reignite.

Just friends…

The soft brush of Hyunjin’s lips against yours slams the factory reset on your thoughts, mental gymnastics be damned. The tension snaps like a rubber band. You finally give in, capturing his mouth in a meaningful liplock. It feels like no time has passed - he still kisses you with the same careful tenderness that he always has. That familiar heat runs through your body as you sink into him, chasing his lips when he pulls away for a split second only to recapture yours with a fervor.

Your phone is forgotten in your lap, hands sliding up his chest in a new wave of confidence. You pull him closer and Hyunjin groans softly, his free hand coming up to brace his weight against the wall behind you. Your mouths move together in a seamless rhythm, your kisses growing hungrier and more desperate. The brim of his hat grazes your forehead and you slip one of your hands higher into his hair, hooking your finger around the strap. It falls to the floor with a dull thud, allowing your fingers to rake freely through his dark tresses. A subtle pull that has him smirking against your mouth.

Hyunjin pulls back slightly, his fingers sliding from your neck to your jaw. Your lips part in a sigh as you both sit there on the floor of the dance studio, panting against each other’s mouths. Eyes closed, you feel his forehead rest against yours, your noses brushing. You bite your lip, savoring the warmth of his skin on yours.

“I’ve missed this,” he tells you, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too.” You murmur, lashes fluttering. God, what an understatement. You’ve been close even after you ended things, with friendly shoves and your usual back-and-forth banter. But the feel of his warm hands against your skin, the comfort of his close presence, his plush lips. This is what you’ve truly been craving.

His scent lingers in your lungs, his heart beating steady beneath your palm. You feel Hyunjin’s fingers knead the skin of your jaw, tilting your head up so he can come back for another chaste kiss that soothes the ache in your chest. He pulls back, pressing his lips to your forehead as he shifts to sit beside you on the studio floor, his back to the wall. You lean back, resting your head against the wall, your eyes locked on the ceiling.

Silence… as comfortable as it’s always been with the man beside you, you despise it right now. It only has you in your head after both of your confessions. What does it mean for you two?

Your gaze wanders back to his. Only those browns are already looking back, a softness in them that has always been there when they’re looking at you. Hyunjin gives you a half grin, reaching out for your nearest hand and slipping his fingers between your own. His thumb caresses the back of your hand as you both sit there, minutes passing by.

“You’re not going to say anything, are you?” Hyunjin’s voice shatters the silence, staring up at the ceiling.

“We should be running through what not to do when you stay friends with your ex right about now,” You’re half joking, but your tone is more tense than nonchalant. Hyunjin laughs under his breath, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You don’t look at him, but you feel him squeeze your hand lightly.

“You should know how difficult it is to stay friends with an ex.”

“Oh, is it?” A small huff escapes your mouth, and you steal another glance, licking your lips.

“You don’t need me to tell you why, do you?” Hyunjin replies, his voice a low murmur. His head turns to you, his gaze fixed on your lips as you bite at them nervously. “You could have cut all contact with me. You could have moved on and we would have gone our separate ways…”

“I didn’t want to do that.” You admit. Your fingers twitch in his palm, pads running over small callouses and lines as you try to distract yourself with something. Anything. His hand wraps around yours again, squeezing firmer this time. A gesture of reassurance.

“I didn’t either.”

You swallow, picking your gaze off your entwined hands, and your heart skips a beat when you meet his eyes.

“We’re gonna have to decide what this is, aren’t we?” You say, the words sounding more serious than intended. Hyunjin does respond immediately. He just stares, his eyes awash in a mix of emotions you can’t quite decipher. He breathes in, tilting his head slightly.

“Yeah…” He says, his voice low and steady. The weight of that realization settles on his chest, but Hyunjin shakes his head and offers you a genuine grin. “Maybe after a good night’s rest.”

“And a shower.” You smirk, pulling away from him in a joking fashion. But he pulls you back into him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. You screw your face up and he rolls his eyes.

“Didn’t hear you complaining with my lips on yours just a moment ago.” He teases, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. You huff a laugh, leaning back against him.

“Hard to complain when you’re a good kisser.” you counter, bringing a hand up to his shoulder.

“Ah, couldn’t forget that over the years?” Hyunjin mutters, a hint of playfulness in his tone. His lips connect to the junction of your jaw, slowly trailing kisses down the hollow of your neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder blade, your lashes fluttering over your cheeks.

“I don’t think I ever could.”

Your words send a rush of satisfaction through him and he nips at the sensitive skin just behind your ear. This closeness and playful back and forth is what he’s missed. A comfort that he never wanted to let go of. Even now, as the clock nears 2:00 am.

You capture his face in your hands and pull him back up with little argument, your thumb tracing the corner of his lips.

You don’t realize he’s leaning in again until you feel his lips on yours. It’s a slow and tender kiss this time, but the passion behind it burns hot. You revel in the subtle way he pulls you in, his hand falling off your shoulder to find purchase at your lower back.

Hyunjin eases up, and you’re left breathless yet again, your heart thumping in your chest.

“You gonna be able to sleep after this?” He asks, a sly grin curling his lips.

“Old habits die hard…” You breathe, pulling him in once again.

Psst!! If you've made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read my work 💕 I appreciate you!

[zweiginator]

ooh maybe law student patrick has to go to some fancy event his dad is sponsoring or something & invites reader so he’s not stuck by himself while having to schmooze all night. plus it wasn’t too bad of a deal on your own end since you’d be able to meet a bunch of prominent business people who could help your own budding career.

but then patrick’s dad spots the two of you & immediately starts belittling the fuckkk out of him. telling you he’s never brought a girl to one of these things to meet his family. makes a comment about how the girls he usually hung around were ditzy and vain, that he’s shocked patrick was playing nice with someone so much smarter and more hardworking than him, especially a girl. an ambitious, pretty little thing like you would be great for his firm a few years down the line.

idk how reader would react, but pat would definitely storm out and drag you out with him. his dad might think you’re eloquent and impressive, but patrick can change that in a matter of minutes when he gets you bent over and reminds you why he’d invited you there in the first place.

((i did not mean to yap this much lmao im so sorry))

oh 100% because i think patrick's relationship with his father (and family in general) is so complicated. his father's love for him yo-yos all the time. when he got into law school his father was ecstatic. when his first semester grades came back he was ashamed to be associated with his son. he would never be a partner with B minuses and Cs. that just wouldn't do.

and i think he resents you for a million reasons. one, you are self-made. you didn't need your father's wealth and influence and connections to get you into yale. you did it all by himself and patrick is threatened by that, because he knows he wouldn't have even thought about law school without his father's pushing. so in that sense, he feels like a fraud and a sellout, just existing to appease his family legacy and not actually doing what he wants to. and often times, he wonders how it would have felt to stand up to his father and tell him he wanted to play tennis seriously. professionally. whenever he had brought it up in the past, his father would roll his eyes. make jokes. that wasn't a job, he said. that wouldn't find him a good wife or give him grandchildren. that certainly wouldn't suffice for the zweig name. his son being a so-so tennis player.

he also resents you with how you came into school with a clean slate. nobody knew who you were, who your family was. no reputation preceded you. you have so much resilience but patrick constantly feels like he is battling himself and his family, the expectations of him that are only mounting.

so when patrick's father invites him to a firm gathering, he tells patrick to be charming and respectable. don't come alone and bring someone who is also charming, respectable. his father knows that patrick sleeps around, that he can't keep a girlfriend to save his life. so he's adamant about that last part.

patrick brings you. it only makes sense. and everyone adores you. you're dressed in an impeccable gown with beautiful earrings you saved up for. your handshake is firm and your smile is infectious. you're a natural. you're charismatic. patrick has never seen his father so proud of something his son has done. but that something is you, not his own accomplishments.

patrick feigns a smile all night. tries to butt into conversations, but everyone is so focused on you, what you have to say, your story and upbringing. your perfect grades.

"if only patrick had this much natural motivation!" his father nudges you. patrick's jaw ticks. just another fucking dig at him.

and then the kicker. your father gives you his phone number, the contact information for his firm.

"my business card." he hands it to you. "i'm not sure if you've secured a summer position yet, but we have a great retention rate with interns becoming attorneys at the firm and eventually partners. i think you'd be a perfect fit."

you shake his hand firmly and thank him. this opportunity is huge. and regardless of what you've heard about the zweig family--patrick's father really is smart and hardworking and charismatic. you see where patrick gets it from.

but patrick is just staring ahead of him, his lips pursed. he had been attempting to bring up the possibility of being a summer intern for his father, which he had vehemently refused speaking about for months. and now you come along with vanilla perfume and cherry red lipstick and you have the position secured.

and patrick knows you're smart and capable and deserving. but he really fucking hates you right now. he wants to make you feel dumb. and maybe he should feel bad when he says he feels sick and asks you to come to the bathroom with him.

he pulls your dress up around your waist and fucks you like a whore. hand splayed on your lower back and one yanking your hair. you can't think coherently, you can't say a word. you just hang on and listen to the lewd slaps of skin against skin. of patrick's taunts. this isn't what a respectable girl does. a respectable career woman doesn't fuck her boss's son in the bathroom like a fucking slut.

maybe it makes him feel better to know he can hold this above your head.

[vintagebuckybarnes]

The Millionaire's Muse

Pairing → College Student! Escort! Bucky Barnes x CEO! Silver Fox! Steve Rogers

Total Wordcount → 1.7K

Summary → When Bucky went off to college, he never imagined he'd become one of the most exclusive and most wanted escorts that New York has to offer. Still, his favorite client - none other than the CEO of Rogers' Industries - is more than happy to remind him why his younger companion earned his reputation in spades.

Tags & Warnings → Canon divergence. College Student! Bucky Barnes. Escort! Bucky Barnes. CEO! Steve Rogers. Silver Fox! Steve Rogers. Large age gap (~ 30 years). College AU. Escort AU. Cursing. Hints of mutual pining. Explicit sexual content.

Tags: Smut → Dom/sub undertones. Dom! Steve Rogers. Sub! Bucky Barnes. Height difference. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Praise. Shower sex. Oral (M receiving). Deepthroating. Cum swallowing.

Story Rating → Explicit

Author's Note → Hi, everyone! First, thank you all so much for enjoying my first story! It has brought me a lot of happiness to see the support. With this story, I'll be diving into my favorite pairing - Stucky - for the first time, so please let me know what you think after reading it! 💜

Writing Prompts @fandombingo → Exclusive Escort For Rich Clients | Shower Sex | Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers | Deepthroating

"What the fuck is wrong with you?! I asked you to do one damn thing, and even that can't be done?! You're fucking fired, Odinson," Steve barks through the phone before hanging up and throwing it onto his large oak desk. His head of the law department - Thor Odinson - has once again failed to stick to his promises, and Steve's had enough.

As he falls back into his leather chair, he runs his hands through his greying hair, his eyes slipping shut as the anger soars through his body. He lets himself be angry for a few minutes, but then he gathers himself and his mood again, knowing he will need a distraction to get over how he feels now.

Steve reaches for his phone again, his fingers quickly bringing him to one of the contacts he's happy to have stored in such moments. With one hand, he holds the phone to his ear; with the other, he rubs his temple, a soft throbbing sensation starting to appear.

"Stark," the man on the other end of the line says, and Steve immediately smiles.

"Hello to you as well, Tony. Is this a good time?" Steve asks as his eyes roam over his desk, papers spread everywhere after his call with his former head of law inside Rogers' Industries. At the thought, he can feel his blood boiling again.

"It's always a good time when you call, Steve. Lookin' for a distraction again tonight?" Tony says, a hint of teasing in his voice. The two of them have been friends for as long as Steve can remember, and since Tony started an escort service, he's happily used his services.

"You know I do, Tony, but I have one request. Can you send the young boy over again - James? He will be exactly the right kind of distraction I'm looking for. I'll even pay extra if needed."

"No need; he's all yours for the evening. When do you want me to send him over?"

"As soon as he can be here."

With that, Steve hangs up and puts his phone on the desk again, but he's already feeling a bit more relaxed, knowing he's about to see his favorite escort again. From the first time Bucky came by Steve's luxurious apartment, they've had a special connection - almost as if they'd known each other for a lifetime already.

Soft, wordless music plays in the elevator, taking Bucky to the 50th floor of one of New York's most prominent skyscrapers. Even though he's been in this very same position more times than he can count, he can't help but feel nervous butterflies in his stomach as he watches the numbers go up.

He may only be a mere 22 years of age, but he's already built quite a prominent, well-paying client base while working at Stark Escort Services, and today, he'll pay a visit to one of his favorite customers: Founder and CEO of Rogers' Industries - Steve Rogers. Mere months ago, Tony named Bucky 'The exclusive escort for rich clients,' giving him a fantastic reputation while earning enough money to get him through college without any debt.

As the elevator lets him know he's at the desired floor, Bucky gets out before straightening his shirt and running a hand through his hair again, wanting to look nothing short of amazing for Steve. Soon, he finds himself in front of a dark wooden door, raising his hand and knocking rapidly.

From inside the apartment, Bucky can hear the click-clacking of expensive shoes on the hardwood floor, and when the large door swings open, he has to try his hardest not to drop his jaw onto the floor.

Steve stands in a tailored, dark blue suit, his shirt half unbuttoned and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His greying hair is lightly tousled from all the times he has run his hand through it, and the beard he's been growing gives him a perfectly rugged vibe, leaving Bucky speechless and hard.

"James, hey," Steve says before stepping aside, a warm feeling in his chest as he watches the young man enter his space. As Bucky walks into the living room, he admires the view that unfolds in front of him, with Steve trailing closely behind as he takes in the sight of Bucky's tight jeans, dress shirt, sneakers, and long hair that's been neatly styled, away from his face.

"Uhm, would you- maybe, want something to drink?" Steve asks, unsure what has suddenly gotten over him. He has seen Bucky more times than he can count, but something about today feels different, and he can't place his finger on why.

Instead of answering him, Bucky turns around to wrap his arms around Steve's neck, kissing the taller man's soft, pink lips in neediness. Though surprised initially, Steve quickly recovers as he pulls him closer, his tongue happily exploring the younger man's mouth.

They can barely let go of each other long enough to get undressed, leaving a trail of clothes on their way to Steve's bathroom, which has a huge rainshower.

"James, I need you so bad," Steve whispers against Bucky's neck between a trail of open-mouthed kisses as the shower's water warms up. His cock is already standing at full-hardness as Bucky wraps his hand around it, his fingers barely fitting around his girth.

"Hmm, you need Daddy's cock, don't ya? So desperate for it you can't wait until you're down on your knees, lookin' all pretty for me?" At those words, Bucky's cheeks turn a deep shade of red, making him look adorable as he meets Steve's gaze.

"Y-yes, Daddy," he breathes out, his thoughts slowing down exponentially while slipping into a fuzzier headspace. Steve's smile spreading on his features has Bucky smiling with him, pride swelling in his chest as he takes his time working Steve's length.

"Well, if ya need my cock so bad, you'd better get on your knees, sugar."

Bucky's eyes widen at the words, but he nods slowly as he steps back, his body drenched by the water from the large showerhead above him. His mouth is hanging open slightly, eagerly awaiting what's to come. Between his legs, his cock is also in need of some attention, but he knows better than to touch himself without Steve's permission.

"Look at ya on your knees, such a good boy for me," Steve praises him as he lets the water run over his broad, muscled back, his thumb pushing between Bucky's lips as he looks up at Steve. A smirk appears as he enjoys the sight beneath him of the young man sucking his digit, his cock being so hard it's almost painful as he takes in the moment.

Without warning, Steve replaces his thumb with the tip of his cock as he presses gently against Bucky's plump lips, pre-cum smearing on them as he opens willingly. A groan escapes Steve's chest at the feeling of the warmth he's entering; Bucky always seems to know how to suck his soul out through the older man's cock.

"That's it," he grunts as he slowly feeds Bucky more and more of his hard length, the younger man's fingers digging into Steve's thighs as his own hands gently guide his head with every move and every thrust.

"Feels so good, fuck- I needed this, needed you so bad." The words keep flowing out as Bucky expertly takes more of Steve into his mouth, his tip quickly hitting the back of Bucky's throat. Drool escapes around his length, and the look in Bucky's eyes is sure to drive Steve crazy - there's not a single thought behind them, and it makes him feel proud of getting him to that point.

Steve entangles his fingers in Bucky's hair, gripping gently as he sets the pace of working himself deeper into his throat until he's taking every last inch of him so deep Steve can barely think straight anymore.

"James- 'm gonna- so close," he grunts as he fucks Bucky with long, deep strokes, the gagging around his cock being like fuel to his fire as his orgasm crests quickly. Without warning, Steve stills as his tip on Bucky's tongue, eagerly waiting for what's about to come.

Bucky expertly swallows around every last drop of his orgasm, the salty taste invading his mouth in the best way possible. Steve's head is thrown back as he ruts his hips a few more times until he's spent and slowly softening in Bucky's mouth, every last bit of his frustrations he had earlier gone completely.

"C'mere," he says as he hauls Bucky onto his feet before kissing him, though this time a lot gentler than before. His thumbs run over Bucky's cheeks as they take their time with the soft kiss, their hearts beating faster with every passing second.

"I'll never get enough of you and this amazing mouth, you know?" Steve says with a smirk, and Bucky's eyes lighten at the compliment.

"And I'll never get enough of your thick cock, Daddy," Bucky says teasingly, making Steve smile widely before kissing him again and sinking onto his knees, wanting to give Bucky the same amount of pleasure he had the honor of enduring not too long ago.

At the end of the night, when it's finally time for Bucky to leave, Steve grabs a few 100 dollar bills for Bucky, even though payment typically goes through Tony, who will give Bucky a fair amount after the fees of using his Escort Service have been paid.

"I-I can't take this, Steve!"

"Buy yourself something nice for the next time you come over, James. I definitely want to see you again this weekend," he says with a wink and a smirk, making Bucky blush deeply. He wants nothing more than to see Steve again, too.

Steve steps forward, pushing the younger man against the front door before kissing him again, needing one last taste before finally letting him go for the evening. That night, he's sleeping better than he has in a long time, and it's all thanks to Bucky - the sweetest, kindest boy he's ever met, but who's also the best lover he could have imagined.

And he can't wait to make Bucky his soon.

Masterlist → Stucky Masterlist

GIF: Source → All the other graphics are made by @vintagebuckybarnes

If you'd like to be tagged in future stories, add yourself to my tag list here.

[hypernova-writes]

Im on my knees as i typing this, I NEED REQUEST THIS TO SOMEONE https://www.tiktok.com/@alecio.sun/photo/7432648182913355014?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7417049009333863944 fic where one day reader mischievously dailing random numbers on phone planning to be prankcall and it connected to blu sniper, they started off small talk and it turned become daily activites calling eachother talking random stuff, how their days been and turned into friends and more idk? I NEED HIM -🐈‍⬛

a/n: PLEASE I'VE SEEN THIS I WAS IN SHAMBLES MY POOR BABY- So yes I will write this because oh my god ;-;

I Just Called to Say, I love you. (BLU! Sniper x Reader)

based on this song (I used to play it all the time in my music class on piano-)

It all started with a random number.

You were bored, and decided to start randomly calling numbers, dialing them just for fun.

You got a lot of no answers, a few people wanting to hold a conversation, pranking a few, a few angry people, but never more than that.

That was until one day, you called him.

At first you were just going prank him and tell him some shitty ass joke, until you heard him actually speak.

“Hey..can ya..maybe stay on the line wit me?”

You were confused at first, but you shrugged, what’s the harm in talking to the fellow? You could tell he had an accent, it was kinda cute. He sounded shy almost, surprised that someone else actually answered him.

“You know, I didn’t expect someone to ever call me.” “Huh? What do you mean?” You asked him, and he went silent for a bit before finally answering.

“Sometimes..I stand at the phone, waiting for hours, for someone to call..and you were the first to ever do so.”

You could feel your heart twist. You didn’t know why, but you felt drawn to this guy, feeling awful. Everyone should have someone to call home to.

And you wanted to be that person for him.

“Hey..What’s your name?” “Me?” “Yea you. You’re the only person on the other side of the line.” You joked, and that pulled a short chuckle from him.

“Mundy.” “Mundy? Well…I’ll be here whenever you need to call, I’m Y/n.”

He goes silent on the other side for a bit.

“Same time tomorrow?” “Of course.”

—

This started a steady routine between the two of you, like clockwork you would call, and it didn’t take him that long to pick up.

You learned he was a mercenary, a Sniper to be exact. You would sometimes hear his teammates in the background, asking him who he was talking to, trying to be nosey and interrupt to which he’d yell at them for.

You explained what you did for work to him, and you sighed. “It’s not as fun compared to your job, I bet you get to travel all the time.”

He chuckles at you, “Maybe, I do have my own camper, I drive alot. Tend to be sent on longer assignments. Thats why i’m late sometimes..”

“Oh no it’s okay! I can understand, sniping must be an interesting job though!” “Hmm. I guess so.”

He would ask you about your day all the time, excited to hear from you, even if you did something so mundane like laundry.

In reality, he just loved to hear your voice.

It felt so nice to actually have someone on the other end to listen to. He could listen to you read the most boring book in the world and he’d still be there, eagerly waiting for your call.

That’s when he realized, you were no longer just a friend that he would call everyday.

He was falling in love with you. And he didn’t know how in the world to say it. Hell he was just a stranger that you so happened to call one day! The two of you had just figured out how each other looked after sending letters when he couldn’t call one day.

You were beautiful, and he still felt like he didn’t deserve you at all.

“Mundy? You still there?”

Fuck. He didn’t realize he had zoned out, “Y-yea..I-’m still ‘ere sheila..Just thinking.” “Thinking about what?” You asked and he didn’t process his words before they just came spilling out of his mouth.

“How lucky I am..to get to hear your voice everyday.”

The phone went silent for a while and Sniper got worried as he tried to fumble to find the words to try and reign back the conversation when he heard you begin to giggle.

“Well..I’m glad to know..you feel the same way I feel about you..”

Sniper could feel the blush trail up on his face and he just knew his ears were bright pink, he hid his face as he leaned closer to the phone as if that would put him closer to you.

“Wa-wait? Really?..” he managed to get out. His heart felt like it was doing several backflips at once. He gripped his chest as he waited with bated breath for you next words.

“Mhm..I love talking to you…Just like..I love you.”

Sniper feels a grin slowly creeps on his face, he starts chuckling as he blushes. You said it. You said it..You loved him. Just as he did you.

“I hope you know, That i have to see you now.” “Well, You have the letter i sent right?” “Yea.” “Ill be waiting then.”

The call dropped and Sniper felt his lanky body move faster that it ever had before, he quickly went out to his camper and grabbed the letter, he then pulled out his map, seeing that you truly did not live that far, a 2 hour drive was nothing, he’d driven farther for missions. He could use the next cease fire day to go and see-

“YO SNIPES! PHONE!”

Sniper was confused, as he quickly ran back to the phone, snatching it from Scout who only rolled his eyes at him.

“..’ello?” “Just calling back to say, I love you~”

I LOVED WRITING THIS SO MUCH MY HEART-

[look-at-the-soul]

Because of you

Modern Tommy Shelby x reader

🎉 @runnning-outof-time I write this little fluffy piece for your celebration! Hope you like this! Congratulations on 4K followers, and also thank you for your kindness, your constant content -which I’m trying to catch up on-, and your little sweet and cheerful messages K! 💖 I’m particularly grateful for your presence in this fandom (the very first blog I remember following and following me back!)

Last but not least, thank you @justrainandcoffee for the absolutely beautiful moodboard!!!!!!! ♥️✨ It’s everything I imagined and even more ✨

A/N: Keep reading until the end, you’ll find a recipe in case this story makes you go hungry 🤭 because in this blog we share photos and recipes, whatever you want 😉 I couldn’t help it but add the grandma element in this one (Grandma’s series) and a little baby fever 👀 @forbidden-forest-witch

Word count: 2,308

“Alright Polly, I’ll deal with the contracts tomorrow morning.”

“Thanks, Ada should be sending you the papers.”

“Enjoy the rest of your holiday already, bye.” He added but didn’t hang up. He heard her laughing at the other end of the line. “For good, have some fucking rest.”

She was just like him, refused to take days off, now she was finally about to embark into a cruise around the Mediterranean.

“Are you home yet?” She asked.

“Yeah, just want to take a bath and go to sleep.” But that was so unlikely since both his children were home for the weekend.

“Give Y/N and the kids a kiss from me.” Polly requested and finally hung up.

Getting a phone call from an known number, Tommy decided he was done for the day, so pressing the red button, he walked into his apartment and immediately the voices coming from the kitchen caught his attention.

Genuine, loud laughs filled the hall and he recognized the unmistakable song in the background.

“I want the pink M&M’s!” Shouted Ruby.

“Why do you like everything that’s pink?” Charlie questioned as Tommy left his keys and wallet by the table.

“Because…” his daughter’s voice mumbled something he didn’t understand. “Y/N can you spin me around again, pleeeease?”

Tommy was about to interrupt the scene going on the kitchen, but he stopped midway as Y/N turned around and leaned forward, Ruby wrapped her arms and legs from behind while Y/N held her feet and slowly twirled around. Making his daughter giggle uncontrollably, her hair flowing.

“Okay now go back to your chair because you’re making the baby twirl inside too.” Y/N joked.

“I don’t know how you do it, when I was pregnant all I could was throw up. You need to take it easy.” Her mother asked in a worried tone.

“Mom I’m fine, besides the baby really wants a slice.” Then, looking at Charlie, she gasped. “Oh Charlie we don’t lick the spatula,” she told him in a calm tone, but it was too late he was done decorating his slice and now half his face was covered in chocolate, “well, what’s a few germs between friends huh?”

As the kids started giggling, she noticed Tommy standing by the door.

She was wearing a black tight dress that looked like a second skin on her, wrapping every curve perfectly and also showing his favorite new feature; the baby bump fully on display. Her hair free, wild long waves covered her back. A few bracelets hanging from her wrist, the Cartier watch he gave her for their first anniversary and her signature smile that took his breath away.

“I didn’t hear you,” wiping her hands with a cloth, she approached her husband. “Missed you.”

His hands wrapped around her back immediately as their lips connected. She tasted like cheesecake and strawberries.

“I missed you too.” He whispered and crunching down, he planted a kiss on her swollen belly. “How’s my little one, eh?”

“Starving and wriggling around.” Y/N answered as Tommy went for another kiss, this time on her lips.

“Eww, dad.” Charlie complained. Embarrassed by their affection.

Ignoring his son’s complain, he went to kiss Ruby on the cheek and then kissed Charlie as well, ruffling his blonde hair in the process.

“Hello Lisa, how are you doing?”

“Trying to make Y/N sit, but she won’t listen to me.” His mother in law welcomed him with a hug.

“Yeah, I deal with that on a daily basis.” He winked at her playfully.

“Hello? I’m standing right here!” Y/N waved at them.

“Oh!” Tommy made an innocent face. “Right, well I didn’t say anything.”

Ruby laughed. “Look Dad! Y/N had some crampings and we made a cheesecake!”

“I think she means cravings right?” He asked Y/N in a low voice, making his wife smile. “We? Are you sure you baked that?”

“Weeeeell Y/N and grandma baked it, but we decorated it!” She defended.

“And we made all slices with different topings.” Added Charlie.

Tommy’s heart melted as he heard his daughter call Y/N’s mother grandma, she and Polly were the closest his kids had.

He had lost his mother a long time ago, but once Y/N stepped into his life everything changed. Lonely nights were filled with love, long and deep talks. Actually, thanks to her, Tommy started to spend quality time with his children; Charlie and Ruby, driving them or picking them up from school, arranging plans on the weekends, even taking them both on holidays.

And Lisa welcomed not only him into her family lovingly, but both his kids as if they were her biological grandchildren.

“So which one is for me?” He asked after clearing his throat, he tried to hide his emotions, but Y/N could read him like an open book and a moment later he felt her hand on his back and her head on his shoulder. “These all look great.”

He spied on the slices with several options.

“Y/N said chocolate marble is your favorite.” Ruby gave him a serious stare.

“That’s about right.” He nodded profusely in her direction, then looking at his mother in law, he asked her; “I hope they didn’t give you loads of work.”

“None of that, they’re amazing kids.” Lisa beamed.

A groan came from the fridge, Tommy went immediately after Y/N worried.

“What is it?”

“We were going to put the pizza in the oven, but I can’t stand the smell.” She made a face.

Tommy decided to check the food, it had been in the freezer but it might be bad.

“This doesn’t smell, Y/N.”

“I just don’t want pizza anymore.” She pouted.

And in that very same moment, Tommy understood this was one of those mood swings caused by the pregnancy. A careful smile spread on his lips as his hands caressed her bump gently.

“Okay, so what do you want for dinner instead?”

By the corner of his eye, he saw his mother in law trying to suppress a giggle, luckily the children were busy with the cheesecake.

“We want tacos.” Y/N batted her eyelashes as she ran one of her hands over her stomach.

“Alright everybody,” he clapped his hands and looked at Charlie and Ruby, “go wash your hands then you’re going to help me prepare some tacos.”

“Yay!”

“Delish.” Ruby shouted and went into the bathroom.

“You’re staying with us right?” He asked Y/N’s mother.

She nodded and felt grateful when Tommy convinced her daughter to go and relax into the living room while they worked on the food.

“Last week she woke me up in the middle of the night because she wanted fried mozzarella sticks with mayonnaise.”

Y/N’s mother laughed as the kids joined them again.

“This is insane, I don’t know how you keep up with all of that.”

“I was worried about her health and the baby of course, but the doctor mentioned everything is perfect, baby is healthy… perhaps it’s the fact that she’s still doing exercise.”

“When I was pregnant I was sick all the time. She didn’t like anything of food I got.”

Tommy seemed to think about it as he started seasoning the beef.

“Actually Y/N felt like that for a few days after we found out, but then she started to eat pretty much everything, everywhere.” He chuckled. “Thankfully it’s been an easy pregnancy so far.”

He had actually been able to live this pregnancy to the fullest, joining Y/N for the doctor’s appointments, cravings, hormonal days, everything, something he didn’t have the chance to do with Charlie and Ruby.

He was enjoying every little change in Y/N’s body, the first time he felt a little kick, he cried actually, touched by the thought of his baby growing inside the woman he loved. They actually wanted to keep the gender a surprise until the baby arrives, it had been a challenge at times, but it was fun.

“Dad where’s the onion?” Ruby showed him the open fridge.

“Oh no, no… can we not add onions please?” Y/N joined them with a wrinkled nose.

“Two days ago you ate a full portion of fried onions, love.”

“This baby,” she pointed at her belly, “wanted onions, not me.”

“Isn’t it the same?” Charlie asked confused.

But Tommy knew better. “No onions then, I’ll start the grill with something else.” He added wanting to please her in every little detail.

As the kids helped Y/N’s mother to wash the avocados, Tommy got rid of his suit jacket.

Y/N stared at his back, wide with broad, toned shoulders covered by a perfectly fitted shirt. She loved to see him wearing daily a three piece suit in a world full of oversized t-shirts and pants.

But when he started rolling the sleeves of his shirt up, she lost it completely.

The sight of him was mouthwatering.

And as Tommy turned around, he caught her staring at her, the fire in her eyes could turn him on in a second.

“Behave, Y/N.” He whispered, disguising his words with a kiss on her hair. “Perhaps we’ll need a babysitter over the weekend?”

He chuckled at the way she nodded eagerly.

“My, my… what would your brothers say if they saw you wearing an apron and cooking?” Y/N’s mother joked, making everyone laugh by her sincerity.

“This is a secret we’ll have to keep, alright.” Tommy winked before checking the steak, he then asked Ruby to -carefully- and under his supervision to add cheese to the tortillas. “Chef Shelby only cooks for very very special people.” He added throwing a kiss to the air.

As Charlie brought the plates over the counter, he started slicing the meat and the explosion of flavors in the kitchen started to smell incredibly good.

Y/N’s mother was in charge of the different sauces, it was a usual now in their fridge as Y/N craved tortilla chips with sauce most of the time.

“Wow… this is Instagram worth it.” Y/N admitted taking a looking over Charlie’s shoulder. As the kid grinned at her, he made sure to serve a tortilla in each plate, to then hand it to his father so he could add the carne asada.

“What a beautiful family.” Y/N’s mother admitted, touched by the way Ruby was caressing Y/N’s stomach, Charlie helping with her food and Tommy looking after all of them.

Leaving the spoon, Tommy wrapped an arm around his loved ones while extending his free hand towards his mother in law.

“What are you doing there? You’re part of this too.”

After they were all released from the tightest hug, it was time to finally enjoy some tacos.

“Now shoo,” Tommy ushered Y/N out of the kitchen to arrange the food.

Gathering a tray, he placed the bowl with the guacamole and around all the tacos he just prepared. Leaving a small space for the sauces.

“Oh my God! This is so good!” Y/N admitted loudly after her first taco bite.

“Dad why does Y/N can eat before all of us?” Ruby asked innocently, confused because she was always told to wait until everyone were ready.

Tommy chuckled while Y/N apologized for not waiting the rest of the family.

“We don’t want to upset the baby, Rube. Right mama?”

Y/N nodded, her mouth was watering at the sight of the rest of the food. “That taco was for the baby, the next one is for me.”

After the kids took their place, Y/N’s mother offered a hand to each kid, seated each by her side. “Now what are we grateful for?”

“For this moment.” Tommy took the lead, feeling ever so grateful to have his loved ones in that room.

“For the cheesecake we’ll eat after dinner.” Charlie grinned.

“For this baby, and for each one of you.” Y/N’s words were followed by a smile.

“For my grand son or daughter!” Her mother joined the joy.

“For my little sister or brother.” Ruby added lastly.

“Now…” Tommy interrupted their hands mind-air as they were all after the delicious food on the table. “There’s something else I’m thankful for, tomorrow morning, we’ve to get up early because,” he was then interrupting by a chorus of groans and a pout from Y/N, “nevertheless… we’re going to visit a couple of houses to move in as soon as possible.”

“What?” Y/N was in shock.

“Love, this baby is coming very soon, we’ll need a bigger place than this apartment, I was thinking of a room for each,” he looked over at both children, “a nursery for the baby and of course a guest bedroom so you don’t have to share Ruby’s bed anymore.” He added looking at his mother in law.

“Oh Tommy!” Y/N’s eyes swelled with gratitude.

“I’ve narrowed the search to five properties so you’ll get to make the final decision.” He explained then.

“A house! Tommy a house!” Y/N couldn’t believe what she just heard.

“With a garden.” He encouraged.

“Can we have a pool?” Charlie asked.

“I want a doll house!”

“Whatever you want.” Tommy added, winking in Y/N’s direction. “Can we eat now?”

As the kids stormed to get their tacos, Y/N took his hand. A growing smile on her lips.

“You never said anything.” Her eyes sparkled.

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“I’m so happy because of you.” Her sincerity wasn’t just in her words, but in her eyes as well.

And deep down, Tommy couldn’t believe that thanks to her, he was able to find stability, loyalty, freedom, love, a family, someone who helped him every day to be a better person.

****

I hope you enjoyed this little story! 🥰 remember, your feedback (in all ways) is always welcome and highly appreciated! ✨ xx

Tacos recipe

Master list

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @zablife @elk96 @blondie-22 @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @everythingelseisextra @kmc1989 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @lau219 @lauren-raines-x @red-riding-wood

[tgmsunmontue]

I never knew I was missing you 3/? WIP

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

ONE TWO

PART THREE

                Jake can barely believe that he’s enjoying chatting with someone electronically so much. He’s always been a social person, never considered that he’d be able to make a connection with someone without it being in person. Everything he’d already thought, double with the fact he’s now seen a clip of Brad’s abs, and yes, he’s vain, sue him, but it has him even more curious about meeting him.

…            …            …

>>See what your namesake does to me?

                Bradley opens the app and almost chokes on his tongue. Jake’s cock is lying on his stomach, still hard but he’s clearly just come. It’s fucking gorgeous and Bradley wants to lick it clean. His hands tremble a little as he types out his response.

>>Jesus. Warn a guy.

>>You going to reciprocate?

                God. Slider would kill him if he sent pictures, let alone ones of his cock, no matter what state it was in. Which right now is increasingly hard. They haven’t done this before, just teetered very carefully along the line but not quite tipping over. Of course, Jake’s now gone and done a deep-dive and Bradley is getting hard in his pants. He doesn’t even know if he can or should take a screen shot. He needs to ask for some advice.

                “Neil! How secure is my phone…?”

                “As secure as we can make it… why?”

                “Just. Uh. If I was going to send some pictures…”

                “Nope. Don’t do it man.”

                “But…”

                “Bradley. Callie would kill you.”

                “Shit. I hadn’t even thought of her. Just Slider.”

                “Oh yeah, fuck. You’re dead regardless, so don’t do it. Look. Just ask the guy to do a video call. Problem solved.”

                “Oh! Yeah. That’s really smart… Thanks man!”

                “Yeah, no problem.”

                Bradley waves his hand and goes to his bedroom,

>>You want to see how hard you make me?

>>You willing to accept a video call?

>>You serious?

…            …            …

                Jake blinks.

                Brad wants to do a video call.

                Holy shit.

                That’s more than just a face reveal, that’s an entire whole thing, voice and face and body

>>Hell yes. Bring it.

                He sends through his number and not even fifteen seconds later his phone is vibrating and chiming and he scrambles to answer it. He doesn’t get to see Brad's face for more than a second, and he’s covered in dark-golden stubble but Jake isn’t sure if he’s imagining the passing likeness to Bradley Bradshaw or whether he’s just projecting and maybe becoming slightly delusional. Maybe Brad does double-work or something. Huh. Does he have a brother maybe? Brad is mumbling and fixing his phone onto something and then he’s got a view down the expanse of Brad’s body and holy shit he’s gorgeous.

                “Brad, I just got off… what do you want me to do here?”

                “Watch.”

                “Oh. Fuck. Yeah. Okay. I can do that…”

                He watches as Brad’s hand works on his cock, as he rolls out of frame for a brief moment and then comes back with slick fingers and then he’s groaning. Jake groans in response, wishes he was wearing headphones so he could pretend that moan was right into his ear rather than through a screen. Brad’s body looks enough like Bradley Bradshaw he could pretend it’s actually him, but he doesn’t want to delude himself like that. Plus he’s already jerked off over pictures of Bradley Bradshaw today, right now he has a very real Brad jerking off for him and he’s fucking hot, breath coming in little gasps as his hand works. Then there are fingers going behind his balls and Jake groans again, because he can’t zoom in, or get in close and personal no matter how much he wants to. Then he hears what Brad is saying, Jake’s name on repeat and he groans, palms his cock because he’s getting hard again.

                “Brad…” he breathes, voice husky and he hears and sees Brad’s body shiver. “Fuck you’re beautiful. You going to come for me baby?”

                Brad makes a little broken sound, his hips jerking up and his breath is coming harder and faster, hand a blur of movement and it’s all too small on the screen of his phone, Jake wants this in person. As soon as possible. The fact that Brad’s done this, video called him, makes him feel more confident that maybe he’ll share his real name with him, although he sort of hopes his name at least has Brad in it, because it’s very firmly stuck in his head now. However he’ll get used to calling him by his real name eventually.

                “Jake, Jake, Jake… so close…”

                “Come on then baby, no need to hold back on my part. I already came remember?” Jake reminds him, although he’s pretty sure he will be coming again soon enough. And then, as he watches, he sees Brad’s body freeze and he worries for a brief moment that the connection has been lost, but the sound coming through is Brad’s broken gasping breaths sounding wrecked and then Brad’s body slumps like the strings have been cut.

                “Fucking gorgeous…” Jake breathes. “Want to lick you clean.”

                For some reason that makes Brad let out a huff of laughter.

                “Great minds. I had the same thought when I saw that picture you sent through to me.”

                “What? Gorgeous?”

                “Well, yeah, obviously. But more the wanting to lick you clean.”

                “Oh… hmm. Yeah. We should get onto that.”

                “We should, should we?” Brad asks, amusement clear and Jake rolls his eyes.

                “Yeah. We should.”

FOUR

[butch-reidentified]

well my wife & I had literally just arrived downtown, were still walking down the sidewalk to the bar, when we run into this guy on the corner interacting aggressively with a very anxious-looking woman trying to lock a shop door and two young boys. my wife instantly steps in and firmly asks the man to step back a bit while I check in with the woman. he's obviously drunk and belligerent, and starts shouting at us. "I'm just talking to my son, I'm not allowed to talk to my son?"

she explains very straightforwardly that this is her restaurant she owns, and he's her abusive ex who's always hanging around her restaurant and trying to manipulate the kids by talking shit about her and giving her diabetic son candy. she tells us that the local police and "everyone" knows about this situation, that's she's tried twice to get a restraining order, he's stolen from her and her restaurant multiple times, etc.

he asks my wife and me with disgust if we're "girlfriends or something," to which I respond that it's absolutely none of his business. he asks us why we're in his business, then. She tells us he slapped her a few minutes prior, because of what she was wearing. He says it isn't fair that he "never got to see her like that" while they were dating because he "was always working in her restaurant." I ask him who the fuck told him seeing her ~like that~ was his right.

we ask her if she wants us to walk her to her car/home, and she says she lives a couple blocks away and that would be really good. as we walk away, he tells her "spirits" are going to come and get her tonight. so we walk with her and the kids, let her vent about him and everything she's tried to do to stop this without anything changing, how the police don't care and how they believed him that HER home and restaurant were his because he's a white man and she's a black woman, and they interrogated her while asking him nothing.

On the walk, he walks up behind us to a bit ahead of us to where the older boy is on his bicycle, and starts talking to the older boy again, but not before shouting to us that "men should be with women." She refuses to engage, and we follow her lead. I ask her some questions to get a feel for what she might have or need. We give her our phone numbers and a short spiel about available community resources and the importance of women looking out for other women. I tell her I can connect her with those resources and am happy to arrange help for her to complete the restraining order process, as the barriers preventing her previously have been things like being unable to arrange for childcare so she can go to court. She asks if she can give us hugs, and we say of course.

We stay while she and her piece of shit ex verbally battle for control of the older son. She's asking him to come up to their apartment. We can't hear what he's saying to the kid, but he keeps shifting position to block her from making eye contact with her son. She tells us he is teaching the kid to view and treat women like he does. She tells us the kid needs counseling and is struggling with depression.

We stay until the older son gets his father's permission to go upstairs with her. He approaches us on the corner as we wait to be able to cross, and asks us again about our relationship to each other. We tell him again it isn't his business. He asks why we get to ask for all of his information, then. My wife points out that we didn't even ask his name.

for several long and irritating minutes, he stands a foot away from us running his mouth while we wait to be able to cross. at a couple points, he borders on threatening, but never crosses the line. I keep my hand on my gun in my pocket regardless. I tell him I heard what he said about "spirits" and if anything happens to her tonight (or at all), we'll know who did it. he tells me I'm funny. my wife has already made a phone call, and we have three people on the way from our friend's bar (which is 1 store over from her restaurant). he hears her phone call and tells us that's a bad idea. I ask him if that's a threat. he stays silent as the light finally turns and we begin to cross.

he doesn't follow.

on the way home, we pass three separate police cars, and my blood is boiling hotter each time.

I really hope she's safe tonight. I really hope she reaches out and lets us help.

tonight was a stark reminder that all of our communities are rife with abusive men and abused women, all the time, and nobody is looking out for these women. know your community's needs and resources. any day or night could be the time you stumble across one of these situations. you'll be grateful you have that knowledge to share when you do.

[umathurwin]

my boy’s a winner, he loves the game

Summary: Kiara has a big favor to ask of Rafe. Who is he to not oblige?

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

The clinking of metal weights and Rafe’s music filled the crisp air. Every few seconds, another grunt would reverb around the gym and Kiara poked her head out further so she’d be in his line of sight.

“Kie?” he asked, dropping his 45s on the squishy floor mat, where they bounced and rolled away. “Y’scared me. Need something?”

She closed the door behind her, checking once more that no one was listening. Sarah had started another argument with John B, so it could be a while before Kiara had to return to her friend’s bedroom.

Kie swallowed thickly. “Yes, actually. It’s kind of weird, and a big thing to ask, so I need you to ignore how crazy it is for me to come to you about this.”

“You’re looking to try snow,” he nodded solemnly, reaching down for his water bottle and twisting the cap open.

“What?! No!”

He froze. He leaned in and dropped his voice. “You want to try k?”

“I don’t want any drugs, Rafe.”

His posture corrected and he brought the bottle to his mouth. “Oh. Then what?”

As he drank, several cold droplets slipped out of his mouth and down his chin, dripping onto his chest and dry fit shirt. Even in the chill at which the Camerons held their home gym, he was sweating. His smell washed over her. His eyes followed hers as she ogled him, nearly forgetting why she was there.

“Wanna hook up?” she blurted, unsure of how else to word it. Can we have sex felt too formal. Will you fuck me probably would’ve sufficed, but she lacked the bite. Especially with this lupine in front of her, reducing her to a doe-eyed stutterer.

He pulled the lip away from his mouth and used the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe off the mess from his face. This time, her eyes remained fixed north of his shoulders.

“Hmm. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Well?” she snapped, growing more edgy (and humiliated) by the second. She probably should’ve expected that he wouldn’t make this easy on her.

“Can I think about it? Oh my God…” he hollowly chastised. “If you’re gonna be this impatient when I’m inside you…”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Rafe!”

“I’m just messing with you. What’s got you so desperate? Haven’t been laid in a while?” Her eyes widened, and he connected the dots instantly. “Oh, no way. Never? How is that even possible? You’re…” Rafe waved a hand at her, but trailed off when he gained the wisdom to not comment on her appearance or how it related to her virginity.

“I just… didn’t want it to be bad. Figured I’d go to someone with at least some knowledge on the topic.”

“Really? And none of your little boys were valid candidates?”

She huffed through her nose. “That’s hilarious. Let’s go down the list together: we have the self-obsessed conspiracy theorist, the loose cannon who speaks more than he thinks, and the nerd who’s a bigger goddamn virgin than I am.”

Rafe hesitated. “Okay, I know the last one is Pope—”

“Point is,” Kiara interrupted, cutting eyes at him. “You probably can’t fathom vulnerability, and I’m really just looking for a yes or a no so I can decide if I’m gonna kill myself tonight—”

“Wow, the drama. Twist my arm a little more, why don’t you?” he said flatly. “Yes, I’ll do it.”

Her face lit up. “Really?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a real Saint Nick. Give me your phone,” Rafe demanded, palm open and extended to her.

She recoiled. “You’re not… gonna film it, are you?”

He processed this and a grin spread across his face. “Sweetheart, I’m not gonna fuck you right now. I’m giving you my number so you don’t have to sneak around my little sister to see me.”

The confidence she’d built up with him crumbled instantly and the fever of mortification bloomed in her chest and face again. Kiara fumbled for her back pocket and handed him the device. “I— of course not! That’d be—”

“Hot,” he cut her off, offering a bit of peace for her. “I know.” His eyes flicked to the door and back down to her, then he texted himself an angel emoji. “But it just wouldn’t be right.”

With her phone returned one contact heavier, she tried not to trip on any benches on her way out.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Kiara spat, quickly climbing into the passenger seat of Rafe’s Land Rover anyways. He peeled out of the driveway, surely attracting the attention of any partygoers that had wandered outside. She slunk down into the seat. “When Sarah said she’d get me a ride home, I didn’t think it’d be you.”

Rafe shrugged, rolling through a stop sign and changing the song. “I owed her one. And no, she doesn’t suspect anything, so maybe relax a little?”

Not too difficult. One of Barry’s drivers had made it to the party, and she’d definitely brought a cloud of earthy aroma into his vehicle.

“Speaking of relaxing… you’re not drunk, right?”

“No, why do you— where are we going?” she asked as they flew past the turn to her street.

“We’re gonna use this time to get in some practice,” he said simply, and the smirk on his face did all but abate her worries.

“Wait, wait, I can’t— I mean, I’m not ready—”

“Little Miss Anxious, huh? Second time you’ve done that,” he said, shaking his head amusedly. “That’s not what this is. Do I need to promise to give you a heads up?”

“Uh, yeah, it’d be nice!”

“Nah.” He pulled the vehicle over to a nature preserve, one of the many dim and poorly-patrolled parks the island had to offer.

Rafe threw the car in park and grabbed his nic from the cup holder. He offered it to her, she declined. As he took a draw, his free hand absentmindedly patted his crotch, adjusting himself to be taken out.

She never would admit this, not to him or a locked diary or God, but she’s looked before. It’s not her fault he gets out of the pool like a slut, with his swim shorts hung low on his hips and clinging to his bulge. She’s had an idea of what he’s working with. But to watch him rub his semi through his jeans? Kiara’s head spun.

He dropped the nic again and unbuttoned his pants without warning. Her eyes widened as he tugged them down, just enough to free his cock from his boxers. She took in what she could make out in the dimness— a heavy shaft, the reddening tip, a little glisten where the pre was leaking out.

Instincts took over— ones she was entirely unaware she had— and she leaned forward to touch him, but he grabbed her wrist first and stopped her. Kie looked up, fearing she’d done something wrong.

Rafe’s eyes softened, resting a hand on her cheek and nodding gently. “Hey, listen. Just relax. You’ll be fine.”

She nodded. It was the last glimpse of mercy she’d get for the night.

Once his warning was over, his big hand slipped from her face around to the back of her skull. He guided (pushed) her down until the head tapped against her lips. The salty taste hit her tongue but she had no time to process or cringe before the rest of his cock slid into her mouth.

It wasn’t long before Kie realized this wasn’t just a blowjob, but more of a face fucking. The agency wasn’t in her hands— or rather, mouth— when he was actively lifting his hips from the seat to stuff more of himself between her lips. She couldn’t even get her bearings enough to suck.

Kiara mustered enough momentum to overpower the headpushing and pulled her mouth off his cock. “You’re, God, being a little rough, don’t you think?” she asked weakly around a cough.

“You bet,” he affirmed, fixing his fist back into her hair and guiding her down again. “Need to prepare you for what you might come across in the future. Wouldn’t—fuck—be doing you any favors by being gentle, would I?”

Sure, whatever twisted logic he wanted to use to get a rough blowjob from a virgin. Rafe’s hips thrusted up again to meet where his hands locked her head in place, and she had to accept his cock down her throat. The zipper of his pants scraped the bridge of her nose and her back ached from the awkward position he’d twisted her into, but she figured complaining would only get her so far. Plus, her mouth was full.

He canted his hips forward so the tip of his cock brushed against her cheek, and his hand reached down her face to feel it from the outside. Rafe massaged the skin there, feeling the ridges of his head through it. The angle was hard for her to maintain, so he went back to pushing down her throat.

She couldn’t swallow with him in her mouth, so drool began to seep out and sullied his pants. Her hands pushed against his thighs and he let up, tugging her off his crotch and watching the string of spit that connected them.

“I’m, fuck, I’m sorry I’m making such a mess,” she apologized through wet coughs. Rafe laughed and said nothing, but he grabbed his cock and smeared her own spit onto her face. Kiara squealed and tried to back away but he wasn’t done with her.

Eventually, he had enough trust to let her do her own work. Her jaw burned from the stretch, but the hand on her head was only resting there as she forwent keeping it all clean.

He came, hard, if the noises he made were any indicator. The sensation of his twitching cock against her tongue was fascinating, but he must not have wanted to give her the chance to spit. With her nose pressed against his pelvis, his cock for perfectly down her throat and spilled his seed there.

Kiara coughed and sputtered when he finally released her and she could breathe again. “Fucking hell, Rafe, what’s the plan for real sex? You gonna bring out a chainsaw?”

“That was real sex.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ll just have to wait and find out then, huh?”

Kiara narrowed her eyes, looking to the small backseat. “What do you mean, wait? You’re not gonna reciprocate or anything? How is that f—?”

“Look, I know you’re new to this and all, so consider this a lesson: I’m gonna need a fuckin’ minute to get the feeling back in my extremities. And since we don’t have all night—”

He tugged her arm towards him and she awkwardly fumbled over to sit on his lap. The door pressed against her back and the steering wheel dug into her leg uncomfortably, but he continued anyways.

Kiara liked loose, linen shorts; Rafe liked them even better. He needn’t even pull them down— they were flowy and accessible enough that he could pull them and her underwear to the side and have her fully exposed for him.

Her face burned. No one had ever seen her like this before, but Rafe was more action-oriented. He cupped a hand over her bare sex, swollen and ready for him after her mouth had been fully used. His dexterous fingers played with her slit and collected the slick there, getting to know her clit and folds in the dark.

He wouldn’t have been able to see, but her eyes opened when he first pressed a finger inside. She was fully aware of how it worked, and Kie had boredly tried to fuck herself in the past, but it was never enough.

Rafe didn’t have that problem. His hands were bigger, fingers stronger, and knew how to stretch her walls around him. She mewled, and he kissed her cheek.

His fingers tucked in further and, with a palm grinding against her clit, pressed against a spot inside her that made her gasp. “Oh my God! What was that?”

He laughed a little in her ear and pulled his fingers out to slap her cunt. She whined. “Our new favorite body part of yours.”

Kiara’s eyebrows furrowed. “Our?”

Rafe took the free hand around her arm and reached over to grab at her breast. “Used to be these.”

Her body sparked and warmed at the idea of Rafe looking at her like a lecher. Deciding parts of her body were for his for ogling, grabbing, fucking. He’s always been an option for her, she just hadn’t known to ask.

The sounds her cunt made around his fingers were vile. He’d lean down to kiss her neck (but only kiss— can’t leave a mark) and she curled into his chest. She’d have more shame about the situation if she had any thoughts at all that weren’t her barreling orgasm.

When she did cum, she had to hold onto his forearm for stability. He purred into her ear about how good she was doing for him, holding her chin in place so he always had a good look at her scrunched eyes and parted lips.

He pulled his hand out from her shorts when she caught her breath, and made her watch the way strings of her cum lingered for too long. Rafe pushed those digits between her lips without warning, and swirled them around her tongue until he was adequately clean. Her legs still tingled when she slumped back into the passenger seat.

“No notes, baby, you did perfectly. Let’s get you home, hmm?”

***

Kiara’s phone automatically set to Do Not Disturb at 11 pm sharp every evening.

She wasn’t even that caught up in perfecting her sleep schedule. There were just too many nights in a row that one of her friends would drunkenly call and wake her up. Never for a good reason, like needing a ride—no, they’ll rip her from sleep to ask if a Wonka chocolate bar is red, or purple like they swore they remembered.

And they wonder why she preferred darties.

So, any messages she may receive in the witching hour would go unnoticed until the next morning. Unless, of course, the person reaching out to her is a bit more persistent.

The window creaked, and she just rolled over in bed. Her home was nearly a century old and the sandy ground below the foundation made for all kinds of bumps in the night.

What it didn’t often do, was lift the pane entirely. Kie sat up, eyes quickly adjusting to the tall body squeezing through into her bedroom.

“Jesus— Rafe?!” she asked, grabbing her chest where her heart fluttered.

“A little help?” he hissed, unable to fit the rest of the way. She sprang to his side, lifting the window a little more and guiding him inside. “Thanks.”

“You don’t have to whisper. My parents are in Myrtle Beach for a wedding.”

“Well, fuck me. Would’ve been nice to know before I scaled the damn trellis. Why didn’t you respond?” he asked, pointing to the sleeping phone on her nightstand.

Kiara crossed her arms. “Didn’t get the message. Do I… need to get a first aid kit?” she asked, looking over his figure and trying not to back away like a frightened deer.

He looked down at himself. “I’m fine?”

“I meant for me! You forget the chainsaw?”

His eyebrows tightened until he remembered the night they‘d already shared, and smirked. “Oh! No, it’s not like that.”

She didn’t get to ask what he meant before he kicked off his boots and flopped onto her bed like he owned it. He wagged his fingers, beckoning her to join him, and she obeyed with a scowl. It’s her room, after all.

He pulled her down to his side, turning to face her and sliding a hand between her cheek and pillow. Rafe kissed her softly, thumbing at her skin and trailing the other hand down to her waist where it rested comfortably. Their thighs entangled and one of her fists nervously balled into his shirt.

The pair made out, much longer than she would expect he had patience for. It was delicate, verging on pure, and it sent a fire to her core in anticipation. His leg pushing between her thighs certainly didn’t hurt.

There was no hurry to undress. A shirt here, his pants there. It was like they waited until one of them lost their breath to pause and remove another article. By the time they were down to their underwear, her apprehensions reappeared.

”Slow,” she blurted, and his big blue eyes locked to hers. “We’re gonna go slow, right?” she clarified, feeling the ridges of his abs, now bare and warm under her fingers.

He smiled, kissed the tip of her nose. “M’in no rush.”

Their cores were close, she could feel the heat of his cock pressed against her hip. He pushed against her once and groaned into her mouth, then pulled away entirely and slotted himself above her.

Rafe sat back on his heels, looking at her near-naked body below her. It was hardly more skin than he was used to seeing when she swam at his house, but he hungered over her nonetheless. His fingers slipped under the hem of her panties and his eyes found hers.

“May I?”

She giggled. Perhaps because she didn’t expect that from Rafe, or maybe it was nerves. But she eked out a yes, please regardless.

With permission granted, he slid her underwear down her legs and tossed them aside, settling between her thighs and giving each a kiss.

He started gently— he spread her folds with his thumbs and licked a hard stripe up the center. Her eyes lifted to the ceiling and slammed shut, and he was gracious enough to not give her hell for this. Rafe allowed her in her own world because, well, he was in one of his own.

Had she spared a glance between her thighs, she’d see him lost in himself, nose buried into her cunt and tongue exploring every part of her. It was all slow, curious, an attempt to commit her pussy to his memory. Maybe he feared this was his only chance.

His patience built a powerful orgasm for her— the kind she could never do herself. Touching herself before was just getting a job done, but Rafe wanted it to wash over her with shaking legs and starry vision.

And Rafe always got what he wanted.

When he came up to kiss her, she tasted herself on him, but it was less intense than she expected. Maybe he was drooling too much.

She’d forgotten he still had his boxers on— too lost in cumming on his tongue. The fabric was sticking to him where precum leaked out of his tip, and he paused for only enough time to pull the elastic down under his balls. Deja vu.

Now free, his member hung menacingly between them. He took himself in hand and teased her, gliding the tip against her pulsing clit and threatening to part her folds. He lay the shaft against her and thrusted, simulating the real thing.

On one insignificant stroke, the head slipped down and notched itself against her hole. Rafe was careful, so careful pressing inside. She was wet enough that he could’ve bullied his cock into her cunt easily, but he stopped instead.

Rafe lowered himself until their noses brushed together. One hand reached up to stroke her cheek, to whisk away the tear that had pooled in the corner of her eye. He shushed, his lips brushing against her chin, her ear, her lips, anywhere he could access her skin.

“Sweetheart, please, you’ve gotta relax for me,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “You’re doing so fuckin’ good so far. Just keep letting me in.”

It was a side of the man she’d never seen before. Rafe used to twist the arms of boys who mocked her and Sarah until they screamed for mercy. He wasn’t allowed to play any contact sports in high school with his violent record. More than once, Kiara had to step around shattered glass in their home from when he’d broken tumblers in fits of rage. The blowjob from last week alone—

Tonight, his free hand found hers and threaded their fingers together. He kissed along her neck and sucked at the flesh gently. Endless praises spilled from him as his cock fully nestled inside her pulsing heat. She could feel their bodies entangling further with each breath they shared in the close space.

“Fuck it’s— so deep,” she breathed, back arching to press her bare chest against his. The angle shift forced her clit to grind against his pelvis and a whine escaped her.

“I know, baby,” he reassured and played with her tits as she readjusted. “Takin’ me so well. Can’t believe I get to be the first one to feel you like this, mm?”

She nodded, even though he wasn’t really asking her anything. Rafe’s hand, still entwined with hers, pulled down to make her feel her lower stomach.

“Feel me there?” he continued. “M’so glad you chose me. Let me split this pretty pussy open on my cock. Gonna let me fill it too? Wanna really make sure I do the job correctly?”

“Fuck, please, yes!”

He withdrew his cock entirely, letting it kiss her slick cunt and smear the wetness between them. Rafe sunk back in without warning and her back arched up.

Kiara’s fingers scratched down his back and he mentioned nothing of it. Her eyes closed again. “Rafe, I… I think I’m gonna—”

“Another?” he cut off, unable to conceal his pride. “Such a good baby. Eager to fall apart on my cock. Wanna feel it, please, sweet girl.”

She came again, pussy twitching around him. He followed shortly after and stuffed her full of cum as they milked each other dry. If the sensation of him finishing down her throat was intriguing, this was… addictive.

Rafe was an exceptional gentleman in terms of cleaning up; Kiara lay weak and tender as he gathered a wet cloth to undo the last hour. Well… as much as could be undone.

“Thank you,” she said finally, voice low above the radiator, spoken across his chest she rested on.

“Don’t even mention it,” he laughed softly and pulled her in closer. They already approached slumber. “Though, if you really wanted to thank me, I have a few ideas in mind…”

[topazs-stuff]

living planets < I >

"Don’t worry, dear... yeah, yeah, I ate—promise. Really, don’t worry about me. I’ve got it covered. Yes, I’ll take my medication, and I’ll take care of myself. It’s just... I need to compile these findings—try to make sense of it all, maybe form a theory, a hypothesis. I’ll send it to you once it’s ready so you can read it, okay? Yeah... yeah, I promise. Alright. Take care, love. Bye."

As he hangs up the call, he lets out a weary sigh, his hand instinctively brushing across the cluttered desk. Data sheets, charts, and geological samples—spanning from 6000 BCE to the present day—are scattered in a chaotic mess. He picks up a report, scanning it with furrowed brows, then tosses it aside with a frustrated grunt. “This shit doesn’t make any sense... How can a volcano erupt with no buildup? No seismic activity, no pressure changes—nothing.” He mutters to himself, flipping through more pages. “And four times? Four times, across millennia? If it were just one, I could’ve ignored it. Coincidence. Statistical anomaly.”

His hands shake slightly as he fishes a pill bottle from the edge of the desk, popping the cap open with practiced ease. “This is truly a headache,” he sighs, swallowing the pill dry. His eyes drift back to the data, unwilling to let it go. Something about it gnaws at the edges of his mind, refusing to let him rest. Massaging his temples, he slumps into the creaking chair, his mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions. With trembling fingers, he boots up the simulation software. "One more," he mutters under his breath. "Just one more. I just need at least one case where everything goes... normally. If there’s a god—oh mighty—make sense of this data." His voice cracks slightly, betraying the mounting unease.

He hits the start button and leans in, his gaze fixed intently on the screen as the simulation begins to run. His other hand fidgets with a pen, spinning it between his fingers with increasing agitation. Every flick of his wrist, every tap of the keyboard, carries the weight of his desperation. His lips move silently as numbers and graphs play out before him. "Please," he whispers, barely audible. "Please no... not again." His eyes dart across the results, scanning for anomalies, for patterns, for anything. The pen slips from his fingers, clattering onto the desk. He freezes. The simulation’s outcome becomes unmistakable. The same eerie conclusion as before.

"It fucking happened again," he hisses, his voice sharp and trembling. His fists clench, gripping the edge of the desk as if trying to steady himself. "I can’t even blame my software. I’ve run this on two other systems—double-checked every variable." He exhales sharply, his breaths shallow and rapid. "It has to be the data. The data must be wrong."

He grabs his phone with shaky hands, dialing a number with practiced urgency. As soon as the line connects, he doesn’t wait for pleasantries. “The geological record we’ve been using is wrong. There’s no doubt about it,” he snaps.

A muffled voice on the other end responds, but whatever they’re saying only fuels his irritation. “What do you mean I’m crazy?” he cuts in, his tone sharp and incredulous. “Oh, so you’re telling me the data—showing that a volcano exploded and wiped out an entire region—when that volcano had no geological possibility of erupting for another thousand years, is accurate? Do you even hear yourself right now?”

The voice tries to counter, but he’s too far gone. Sarcasm drips from his words. “Oh, of course, I’m the fucking idiot here. Yeah. Sure. Great talk.” Without another word, he hangs up, slamming the phone onto the desk. “Fucking hell,” Alex mutters, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy. And this data—this damn data—is driving me insane. Why me?” He groans, slumping back in his chair.

With a frustrated sigh, he picks up the phone he’d thrown moments ago, brushing off the dust as if that would also wipe away his exasperation. His eyes dart to a business card lying amidst the chaos of his desk. "Why don’t I call him?" he mumbles to himself. "He might have an idea—or at least know something."

He grabs the card, carefully dialing the number etched into its surface. The phone rings twice before a calm, unfamiliar voice answers.

“Uh, hello? Mister Ishu? This is Alex—Alex Martin. We met during the G20 Summit back in 2034? You gave me your card.” His voice wavers slightly, unsure if the man even remembers him. “I know, I know—it’s been three years. But, um... I’ve been studying Earth’s geological data, and, uh, the explosion of Mount Vesuvius? It’s—it’s very peculiar, to say the least.”

The voice on the other end pauses, then responds. Alex’s eyes widen slightly at the words. “Wait—you’re also looking into it?” His breath catches. “So, it’s not just me. You find it weird too. That’s... that’s a relief, I guess.”

He leans forward, pen tapping anxiously against his desk. “Do you have any idea what might’ve caused it?” A longer pause. When the reply comes, Alex stiffens, repeating the words aloud as if they’re incomprehensible. “You... you’ve started to consider Earth as a living thing?”

He lets out a nervous laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “I mean—it’s a planet. A rock. How could it possibly be alive? I didn’t study much biology, but a creature like this shouldn’t even be... possible. Should it?”

The voice on the other end says something else—calm, measured, almost cryptic. Alex nods absently, even though they can’t see him. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll, uh—I’ll call you later. Thank you, Mister Ishu, for your time.”

He ends the call and stares at the phone in his hand, his mind racing. The idea lingers, impossible yet... it was explaining everything.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

The one where the rules are broken, and maybe better than before.

Or the twentieth installment of the SKZ!pack prequel series, from the other side of the story.

Tags: Skz, stray kids, stay, ot8, skz!pack, skz!abo, poly!skz, omegaverse, pack!prequel, skz!pack prequel, prequel series, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, lee felix, hwang hyunjin, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, skz x you, skz x reader, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, skz drabble, angst

Genre: Angst, Hurt, Comfort

Title: The Other Things (From Changbin's POV)

I fucked up. 

I know that. 

But as I stare at the screen of my phone, watching the call go immediately to voicemail-again-I can feel the anger bubbling up to fill the cracks between the pools of guilt and fear sitting in my gut. 

What the hell was she thinking?

“Fuck!” I swear vehemently and toss the phone across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the floor. I’ll worry about that later. 

Leaning forward, elbows on my knees, I rake my fingers through my hair, over and over, the movements short and repetitive and furious, as I try to think of what to do. 

I couldn’t tell Chan. Hell, I couldn’t even tell Jisung or Felix or Seungmin. They’d never forgive me. 

So I stand up slowly, taking in a deep breath, and retrieve my phone, dialing the number of the only person I know who won’t immediately blow this out of proportion. 

I watch it ring, and then the line connects.

“What?” Minho’s voice snaps through the speaker, annoyed and aloof and altogether entirely Minho. 

I immediately feel the band around my chest loosen just a bit. 

“Hyung.” 

I swallow, suddenly not able to get the words out, and I hear him sigh through the other end of the phone. 

“What?” He repeats again, but doesn’t ask anything else, and that’s what I’ve always liked about Minho, why I called him over anyone else. 

He doesn’t care about other peoples’ business enough to pry. 

But he always shows up when you ask him to. 

And right now, I needed him to. 

I clear my throat and try again, trying not to think of the dozens of unanswered calls and messages weighing down the phone in my hand. 

“I messed up.” 

Minho snorts, and I hear the clatter of cookware in the background, he must be cooking. 

“Is this supposed to be news to me?” 

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take in another calming breath. My chest feels tight once more as I think back to the argument, and I wince, glad no one can see. 

“No, like, I royally fucked up this time. Like enough that I don’t know if I-or hell, anyone-can fix it.” 

There is a brief silence, and then Minho says, “Okay. Well what do you want me to do about it?” 

I know he’s not trying to be smart, or cold, or anything other than straight forward, but it still hurts a little, hearing him ask so bluntly. 

“I can’t get a hold of (Y/N). She’s ignoring my calls.” 

Another beat of silence, and then I hear Minho click his tongue, as if he’s understanding something he hadn’t before. The sound of a pot clangs into the sink. 

“Christopher’s gonna fucking kill you.” 

I roll my eyes, but he’s right, and that’s exactly why I’m coming crawling to him for help instead of my best friend. 

“I know. Why do you think you’re here?” 

Minho scoffs audibly, but I hear the jangle of keys as if he’s grabbing things off the counter in preparation to leave. 

I hope it’s to help me. 

“I can’t save you from him. And I wouldn’t want to.” 

I run my tongue over my teeth, feeling agitated suddenly. 

The longer we spend talking, the longer she could be getting herself into trouble, or worse. 

I wouldn’t put it past her to do something stupid right now, not with how furious she was with me when I last saw her. 

“Hyung, I’m not asking you to protect me, just please, can you-” I stopped. 

It wasn’t like me to ask for help, but I needed his in this moment, and I’d just have to deal with it. 

She wasn’t going to answer me, she’d made that more than clear. 

I take in a stuttered breath and try again. 

“I know I fucked up, I know that, believe me, but I she’s not going to talk to me, and I need to make sure she’s okay.” 

A sigh, and then Minho says, “Well c’mon then, dumbass. I’m outside the dorm with the car.” 

Relief pools in my stomach, and I open my mouth to thank him, my eyes burning slightly, but he beats me to the punch. 

“And don’t even try to get sappy or sentimental on me, because I will retract my help and leave you on your own, so help me god. Now get downstairs.” 

I clamp my mouth shut and end the call. 

********

“Wait, wait, wait!” I grab Minho’s shoulder, and he grumbles as he shakes me off, navigating the car down the cramped roads of the campus. 

I point toward the lit up bus stop, and the figure walking toward it. 

“That’s her! Pull over!” 

“I have eyes, thank you.” Minho mutters with annoyance, but he swerves the car over to the curb without another word and I’m out the door before we’ve even come to a complete stop, my feet slapping down hard on the pavement. 

The panic in my gut is making it hard for me to think straight.

She turns at the noise, expression on guard, and I lunge toward her before I’ve even had time to think. 

I come to a stop in front of her, chest heaving, and she stares at me, expression unreadable, face hard. 

She doesn’t say a word.

Suddenly, all the fear coagulating in my stomach starts to bitter into something angry, something dark, and I glare at her, the next words from my mouth are ones I instantly wish I could take back. 

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

Her eyes darken, and her lips press into a thin line. 

“Out.” Is all she says, and I feel a manic laugh starting to bubble in my chest at the response. 

Really? That’s all she’s going to give me? I’ve been trying to reach her for hours, worried out of my goddamn mind, and the only explanation to where she’s been is fucking ‘out’?

She’s still holding my gaze with her own, fierce and defensive, not backing down an inch, and I feel the rage bubble heatedly into my throat. 

I clench my fists. 

 “That’s all you have to say for yourself? We’ve been trying to reach you all goddamn night, (Y/N), we were fucking worried.” 

I see the corners of her lips turn up at that, as if she wants to laugh in my face, and I wouldn’t blame her. 

Not after what I’d said earlier. 

How could she think I’d be worried? When all I did was push her away?

She turns her head stubbornly to the side, and that’s when I see it, the drying blood in the corner of her lip, the fresh, red mark across her jaw, already starting to fade to purple around the edges. 

Everything inside of me devolves into hot, fiery rage, and this time, it’s not directed at her.

I feel out of control as I pinch her chin forcefully between my fingers and yank her gaze back to mine, ignoring the way she winces slightly under the rough touch. 

“You’re fucking bleeding.” I growl out, my entire body hot and electrified, like I just touched a red hot poker. My eyes dart once more to the bruising marking her pretty skin, and I can feel myself spiraling. “What the hell happened?”

 She yanks from my grip and turns on her heel, stalking toward the bus stop, not giving me another glance. 

“I handled it.” 

I don’t think, I lunge forward and grab her wrist, stopping her forward movement as she turns to glare at me with undisguised hatred over her shoulder. 

Good, I deserve it, and hate is still an emotion, and I’d rather her look at me right now with any emotion rather than with nothing at all. 

Nothing is when you know you’ve lost them. 

“Where the hell are you going?” 

She grits her teeth, I see it in the clamp of her jaw, and then she spits out, “I’m getting on the bus and I’m going home.” 

It’s there again, the manic urge to laugh bubbling up in my chest, the insane urge to yell and kick and hit and do anything, anything at all, rather than feel like this for one more fucking torturous minute. 

But instead, I meet her head on, I can’t seem to back down, and snap right back, “You’re not getting on the fucking bus, (Y/N).” 

She stares me down, eyes cold. 

“Like hell I’m not.” 

God, why do we both have to be so goddamn stubborn? 

She tugs from my grasp once more, and I let her, before turns away again. 

I bite down on the inside of my cheek so hard I taste copper, and take another step after her, catching her once more. 

She doesn’t even bother turning around this time. 

And when she speaks, her voice is deadly. 

“Let me go, Changbin.” 

No. I don’t think I will. 

I drag her backward easily, toward Minho, toward the waiting car, and she digs in her heels, fighting me, but it’s no use. 

I’m a madman, fueled by rage and adrenaline, and I’m fucking sick of this cat and mouse game. 

I reach the curb and shove her none too gently toward the car. 

“Get in the fucking car, (Y/N).” 

I see the resolve still in her eyes, see the fire in the depths of her irises, and she crosses her arms stubbornly over her chest, staring me down. 

“No.” 

Damn it all, I love her fight, I always have, but could she just fucking not for once and fucking listen to me?

I’m caught in a glare down with her, neither of us willing to give up, and then the sound of the car door opening draws my attention. 

Minho appears, annoyed resignation on his face, his eyes dark, as he leans against the open driver’s door and pins her down with his gaze. 

“(Y/N).” 

The way he says her name has her instantly turning her head. 

His expression brooks no arguments as he says in a low, cool voice, “Get in the car.” 

I think she’s going to resist, ignore him, the same way she’s ignored me all day, but instead, she huffs an angry breath, and opens the door to the backseat, sliding in without another word, before she slams the door so hard the windows shake. 

Minho gives me a pointed stare across the top of the car, and returns to the driver’s seat. 

I’m so angry, I can feel my pulse in every goddamn inch of my body, but I clench my hands and get into the passenger seat, slamming my own door for good measure. 

Minho sighs, long and heavy, but I simply smirk and slouch back in the seat, crossing my arms over my chest and staring straight ahead. 

Oh, baby girl, two can play at this game. 

Minho pulls away from the curb, and I force myself to stare out the window, ignoring the building scents of smoke and frost coming to a head in the space of the small car, tense and uncertain and at odds. 

Finally, Minho glances into the rearview mirror at her and asks, “What happened to your lip?” 

I huff a humorless scoff beneath my breath, but don’t take my eyes off the road ahead. 

She’s not gonna tell him. She’s too goddamn stubborn. 

“Just some stupid frat boys.” I hear her say sullenly from the darkness of the back seat, shifting slightly, my ears over attuned to her and her every movement. 

My alpha growls at her words, dangerous and on edge, and I have to force myself from immediately demanding an explanation from her once more, maybe some names, some descriptions. 

God, I really need to fight someone right now. 

Frat boys will do just fine.

Especially if they touched what’s mine. 

I can’t help it, I open my big, dumb mouth, and poke the bear a little bit more. 

Everything smart inside of me is telling me to shut up, but I can’t. 

I want her to suffer, to be scared, to feel stupid, to feel guilty, like I had all day since the fight. 

I turn in my seat and fix her with a glare. 

“See, this is why you never should’ve went to that stupid party on your own in the first place-”

She immediately straightens, the fire reignited in her eyes, and her volume rises in anger, her voice shaking. 

“Do you even fucking hear yourself?” She narrows her eyes at me, and I have to stop myself from letting my gaze drift to the blood by her lips. “I’m an alpha, Changbin. An alpha! Just like you, just like Minho, but just because I’m a girl-” 

Stop, something whispers, stop now, before you cross another line. 

But I can’t. 

“And would they have attacked you if you hadn’t been a girl?!” I bellow out, all the anger and fear and exhaustion finally coming to a head, misdirected at her, the twisted messed up source of it all. 

I see the tears pool in her eyes as I stare at her, chest heaving with rage, but she doesn’t bite back, instead she sits back in the seat and stares doggedly out the window, lips clamped, until I finally break eye contact and turn back to the front. 

Minho shoots me a sidelong, accusatory look, but I ignore him, staring out the windshield as I unlock my fingers slowly, one by one. 

My palms have red, angry crescent moons dug into them, a tribute to the anger I’ve been trying to keep inside. 

The rest of the ride home is silent, and the only thing filling the car is the overwhelming, choking smell of smoke. 

******

When Minho parks the car, she gets out of the back seat without a word and heads toward the elevator without a single backward glance. 

I let her go, because what the hell am I supposed to say? 

I get out, and Minho follows, but he doesn’t fall in line with me as I walk toward the elevator, and when I turn back, he’s leaning against the car, staring me down with an unreadable expression, swinging the keys between his fingers. 

I sigh, and rake a hand through my hair. 

“Let me have it.” 

Minho stays silent, his gaze never leaving mine, and then he finally says, “I’m not going to ask what happened. It’s not my business. But you better fucking fix that-” He motions to the elevator where she disappeared, his expression hardening minutely, and I can tell he’s angry, can tell he’s fucking furious in this moment. “-before I take care of it myself.” 

I stand rooted in place, as he pushes off the car and walks past me toward the elevator now, not giving me another glance, but saying in a low, cold voice as he passes, “No one will ever find your body.” 

A chill runs down my spine at his words, because I know he means it, and more importantly, I know he’s right. 

No one would find my body if Minho had anything to say about it, and I knew better than anyone that I’d better fix this fuck up, and quickly, if I didn’t want him, or her, to hate me forever. 

I stand there, considering, and when I hear the ding of the elevator being called, I turn, holding out my hand toward him.

He eyes me with a blank expression. 

I motion toward the keys. 

“Think Chan-hyung will mind me borrowing his car for another few hours?” 

Minho stares at me, then tosses me the keys, which I catch easily in the palm of my hand. 

 “Fix it.” He reiterates slowly, and then steps into the elevator and disappears as well. 

I clench the keys in my hand and breathe out hard through my nose. 

That’s entirely what I intended on doing. 

One way or another. 

I unlock the car once more and slide into the driver’s seat this time, and as it roars to life beneath me, and I speed out of the parking garage, I can’t help but think back to that morning, when it had all gone to shit, and only because I was a fucking coward. 

I had fucked up, and hurt her in the process, and all for what? Because I was too caught up in my head with the logistics, with the rules, with the fear. 

I’d ruined it all, self sabotaged, because I didn’t want her to feel obligated. 

But she’d said it all on her own-I hadn’t forced her into anything, deep down, I knew that, I did-but then I’d let the fear take over, the what ifs, and I hadn’t said it back. 

Fuck. 

I wanted to-god had I wanted to-but something had held me back, something that haunted me, in everything I did, no matter what it was. 

The terrifying realization that if I crossed that line, any line, all my hard work to be different, to be better, would go to waste, that I’d be no better than any other alpha who took what they wanted, just took and took and took, consequences be damned. 

I wouldn’t do that to her, not if I could help it. 

But I also couldn’t explain that, so instead, I’d shut down, and I’d pushed her away.

And now I’d fucked it all up, and I didn’t know how to fix it. 

“I love you.” She had said, breathless and beautiful and entirely too goddamn perfect for this world. 

I stared at her, still breathing hard, still a little foggy from the high, feeling myself still inside her, slick and warm and beating, and instead of saying anything-because holy shit, had she really just said that?-I stayed silent, trying to compute. 

The words were there, on the tip of my tongue, pulsing like a hot brand, needing to escape, and then, I had stopped myself. 

Because she was staring down at me like I put the stars in the sky, her eyes large and dark, and suddenly, in that moment, I didn’t know how much of this was her, and how much was me, the smell of smoke burning my nostrils and my throat with every inhale I took. 

I watched a slight blush replace the flush on her cheeks, and then she ducked her head, and I saw it in that moment, the shame, the embarrassment, and everything inside of me ached, cried out, begging me to say it back. 

And I wanted to, fuck, I’d wanted nothing more, because I’d dreamed about her saying those words to me, every night since I met her, since I knew I wanted to say it to her, but I held myself back, and she slid off me, and darted for the safety of the bathroom without another word. 

I could taste the regret instantly, like acid, on the back of my tongue. 

Fuck. 

I took my time getting up, focusing on slowing my breathing, on steadying my heartbeat, on pushing the three little words back-down, down, down-so they wouldn’t escape, and by the time I entered the bathroom, she was no longer blushing, but she kept her eyes downturned from me, cleaning herself up without raising her gaze, cool, detached, focused. 

I leaned against the doorway for support, and when she looked up to meet my gaze in the mirror, I forced the words out. 

“Listen-” 

Listen to what? My poor attempt at excuses? My lame ideology that makes me sound like nothing short of a selfish asshole? 

She huffed a laugh under her breath, and I saw it, the hurt in her gaze that she was so desperately trying to hide. 

My stomach dropped at the slight betrayal on her face before she schooled her expression. 

I’d hurt her, and I knew it. 

“It’s fine. Don’t say anything. Just forget it.” 

She forces a smile onto her lips, twisting them upward, and I feel a dagger twisting with them, straight into the depths of my chest. 

How the hell do I explain something like this to her? 

I love you, but I can’t say it back, and it’s only because I don’t want to hurt you. Ironic, right? Because I’ve already clearly fucking done that. 

I nod and move past her to wash my hands. Her faint floral scent sticks in my nose, and I suddenly feel like I’m choking. 

She turns to leave, and that’s when I say, “I can’t tell you what you want to hear.” 

She freezes, hand on the doorknob, and I instantly wince. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Fucking stupid. 

That hadn’t come out how I wanted it to in the slightest. It sounded like rejection, and that was so far from the actual truth that it was laughable. 

She doesn’t turn around, but when she speaks, her voice is wavering, like she’s on the verge of tears, and my chest completely caves in. 

“What?” 

I turn, leaning against the counter, and stare so hard at her back that I feel I could burn holes through her skin-her perfect, warm skin, rising and falling with her breaths. 

“You know what I mean.” 

She doesn’t reply, and I see her fingers tremble on the knob. 

Why am I still talking? Why? 

I don’t know, but I can’t seem to stop. 

“Why’d you say it?” 

Did I do this? Did HE do this? Did we force you into something you weren’t ready for? How can I be sure?

She turns now, brow furrowed in open confusion, like she can’t believe why I’d even ask something like that in the first place, and then asks right back, voice hurt, “Why wouldn’t I say it?” 

I blow out the breath I’ve been holding, harsh and irritated, more so with myself than her, and her gaze hardens, crossing her arms over her chest as she stares me down. I see the stubborn flickers of anger in her eyes and her alpha start to raise its head. 

“Why didn’t you say it?” 

Because I’m a coward. Because I’m not positive you really meant it. Because I’m not even sure you want this. Because I’m so terrified of forcing someone into something against their will that I run the opposite direction as soon as someone opens up to me. Because the deep feelings I have for you scare the absolute shit out of me, and if this all turns out to be fake, then I’m not sure I’ll be able to hold myself back from falling to pieces. 

But instead of voicing any of the thoughts in my head, I pinch my nose and say, frustration washing into my words, “Don’t make this emotional.” 

Stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid. 

I see the flash of a fight return to her eyes, and god, I’ve always loved that about her. 

“Excuse me?” She grits out between her teeth, anger flaring. “Don’t make this ‘emotional’?” 

I physically have to stop myself from grimacing as she throws my callous words back in my face. 

“You know what I mean.” 

I step around her to leave the bathroom, because that’s one thing I’m good at, running away from anything that even remotely appears emotional, how fucking lucky. 

“Pretty sure I don’t. Why don’t you explain it to me?” Her voice rings with barely contained rage, her words shaking.

She follows me, standing in the doorway, eyes flashing defiantly as I try not to look at her and pull on my discarded shorts. 

The room is starting to smell like a crisp winter morning, and I’m honestly expecting to see my breath frosting when I next speak. 

I’m getting angry now, my chest tight, my skin hot, and when I whirl to face her this time, I can’t stop the words from leaving my lips in a stinging targeted rebuke. 

She didn’t get it. And that’s my fault, because I didn’t even try to explain it to her, but still, could she fucking give me some room to breathe for just one goddamn minute? 

“Sometimes it’s not that fucking deep, okay, (Y/N)? Sometimes it just is what it is!” I grate out, hands clenching at my sides, my vision swimming with hot, molten rage. 

I wanted to hurt her with my words, and by the look on her face, I’d gotten my wish. 

She stands there like a statue, staring at me in angry disbelief. 

“Me telling you I love you isn’t ‘that fucking deep’?” 

I stare at the ceiling. I’m a fucking prick, an asshole of the worst kind. 

Finally I meet her glare and say tiredly, “Don’t (Y/N).” 

Because I know this isn’t on her, but I’m backed into a corner, and I need a fucking minute, or a night, or something to get my head back on straight. 

I can’t do this right now, not with her expression telling me I’ve ruined everything. 

“Don’t what?” She retorts, shoving past me to grab her clothes, and I watch helplessly as she tugs on her pants and throws out over her shoulder, “Oh, right, don’t make this emotional because it’s not that fucking deep and I’m just a stupid girl who said a stupid thing and has stupid feelings that you don’t reciprocate.” 

She’s wrong, so wrong, but I can’t tell her that. 

“(Y/N)-” I try again, and she whirls on me so fast I almost take a step back. 

“Don’t.” She seethes, eyes narrowing, lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child you’re disappointed with.” 

The only one here I’m disappointed with is me, but I don’t say that, instead, I keep my mouth shut and school my expression. 

“Fine.” 

“Fine.” She spits back in my face, stalking past me and out of the bedroom. 

I follow her, and against my better judgement, I catch her wrist before she can walk out the door. 

She glares at me, daggers in her eyes, and I don’t blame her one bit. 

“Let me go.” 

I shake my head, panic suddenly settling into the cavity of my chest as I stare at her. 

I can’t let her go, not like this. 

I need to explain, I need to just-

“No.” 

Her gaze darkens, and the air spikes with frost. 

“Changbin. Let. Me. Go.” 

She’s not backing down, but neither will I. 

I shake my head, harder this time, and match her glare, toe to toe. 

“Not until we talk about this like adults.” 

She scoffs, her lips pulling into a snarl, and I admit, it sounds stupid, especially coming from me. 

“There’s nothing to talk about. You made that incredibly clear.” 

Had I? That’s not what I had meant, not in the slightest, but things were twisted in the anger of the moment, and it’s not that I didn’t want to talk about it, just that I didn’t know how to talk about it. 

“No, I said I couldn’t tell you what you wanted to hear-” 

The phrase hurts falling from my lips again, and I see her visibly wince before she rolls her eyes violently. 

“Oh my god.” She huffs a humorless laugh, sharp and stuck in her throat. “Can you please not repeat your obvious rejection over and over? Kinda sucks.” 

That’s what I’d been afraid of. That’s not what I was doing. None of this was a rejection of her or her feelings, just a reflection on me, a coward, a gutless fake. 

Anger boiled in the pit of my stomach-at her misunderstanding, at my stupidity, at this whole fucking situation. 

I feel my expression harden, and my voice is sharp, as I start to say, “I’m not-” 

She cuts me off before I can get another word out. 

“Oh you’re not? Then what are you doing, Changbin? Hm? Please, enlighten me.” 

Her tone is stinging, patronizing, but I can feel her shaking where my fingers are looped around her wrist, giving her away, and it makes me want to kneel and beg for her forgiveness, to take it all back. 

But I can’t. So instead, I drop her wrist, and I channel all that guilt into exasperation, into hot anger, and ask bluntly, “Does it change things? Me saying it back?” 

Because it shouldn’t. 

You shouldn’t need three fucking words to know how I really feel about you. 

She stares at me like she’s just been burned, caught off guard by a hot stove. 

“Are you seriously asking me that right now?” 

“Of course I am!” I blurt out, openly frustrated, growling beneath my breath as I try to control the sudden wave of furious exasperation, clenching my hands at my side. ““Because I don’t fucking get it, (Y/N), if it does, because why?” 

I shouldn’t have to say it for you to understand. 

Hurt flashes across her gaze at my raised voice, my scathing question, and she takes a small step toward me, her body visibly trembling. 

When she speaks, her voice is small, resigned, tired. 

“It changes things, because right now, I don’t know where I stand.” 

I stare at her, unblinking, because I don’t really know how to take what I’m hearing. 

She doesn’t know where she stands without me saying it back to her? Everything I’ve done to show her, everything I’m still doing to show her, and she refuses to get it, won’t think I’m serious, until I repeat back what she admitted to me? Why does it matter? That’s fucking ridiculous. 

“Where you stand?” I repeat her words back to her in disbelief, hoping she’ll hear how stupid they sound. “You stand where you always have! Why does that have to change?” 

With me. You stand with me, you always have, and you always will. Because I can’t live without you. 

She heaves a sigh and reaches for the doorknob. 

“Whatever. This is clearly not working. I’m leaving. Just forget about it.” 

Without thinking, my fingers find their place back on her wrist. 

“Let go of my fucking wrist, Changbin.” 

Her voice is icy, her tone deadly. 

I don’t back down. 

Two can play at this game, baby girl. 

“You wanna know why it matters?” She hisses at me after another moment of silence, stepping forward, her chest brushing my own, as we both heave angry, impassioned breaths. 

Her eyes flash as she meets my gaze. 

“It matters, because right now, what we’re doing here?” She motions to me, and her fingers brush my chest, and I try not to wish it back to the way it was, to the way she touched me before, before all the shit hit the fan and I’d fucked up everything. “Could mean absolutely nothing more than an easy lay-not a single fucking thing.”

She thought that? She really thought so little of me? That I’d jerk her around for months, fake a relationship, just for an easy lay? Just to get my dick wet? 

Fuck, the anger was inescapable now. 

I felt my lip curve into the start of a humorless smirk, the sneer flashing across my teeth. 

I lean into her space, so close our lips are almost brushing, because she’s hurt me, and now I want to hurt her. 

I hold her gaze, making sure she’s listening, and drop my tone into a growl. 

My smoke overtakes her floral frost easily, choking out the air around us. 

“And you think if someone tells you what you want to hear, that that changes things? You’re a goddamn fool if you think that changes anything.” 

Hurt flashes beneath the anger on her face, and we stare each other down for another charged moment of silence, before she turns away and leaves without another word, slamming the door behind her. 

I watch her go, and I don’t call her back. 

*****

I pull up to the frat house, the party still going at high volume, and head inside, shoving past the guy at the door who tries to stop me without a word. I glance around at the milling college students, looking for anyone who looks out of place, and head toward the kitchen. 

As I reach the doorway, I hear a guy’s voice from inside say angrily, “That bitch’ll pay if she ever shows her face around here again.” 

I smile dangerously to myself and crack my knuckles. 

Bingo. 

I step into the dimly lit kitchen and the three guys lounging against the counters beside the sink immediately look up at me. 

The one in the middle, the tallest one, the one currently holding a bag of frozen peas over the knuckles of one hand, stares me down with a glare. 

“Who the hell are you?” 

“I could ask you the same question.” I reply back easily, not really looking at them, as I walk along the opposite side of the island, running my fingers along the dozens of different types of alcohol they have available for the party selection. 

The guy snorts. “Last I checked, you’re in my house, buddy.” 

“Well.” I skirt around the island and the guy beside the knuckle kid looks nervous at my approach. 

I almost grin. 

Good, he should be. 

“Last I checked-” I continue, voice low and cool, advancing measuredly, taking my time, like a predator stalking prey. “You put your hands on my girl.” 

Recognition flashes across the middle guy’s face, and anger burns his eyes at my words. 

“Who the fuck-” 

I don’t wait for him to finish. 

I leap forward and tackle him back against the counter, lifting him up and holding him by his throat, his feet dangling, as he struggles in my grasp. 

The bottle of beer he had been holding is knocked onto the floor, shattering at our feet. 

“Isn’t that right?” I ask again, tone calm and casual, as I hold the struggling frat boy up above my head, cocking my brow at him as the hint of a smile comes to my lips. 

I glance at his lackeys, seemingly frozen as they watch me hold their leader like he weighs nothing. 

I’m just now noticing the one guy has a black ring around his eye, and the other’s nose looks more than a little crooked, his nostrils still oozing slowly congealing blood. 

I turn back to the leader with a smirk. 

“Although, it looks to me like she’s the one who kicked your asses.” 

He growls, writhing in my grip, and chokes out, “Get your hands off me, you asshole!” 

One of the goonies gets the courage to move, taking a step toward me, but as soon as his fingers touch my skin, I’m turning on him, pulling leader man with me, leveling him with a deadly glare that instantly has him freezing in place. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” 

He steps back. 

“You pricks!” The guy in my hold struggles again, kicking his feet against the cabinets with a hollow sort of sound. “Get him! Do something!” 

“And you-” I shove the kid back against the edge of the sink, as he chokes and coughs for breath as my fingers tighten imperceptibly. I let out a long, calming breath through my nose, considering. “-you’re going to get exactly what you deserve.” 

The kid yelps as I drag him out the open back door and into the backyard of the frat house. 

His goonies don’t follow. 

I drop him and he stumbles at my feet, landing hard in the grass as I loom over him, a wicked smile on my face. 

“Would hate to get that nice kitchen dirty with your blood, hm? It’ll be easier clean up for your friends out here.” 

He scrabbles away from me like a crab, and the sight is almost pathetic enough to make me laugh. Almost. 

Instead, I lean down, grab him by the collar of his expensive looking dress shirt, and set him back on his feet in front of me. 

I note the ripped skin on his hand, and my smile curves dangerously. 

“Stand up when I’m talking to you, kid.” 

And then, I reel back, and punch him directly in the face. 

He crumples onto the grass, blood gushing from his nose and mouth, and I wipe my hand off on my hoodie before turning to head back to the house. 

The goonies move out of my way immediately, terror in their eyes, and then rush behind my back to help their fallen leader. 

I shake out my fist as I walk back to where I’d left the car. It felt nice to punch something again, felt even better to punch a punk ass kid like that who had it coming.

I bite back a grin, shift the car into gear, and leave the frat party behind. 

******

When I get back to my apartment, Hyunjin is curled up in the middle of my bed, watching some sort of drama on the screen of my laptop, a bundle of blankets curled around him. 

I should shower, but I’m suddenly exhausted, and without a word, I climb into the bed next to the omega, looping my arms around his waist and burying my nose in the skin of his throat. 

Hyunjin squirms as my cold hands find the warmth of his belly, and then he glances at me sidelong, a disapproving look on his sharp features. 

“You look terrible.” 

“Thanks.” I mumble, not looking at him. 

He pauses his movie and sits up, ignoring my grumbles as he disturbs the comfortable position I’d found, and reaches out to trace a gentle finger beneath my eyes. 

“You haven’t been sleeping.” 

I shrug, picking at a loose string on the comforter that lays over his body. 

He sighs, and the scent of lemons fills my nose, making my body relax, because Hyunjin has always had that effect on me. He’s always been a safe space, someone I can talk to, when no one else will listen. 

I open my mouth, then shut it again, deciding what to say. 

Finally, I say, “I fucked up.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare until I sigh and roll on my back, staring at the ceiling. I don’t look at him as I continue. 

“With (Y/N).” 

He props his chin in his hand and his gaze softens slightly. 

I go on. 

“She told me she loved me, and I didn’t say it back.” 

Hyunjin breathes for a moment, the rise and fall of his chest keeping my gaze and mind centered, and then he asks gently, “Because of the rule?” 

I nod. “Because of the rule.” 

He sighs again, and leans his head onto my shoulder. I bury my nose in his hair, he smells like shampoo and gel and lemonade, and close my eyes for a brief moment while he thinks. 

Finally, he breaks the silence with, “Do you remember when you said it back to me the first time?” 

His question catches me off guard, but I do, I do remember, just like it was yesterday. 

I nod. 

He smiles, I feel it against the skin of my neck, and then he cocks his head, meeting my gaze from his position against my shoulder somewhat cheekily. 

“Okay, so why’d you break the rule with me?” 

I scoff, ignoring his question as I shrug and frantically scramble for an explanation. 

“That was different! We’d known each other a long time before, and you said it a lot of times before that, and I knew you couldn’t be swayed by fucking biology at that point and I just-” I shrug again, somewhat helplessly, and trail off, rubbing at the back of my neck awkwardly.

Hyunjin sits up and pins me down with his stare, his dark eyes serious. 

“But it’s not different. And you know it.” I did know it, just like I knew I fucked up. 

I sigh heavily and admit, “I know. You’re right.” 

He smiles, sympathetically this time, and leans over to place his soft, long fingers over my own. 

“Let her have some time, some space. But then you have to make it right.” 

I nod, knowing he’s right, and he snuggles back up against me, under the blankets, and resumes his drama. 

I fall asleep with the smell of lemons in my nose. 

****

 I’m not necessarily surprised when she shows up at my door the next day, but I’d thought that she still needed space, and I would have to be the one to first approach, getting to my knees and offering an apology. 

It was the least she deserved.

But here she was, coming into my room and sitting down beside my bed like she belonged there. 

And she did. I’d always known it. 

I glanced quickly at her and then back to my manga, like I was scared to scare her off by looking too long, and we sat in silence for several moments, me flipping pages, her staring at the floor beneath her sneakers. 

Finally, she asked quietly, “What happened to your hand?” 

I flicked my gaze down to the knuckles of my hand, bruising from yesterday’s encounter, and shrugged casually. 

I’d actually forgotten about them till she brought it up. 

“Just some stupid frat boys.” I repeated her words from that night, hoping she’d get the hidden meaning there, as I turned back to reading my comic. 

I wasn’t disappointed. 

I saw her tuck back a satisfied smile, and my chest warms. 

I drop the manga to the bed with a sigh, and she looks at me from the corner of her eye in slight surprise, but doesn’t move from her curled position by the bed. 

Now or never. 

“Look, I know I should apologize-” 

Wow. Great start. 

She interrupts me before I can say anything else, already shaking her head. 

“You don’t need to apologize.” 

I feel self hatred rear its ugly head in my gut and when I speak, my voice is clipped, angry. 

“Yes I fucking do.” 

I owe you so much more than that. 

She startles me by pushing determinedly up to her knees and leaning over me on the bed, her elbows digging into the mattress beside me. 

The fire is back in her eyes as she smiles ruefully down at me.

It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.  

“No, I’m serious. You don’t need to apologize.” 

I stare at her in open confusion, my brow furrowing, and she gives a little laugh, reaching up to smooth the wrinkle from my brow with her pointer finger. 

God, I’d missed her skin. 

“Don’t look so worried.” She says, forcing lightness into her tone. “I’m not gonna hold this against you forever.” 

My lips pull thin into a grimace, and I feel myself scowl. 

“You should.” It’s the least I deserve. 

She shakes her head, and I get a whiff of sweet floral, my gut clenching. 

“You were right though.” She admits a little ruefully, lips curving. “You don’t have to say it. It doesn’t change anything.” 

No, that’s not right. I hadn’t been right, she had been. 

And it was time to let her know that. 

I push myself up on my elbow, opening my mouth, but she beats me to the punch. 

She suddenly looks nervous, wringing her hands and avoiding my gaze. 

“Look. I get it.” She manages to look at me now, her expression softening. “Why you have a rule about not saying it back.” 

That fucking sneak. 

I growl beneath my breath. “Dammit, Hyunjin. I’m gonna fucking murder him.” 

She laughs, and honest to god, it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. 

And then she meets my gaze, and all the breath leaves my lungs in one fell swoop. 

“No, it makes sense. And while I totally get it, I do, I also don’t think you should worry about forcing me into doing anything or saying something against my will just because of some stupid pheromones.”

She holds my eye, and I can’t breathe. 

Her breath quivers on the intake, and her chest rises and falls rapidly in quick succession. 

“Because I’m already pretty hopelessly fucking in love with you as it is, and I don’t think any amount of biology is gonna change that.” 

I stare at her, my mind blank, and then I laugh. 

It feels so fucking good, I can’t seem to stop, even though she’s staring at me like I’m crazy. 

I say the first thing that comes to mind. 

“So you meant it then.” 

She shoots me a less than fiery glare and balls her hands into tiny fists, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to look cross, but I think she’s probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Of course I fucking meant it! Why do you think I got so pissed off when I thought you were rejecting me?” 

Thought you were rejecting me. 

Ah. She gets it now. 

I smile teasingly. “But I told you I wasn’t.” 

And I never would. I never will. Because I’ve never wanted anything more than I want you. Please believe me. 

She throws up her hands in an adorable show of exasperation. 

“Yeah, okay! I get that now, but I was a little too devastated to consider it in the moment!” 

I don’t wait another second. I tug her down on top of me, and she lets out a little squeak of surprise as she topples forward into my arms, her nose going into the skin of my throat. 

She’s warm and she smells like a flower patch after an early frost, and god, I think I’ve never felt this good. 

I place my fingers gently on her cheekbones, and tug her back, just enough so I can see her eyes, the long dark lashes brushing her cheeks as she stares up at me. 

God, she’s beautiful. 

And then, I explain. Like I should’ve the first time. 

“I’m sorry that I made you think any of that. I’m sorry that I hurt you by being a stupid asshole. I’m sorry that you ever thought I didn’t feel the same exact way about you that you feel about me.” His lips curve up into the start of a smirk. “And I’m also sorry that you didn’t get to watch me kick those frat boys’ asses to hell and back, but I’m not sorry I did it.” 

She laughs, the sound thick, like she’s holding back tears, and swipes at her eyes with her hand. 

“I’m also sorry I didn’t get to see that.” 

I’m honestly sorry I didn’t get to see her kick their asses too. 

Another time. 

She buries her nose back in the skin of my throat, comfortingly close to my scent gland, and I feel a contented rumble building in my chest at the feel of her warm body against mine, my arms full of her, the air thickening with wisteria and the flickering flames of a campfire. 

I take in a deep breath, bury my nose in her hair, and admit softly, “Also. I had a rule. But I think it’s about time I start living a little less by the rulebook, and a little bit more by the trust you all seem to have in me, however misguided.” 

I can feel the way she smiles against my skin, matching my own as I bite it back behind my teeth as she pulls back to look at me once more. 

I arch a brow at her. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. But I can say it now, if you want?” 

And I want to, because suddenly, Hyunjin is right, and it’s not different at all. 

She shakes her head, laughing slightly. 

“It’s not gonna change anything important.” 

And she’s right, it won’t. Not my feelings for her, or our relationship, or the comfort that comes from having her in my arms. 

But she’s important, and that’s enough for me. 

So I put my finger under her chin and raise her gaze to mine, and I let my fingertips carefully, slowly, trace the outline of her perfect, full lips, then gently draw over the bruising that trickles over her jaw, and I marvel, once again, at how lucky I am. 

“I know.” I let my eyes meet her own, and she’s staring at me so openly, nothing to hide, everything on display. “But what if I want to?” 

And I do.

She lets out a breath and then breathes out, eyes never leaving my own, “Okay.” 

I lean in and let my lips brush her cheek, so she can feel my words on her skin, inside of her, feel their truth and sincerity. 

And then I toss everything aside-all the fear and the expectations and the rules-and I say it because I mean it. 

“I love you too.” 

She gives me a sly, sidelong glance, and the corners of her lips perk. 

“My alpha pheromones didn’t make you say that, did they?” 

I growl teasingly and tackle her back into my arms, keeping her in place as I tickle her mercilessly and she giggles, making weak attempts to escape. 

“No fucking pheromones were used.” I say softly, against the soft skin of her throat, and everything inside of my soars, because I’m confident. It’s true. She loves me. 

“No pheromones were used.” She repeats back like a promise, just between the two of us, smiling up at me, and then she leans in and connects our lips, and all the previous rules go out the window. 

********************************************************************************

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[waltwhitmansbeard]

Prom with Vaxleth?

26. Prom setting this in grow with the flow! buckle the FUCK UP

It starts with a social media post—Vex's, to be specific. Vax groans, his phone hovering just a few inches above his face, and Keyleth turns her head away from the business email she's been writing and rewriting for the last half hour to ask, "What is it?"

"Look." And then the phone is shoved in her face, and she's looking at—

"Is that you?"

All limbs and sharp angles, a teenage Vax in an ill-fitting tuxedo, his hair slicked back with what must be an entire container of hair gel, gives a sultry look to the camera. He's back to back with his sister, who's wearing a shimmering blue strapless gown that makes her legs look a million miles long. They each wear a snowdrop, him on his boutonniere and her on her corsage.

"Is this your prom photo?" Keyleth snatches the phone, grinning from ear to ear, to look even closer. "You two look so good!"

"We look so dorky." Vax tries to grab the phone back, but Keyleth keeps it deftly out of reach. "Apparently, today's the tenth anniversary, and Vex decided to air our dirty laundry on social media."

Keyleth scrolls down to read the comments, and since Vax is tagged, the Grow with the Flow audience is having a field day. "Oh yeah, this is fun. It's half bullying you, half asking to have a threesome with you and Vex."

"Disgusting."

Keyleth finally returns the phone. "Did you guys at least have fun?"

"Well, I hooked up with both the prom queen and the theatre teacher, so...yes."

Keyleth's jaw drops. "At the same time?"

"No." That prompts more questions than it answers, but then Vax asks, "What about you? I wanna see sexy prom photos."

She snorts. "Good luck. I didn't have a prom."

Vax sits up in bed. "For real? Why not?"

"I wasn't kidding when I said Zephrah is small. My graduating class had eleven kids in it. We just had a bonfire instead. That was the first time I successfully shotgunned a beer. There may be pictures of that somewhere!"

Vax pouts, hooking his chin on your shoulder. "So you've never gotten to dress up all pretty, make all the boys and girls go oooooh?"

"Um, well, I got a pretty nice dress for my mom's funeral."

"Oh fucking hell." Vax swings his legs out of bed and snags up his phone. He paces a line in the kitchen, dialing someone and pressing the phone to his ear.

"Who are you calling?"

"My sister. We are fixing this."

.

Honestly, Keyleth forgets about it. The podcast is really taking off, and pretty much any time not spent researching and scripting and recording and editing is spent coordinating sponsorships and doing the annoying paperwork that comes with owning a business. Vax has some project that he's working on, but he won't tell her what it is, which is fine, because she has more than enough projects on her own plate right now.

She doesn't think to question it when Vex tells her they're going shopping one weekend. Vex likes to shop—well, no. Vex likes to window-shop. Vex rarely spends actual money. Except this time, they go to a little corner boutique, one that sells gowns for weddings and galas. She doesn't know why, but Vex is insistent that she get this long-sleeved emerald green dress that hugs her curves. She tries to argue that it's a ridiculous expense, but Vex promises her they'll do a photoshoot with it for the podcast, and hey, they've been making some pretty good ad revenue these days, so she caves. It's especially hard to say no when Vex buys a dress herself, a slinky black number that makes her look like danger.

She definitely doesn't connect the dots when Vex and Pike burst in unannounced one afternoon when Vax is out, each laden with bags of makeup and hair products. Keyleth's tugged away from her editing to get dolled up, for fun, they insist. The next thing she knows, they're all dressed up, each in their own beautiful gown—Pike's poofy golden dress makes her look like the sun incarnate—and Keyleth's being shoved out the door.

She probably should have figured it out before Vex pulled her car up in front of the botanical garden, where a red carpet lined with silver and gold balloons leads inside the building, but no, it takes Vax, dressed in a sharp black suit that fits like a glove with a slim green tie that matches her dress perfectly, stepping out holding a homemade sign that reads Will you go to prom with me? that she finally fucking gets it.

Crying, she throws her arms around his neck, chastising him for keeping such a momentous secret from her, but Vex is there to scold her for ruining her hair and makeup. Her friends lead her inside, where she's shocked to find the gardens filled with people, most of whom she does not know. Vax explains that he put the call out for anyone in the city who missed out on their high school prom and wants a second chance, with all profits from ticket sales being donated to Keyleth's favorite conservation organization. Keyleth dissolves into a mess again, but Vex and Pike get her cleaned up enough for the evening to begin.

And oh, what an evening. Scanlan's band plays them through a night of dancing, drinking, and all around fun. Keyleth has never spent so much time on a dance floor in her life, but even though she takes plenty of spins with Percy and Grog and the girls, she is happy to have so many with Vax, who can go from an elegant waltz to a shockingly gymnastic twerk with a simple key change.

Some of the other prom attendees are podcast listeners, and Keyleth is so grateful to get to put faces to the numbers she spends more time than she likes to admit obsessing over. Everyone takes thousands of pictures, and she is so excited to see the #growwiththeflow hashtag come morning. The gardens are filled to the brim with people just loving life and enjoying each other's company, and Keyleth, who had never put much thought into what it meant to miss out on such an adolescent right of passage, is beyond grateful to experience this night with these people.

When the evening is winding down, and most of the revelers have either gone home or gone to another location to continue the party, Vax tugs her by the hand deeper into the gardens, far from the area set aside for the event. He boldly strides past a sign forbidding entry, saying "This is not even in the top ten most interesting places I've trespassed" when she stutters in protest.

He stops when they're surrounded by the most beautiful blossoming cherry trees Keyleth has seen since she left Zephrah. The glass ceilings of the botanical gardens let in the light of the stars above, and the entire scene is so fragrant and beautiful. "Vax...this is lovely."

"So are you." She wrinkles her nose at him, and he kisses it. "Did you have fun?"

"I don't think I've ever had so much fun in my life. I can't believe you kept this a surprise from me for so long."

"I can't believe you didn't catch on. I mean honestly, Keyleth, don't tell me I have to be the brains in this relationship, because if that's the case, we're screwed."

She punches his arm. "Jerk."

"Yeah, well, this jerk has one more surprise for you. Look over there." He points over her shoulder and she turns. She squints in the low light, but she sees nothing beyond the cherry trees except more plants.

"I don't understand, is there supposed to be—" She cuts herself off as she turns around to see Vax on one knee, a small box in hand. Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes instantly watery.

"Keyleth, I am not a man of the gods." His voice is cracked, strained, like he's choking back tears of his own. "There is little that I have ever had faith in in this life. Until you. Until I fell in love with a girl I'd follow to the ends of the earth. Until I learned that fate did not mean that my life was a cart on a track, hurtling toward an uncertain future I couldn't avoid, but rather a certainty, a knowing that in this life, in any life, I am yours until I die and long after. And now my faith is in how much I love you, in how much I know you love me. And I may be a lovesick fool, but I have every faith that love will carry us through whatever the gods have in store for us." Keyleth is openly weeping, her breaths coming fast and sharp. "So, then, Keyleth..." He opens the ring box, revealing a pair of rings, one with a gorgeous smokey gray stone. "Will you marry me?"

She doesn't answer him, choosing instead to tackle him into a kiss that knocks him pack onto the stone pathway of the gardens. She kisses him until she can't breath, until the crying and the laughing and the hyperventilating has him sitting her upright before she passes out. Her hand trembles as he slides the rings onto her finger, and it isn't until he closes the ring box again that he pauses and asks, "Uh, wait, was that a yes?"

"Oh, you are definitely not the brains in this relationship." And she kisses her fiancé again, beneath the stars and the cherry blossoms and the eyes of the gods.

[lesbiankimdahyun]

can we have a sneak peek at the alphas!minayeon fic you were writing 🫣

I'll do you one better-- here's the full prologue <3

OUT OF OFFICE: PROLOGUE

1.8K words

CW: A/B/O Dynamics

A/N: my first comeback with TWICE was Eyes Wide Open, so WEV’s name is homage to that album 🥺 

also CARATS forgive me for making wonwoo the p2 ceo, im one of u!!

[A!Mina x A!Nayeon]

Nayeon squinted at her computer screen, reading the words in front of her again carefully to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. 

“The AI allegations? Why the fuck is she talking about that?” Nayeon leaned back in her office chair for a moment in disbelief, the online article she’d been reading still displayed on her desktop monitor. “That fucking journalist, doing exactly as I asked her not to…” The Alpha let out a frustrated huff, resting her chin in her hand for a moment while she thought. “And only someone with exceptionally shitty media training would even think of saying– ” she sat up straight suddenly, cutting off her own thoughts. “Oh…” She reached for the corded phone on her desk and quickly punched a few numbers in. She hit the speaker button, then sat back and waited. 

The phone rang. And rang. Nayeon sighed, fidgeting with the hair tie pulling back her long, light brown hair. “I know you’re in the office, Myoui,” she said under her breath. Finally, the other end picked up. 

“Ah, Nayeon…”

“Mina! I thought you might be in today,” Nayeon said, mustering up a fake, cheerful tone. “The article is out,” she said pointedly, drumming her fingers on her desk slowly. “Have you seen it?”

The woman on the other end cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Yes,” she said, her voice dropping in volume. 

“You know, I liked it,” Nayeon said, nodding her head as if Mina could see her on the other end of the line. “Until I saw the headline. And the first paragraph. And the way the entire article got derailed by the one thing I made that reporter swear up and down they wouldn’t bring up. Tell me there’s no way you’d comment on our competitor’s deep legal shit when your gaming company is doing bigger, better things, right? You wouldn’t comment, not when you’ve been working for the past four years to get this game– this particular game that you first started dreaming of creating in high school– out the door, right?” Nayeon paused for just a moment in case Mina wanted to get a word in, but the other end of her line was dead silent. 

Nayeone exhaled  sharply. “Instead of building hype for the game, now all anyone’s going to notice is the fact that you’re quoted in here saying…” The Alpha swiveled back over to her computer screen. “And this is your direct quote, Myoui: ‘Only someone as naive as PixelPulse’s CEO [Jeon Wonwoo] would have been stupid enough to believe he’d never get caught cutting corners by only using AI instead of real humans to test gameplay analytics and user interface’,” Nayeon read. “‘AI doesn’t test play with epileptic people in mind and now they’re the ones paying the price. I don’t know what’s more embarrassing, the fact that it happened in the first place, or that he hasn’t resigned yet,’” she let out a quick sigh after she finished the last line of the quote. “Mina,” Nayeon said exasperatedly, “You wouldn’t believe the numbers those quotes of yours are doing online right now. Can you please tell me what happened when you spoke with the reporter?”

Nayeon could hear Mina’s rapidly growing panic on the other line, as if she was just hearing for the first time what had been printed. “I- we were just chatting casually at the start of the interview... I didn’t think she would remember–” 

A beeping sound cut off the end of Mina’s sentence. 

“Shit,” Nayeon said, holding her head in her hand and rubbing her forehead. “I have the SVP of Strategic Comms on the other line. Don’t leave for the day until we connect again,” Nayeon said, then hung up her call with Mina. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for a moment, then hit accept on the call waiting. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 An hour later, one of the worst press team calls of Nayeon’s career was over. She had survived, but barely. When it ended, she kept her office door shut and closed her window blinds slowly. She slowly paced around the rectangular room and stress-cried for a few minutes, allowing herself to sit in her overwhelm and frustration. When she’d had enough, she sat down in her office chair and pulled out her phone, swiping through her apps for a moment. She tapped on one of her favorites: an app connected to the doggy cam she had set up so she could check in on her beloved furry source of joy, Kookeu.

She smiled as the tiny pomeranian’s image came up on her phone screen. The dogwalker always left him with a food puzzle after his afternoon walk, and as expected, Kookeu was up and walking around in the kitchen, using his nose and paws to roll a round, purple food toy that dispensed individual bits of kibble when they fell through the holes at just the right angle. He got one out, and Nayeon turned up the volume to hear the tiny crunching noises Kookeu made as he ate it. 

She sighed softly, satisfied that at least someone’s day was going well, and closed the app. Then Nayeon got up. It was time to speak with her new full-time press project: Wide-Eyed Variant Gaming Founder and Director of Engineering, Myoui Mina. 

The farther Nayeon got away from the “hands-off” side of the company’s building and closer to the side Mina frequented, she noticed a severe spike in the number of monitors people had on their desks. It was well after 5:00 now, but she was relieved to see the lights still on in Mina’s large corner office. Relieved– but weirdly nervous. She didn’t like needing to track people down or give feedback people didn’t want to hear. And Mina’s elusive, quiet temperament made it somehow harder. 

She knocked lightly on the open office door. “Mina,” she said, letting herself in. “Thank you for sticking around. I’m sorry for being so…high strung earlier.”

Mina looked up from her four screen display nervously despite also brimming with annoyance. She couldn’t believe this day: to be the founder of her own company and yet now, in this moment, she felt more like a student that had been asked to stay after class. 

To her credit, the Japanese woman was brilliant, and she and Nayeon both knew it. Mina had received her bachelor’s degree in computer science and a master’s in software engineering from some of the best programs internationally; she was a gamer from the moment she developed consciousness, really. She made the papers when she launched her company, Wide-Eyed Variants, fresh out of undergrad from her childhood home, and made headlines again when she was still able to be the director of its engineering department while going back to school full-time for her master’s. 

She’d been profiled a few times by both gaming and arts and culture outlets, had hit a number of 30 under 30 lists, and even had a few op-eds ghostwritten for her in household name outlets like Forbes and The New York Times. The games Wide-Eyed Variant produced were so popular today that they hardly needed any advertising. Even other game series with heavy cult followings like The Legend of Zelda and Animal Crossing always fell short of the consumer-related numbers Wide-Eyed Variant could pull. And from the outside, she made her journey and career look totally effortless. It was no wonder she was considered a person of interest and expert in the gaming field, and that journalists constantly wanted to talk to her. But that’s why Nayeon was here. Mina’s only downfall was the media and being in the spotlight. The Japanese Alpha often got nervous while being interviewed. There was something so scary about consenting to being “on the record” to her, and even though she wasn’t a huge talker, any sign of the little red recording button tended to make her a little too chatty. 

Mina did her best to push her anxious thoughts away and braced herself for what Nayeon would have to say about it all.

“Relax, we’re fixing this,” Nayeon said, as if reading Mina’s mind. She closed Mina’s office door behind her and took a seat in one of the tan leather chairs reserved for guests across from Mina’s desk. “Crisis comms is doing damage control online and legal is working overtime in case PixelPulse comes for us with a defamation or libel case. But you should know…” Nayeon leaned in a little, her face becoming serious. “General Counsel Park Jihyo told me to tell you she’s actually going to need to speak with you like, immediately. She’s on her way down right now, she said this just couldn’t be done over the phone.”

Mina nearly jumped out of her chair. “WHAT??” 

Nayeon’s face broke into a grin and she crossed her arms. “So worth it,” she said to herself. Then, looking up at Mina, she said, “Ah, I’m sorry, that was a bad joke. I promise Counsel Park isn’t storming down here right now.” 

Mina let out a shaky breath, crumpling a bit in her seat. “What the hell, Nayeon! Don’t do that.”

Nayeon chuckled. “I won’t do it again,” she said, her smile slowly fading. “You’re safe from her wrath of legalese, but you’re not safe from me. Strategic Comms wants you to go through media training.” 

Mina couldn’t help but make a face. Hadn’t she done enough of that? “But… I already did…” 

Nayeon nodded. “Yes, you did. But that was before I joined this company. And I’m sure the training you had with whoever back then was fine. They just want you to…” Nayeon uncrossed her arms and waved her hand. “You know, refresh a few skills, maybe learn a new one or two. Plus, this will give me a chance to make sure the rest of my comms and digital teams have the most accurate sense of your voice going forward.” 

“Oh please,” Mina said, unable to hide her annoyance anymore. “Everyone is overreacting, I’m not that bad, really! This instance was– this—” 

Nayeon let out a laugh. “You’ve lost your privileges to say you’re ‘not that bad.’ At least not until we get you a better quote in another outlet,” she said. “Look, just a few media training sessions with me, and then Strategic Comms will get off my back, and I’ll get off yours. Okay?” 

Mina fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Why does it feel like I don’t actually have a choice in this?” 

Nayeon offered a weak smile. “Because you don’t. But thank you for being so willing.” Nayeon stood up, pushing in her chair as she turned to leave. “I spoke to your scheduler, by the way,” she said, opening the office door. “Plan on getting a few calendar invites from me soon.”