#yeah i got thoughts <3 many thoughts brain full what about it <3

[luvyeni]

⠀ ( drabble ) playing games ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 이희승 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ playing with heeseung going too far  ヾ

boyfriend!heeseung・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ ‎unprotected sex, cumming multiple times, dirty talk‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. omg imagine teasing bf!enhypen for being weak and then they use their strength on u and manhandle u during sex. thatd b so hot

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 hope this is what you wanted 🫶🏽🩷

you knew heeseung let you win when you guys would play fight. he was way stronger than you and could easily overpower you, that didn't stop you from trying— flipping the boy, the both of you rolling around your bed. “baby.”

he couldn't help but laugh, watching you crawl all over him. you hits weren't causing any damage to him, they felt like little baby hits to him. “baby stop now im tired.” his pleas falling on deaf ears, your thighs still straddling his waist. “then push me off.” you teased. “come on i know you could do it.”

knowing you were trying to egg him on and he wasn't about to give into you. “you can do it can you?” you smirked, you could see the shift in his body; the clenching of his jaw, the darkening of his eyes. “baby.” his words started to sound more threatening, this is where you should've stopped— but you didn't, because you like to push your man's buttons, because the outcome was always rewarding in your favor. “you can't do it.”

“its cause you're too weak” that's what set him off. “yeah?” he said, you nodded teasingly. his tongue pushing the inside of his cheek. “okay princess.” the lowering of his voice filling your stomach with butterflies and shiver down your spine. “just know you bought this on yourself.”

“hees-ah!” before you even get a word out, he was flipping you over. “you really like playing with your life baby?” his big hand coming over to pin both yours over your head. “what's with the wide eyes baby, you shocked?” he chuckled, but it wasn't the cute one you loved — it was the dark one that made your panties soak and wet. “scared?”

you finally got the courage to speak. “i wa-was ju-just playing hee, i didn't mean it.” he smirked at how meek your voice sounded. “yeah baby , you were just playing a little game?” he said. “i love games , let's play one of my favorites.” his other hand finding it's way to your neck, squeezing it. “it's how many positions i can put you in and how much cum i can fill you with until you pass out.”

when heeseung said something, he meant it. it had been an hour since he said what he said — and he hadn't let up since, you had been in at least 3 different positions and he'd had roughly fucked at least 4 of his sticky loads into your spent cunt. “heeseung fuck!”

you grip the sheets, he had you on your knees; ass in the air as he assaulted your hole. “fuck baby i never get tired of his pussy.” he groaned , plowing into you. his hand on the back of your head , smushing your face into the pillow. “always takes my cock so fu-fucking well.”

you were a drooling mess, eyes rolled to the back of your head. “look at you.” he laughed condescendingly. “so full and fucked out all because you wanted to think with this nasty pussy and not your brain.” you moaned. “you should've called it quits with i said to.” he could feel himself about to cum again. “fuck im gonna cum inside this pussy again.” he moaned out , then you felt the warmness of his fifth load pouring inside you. “ugh fuck!”

he pulled out, cumming leaking out; you finally thought he was giving you a break. “nah baby im not done.” he flipped you on your back. “he-heeseung to-too much.” he smirked, still listening for a safeword. “you can take it.” was all you heard before he slammed back into you. “fuck!” you screamed. “oh my fucking god!” you choked out as he pounded into you. “that's it take my fucking cock.”

you felt like you were gonna burst , this entire time you had not cum, he didn't let you; that was your punishment. “you gonna cum?” he moaned out. “fuck yes!” the headboard slamming against the wall. “i shouldn't let you cum , since you wanna play games.” he growled. “i-i’m sorry , please let me cum im sorry.”

“say im stronger than you.” he said. “you-you're stronger than me heeseung -fuck- you know you are.” he was fucking with you, much like you were to him all those hours ago. “yeah i fucking know baby.” he grunted. “i can feel your pussy pulsing , cum for me , make a fucking mess.” he gave your clit a slap , just as you came, your juices squirting on him. “ah fuck heeseung!”

he frantically thrusted his hips, chasing his orgasm. “oh fuck baby, fuck baby.” he grunted. “im cumming.” he buried his head in your neck , pumping his last load inside you. “fuck!”

you felt him softening inside you; holding his shoulders. “fuck i think this is a new record of how many times i came inside.” he joked , slowly pulling out of you , his cum came pouring out of you. “all because you can't take a joke.” you pouted. “well baby.” he tapped the tip of his cock on your sensitive clit. “hee stop.” your legs twitched, he smirked.

“play stupid games win stupid prizes.”

©LUVYENI

[hot-coffemilk]

Okay, im feeling a little better, today was just very stressful

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hi!! can i request carmy berzatto #16, t? 🤭

Finders, Keepers.

16. "Is that my shirt?" + t. Roommates

Author's Note - this is written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here if you're interested. my first time writing for beautiful angel boy carmy <3

Pairing - Carmen Berzatto x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 1185

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

The Roommate Collection.

Having Carmen Berzatto as a roommate is a blessing and a curse.

It's a blessing for many reasons. He's kind, thoughtful, considerate. He cooks, he cleans, he loads the dishwasher correctly. He's fairly quiet, he respects your boundaries, he always lets you choose the movie to watch. He's perfect in every way, really.

He's perfect in every way. That's the curse.

He's the most attractive man you've ever laid your eyes on. And he cooks. And he cleans. And he's the best roommate you could ever ask for. You're convinced anyone would struggle not to fall in love with him. Anyone.

You've fallen victim to the Berzatto charm. As much as you'd love to tell him, you don't want to ruin this good thing the two of you have. It's not worth it. So, you keep your mouth shut, and your eyes glued to his perfect face whenever he's not looking. It's sometimes painful, but it works.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're woken up bright and early by someone knocking on your bedroom door.

"I'm making breakfast. Lesson, or nah?"

Before you met Carmy, you couldn't really cook. Sure, you knew the basics, but he's opened you up to all sorts of new techniques and flavours. Whenever he starts to prepare a meal, he'll ask you if you want a lesson. Sometimes, you'll say no, content to watch him do his thing in the kitchen. More often than not, you'll say yes, allowing him to talk you through what he's doing and why. He explains everything step by step, always ensuring he's thorough but never patronising. These little cooking lessons allowed the both of you to get to know each other, bonding you together.

"Yeah, sure!" you call through the door, still half asleep. "Give me a minute."

You hear him turn the coffee maker on, the sounds of mugs clinking together filling the kitchen.

You stumble out of bed, grabbing around for something to wear. You find a dark grey t shirt on the chair and throw it over your head haphazardly. Pulling some socks on to tackle the morning chill, you run your fingers through your hair before making your way through the apartment.

Carmy's wearing his navy plaid pyjama pants and a white t shirt that hugs his biceps just right. His hair is sticking up in all directions, and it takes everything in you not to reach out and fix it into place.

"Morning, sweetheart," he says without turning around. "What do you want for breakfast, pancakes or waffles?"

"Hmmm," you debate. "Waffles, I think."

"Waffles it is."

Carmen turns around from where he's been brewing the coffee, and almost falls over. You're stood leaning against the counter, hair mussed and eyes still sleepy. Your legs are on full display, socks ending just above your ankle, skin glowing in the morning light. You smell like warmth and a golden sunrise. Carmy holds onto the mug in his hand like his life depends on it.

"Coffee," he stutters, handing it to you. You cross the kitchen and take it from him, kissing him on the cheek as a thank you. You both pretend not to notice the way heat blooms up his chest at the action.

The longer he looks at you, the more he can't put his finger on what it is that's driving him insane. There's something different about you this morning, and it's got him riled up. His eyes rake over your body once, twice, three times before he figures it out.

"Is that my shirt?"

You look down to find that yes, it is. You must have picked it up from the pile of clean laundry he did yesterday accidentally.

"Oh, shit. Sorry, Carmy."

"No, it's okay. You look... you... it's - fuck."

You've never seen his brain short circuit like this, and you're not entirely sure what's happening.

"Are you... alright, Carmy?"

"God," he groans. "Stop saying my name like that."

"... like what?"

"Like... fuck. You say it so fuckin' pretty."

He has a look in his eyes you've never seen before. It's almost animalistic. He looks feral.

He strides over to you, cradling your face in his calloused hands. He presses his forehead to yours, and exhales shakily.

"Will you let me taste you, honey?" he murmurs.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your knees go weak. It's a good job he's holding you up.

"Please," he practically begs. "I'll make you feel real good."

You answer him by smashing your lips to his, hands fisting in the front of his shirt. He kisses you back with vigour, tongues tangling and mouths melding. You moan and he swallows it, committing the sound to memory.

Carmy walks you backwards and hoists you up onto the edge of the kitchen table, before dropping to his knees. He looks debauched, knelt in front of you with wide eyes and swollen lips. You think he's never looked prettier.

He starts by kissing up from your ankles to your thighs, building the tension expertly. You're practically vibrating with anticipation, desperate to feel him where you need him most. Your underwear is soaked through, and you're convinced you're going to go insane if he doesn't get his mouth on you soon.

As if he's reading your mind, he nudges his nose against your covered core, inhaling. He groans at your scent, and it's the filthiest thing you've ever seen. He pulls your underwear down in one quick swoop, looking up at you carefully. You grab the hem of your shirt, ready to pull it over your head, but Carmy stops you.

"Leave it on," he mutters. "Please."

You nod your head, and he takes that as confirmation. He dives into you, lapping you up like a man parched. He's nipping, biting, suckling at you as if he's done it a thousand times before. You prop yourself on your elbows, giving you the perfect view of this perfect man in this perfect situation. He's so eager to please you it makes your heart and your core ache.

"Fuck," he groans. "Sweetest thing I've ever tasted."

He slips two fingers into you with ease, and your back arches. You're writhing, moaning on every out breath, struggling to inhale. Is there anything this man can't do?

You can feel your orgasm building, warm and persistent in your stomach. Carmy can too.

"Come on, honey," he begs. "Give it to me. I want it. Let me have it."

You're not sure if it's his dulcet tone or the way his fingers curl on every upstroke, but you fall apart, hips keening and back canting. You whine his name and he groans, low and deep.

"There we go," he's muttering. "Good girl. That's it. Atta girl."

When he's satisfied you're satisfied, he stands up and kisses you again, allowing you to taste yourself on his bitten lips.

"No Michelin star dish is ever going to compare to that," he teases against your mouth. You both laugh, giddy off of each other.

"Shut up," you giggle. "Now, are we making waffles, or what?"

[carmenized-onions]

Two Steps Back. | Advanced Payment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you, Amish?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ insane, cousin.”

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

“Why do you keep bringing lunch, then?”

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

“I just like making my own lunch.”

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

“I think beef is fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This fucking guy. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Tony?”

“She’s gone.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fak.” 

“Carm?”

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

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

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

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

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

Walk-In Hotfix, $80

Plumbing Repair (Service + 4 Hours), $250

Oven Wiring Fix (House call), $70

Oven Hotfix + Replacement Thermocouple, $120

Non-Gratis: Pinot Grigio, -$20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bold.”

“Thank you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s have it, Chef.” David goads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You should reply!”

“He doesn't need a fuckin' reply.” 

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

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

“I literally have brothers, Michael.”

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

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

“You're the baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you have to add actually and kinda?”

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

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

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

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

“Fuckin’ delighted, Jackie.”

“Never fuckin’ call me Jackie.”

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Your hair is fucked.” 

“And the food?”

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

“Someone other than you, yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the point.”

“That’s the point?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin— You’re needed, pronto.” 

“Not your Cousin.”

“Heard and resented.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye aye, Rich.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cousin!” 

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

“Cousin get my fucking bag, now!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She had to leave early.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not nothing, Mikey.”

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

“I know.”

“Mikey, you’re not.”

“Don’t fucking Good Will Hunting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

“Like a nerd?” “Like a nerd.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s how it starts.”

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

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

“How long you been stable, again?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs, “Better than Jack, no?”

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

“Yeah, better than Jack.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has it really only been thirty minutes?

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

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

“What?”

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

“Fuck you mean what?”

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

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

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

“You said she failed him.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being you.”

“You don’t love me!”

“Of course we fuckin’ love you!”

“You don’t fucking love me!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’s he in the freezer?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods to your phone. “How long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same team.”

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

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

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

“Six hours. Same team.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s runnin’ house?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“First time.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They’re multiplying?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard.”

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

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

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

“Can you stay after close?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods, “Can you do that?”

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

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

“Insane, Uncle.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I believe in you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you! I ask for so little.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Richie leads, “You need to fucking relax.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you wish you did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

“Mikey—”

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

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

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

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

“I love you, I didn’t want this to be— I-I—I’m not killing myself, Chip.”

“You’re not?”

You shouldn’t have believed him. You should’ve just kept walking. You would’ve figured out where he was, eventually. You should’ve called the coast guard, or some shit. Should’ve just figured it out.

“I’m not. I’m— I’m okay, I’m really just going for a walk— I-I just— I had a… I— I don’t want you to be my sponsor anymore. That’s it.” It made sense. He didn't want you to feel hurt, so he was hesitant. It made sense.

“Why?”

“Cause you’re a kid, and I can’t make you responsible for what I do.”

“I’m not a kid.” “To me, you are.” “Then we’ll find you someone else.” “Yeah, okay.”

You pause, for a good bit, listening to the shakiness of his breath. “You’re cold, Mikey.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re just cold.” That’s all that’s wrong. He’s just cold and he doesn't want you to be his sponsor anymore. “Go inside, soon. Come home.”

“I will.”

Mikey always had that way of making you think everything was going to be okay, even when it wasn’t. “Okay.”

“I want you to start treating our joint like an advanced payment, by the way. A million things are always fucking breaking at The Beef, there’s no point in wiring all the time.”

Mikey wants this to be clean and square, too. Because he couldn’t figure out the wiring by himself— He needs to make sure his baby brother is taken care of, he needs to make sure his restaurant is taken care of, he needs to make sure that you have something to do because Michael fucking saw you. 

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You nod to no one. “I think your toilets fucked, speaking of.” You laugh, everything’s okay. There’s a long silence, and you think he’s hung up. 

“Good. Okay— You should— You should come fix it, sometime soon… Love you, Chip.”

“Love you, Bear.”

You will tell your therapist that after that phone call, you went back inside, cleaned yourself up, unpacked unused toiletries, changed out of your borrowed brother’s sweats into your nice pajamas, because Mikey said he would come home. He said he would come home and you believed him because he never lied to you before. You set up the things he left for you in your handmade clay dish tray; so he can take them back. Just because you’re not his sponsor, doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep his chips. 

You will tell your therapist that you fell asleep on the couch, waiting for Michael. You will tell her you woke up to a phone call from Richie, and all he said, wavering, was, “You should come over.” Richie doesn’t ask things. Richie will always say, come over. You don’t know why that’s the signal you get, since you seemingly must have missed so many other obvious signs, but you know then that your— Your— Your best— Fuck, the knots are fucking debilitating, fuck fuck fuck. 

You will not come over. You will walk, in the cold, to your dad’s place. You will not bring anything with you. You will stay there and rot for two weeks, as will everything in your apartment. He will force you to go to this several hour long therapy appointment because he can’t keep watching you do this, and you will resent the woman you are telling all this. 

You will continue to see her, for five more sessions, because the first six are covered under your insurance. She will help in a lot of ways, she will hurt in others.

Wells-Fargo will ask if you want to close your account. You don’t want to, but it’ll accrue monthly banking fees, so you take the money out and close it. You buy a shitty maroon 2004 Dodge Intrepid off Facebook Marketplace with the two and a half grand. It barely functions as a car. But it will drive. The next time someone needs you. You can drive. Next time you’ll think of everything, next time you won’t fail.

You stop paying the phone bill, for your business line. It goes defunct. You just don’t think you should be trusted to be helpful, for the next little while. You will blame your father for this, when people ask about it.

On the day of his funeral, you will go. You will go, and you will sit on the curb across from the church, and you will not go inside. It's just not possible. You will buy a pork chop-cheese sandwich from a bodega nearby and you will eat it on that curb and it’s only then, after shoving it down for so long, that you will scream and cry.

You will leave before anyone sees you, and you will go to State Street Bridge, and you will set up a small vigil. You will finnick with the candles and the flowers until you feel they are perfect. They will never get perfect. You just don’t want to leave. You have a tendency to do that. 

You will stare at the little stuffed bear, the roses, the picture frame of him, and you will finally say it aloud. 

“My best friend, Mikey, died.”

When Carmen shows up, two hours later, not honestly that long after you finally left, he will add a bouquet and a prayer candle. He will readjust all of your work, to his preference, and then readjust it again and again and again— and he will finally say it aloud. 

“My brother, Mikey, shot himself.”

No matter how you say it, it won’t roll off the tongue.

And about thirty-nine weeks from that day, you will be in New York, at a wedding, talking with the virgin Michelin star ranked brother, as you promised.

You will have abandoned your bar after making confessions under the counter, and have instead co-opted the single stall gender-neutral bathroom to have ample time and space to tell each other everything you’ve told your therapists. Even now, neither of you can get the words to roll off the tongue. 

But Carmen manages to make “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry— I will never be able to surmise, how sorry—” roll off well enough. Alas, he’s interrupted, by a knock on the gender-neutral bathroom door, made by the only fuckers that knows you two are in here. 

“Guys I— Guys I don’t know how to run bar, and I don’t think I should’ve been trusted, with this.”

Carmen will not look away from your bleary-eyed face, he will not break his focus even when you laugh at the sudden tension break. He will just tell the Faks to fuck off and figure it out.

“I’m gonna fix it.” Carmen will tell you, and you will nod and say, “I will too.”

Because it’s not just on one of you, anymore. It can be both. The shared burden. The shared grief. No more fucking shoes, because it's all out now.

It’s not negotiable.

I love when tumblr drafts fully start to lag and my macbook lights on fire because the post is too fucking long. I have so much to say about this chapter but I think I will just make a separate post entirely about this. Because I’m. I’m really proud tbh not to toot my own horn but I think I kind of maybe a little bit ate with this one. 

Fun fact, that you may or may not believe: The Carmen scenes? Not planned. Fully did not plan to do any of that. This was going to be entirely Mikey flashbacks, originally— There might’ve ended up being more honestly, if I didn’t add Carmen, but after Something to Do when I started writing I was like,,, these cats aren’t cooking, Carmen’s side is missing a second beat before the third. And so, here it is. 

I know everyone was expecting a depression week for Carmen— And to be fair, I also kind of was. But I then thought, nah. They’d done too much work, and I don’t think Rich/Syd would allow him to wallow. Like get your shit together, not for you, for her. Ugh. 

Speaking of Rich and Syd— FUCK man my heart. The way their scenes from the past and present meshed together in such a deeply painful way I’m sooo SICK WITH IT!!! WHAT DID YOU THINK?!?!! Just fuckin— The way Tony was too scared to reach out to Syd but it’s SO FUCKING OBVIOUS that Syd was on the other side of Chicago thinking the exact same shit i’m SO SICK!!!!! I’M HACKING UP A LUNG HERE!!

Anyways it’s my birthday send me well wishes and an essay on what you thought I’d love to hear it. I know this was a tough one. Thank you for getting through it with me lmao. Tag list! Hope I didn’t forget anyone, pwease note i ownwee add pweople who swend theiw twoughts— It also may or may not hurt my feelings when people don’t read this text at the bottom. It might. It might a lot.

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

Next Part

[blkgirl-writing]

Hi, I saw your smut requests post and was wondering if you could write one about touch starved Gale finally being alone with reader/Tav and getting his satisfaction? (Yeah, I got inspired by your nsfw headcanons about him, how could you tell?) Please and thank you!

PS Can I be 🧀 anon?

What happened at the moon lit pond

Gale X Fem!Reader

Baldurs gate 3

It’s been, probably three years since I’ve written a full fanfic? I’ll admit I’m probably a little rusty. Thank y’all for hanging in, and I hope this fulfills our nerdy wizard boy needs. thank you so much 🧀 anon for the request! I hope you stay and request some more.

Important tags: lots of pining, some angst (no sad ending), smutty (male and female Masterbation, male giving female oral), spoilers for gales mid game story, romance, Gale is an anxious mess, The thought of gale brushing his hair from his face got me GOING 😩

Word count: 1.9k

(Part 1.5 HERE) (PART 2 HERE)

(Gale headcanons that inspired this here)

-

Gale didn’t know how to handle these new feelings for you. He makes a fool of himself everyday, it seems. He always offers you a slice of his bread, even if you gave your own, he saves some of his own morning coffee for you, since he wakes up earlier, and even warm it up for you with a spell.

He simply wanted you to like him. That would be all he needed, but anything else that may follow that would be a true blessing. Gale wanted nothing more than to make you laugh, to see your smile and know he was the reason why, to camp and be the first and last person you’d speak to before sleep.

Gale wouldn’t let his mind wander much past that, or he tried to not let it. The occasional dream would slip through where you were his, and he was yours. It simply put him in panic mode In the waking hours, trying to not be obvious, scared you’d find out, what exactly? He wasn’t sure. You were too kind to break his heart so effortlessly, like he feared you would.

Endless scenarios danced in gales head of rejection, humiliation, and what would happen if he let himself go, life he was tasked to do. It wouldn’t take much, to convince him to live. Friendship, a place to call home, even if it was ever moving. Company he could entrust his life to. It was all so appealing. Luring him into life, breathing a new passion into his purpose, one he’d lost many years ago, sometime when he was alone for so many years.

Those thoughts seemed to linger on forever, sweeping over his barely conscious brain to awaken him again, rustling him from what could be a good nights rest. Eventually, Gale decided to just get up and go for a walk.

Camp had been set up in one of the most beautiful places any of you had seen. Waterfalls tinted emerald green, sand fine and shimmering in the light, may it be sun or moon. I’m one of those waterfalls, he found you.

Waist deep in the pond. Skin and hair dripping wet, shining more than usual water would, adding a silver glow to the night. You looked better than a goddess could ever imagine, and still, his eyes never dipped below you shoulders, even though he deeply wanted to look lower. Instead, he stood there, looking like a fucking idiot, gods know how long. Maybe a tree branch snapped, or maybe you finally snapped out of your trance, but your head whipped in his direction, eyes darting across the small beach, only relaxing when you realize only gale stands before you.

“Oh, Gale, it’s just you…” you let out a deep, jagged breath, the anxiety flowing out of your body just as quickly as it racked through it.

“Just? Are you disappointed?” Gale smirked, although his heart raced in his chest, one word and he'd sulk back to camp, but gods he wanted to stay and spend the whole night with you under the stars.

“Far from it, really. I was just thinking about how much you’d enjoy this view if you were here” you tore your eyes away from Gale, focusing on the stars. “I thought it may remind you of waterdeep. You paint a very beautiful picture of home.”

“I can think of a few things much, much more beautiful than Waterdeep,” his voice low, raspier than usual. Easily explained away from the lack of sleep or old sleeping bags, not for what it really was. Deep yearning, wanting, needing.

“I’d love to see them someday, then.”

“We’ll just have to get you a mirror, then,” “All the beauty in the world would reflct

"Gale, I-" You finally looked into his eyes, he wore his heart on his sleeve, at least for a moment. Those puppy eyes, dark bust glistening in the full moonlight, his hair messy from turning in his sleep, he wanted you, in many more ways than one. Gale's emotions could never be that simple, of course.

"Well," you walked towards him, water inching lower and lower, revealing more and more of your body, yet gales eyes stayed on yours. "Why don't you join me for a swim. It's a beautiful night."

"an offer I could not refuse." Gale's face was plastered with that cocky smile, the one that could melt anyone into a puddle in seconds.

He might have been a gentleman and kept his eyes upwards, but you were not so much, Gale untied his robes, gods why were there so many damn layers? It was quite a sight, his little mannerisms that showed more of him to you than he had shown to you. He was nervous, his fingers missing the simple ties frequently, he got annoyed by his hair getting in his eyes, a grimace appearing before he swept his hair behind his ear.

Your eyes lingered on his circle smoke tattoo, his toned arms, his downright massive hands. he was more tan than you realized, To be fair, he's always covered in those loose robes, leaving you to wonder what was underneath. You were more than happy to finally be finding out. But not below the waist.

"Isn't it a bit cold to be this naked?"

"The water is warmer than the air, I promise." You extended a hand out to Gale, even though he was feet away from you. "Come on, Gale from Waterdeep being afraid of some cold water? Sounds redundant."

"You got me there." He finally stepped into the glimmering pond surrounded by rocks and sand, enough to have your own little corner, to lessen the echo if it was needed. The whole camp didn't need to know all of your business. It must've been a magical lake, as both you and Gale noted separately. Unnaturally still, even when you moved freely, small glowing lights pooled at your sides, occasionally bubbling into the air once you leaned against a large, bright rock.

"May I ask what you were doing out here at this hour?" Gale spoke, still much further away from you than he wanted to be,

"Can I not take a mid-night swim?" You raised your brows in a questioning glance his way "A woman needs time to herself. These days and nights have been very stressful."

Gales very audible oh, slipped through the silence. "You don't have to relax alone." His eyes finally gave in to the need, scanning your body with a low moan slipping past his lips. His excitement was immediate, brushing against your lower stomach all the way past your navel.

"You've wanted this." You stated, brushing your hand against his thigh.

"There's plenty of magic around us, I want the Gale right in front of me." You dared to inch even closer, his thigh fully slipping between yours, inches away from touching your pussy. His hands floated inches from your waist, "Let me give you everything"

"Give me everything" With that, Gale's hand grabbed your waist, gently guiding you onto his thigh, motioning your hips down and swaying only him. The sensation sent sparks flying through his body, you were right in front of him, completely bare and rocking with pleasure onto him. Better than any dream he'd thought up, any fantasy that ran through his head even at the most inappropriate of times. Yes even during the throws of battle. Even in hard times like that, he was so drawn to you.

Gales other hand came up to your jawline, tilting your head so he could latch his mouth around your neck. Deep marks left behind while he inches his way in hickeys up your neck, jaw, and finally to your lips. Any semblance of anonymity flew out the window, not a single person could miss what he gave you, artfully placed dark spots painting your skin. "I have never seen such a beautiful being in my life"

"I could say the same about you gale," You said betwixt breathy moans, picking up the pace of your grinding hips against his thigh, his hand on your waist moving between a tight grip on your ass, and a light but so effective caress of your clit. Every time you got so close, his fingers moved, he was teasing you. His cocky smirk felt even through his kiss.

"I want you to come on my mouth." As if he was reading your slightly frustrated thoughts, "I want to taste you in my dreams."

All you could manage was a frantic nod, a mumbled yes, and shakily hoisting yourself up onto a rock that was perfect for gales pretty head to be between your thighs. Gale pushed your thighs apart with one hand, which stayed firmly grabbing onto you. The other sneaked up your thigh, tracing patterns along your skin. "Gale, please," you whispered out of pure desperation. The only warmth coming from your feet still in the water, otherwise your skin exposed to the biting air.

"All you had to do was ask, my lady" Gales fingers easily slid into you, curling up and pumping in and out, while he leaned into your pussy, maintaining eye contact as he placed one kiss just to the right of where you needed him to be. All he needed was to be touched, to touch you. Your legs wrapped around him to get Gale even closer, urging him closer.

"Touch yourself" Barely a whisper, but Gale caught it, and certainly didn't need to be told twice. Secretly, he could cum from this alone, your taste, how soft you were, how loud you could get. It was more than enough to orgasm right there with you, however, that is not exactly how he wanted your first sexual experience to go. His hand clutching your thigh came to his cock, rubbing much faster and harder than he was fingering you. he was eager. He wanted this to last forever, he wanted you to cum again and again and again into his mouth. He wanted his face even more dripping from your juices.

"Gale I can't hold it-" You nearly screamed, his tongue swirling and sucking, lightly biting, it was almost too much. Then, he moaned. A loud, deep moan and that was it. Vibrations running through your body from his mouth. there noise that left your mouth could've been heard across Baldurs gate, you silently thanked this magical pound for being so secluded, as you would be borderline embarrassed if people heard. Gales didn't come back up for hair until he was sure you were finished, getting every last drop of you.

"You certainly are loud" Gales tone was so smug it almost made you laugh. You gripped onto his shoulders as he swept you down from the perch, pressing his whole body to yours. After all that, after her definitely came, he was still so hard, and so pressed against you that you couldn't help but gasp. "I want to hear that again."

"Hear what, exactly?" you teased, lifting a finger to trace his chest.

"To hear you cum," his lips dipped down to your ear, slightly nibbling on it, before he rasped "and to feel you on my cock."

-

Part two, here

(Requests Open)

[rafesfavbimbo]

Part 3 to this and this.

Pairing: FWB!Rafe Cameron x FWB!Reader

A/N: FLUFF! LIKE SO MUCH! Healed relationships >> I hope this does the heartache justice! Much love 🐰🌸💕 (not entirely proofread kinda just cranked this out)

-

Rafe can’t believe he’s standing in front of her door. His heart is pounding in his chest as he hovers his hand over the front door of her penthouse. It’s been so long and he swallows hard before he shuts his eyes as he finally knocks, soft taps but loud enough for her to hear. He pulls his hand back and stuffs it into his pocket as he stares at his shoes, his brain racking and stomach clenched with anxiety as he waits. Hoping she’s home, hoping the door opens. It’s when he hears a shuffling inside that his heart starts pounding, listening to the locks open as the door tilts open. A face he’s waited so long to see coming into view. God —she looks beautiful. She looks so stunning; a healthy glow about her and an aura of calm surrounding her as she faces him. Her eyes widening and pretty lips opening into a slight drop of shock as she whispers out a..

“Rafe?”

-

Right after y/n stormed out of his house, Rafe collapsed onto the floor. Hands holding himself up as he heaves, eyes clenched tightly as tears drip onto the floor. His face pounding and sore from the backhands she gave him —and rightfully so. He’s been rough with her before she loves to be manhandled; but the way he choked her till her face was red and the light slowly left her eyes is still playing in his head. The words she spoke to him still pounding around his brain as he chokes out a sob. She’s right, he is pathetic. She’s right, he does need her. She’s right about everything; he’s a kid full of issues playing grown up. He’s always known he’s needed help, many people facing the consequences of Ward’s lack of accountability for his son’s mental health. Hurting her though, was the break through he needed.

He’s used to being shunned, used to people being disgusted by his character. He’s accepted that; but she always accepted him. She never made him feel bad about being as fucked up as he is; until now at least. Y/n was the one person who didn’t lecture him about his actions. She put up with it; she comforted him. She loved him, the past tense use of the word making the cracks in his heart shatter more. She was the one person who loved him in his entirety; and for that reason he always thought she’d put up with him. She’s put with so much from him and this was the last straw. This was pushing him to finally seek the help he needed.

Yeah maybe Ward ignored his health, but Rafe is grown; he’s got the means to find help. That’s what he’s going to do he’s decided. He’s going to get help, make amends with those who have faced his wrath. He’s going to man up, be a better person. He needs too, for himself. He needs to do it for himself; needs to do it before he test faith one more time. He needs to do it for her. She deserves so much better, and he’s going to be better. For himself and for y/n; he’s willing to let her go. He will find his way back to her, he just needs time.

-

Y/n moved to Malibu only three weeks after the last time she saw Rafe. Her parents put her up in a beautiful Penthouse by the beach; she’s an ocean girl at heart. Her girlfriends helped her pack her things with aches in their hearts and tears in their eyes; taking her to the airport on her last day as they all exchanged tearful goodbyes and tight hugs. They knew she needed this; she didn’t need to be stuck in Kildare. She needed to spread her wings and fly; seek a happiness that clearly wasn’t here. So she flew, all the way to California and set her roots in Malibu. She’s gonna make it her home; she’s gonna make Kildare a thing of the past.

She quickly got situated, taking advantage of the beach being walking distance and soaking up the sun as often as she could. She got into modeling quickly, doing prints, editorials, campaigns, etc. She loved it, it was fun and kept her distracted. Flying from place to place and expanding her culture and knowledge. It healed her, to meet new people and experience new customs. She was on a spiritual journey, healing that hurt inside her and taking accountability for her bad habits. She was on the track to finding true zen; she was finally and truly happy for the first time in a long time. Her heart didn’t ache anymore, her soul and mind don’t scream anymore. Her stomach didn’t twist in knots anymore. So this was what true peace felt like; she thought to herself often. Choosing to stay away from any romantic encounters. She needed to be by herself; content by herself. She finally was.

Little did she know Rafe was on the same path, his road bumpier but the work he put in made up for it. He checked himself into rehab; actually accepting he had a problem. When he left he regularly kept in touch with a therapist; he told her the truth. He told her about everything. From his family life to y/n; and what he realized was that he projected all his resentment onto everyone else. He did it especially to her. His psychiatrist prescribed him medication that helped thoughts in his mind lessen; getting off it in a few months with weaning as he finally had a breakthrough. For the first time, in a long time… Rafe found his mind quiet. The thoughts stopped racing and the knot in his stomach unraveled.

He stopped throwing parties, cut his association with Barry after a very long apology. The two men making up and moving onto different paths; leaving a strong cordiality and respect between the two. He then went to apologize to Sofia, sitting her down and holding her hands in his own as he spoke with sincerity. He apologized for treating her so poorly, he apologized for using her. Giving her forehead a soft kiss and accepting her tight squeeze as she accepted his apology. Wishing him the best on his journey and vice versa. The two giving each other sympathetic smiles as they parted ways for good. Rafe feeling the weight on his chest lightening that much more, but there was one weight he waited and waited to get off . It would happen eventually, but for now he trudged it along with him. Throwing himself back into work with a new outlook on life. He was going to leave this place, it was time to find a new home.

-

“Rafe?” y/n said with shock. Her beautiful eyes staring at him doe-like as they watered. Despair rushing through them as all she wanted to do was throw herself in his arms. It’s been over a year and a half; it’s been so long. She knows how they left off but her new outlook on life pushed her to do something she’s dreamt about doing for months. She leapt forward and threw her arms around him; burying her face in his neck as tears of mixed emotion dripped from her eyes. Rafe immediately wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his nose into her hair and taking in the scent he’s missed so much. They fell to their knees right there on her private entrance, embracing each other on the floor. His eyes closed as he let out a soft hum, he missed her so damn much. She missed him so damn much.

“I’m here, baby.” He spoke to her softly, kissing her hair as she sobbed harder into him. Her tears wetting his neck as he brought up a hand to caress her hair; pressing soft kisses and nuzzling his nose into her. Cooing to her, telling her it’s okay. She lifted her head back and looked up at him; nuzzling her nose against his as they pressed their foreheads together and closed their eyes. Just taking in each other’s presence and familiar scents they missed so much. Feeling the warmth and feel of each other under their fingertips; they missed this feeling so much. Distance truly makes the heart grow fonder; their chest beating against each other as they surrounded themselves in their own world once again. “Let’s go inside, it’s been too long.” She whispered to him, pulling back to look into his eyes as he nodded in compliance and began standing up. Taking her with him as they walked into her new home, his mind hoping it might be theirs soon.

-

Rafe sat on her black leather couch as she made him a cup of tea, bringing it to him in a pretty pink mug that he’s sure is one of her favorites. She sat it down on the coasters she had on her pretty glass table. Sitting adjacent from him as he picked up the cup; blowing on it softly as he took a small sip. While he did so she took him in; took all of him in. He looked so different; he was glowing. His aura shining and his face looking healthy. He even put on a bit of weight; he looked so different in such a good way. Glowing and the energy radiating off of him was so different from the usual chaotic darkness that shot out of him. It was light now, pure light and she felt like a bug that was drawn to it.

Rafe set the cup down, turning his eyes to look at her. The two taking in each other in, both more mature now. Both different. Their calmness radiating and intertwining with each other; encasing them in a feeling of serenity. “You looks so beautiful,” he said softly to her; a warm smile spreading across his lips as his eyes portrayed his full sincerity. “You look so beautiful,” she spoke back to him, her eyes full of positive emotion and a sincere smile on her face. “I think about you so much.” She finished, Rafe’s smile widening as he got up from his seat and stood in front of her. He got on his knees calmly, taking her hands in his gently as he looked up at her with love in his eyes.

His hand reached out to cup her cheek as she moved her head to nuzzle into it, closing her eyes as she let out a soft hum when his thumb began caressing her. “I did what you told me too.” He broke the silence, watching her eyes open while she still nuzzled into his hand. His thumb moving to caress his lips while he continued with his words. “I got the help I needed, I checked into rehab. I got a therapist and psychiatrist I see regularly. I -um… I took the meds they gave me. I just finally weaned off them; for good.” He admitted, watching as her eyes looked at him with full intent and hope; nodding at him to continue.

“I think you’ve heard enough apologies from me, but i’m going to give you one more. I am so sorry; for everything y/n.” His voiced thickened with emotion, thumb continuing to caress her as she continued nuzzling into him. She brought hand up to his wrist and held it softly; pushing him against her harder as she turned her head to nuzzle into his palm. She kissed it softly, and opened her eyes too look at him again. “I wasn’t good for you; I wasn’t good for anyone. I was a boy, like you said. I wasn’t willing to grow up and take accountability for myself. I-I pushed all this blame onto everyone else, especially my dad. I was old enough though, old enough to look for help on my own instead of depending on other people to do it for me. You included.” He squeezed the hand he was holding as he looked into her eyes, praying they display the swirl of emotions he’s feeling.

“You are the best thing to happen to me, and I took it for granted. I took all of you for granted. Your body, your mind, your heart, your soul. A priceless gift that I treated so carelessly and treated as if it was replaceable. You’ve never been replaceable, you are a gem, my gem. My diamond in the rough and I can’t believe I didn’t cherish your value the way I should have from the very beginning. You made me feel so many things, that to this day is hard to put into words.” Her eyes watered up, tears threatening to spill over as she cupped the hand on her cheek with her own, closing her eyes as she nuzzled and nuzzled into it. Biting the tip of him thumb softly when he brushed his thumb against her lips; feeling him squeeze the other hand he held in his.

“What I can say though; is that you’ve made me feel an emotion no one else has ever made me feel. You made me feel hope. Hope for so many things, but especially hope for a beautiful life with you. It terrified me, it was new and I didn’t know how to handle how overwhelming it was. I didn’t know how to handle it without messing it up. For the first time I didn’t feel like an outsider, I felt like I had found my place on earth and that was alongside you. My place on this earth is to be by your side, to love you to the best of my capability. I can’t promise things will be perfect, but I can promise things will be better. I will work for this, for us. I’m more than willing to rebuild the structure of our relationship and making it sturdy this time; make it stable. We were a ticking time bomb and this time I want us to build something indestructible. I’m in this all the way baby, all the way. I’m going to be the man you need, I’m going to take care of you. You deserved to be loved and I will give you all of mine. I am going to push myself every single day to be the man you need and to continue bettering myself so I can be good for you. I want everything with you; absolutely everything. I can’t imagine spending my life anywhere else. The one thing that kept me going was you. It’s always been you.” He finished, pouring his heart out to her. He watched as tears started pouring down her cheeks, her eyes full of something he hasn’t seen in a long time but he was hoping he would get. Love, forgiveness and acceptance.

He brought the hand he was holding in his to his lips, pressing soft kisses to her knuckles as he unwrapped it with her compliance. Her brought it to his cheek and nuzzled into it the same way she nuzzled into his. Pressing a kiss to her palm as she began returning his affections with a caress of her thumb against his cheek. C’mere,” she whispered softly, grabbing him by his white button up to bring him up to her face. She stood up the same time he did, his arms going to wrap around her as her hands fisted in his shirt. She stared up at him as he stared down at her, bringing a hand to smooth back her hair as he leaned down slowly. She leaned in to his advance and for the first time, in such a long time their lips reconnected again. Tears falling down both their closed eyes as they took in each other the way they’ve wanted to, under the circumstances they wanted to. This was so different, not the harsh sloppy kisses and dominating make outs they use to have as the only form of expressing their passion for each other. No, this was full of serenity, full of love and full of the same passion they’ve always held for one another. A kiss of reunion, forgiveness, love, acceptance and most importantly a kiss to symbolize the beginning of their new life. Together.

When they pulled back, they opened their eyes to look into each others. What once was full of hatred, anger, hurt, and utter disdain. Was now full of complete tranquillity as they accepted to forgive each other and move on. “I want everything with you. I want to build a life together, here. We can be happy, we can do whatever we want. You can build a company of your own out here, and I can continue modeling. I want us to leave our old lives behind and step into our new ones. This time with no unspoken words, because I want us to be able to be open with each other on anything and everything. This won’t be easy, but it will be full of complete love and acceptance. I’m sorry for everything I told you. For so long I hated you, you broke me down into a person I hated being. I was so lost with you and so lost without you. Being here has helped me grow so much, traveling has helped me learn more about myself. I realized that it wasn’t all you, it was me too. I wasn’t good, I enabled you and kept you from finding better for yourself. We both did. The time we’ve had apart and the time I’ve had to work myself made me realize how much I hated where we left off.” She poured her heart out to him, feeling his hand come to caress her cheek as he urged her to continue.

“You are everything to me Rafe, I love you so much. All this time apart made me realize how much I missed you and love you.” She cried to him watching the tears fall down his cheeks that matched her own as he pressed his lips to hers in a hasty kiss. Holding her face to his as they poured their love into each other. A love that once felt so heavy for both of them, now making them feel so light. It felt like they were flying; soaring together through the air onto a new adventure right by each other’s sides. Rafe moved to wrap her in a tight hug, his kisses traveling all over her face from her cheeks to the top of her nose, her chin, forehead just wherever he could get his lips. He tightened his grip on her as she returned it by wrapping her arms around just as tight. Burying her face in his neck once more and taking in the scent she missed so badly. Rafe laying his cheek on the top of her head as he closed his eyes. Together at last.

“Let’s make this place our home,” Rafe told her, feeling her smile against his neck as she let out a soft nod. “Home is wherever you are,” he kissed her head once more, taking in the scent that calms his being like no other. Taking in the presence that feels like the sun shining on him during a cold day. Bringing him warmth.

“you’re my home.”

A/N: THE END! haha, i hope this did the heartache justice!! Please let me know your thoughts! (p.s. almost done with request) 🐰🌸💕

[wandaspup]

Sinners Part 3

 

Summary: In a small town, you try living up to your mother’s expectations while encountering Wanda Maximoff, a mysterious woman and a childhood friend of your mothers. It leaves you questioning her intentions and your beliefs.

parings: Wanda x Fem!R

Warnings: None 

Author Notes: I decided to post because It’s been almost two months and I don’t like making a chapter extremely long! So next chapter will be full of smut! And the truth about what happened with Wanda.  Thank you for everyone’s support! I’m never doing a mini series for awhile or maybe just keep it on the down low next time lol I can’t wait to share my other ideas! I got so many dark Wanda and Natty stories floating in my gay ass brain.

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The sound of the bell chimes as you enter the coffee shop you’re well familiar with, your body shifting towards your favorite spot in the café. Dark circles beneath your eyes and the pulsing pain in your arms and legs are reminders of the exhausting morning you had. Your mother woke you up early to help with boxes and cleaning the church for the upcoming Sunday. You’d told her an hour ago that you were taking a break, leaving quickly before she could protest, but you already knew she’d give you a piece of her mind later.

You rolled your neck from left to right, hoping for a satisfying pop. It was only twelve in the afternoon when you snuck a glance at the clock. Deciding to rest your head on your arm, you closed your eyes for a moment. A flurry of thoughts swarmed in—college, the possibility of leaving this town. Though you enjoyed it here, you hopelessly hoped you’d get to see more than the same people and the same stores you passed every day. But the arrival of one specific person was messing with your plans, as if they were being scrambled like a crumpled piece of paper, with only her laid out as the perfect piece of paper right in front of you.

Wanda Maximoff had been on your mind ever since that night. Her presence confused you. When you went to sleep that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about her hand on your thigh. You convinced yourself that she was just being friendly—a comforting gesture, right? A simple touch from one woman to another, like you see all the time between girls and their friends. Wanda was just being friendly, that’s all.

Looking down, you noticed your hand resting on the same leg Wanda had touched. You stared at it for a long time, lost in thought, before someone or something pulled you out of your daydream.

“I’m being ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, trying to shake off the lingering feelings.

You waited until the line was empty and slipped past the small tables surrounding the area, muttering an apology when you accidentally bumped into someone in front of you. Before you could say anything, you heard that familiar voice.

Wanda stood right there, a delicate smirk on her lips and her arms crossed over her chest. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she said, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

You couldn’t decide whether to be amazed or cautious around Wanda. It felt like she always knew exactly where you’d be. Maybe your suspicion of being followed wasn’t so crazy after all. Scratching the back of your head, you chuckled softly.

“I was hoping to see you again. Taking a break from your mother, I see?”

Surprised, you blinked rapidly. “How did you know about that?”

She rolled her eyes and glanced at the menu above the cash register, shrugging her shoulders. “I just assumed, silly. Your mother always loved working and running the show back in high school. I remember she made another classmate her little minion.”

There was a brief pause before you answered. “Oh, I see... well, yeah, she’s got me packing and unpacking a bunch of boxes at the church.”

Wanda nodded and approached the woman at the counter with a warm smile. She gestured towards you and said, “It’s on me.”

You insisted on paying for yourself, but ultimately, she won the argument. Feeling your knees threaten to buckle, you quickly sat down, careful not to spill your coffee. Wanda hid her smirk as she took a seat across from you.

“So how have you been?” You cringed. That sounded much better in your head. Wanda reached across the table and squeezed your hand, her touch cold yet gentle.

"No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” she reassured you. “After all, I’m a friend of your mother’s. We’re basically family.”

“Right.” You let the tension in your body dissipate and stared down at your coffee.

“Thanks for the coffee by the way.”

“My pleasure darlin.”

You carefully considered your next words. The diner became much quieter than it was when you got here. There was something you desperately wanted to know, and she was the only one able to tell you the truth. Your stomach clenched with nerves as you released it and took a deep breath. Wanda patiently waited but deep down she was relishing in the way you acted around her. You were after all just a sweet and polite girl who goes to church every Sunday and does whatever people tell you. Wanda was about to bask in the afterglow of it all.

“What happened between you and my mom? How come she never mentioned you?”

Wanda’s expression shifted, a shadow creeping beneath her features. “We drifted apart,” she began, her voice sounding dry and dull. “It was our senior year of high school. Your mom got pregnant with you, and everything changed. She decided to move here, to start fresh, I suppose.”

There’s a nagging feeling that something was off, but you chose to let it go. Wanda’s eyes stared blankly at you for a moment before a smile crept onto her candy lips. “I had a great time at dinner, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself Ms.Maximoff”

Wanda waved and dismissed you, patting the top of your hand resting on the table. “No need for formalities, sweetie. Just call me Wanda.”

The hour went by fast. You gazed up at the clock and thought of your mother having a freak-out that you weren’t back at the church by now. Wanda noticed this and smirked. Everything was going according to plan, and she wasn’t about to let it stop now. “Is everything alright dear?”

You gave a tight smile and checked your phone for messages. Wanda watched you intently. You felt you could trust her and hoped she’d understand. After all, she knew your parents since high school. She was family.

“I know it’s not my place, but I understand what you’re going through with your mother,” Wanda said softly. “I’ve been there with my own.”

“Really? Are you still in contact with her?” you asked, leaning in.

  Wanda chuckled and grabbed a napkin, dabbing the corner of your mouth. “Let’s just say the only way I can contact her now is through prayers. She passed a few years ago.”

You head dipped as you apologized for asking. Wanda dismissed your apology right away, claiming her mother wasn’t everything she hoped for. “I loved my mother, even I often felt I was never enough for her. But I’m sure your own mother doesn’t feel the same way about you.”

“My own mother controls everything I do. It’s infuriating. I can never any decisions without her approval.”

“Sweetheart.” She patted the top of your hand, looking at you with those wide green eyes. She breathed in and out, licking her top lip before smacking them with a pop. “If you want to live your life, you either need to do that on your own or forever live under your mother’s reality. It’s your choice, but remember, whatever you decide, I’ll always be here for you.”

After your talk, you hurried back to the church, your mind racing about what Wanda told you. When you entered, the air hung heavy with packed boxes, neatly lined up and some stacked in preparation for the upcoming parade. And then there she was—the woman you had dreaded seeing—standing in the aisle, clutching a clipboard with a smudged expression written on her face.

“Glad to see my own daughter can remember something,” she remarked sharply. She pointed towards a couple boxes on the left. “I need those boxes unpacked and everything organized properly.”

Moving towards the boxes, you began to carefully open them, her words still dawned heavy on your mind. You gripped the box tightly, feeling the veins in your wrist strain against your wrist. Taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes as you focused on something to prevent yourself from lashing out. Yet, no matter how hard you tried to think of anything else, Wanda’s image kept intruding into your thoughts.

Her voice echoed in your mind, urging you to do what was right and stand up for yourself. Thinking of her and the reassuring sound of her voice visibly relaxed you. As you scanned the church, your gaze settled on the podium, a sudden realization of where you stood struck. You gently inhaled and exhaled, silently whispering forgiveness. If you were honest, you didn’t fully understand why you had asked--or perhaps it was to brace yourself for her. There were times when you feared you give in, and you clung to anything that keep you sane.

But you also didn’t want to be sane and Wanda can see right through you more than anybody has in this town. Even your own parents.

With a steady hand, the knife ripped through the tape sealing the top with little crinkles and the flaps spread out. Carefully grabbing the contents inside and setting them down on the floor by you. You did that to another five boxes till you got ready on organizing and stacking the contents in order.

“Thought you’d be done by now.”

You shrugged and kept your eyes focused on the task. “Want this done or not?”

She scoffed and tilted her head. The anticaption growing every millisecond, waiting for her to explode. Wanda’s words mimicked in her head, almost engraved once your mother spoke her words.

“Watch your mouth. I’m your mother and you will talk to me with respect. Do you understand me?”

The knife slams down on the broken boxes. You pounced towards her with your fingertips digging in your palms. Opening and closing your mouth, the words you wanted to say were on the tip of your tongue begging for release. As you chuckled, you looked between your mother and the podium. “I’m going to be off to college soon and I’m not going to need you anymore.”

You headed towards the doors not bothering to even acknowledge the shock on your mother’s face.

“These boxes still need to be unpacked.”

“Unpack them yourself.”

Just before reaching the door, you paused with your hand on the handle, hesitant to turn it. You waited for her to speak, knowing she wouldn’t let the moment pass. Finally, you turned back to face your mother. She wore a stone-cold face. “You’re never going to make it into college or anywhere for that matter. Why do you think I’m hard on you?”

You scoffed, your voice radiated with disbelief. “Than why pay for college? Why let Dad waste your precious money?” The words hung heavy.

She took a few steps forward, her expression was unreadable. She stood still, searching in her delirious state of mind for words she wanted to say. Silence stretched out, everything tense and only angry rifted through it. You shifted uncomfortably, your mind racing and waiting for her to speak.

“I want to see you succeed,” she began, her tone measured, “but I know in my heart you’re going to fail, and you’ll be crawling right back to us.”

After her words were done and out in the open. You clenched and unclenched your hands, wishing Wanda was here to support you. “So you’re giving me false hope? What kind of mother are you.”

“A mother who loves her child enough to keep her from making stupid mistakes and don’t even lie... I know you spend time with Wanda.

In a swift motion you pulled yourself together and crossed your arms over your chest.

You wondered if she saw you two at the coffee shop or someone opened their mouth. It is a small town after all. “What if I am? She’s been a better mother figure then you’ve been for 19 years of my life.”

“Wanda is an old friend who I love dearly but she is no position to replace me.”

You swore, feeling the heat rise within you like steam leaking from a kettle. “I never said she was,” you asserted firmly, your voice edged with frustration. “And how come you never thought to introduce me to her? Why haven’t you guys spoken for years?”

She sighed than almost hesitating, the nature of your words determined for answers and the truth floated like specks of dust. You stood and waited patiently, looking right into her eyes to see if she was lying. Your mother had always lied on multiple occasions, so you picked on her tactics long the way.

“I do not know why. Life happened and everyone drifted apart. Only God knows the answer.

You lingered for a second before turning back and opening the door, leaving your mother standing alone in an empty church and sun rays blasting through the stained windows. The fresh, earthy scent of recently cut grass and the gentle breeze brushing against your skin momentarily eased your mind. You took a few deep breaths, placing your hands on your hips as you gazed up at the sky.

Thoughts of Wanda suddenly filled your mind. She seemed to be the only person who had been truly honest with you. You began walking with the hope of running into her, as you often did. As you moved further from the church, which was now just a distant blur, you noticed a car slowly trailing behind you. The tinted windows obscured the driver’s identity, so you stood still, hands in your pockets, maintaining a cautious distance.

“Hey sweetie... need a lift?”

A relieved sigh escaped your lips. You reached for the door handle, and it swung open to reveal a cabin with neat brown leather seats and red interior. “Thank you, Wanda,” you said as you slid into the seat and buckled up, your hands trembling slightly. The sweet scent of peaches filled the air as you settled in.

“I did say I’d always be there,” Wanda chuckled, tapping her fingers lightly against the steering wheel as she started driving. “So, how’s everything with your mother?”

“I don’t want to talk about her right now,” you said calmly, though a trace of frustration lingered in your voice. You reached for the button on the door panel, pressing it firmly. As the window rolled down with a soft whir, the breeze gently flowed into the car, mingling with the lingering scent of peaches.

“Can I come over to your place?” You hesitated for a moment before adding, “If that’s okay with you.”

Wanda grinned from ear to ear, briefly glancing at you with a knowing look. “I’d love the company. Your mother is always caught up in work, and I’m the one visiting.”

“She always chooses work over everything else...” you murmured, your voice tinged with a mix of angry and sadness. Sometimes, you found it hard to care at all when it came to her.

Wanda’s gaze lingered for a moment, though her attention remained on the road. She turned a corner and parked the car, shifting the gear into park and turning off the engine. With a gentle squeeze of your thigh, drawing your attention to her.  Large, doe-like green eyes seemed to hold you in their gaze, making you hesitant to move a muscle. “Let’s get you inside darling.”

taglist;

@ifthisaintmee @the-lakes89 @aru-son 

@maximoff-jp @unicorniusfallapatorius @random-fag @natashaswife4125 @wndasdoll 

@thursdayygrrrl @falloutboy-lover @obsessedwjill @ksandraxox @scarletnatsblog 

@bbbyliv0202 @peyt-n @wandaswife13 @criticsstuff @kimlipimsingle @sam-h-69 

@rowiebear @thalia-is-not-ok @immclovinmilfs 

@aemilia19 @jazzabebev @ksandraxox @starynn

@lottiemistsgf

[nicofics]

𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙨𝙣’𝙩 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚..

𝘫𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘰 𝘬𝘶𝘫𝘰 𝘹 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

summary: being the wife of jotaro kujo is very hard

notes: i think i had a plan for this. then i got carried away………. also i haven’t wrote anything in like 3 decades so ignore how random this one is

being jotaros wife is hard, even though you’re used to it by now, sometimes it catches up with you, even though you’re a stand user. you had met jotaro on the trip to eygpt, you had tried to kill him due to dios flesh bud; jotaro had saved you. after that, the two of you grew close, even closer after the trip, since you were the only one his age that was left. you had even went with him to morioh, though, thats a different story. you were the mother of jolyne, she was the light of your life. you both had her young, but you wouldn’t change when you had her, you thought it was perfect timing.

jotaro went out alot, he tried to keep it a secret, what he was doing. you knew. you knew those lies about ‘studying how starfish react to different temperatures’ was bullshit. you knew that he was out fighting stand users in search for more stand arrows. polnareff had accidentally told you when he had a bit too much to drink. you wanted to shout at him, scream at him even. how could he not tell you? did he not trust you anymore? but everytime you tried to bring it up, he always did something to change the topic without knowing it.

just like right now. you were in the kitchen, jolyne had already gone to bed, she had school in the morning. you and her ate alone, as per usual. jotaro had just came home, he walked into the kitchen you both owned, a tired smile on his face, a smile only you ever got to see. “hey” he spoke, he sounded exhausted. you turned to look at him, begging yourself to tell him. “hi, jotaro” he walked over behind you, resting his head ontop of yours. oh how you melted when he did that, you turned around to face him. looking eachother in the eyes full of love, you both wonder how you got so lucky

“is jolyne in bed?” he broke the silence, you nodded, “yeah, i put her to bed awhile ago, she wasn’t happy that you weren’t there to tuck her in though” jotaro chuckled slightly, a breathy laugh. you smiled, you adored his laugh. he let you go, walking towards the bedroom you both shared, it was spacious, a large king sized bed, partially because it was on sale, partially because it was the only bed that jotaro could fit on “how was work?” you asked, practically desperate to keep the conversation alive, just so you can hear his voice once more. “fine, how about you?” you were a neurological surgeon, having seen many die on the eygpt trip, you decided to become a surgeon. brain surgery practically called you to specialise. “it was okay, tough today though” he nodded, understand the difficulty of your line of work

you stared to get changed into your pyjamas, jotaro took notice of this, and began to do so as well. eventually, you were both changed, and now getting under the covers, this was you favourite part of the day. jotaro turned on a small lamp, picking up his glasses and a book he began to read. you lay your head to rest on his arm, watching as he flicked through the pages every few minutes or so. his silent breathing lulling you to sleep, your eyes getting heavy, though, before you could give in, you heard his voice. “goodnight. love”

[starlightkun]

sugarcoated brain [teaser]

⏯ teaser word count: 723 | full fic: 13.7k ⏯ genre: punk band frontman!shotaro, venue manager!reader, shotaro is whipped, reader is emotionally unavailable, is it a slowish burn or is it angst?, whatever it is ur reading a starlightkun fic so there’s a happy ending :), ft. eunseok/sungchan/wonbin as shotaro’s bandmates welcome back boys & wayv as reader’s coworkers ⏯ warnings: not necessarily a warning but since i do generally avoid describing the reader’s appearance in my fics, i wanted to give a heads up—reader works at a punk/alternative concert venue and is generally in/around that scene. reader is mentioned and/or implied to have some tattoos and piercings (other than earlobes) ⏯ extra info: set in the same universe as filler episodes, but u don’t need to read that in order to understand this one, filler eps!sungchan and sugarcoated!shotaro r just in the same band! also the title is from a 5sos song lol ⏯ estimated release: saturday, november 16, 2024 3:00 p.m. eastern time

“Is that sanitary?” Eunseok’s voice announced Roses for Eyes’ arrival that particular afternoon, as you sat atop the bar counter, scrolling on your phone in one of your few moments of peace and quiet around Venue:Hell.

“Kiss my ass, Eunseok,” you replied without even looking up.

“Yeah, I’ll get in line,” he retorted, making Sungchan and Wonbin laugh.

That finally prompted you to slide your gaze up, just in time to see the three of them laughing over by the stage as Shotaro flipped them all off over his shoulder, making his way towards you. He had two cups in one hand, one with a bright green straw in it, and the other without a straw, and you saw that the other three band members each had a plastic cup with a straw sticking out of them as well. You silently watched Shotaro approach, raising an eyebrow at him once he’d stopped in front of you.

“We were getting boba on our way here, and thought we’d grab you one, too.” His cheeks were a bright pink as he held the unopened cup out to you, and fished a packaged purple straw out from the front pocket of his black jean jacket.

“Who’s this ‘we’ that you’re talking about?” You asked humorously. “They all apparently think getting me boba is kissing my ass.”

Shotaro straightened up, puffing his chest out. “Actually, yeah. Fuck ‘em. I got you one because I thought it’d be nice to get you one too since you do so much for us every week. It’s uh-It’s honey milk tea, because I didn’t know what flavor you liked.”

“Thank you, Shotaro.” You accepted the cup and straw from him graciously, to a chorus of snickers from the spectators on the other side of the floor. “Honey milk tea is more than acceptable.”

“But it’s not your favorite?”

“I don’t have a favorite.” You set the cup on the bartop beside you to stab the straw into it.

“You—Hey, are those mine?” He seemed to have finally noticed the sunglasses perched atop your head.

“What? These?” You teased, tapping the plastic accessory arm on one side of your head.

“I was looking for those today!”

You took them off, offering them out towards him. “You left them here last week.”

Shotaro took the glasses just to turn them right back around, take a step closer to you, and place them back on your head, a fond smile on his face as he did so. “I think you look better in them, actually. You can hold onto them for a little longer.”

You swallowed, your chest suddenly feeling too tight for your heart, and six eyes suddenly feeling like way too many to be in the room with you two right now. You chuckled, trying to keep up the congenial tone as you once more pulled them off. This time, you folded the arms and tucked the sunglasses into Shotaro’s jacket pocket for him. “Thanks, Shotaro, but I can’t take your sunglasses. They’re really rockstar sunglasses anyway, not for someone like me.”

At that moment, you grabbed your boba tea and hopped off the bar, scooting out from between him and the counter. You avoided looking at the others, beelining for the back office.

When Shotaro had to come get his in-ears from you just a few minutes later, you gave him the same pleasant smile as usual, handing him the case. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” He tapped the case against his palm, the sound dampened by the fingerless gloves he was wearing that day. “What did you mean? When you said someone like you.”

“Wh—About the sunglasses?” You’d hardly expected him to confront you about that comment at all, much less alone now, just you and him in the office, no peanut gallery. While six eyes had felt like too many, this felt far too intimate. You somehow felt more exposed than before. “Like I said—They’re cool rockstar sunglasses, that’s what you are. You should wear them you know, up on stage, being all cool and stuff. I’m crew; no point in me wearing them while I’m sitting back here where nobody can see them.”

He frowned, but thankfully didn’t try to give them to you again. “I think you’re cool, Y/N.”

With that, he left the office.

⤷ masterlist

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Kinktober Special Part 2

Mo’s Kinktober Special

The Crew’s Whore (Part 2) (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your power fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great skill. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy. 

Pairing: Franky x afab!reader

WC: 3100 I'm so sorry

TW: IS THIS A SAFE SPACE?!?! Banging a robot, alcohol consumption oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, crying, forced orgasm? face shot, heavy use of pet names, cringe, his body is a sex toy idk, cringe, so much cringe, please forgive me I love him, idc

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Robo-boning uder the cut:

Chapter 2: The Cyborg

It was a breezy evening aboard the Sunny as you sipped from your wine glass while leaning forward against the railing of the deck. Sanji had once again prepared the crew a fantastic meal and you felt full and comfortable with the cool sea wind blowing through your hair. It was late, most of the crew had returned to their quarters. Zoro was up in his crows nest dojo having a late night workout, Franky had returned to his workshop to fiddle with some new cannon technology, Luffy was in a food coma and snoring loudly laid up against the mast, and even Sanji had finished dishes with Robin’s help and excused himself to bed. Robin was always so helpful with the dishes with her Devil Fruit powers and all. 

You were alone out here with only the sounds of the waves crashing against the hull and your captain’s aggressive snoring. You thought about how you missed your old life, but also how happy you were with the Straw Hats. You loved your job at the brothel and it certainly was less dangerous… but this new life? It was… exhilarating. You loved it. 

*I think I need something stronger* you thought to yourself…

You looked at your empty wine glass and walked into the galley for something more exciting. It was spotlessly clean and empty. You opened up the liquor cabinet and perused your options. Vodka, tequila, gin, rum.. hmm… 

*It’s a pirate’s life for me, I guess.* You giggled and grabbed the bottle of spiced rum off the shelf. You realized that taking it straight from the bottle was a little barbaric for a late night solo cocktail and went to the fridge for a mixer. Orange juice, mineral water, nothing suitable to mix with rum. You wracked your brain, what would go well with rum?  A lightbulb went off in your brain, there’s an obvious choice. Cola! 

Rum and cola went together like peanut butter and jelly, like pancakes and syrup, like tea and honey. Your mouth watered at the prospect of a tasty drink… You knew there wasn’t any cola in the kitchen, but you knew exactly where it was. You filled a glass from the cabinet with ice and held it in one hand and the bottle of rum in the other. You pushed past the swinging galley door towards the hallway that went to the center of the ship. You skipped down a flight of stairs until you reached a wooden door marked with blue cartoonish stars. Blue lettering adorned the top of the doorway reading ‘Franky House.’ 

*So nostalgic of him* you chuckled to yourself before knocking twice. 

“What’s up?” You hear Franky’s booming voice from the other side of the door. You opened the door and sidled in with your glass and bottle in hand. 

“Oh heyyy pretty thing, what are you doing up at this hour?” Franky turned on his stool next to his workbench to look at you. 

“I could ask you the same thing.” You smiled at him as you strode confidently towards the fridge you spotted in the corner of his room. “Fancied myself a rum and cola, figured you’d be the guy to call about finding a bottle of cola around here.” 

“Yeah babe! Mi cola es su cola!” He flashed you a winning smile before he turned back towards his work bench and continued fiddling with whatever gadget he was working on before your intrusion. You grabbed a bottle of brown syrupy liquid from the fridge and brought it over to him. You said nothing, just pointed the head of the bottle in his direction. He barely looked up as he reached his large hard out and popped the cap off of the bottle for you. You smiled. 

“Thanks, handsome.” 

You returned to the desk in the middle of the room where you had set your rum and glass, setting the cola down. You picked up the rum and poured a GENEROUS amount over the ice. You topped it off with the freshly popped cola and brought the glass to your lips. Holy shit you over did it with the rum but damn, that’s good. You took a few more sips and let out a big sigh. 

“Rough day, sweet cheeks?” Franky laughed after hearing your exasperated sigh. 

“Hmm.. I guess. Just feeling a bit nostalgic is all.”

Franky’s hands continued to manipulate the mechanical item on his work bench.

“Yeah I get it. It happened to all of us, ya have this whole life and then all of a sudden you’re a pirate. It’s super weird. You’ll get used to it, y/n, we all do. We can talk about it, if ya like.” He doesn’t turn around. He had always been so good at expressing his emotions, such a tender and kind soul. He knew how you felt, and wanted you to feel heard. 

*Such a sweet heart for a robot* you thought to yourself. But he wasn’t a robot, he was still a man. Sure, his body was more metal than flesh at this point, but it didn’t take away from what a gentle spirit he had. You started to wonder what other human instincts he had left… 

“Honestly Frank? I’m kind of trying not to think about it. What are you working on?” You walk over to his work bench and lean up next to him, against the table backwards, able to see the item on the table but facing his body. 

“Oh this? Nothing totally crazy, just something I was thinking about for my forearm cannon. You see this part here…” He was excitedly telling you about his work, clearly passionate about his science. You nod and give him “hmm”’s here and there. You pour another strong drink and bring it back over to Franky’s work bench. You set the glass in front of him.

“I can’t be the only one indulging tonight, right?” You say seductively as you slide the glass towards his massive chest. 

“Well little lady, I’m usually a cola purist, but I guess one drink won’t hurt.” Franky grabs the glass in his large hand and slams the drink in one gulp. He hisses out, not prepared for how strong you made the cocktail. 

“My god girl, you’re trying to get me drunk?!”

You laugh out loud and pour yourself another drink. 

“No no, just trying to get more comfortable!” You laugh again. “Now tell me more about this hydraulic, fusion combustion, thingy again…” 

You say this as you set yourself down on Franky’s wide lap, drink in hand. 

“Okay so if you can see this piece right here…” Franky continued explaining his latest project to you as you became distracted by his handsome features. He had a strong, chilled jaw, defined abs, incredible thighs and you couldn’t help but let your eyes wander to his swim briefs. Was it still real? Did he have anything or was he like a doll?

You let your thoughts get the better of you and you set your glass down on the workbench. You slid to your knees in between Franky’s spread legs and let your head rest on his thigh. 

“WoAAhhh sweet thing, something else on your mind?” He dropped what he was working on and lifted his sunglasses onto his head as he looked down at you. He leaned back. You giggled up at him while stroking his crotch slowly. 

“mmmm yes. How could I not wonder? I’ve thought about it so much. Never had someone like you before…” You drew your face closer to the growing bulge in his swim briefs as you palm him. 

“Are you sure? How much do you want it? It might be too much for ya, doll face…” Franky puts his large palm on the side of your face, seemingly a bit concerned. 

“I want it. I can take it, please show me.” Your fingers worked at the hem of his tight black speedo before he helped you bring it down to his ankles. You pull them all the way off and return to your kneeled position between his legs. 

“Wow…” 

His cock was so gorgeous. It had to be real. It was so long, thinner than you’d like, but the length was truly impressive. The base was decorated with tufts of blue hair. 

“Is this good for ya, babe? Tell me what ya like and I can make it happen." Franky stroked your hair as you were staring at his cock from between his knees. 

“What?” You didn’t know what he was talking about. Was he that confident in his sexual abilities? You felt your cunt clench in anticipation. 

“No, this," He nods his head down at his erect cock. "I can make it anything you want. Too big?” You stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“Want bigger? Maybe you’re a little size queen?” Franky smirked at you with those last words. 

“No no,” You stuttered out. “Could you… could you maybe make it a little… thicker?” You were so embarrassed, you felt so silly asking for this man to change up his own cock for you. 

“Of course doll, if you want to be stretched out real good, who am I to deny you?” Franky smiled as he pressed his metal nose. 

You stared at his erect penis as it became girthier right before your eyes. 

“No way…” You gasped quietly to yourself. 

“Yes way baby! You really thought I would rebuild my own body and not give myself an incredible dick?” He grinned down at you between his legs. “Now… where were we?”

You felt his hand gently push the back of your head towards his newly engorged cock. You were snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the thick length with both hands and began to pump it slowly. 

“Perfect….” Franky cooed at you as you stroked him. 

You leaned forward and took his tip into your mouth. He groaned loudly. You knew he would be loud, he always is, why would now be any different?

You gradually took more and more of his cock into your mouth and bobbed your head up and down. With each pull backwards you slurped and dragged your tongue across the bulbous head of his dick. 

“Fuck, shit, just like that…” He tried so hard not to ram his hips into your face, knowing it would scare you off. His body was too strong. 

“Shit baby… You’re way too good at this… get up here and let me stuff you.” 

Once again your pussy squeezed around nothing, pushing out a drip of your arousal. Franky leaned down and grabbed your hips to pull you upward. 

In a moment you were on your back on Franky’s workbench, his projects swept to the the floor with one brush of his huge forearm. He was man handling your body to pull all your clothes off of you. You lay back down on the table, now fully bare in front of him.

“Franky, fuck me. Please. I want it.” 

He hovered over you, massive body eclipsing yours. 

“And you’re sure? I told you it might be too much… Once I start… well it can just be a lot for someone who isn't used to it.” Franky asked you for the last time, making sure you knew what you were getting into. 

“Yes, Frank. I’m so sure.” 

He pushed you down forcefully, but you protested by rising to your elbows and catching his lips in a wet kiss. He accepted your kiss and forced his tongue past your spit covered lips. You groaned at his dominance, such a change from how you were used to being with your other lovers. 

After making out for several moments, you whined a bit too loudly when he pinched at your nipple. 

“Okay okay needy girl, I’ll give you what you want now. But don’t say I didn’t warn you…” 

He pushes your thighs up with one hand as he lines his perfect cock up with your sopping hole with the other. He squeezes himself in slowly. 

“Holy FUCK, my GOD Franky…!” You shout out as he sinks balls deep inside of you, having you in a mating press with one hand due to his large stature. 

“Oh pretty lady, we haven’t even started.” He begin to pull out and shove himself back into your cunt, slick coating his cock more and more with each thrust. You slammed your eyes shut in pleasure, his dick was hitting all the perfect spots inside of you almost like it was made perfectly to fit your body… oh wait… it was. 

All of a sudden you felt a new sensation along with his heft length splitting you open. Was he… vibrating? Your neck snapped up and your eyes shot open to meet his above you. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that. Had to add something for the ladies pleasure, right?”

“FRANKY!” Your body lurched forward and grabbed his biceps. You had never felt anything like this before. It’s like your body was lit up by electricity. The smooth drag of his vibrating cock against your g-spot was complete sensory overload. 

Franky chuckled. He continued railing into your tiny body, chasing his own pleasure, not worried that you’d reach yours. 

“Frank I’m going to-!” You yelped as your body tumbled over the edge in pleasure. It was the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your spasming cunt pushed out your release all over your lovers abdomen and legs.

“Wow doll face, I never thought you’d be a squirter!” Franky laughed over you as he drilled his hips into yours further, not concerned about your recovery from your intense orgasm. Your body was limp in his hold now, not able to produce any sort of coherent phrase. 

“Franky wait, I feel like-Ah!“ 

You were cumming again. It was only a few moments after your last orgasm and your center was  squeezing and creaming on Franky’s thick robotic cock again. You had lost full control over your body, it was like nothing you’d ever experienced. You screamed. You had no idea what words you were trying to scream, but you screamed. 

“You like that, huh baby? How about one more for me? I think you can do it, right?” Tears streamed down your face as you laid on his workbench, boneless. Your cunt was throbbing in both pain and pleasure. You were being thrust into so forcefully that your body slid back and forth on the table, your breasts basically hitting you in the chin as they bounced so aggressively. 

“Mmmm.. Hmm. FUCK! Yes I can do it, I can take it!” You felt drunk on pleasure, barely able to keep your eyes focused. The sensations in your pussy were unlike anything you’d ever experienced. As your cyborg lover pounded into you at an impossible speed, you felt the familiar wave of pressure bubble up from your center, but this time far more intense than the others. 

“There it is baby, I can feel it, I knew you could do it for me sweet thing.” He coaxed you into tipping over the edge. Your back arched and you shrieked up at him. You vision went completely white for a moment as you felt your massive release splattering against Franky’s thighs and cock. Wet, sloppy noises filled the room as you felt your cunt start to tingle with numbness and overstimulation, 

“Can’t… it’s too much!”  You whine loudly at him as you make a feeble attempt to push at his abs, not entirely sure what you wanted yet. 

“That’s just fine doll face, I’ve got something else in mind anyway.” He flashes you a huge grin before grabbing you around your ribs and setting you down on your knees on the floor in front of him.

“Open wide, pretty lady!” He held your hair in a makeshift ponytail with one hand and stroked his massive cock in front of your face with the other. 

Obviously after 3 earth-shattering orgasms you were putty in his large hands. You stick your tongue out and look up at him. After seeing the makeup smeared on your face from spit and sweat and tears, there was no way he could hold back any longer. 

“Fuuuuuuuck…!” He groaned out as he painted your eager, wrecked face with simply so much cum. It dripped off your cheeks and your chin as you happily kept your mouth open for him. He finally finishes his release and taps his cock on your tongue, so you can taste the last bit. 

“Shit you look so super like this!” Franky beamed down at you covered in his thick cum. You grin back up at him, delirious from exhaustion, cum dribbling down your neck. “But I guess I can’t leave ya like that huh?” He grabbed a clean rag from a drawer in his workbench and started wiping his seed off your face, you were so exhausted your eyes fell closed and you held your head in his free hand. 

“Hold on hold on doll, I’m almost done then I’ll put ya to bed.” Franky finished cleaning your face and picked up up off your knees and set you down on his bed. He tucked you in and went to put back on the little clothing he had on in the first place. He moved towards the door of his room. 

“Well thanks for the break, little lady! I have a repair I need to finish up on the deck tonight, but you get some rest.” Franky says from over his shoulder on the way out to the rest of the ship. You close your eyes and relax your bruised and exhausted body into Franky’s mattress. 

"Hey, if you’re feeling up to it when I get back, we can have a round 2! You haven’t even seen half the super stuff I can do, I just went easy on you!” He shouted as he left the room with his toolbox and the door closed behind him. 

Your eyes snapped open.

“WHAT?!”

---

a/n I again, am so sorry lol but Franky needs more love. Justice for Franky Fuckers.

[karamad]

late night practicing hours

pairings: sub!momo x dom!reader

cw: degradation, humiliation, smut, slight age gap momo has a dick for the anti g!p ppl

noticed theres almost no sub momo fics:/:/ illegal i fear! lets change it

you've been dancing for the past 3 hours without a break in sight. your new dance teacher, apparently one of the best there is, was too mesmerized by your tits to focus on teaching you actual dance moves..

of course you noticed, but you tried to ignore it. your next big performance isnt far after all, you need to be perfect. you were struggling with a particular move that required your hands but even with momo demonstrating it you couldnt seem to master it. "could you maybe guide me trough it?" you asked her. that question alone already turned her brain to mush.. she'll get to touch you??

"uhm.. sure, i can do that..!"

she slowly steps right behind you and takes your hands into hers. "watch closely please" you hear her say before moving your hands with hers. although you were starting to grasp it you suddenly felt something poke your ass? maybe she had something in her pocket you thought.. but you were proven wrong when you accidentally bucked your ass into her crotch and heard a soft whimper in your ear.. momo got a hard-on. so many thoughts go trough your head in one second- should you ignore it? you tried brushing it off but when you heard a whimper fall from her lips once again you turned around with a stern face. "unnie... did you seriously get turned on from watching me dance?"

"n-no.." she mustered out in such a quiet tiny voice. cute. you look down and grab her bulge softly "whats this then?"

she looks away in embarrassment, she can't believe she got hard because of a girl shes training, what a disgrace. you start squeezing her harder, forcing a whimper out of her "are you really that much of a slut that you get hard because of your student?" she tries to turn around and run away to avoid the situation she put herself in but you tightly hug her waist from behind. "cant run away now unnie.. lets finish what you started." you whispered in her ear.

she thinks about giving in once you start kissing her neck, making sure you're leaving marks all over. she cant control herself, thoughts full of only your mouth on her body. "please" she mutters out.

you grin "do you think youre in any position to ask for anything? you should be happy im even touching a pervert like you."

you know shes strong, you know she could easily overpower and push you away, but she doesnt. she pushes into you, needing more. you slowly pull her pants down, softly groping her over her boxers. "please.. please more" she begs. you consider it, you really do, but she's so fun to mess with. you push her against a wall "please what unnie?" she whimpers again. "please touch me more mommy"

you take her cock out of her boxers. "open up baby" you whisper, holding your fingers in front of her mouth. before she can fully open her mouth you push your fingers so deep into her mouth having her suck on them. "be quiet and take it like the slut you are." bringing your hands down you start pumping her hard cock.

she keeps moaning so loud as you jerk her off.. "hm? want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are for your student?" she shakes her head murmuring a small no.

you notice her breathing becoming irregular "coming so fast?" you pout at her, but she doesnt answer. "answer when you're spoken to" you said, turning her head to you harshly. poor girl looks so lost in pleasure, begging for a kiss from you. you smirk finally placing your lips on hers, immediately starting to explore her mouth with your tongue. "c-coming" she says softly. you continue pleasuring her "it's okay baby, let it out"

she comes with a long whine, shaking in your arms. "shh its okay love, i got you" you whisper, holding her tightly in your arms.

"let's get you cleaned up yeah?"

a/n: repost AGAIN🥰 third times the charm if g!p annoys you so much write it urself! quit whining and get to writing

[cr4yolaas]

mezzo forte — birthday boy

track 2: homesick for a person | masterlist | track 4: the horse

hajime feels heavy on her couch. his head has been pumped full with compressed air and is bound to burst if he gets up. he hates the vulnerability that comes with being drunk.

"...yeah, i'll text sakusa and have him pick haji up tomorrow. just get home safely. bye, tooru."

all he can see is her back, but he can envision the expression she's making right now — brows furrowed, the inside of her cheek caught between her teeth, and a collection of creases on her forehead. he wants to laugh. but the pressure on his body is too much of a burden to bear, so instead, he waits.

she turns around to meet his sleepy, weary face, riddled with exhaustion and ache that she doesn't want to imagine experiencing herself. "'m sorry i couldn't get you a gift," she whispers. her hands adjust the blanket she'd draped over him moments prior, ensuring the fabric reaches up to his shoulders. "i wasn't too sure what you'd like. i feel like i get you the same thing every year."

the couch dips with her weight as she sits beside him. apologies spill from her tongue, but he can't quite hear them over the ringing in his ears. "it's alright. don't need a present when i have you, anyways," is all he can muster under heavy, alcohol-ridden breaths before he falls victim to his own slumber.

there's a pause in the air. she's the only one awake to feel it.

under the influence, people are bound to say words they don't mean. they're bound to form sentences that bear no real representation of their true thoughts, thus leading to misconceptions. she figures this is one of those moments.

beneath the cave of her chest, her heart beats faster than it should — so much so that it's unhealthy. his words, construed from what she assumes to be a place of inebriation, render her immobile, and she fights a long-winded battle with herself about the truth of it all.

frankly, she doesn't want to believe it.

hajime was a straightforward man; that much was an inarguable fact that had maintained its consistency throughout the course of their lives. he expressed what was necessary. and so, if he could not — or rather, would not — voice any means of reciprocation for whatever had been boiling and bubbling in every inch of her being when he was sober, she would take that as the truth. for now.

a headache cracks away at her skull. too many thoughts spiral without any end, and she wants nothing more than to rid herself of them.

the blue light of her laptop burns her retinas, but she figures it's the reasonable solution. the safest solution. garageband slowly opens up, and a small tab of her notes sits in the corner, etched with another love letter yet to be littered throughout another melody. something in her chest aches and burns. she can't escape it.

somewhere in the middle of it all, the man beside her stirs awake. she fails to notice the soft groan he releases nor the shift of his body to a more comfortable position. he's met with the blaring screen propped up on her knees and a soft instrumental pouring from the speakers of her computer, the volume low enough that he has to strain his ears to capture it completely. his eyes fall to the lines that take up the other half of her screen.

it's different. he recalls her other lyrics being vague, hinting at a feeling that he didn't know of himself. but something is more explicit in these words, and the lines form between the dots scattered throughout his brain, albeit blurred.

in his limbo between sobriety and intoxication, hajime finds himself fighting against the belief that it isn't him. that, in the words she so carefully crafts, he isn't the one she thinks of — but he wants to be.

♪ hi i've risen from my deathbed !!

♪ i hope this chapter made sense </3 i'm not cooking very hard with the pacing of this smau

♪ yn freaked out about tooru visiting irl and got all of the excitement out of her body before texting the gc so she didn't seem too hyper LOL

♪ the bday dinner was a mess ... they didnt even make reservations bc they werent initially planning on going out to eat so they kept going around in a big group trying to see which restaurant had available seating ... it did not go well

♪ everyone kept calling iwa the bday boy and he kept drinking to distract himself from it (out of spite) but it did not go as planned clearly

♪ imo haji has a pretty low alcohol tolerance despite having a "tough guy" exterior. it's one of his gap moes iykwim

♪ yn has been using garageband since hs and never changed to any of the apps that her label recommends bc she's scared of using a different interface </3

♪ i don't have much to say i just want to work on the next couple of chapters already

♪ but i think by this point i've decided this smau isn't going to be as long as blue spring, esp bc i don't have much to establish on the main dynamics btwn oiks iwa and yn given that they have such a long history together

♪ but idk !! we'll see where my heart leads me

♪ i already feel kinda uninspired for this smau which hurts my heart bc i really liked the concept and there was sm hype for it but i feel like it was never meant to be a long story yk

♪ sorry there's my impending doom rant

♪ i hope u all enjoyed <3

taglist: @froyaoya @causenessus @guitarstringed-scars @yuminako @chemiru @sunnyskiezzzz @httpsivy @itsdragonius @theycallmenanamisgirl @wyrcan @19calicos @hunnies4bunnies @mawenskiblue @diorzs @loverlunaire @mfcherry @solaqes

[teecupangel]

Hi teecup, I hope ur having a great day/noon/night!

Forgive me if the things i'm about to say don't make much sense. It's been a vey, very, very, difficult time for me and my countrymen here, and my ability to make coherent sentences have declined drastically. So, yeah... BUT! That doesn't matter haha.

Anyways, I had a thought. And i'm not even sure how or why i got it but.... hear me out now...

Our boy, Desmond, gets thrown back in time as usual, same old same old, right? Exept, this time he doesn't end up in the Big Three™'s time-line. He ends up in Al-Mualim's time. *insert mind-blown emoji here cuz i can't find it rn*

And ik that i'm not a certified AC Expert like u and many others, and i haven't really finished any of the AC games yet (i've only seen bits of AC III and have only started AC 2, I also haven't finished AC 1)

But I do know that he wasn't really that creepy and evil in his youth/ b4 he became The Old Man of the Moutain, so i was thinking maybe Desmond ends up in that era of Al Mualim or is it Rashid al-Din Sinan? I know that he's based on a real historical figure but i'm not so sure if he's called that in-game?

And knowing Desmond, he'd probably get the urge to kill Rashid (i hope i'm using the name correctly) the time he figures shit out and connect that dots. But he would end up not doing that, cuz u know, it might fuck up the time-line and Altaïr might end up not being born, creating a domino-effect.

I want Desmond to meet Rashid before he starts to becom the Al Mualim we know today, so that Desmond can see how he was b4 the evants of AC 1.

Maybe Rashid's an arrogant ass, or a nerdy loser, or a popular assassin- who knows! The possibilites are endless!! (or maybe he's an obsessive bastard who gets obsessed with Desmond cuz he's just full of mysteries and wonders :Dc )

And blah blah blah, plot here, plot there, Isu-bullshit this, time shenanigans that, and BOOM they meet.

And romance ensues? :3 (romace wil absolutely ensue :}}} )

NOW, BEFORE- BEFORE YOU TIE ME TO A STAKE AND BURN ME ALIVE FOR THIS- i think it'd be a cute idea, and who knows? maybe Rashid was hot in his prime *insert lenny face cuz even after all these years i still don't know how to type it and is too lazy to cop paste it* and maybe he liked to solve mysteries and had a thing for the unexplainable. And Desmond is the most unexplainable, most bizarre thing to have graced the earth :33333.

Now that i've got this idea out of my system i'm gonna go pray for the down fall of my coutry's shit for brain, good for nothing military government/hj.

bye! *evaporates*

I hope you’re doing alright and I’m sorry that it took two months before I could answer your ask TTATT

As far as I know, he was only called Al Mualim because of legal reasons but Rashid ad-Din Sinan was the leader of the Assassins in Masyaf during 1191 so it’s safe to assume Al Mualim is AC’s version of Rashid (historically he died in 1193, not 1191.

.

Okay. We can make this work.

We put Desmond at around the same time he’s the recruit and we make it hard for him to realize he’s Al Mualim until it’s too late by doing one simple thing:

Desmond doesn’t know Al Mualim’s real name.

He always knew it as Al Mualim. As far as he knew, Al Mualim was his actual name.

Then he remembered that Al Mualim can mean mentor and bangs his head on the nearest flat surface.

His mission has been clear from the start.

Become an Assassin, take out Al Mualim before he does shit, find Umar and adopt him then play matchmaker so Altaïr would be born.

And no.

Desmond wasn’t going to think about the whole ���can you truly be sure that the person who will be born will be Altaïr if you change the circumstances of his conception?”

Yeah.

His head hurts just thinking about it so he won’t.

For now, he’ll focus on his training while keeping a look out for anyone who gives of Al Mualim vibes.

What’s the Al Mualim vibes?

Manipulative old man vibes.

The problem is��

Rashid is one of the recruits in the same batch as Desmond and he becomes Desmond’s closest friend.

And there was no way Desmond would ever be friends with a future power hungry asshole like Al Mualim.

No way.

.

The way their relationship becomes romantic really depends on the kind of personality young Rashid would have.

A nerdy loser who starts making a name for himself because of his intelligence and tactical mind would start off as the kid Desmond sorta looks after. When he starts to show that his strength lies in making plans and quick judgments, he becomes the man whispering on Desmond’s ear. Providing plans and suggestions while giving Desmond a heads up on the less savory words people say about him. Desmond would never think this Rashid is Al Mualim because he’s nice and truly do want to help Desmond. This is also how Rashid would show his love for Desmond and, really, Desmond would think they’re bros and when he realizes that Rashid actually loves him, he’d think “oh, I am Ezio’s descendant”

An arrogant ass Rashid would butt heads with Desmond but Desmond would find himself fond of the man because he reminds him of AC1 Altaïr. This is the Rashid who would definitely be counted as a tsundere and their relationship would start when Rashid just flatout tells Desmond that he wants to do unspeakable things to him while they’re arguing. Desmond is offended because “tugging on my pigtails doesn’t work in real life, dumbass!” and Rashid is just “???” because what the fuck are pigtails??? Lots of awkwardness until Desmond realize that butting heads with Rashid is really how they flirt.

Now. Popular Assassin Rashid is more on the side of polite but is absolutely Desmond’s rival. Whatever it is, the two of them are always competing. Unlike the arrogant ass version, this Rashid is always nice to Desmond. The whole “no hard feelings” and pure competitiveness are what drives their relationship. This is the one where the two of them spar privately one time and things happen. They would try to distant themselves from one another for a bit until they finally talk it out. Rashid honestly didn’t think he loved Desmond until the whole ‘after-sparring’ thing.

Whichever you pick as Rashid’s background, he will become obsessed with Desmond but it’s more on the side of “I will do everything to make Desmond happy” which is good for Desmond but not really good for anyone against him.

.

Desmond is the one who adopts Umar in this one and Umar imprints on him like a baby duckling to a mama duckling. Everyone actually assumed Umar is his bastard son. Desmond ignores it even though he’s only like… a decade and a half older than Umar.

Rashid definitely treats him like Desmond’s son. He’s Umar’s favorite of all of Desmond’s friends.

And really, Desmond should have seen that as a hint of Rashid’s ‘future’.

Speaking of the future.

He’s been looking for Al Mualim this entire time and he has his suspects (Rashid, however, is not on the list) but honestly?

He’s just waiting for the person who would be picked as the one to lead the expansion to Masyaf since that would be Al Mualim.

Desmond has, unfortunately, fucked up the timeline so badly that the person chosen to lead the expansion?

It was Desmond.

.

Sidebar: Faheem would be that cute younger brother who turns grumpy when he grows up. Desmond will forever grieve the lost of little cute Faheem. Faheem is always embarrassed when Desmond talked about his ‘past’.

[grapementos]

night terrors

aged up bakugo x reader

cw: night terrors

bakugo doesn't sleep with more than one blanket or pillow. when he's persuaded into participating in halloween, he refuses to wear a full-face mask.

covid was a nightmare for him. he didn't go outside when he didn't have to, which meant plenty of grocery deliveries. masks triggered his anxiety to the fullest, but of course he wore it when he absolutely had to leave the house.

now, you had plenty of opinions and reservations about u.a. and the hero commission, most of them comprised of colorful language and a world full of screaming until you're red in the face.

they ruined not only bakugo, but so many other teenagers that thought they were doing the right thing. they thought they were training to become admirable role models, people who were going to be trained to use their unique gifts to save and protect people. they thought they were going to become heroes.

instead, all they got was ptsd and a handful of other mental illnesses that left them in therapy, on meds, or with debilitating night terrors.

bakugo unfortunately suffered from frequent night terrors. despite therapy and going on 3 years of being medicated for his anxiety, he still woke you up in the middle of the night with throat-ripping screams.

sometimes, you'd find him in the corner, screaming at you to get away, stop, leave him alone. it was heartbreaking.

-

some days you could gauge when he was going to have an episode. his hands were shakier, eyes unfocused, and his mind was just elsewhere.

today, he was exactly like that, only worse. you could tell his brain was all over the place, and you hated it. you hated how his brain turned against him and forced him to think the worst, most painful thoughts. it bound him to his worst memories, forcing him to relive his them over and over. his own brain.

you did everything you could to assuage the brain fog. you made him tea in the mornings, kept the house tidy, and tried to keep him from performing any heavy tasks. it was difficult, considering he didn't much fancy being helped or taken care of. when it was you, though, he let you.

after a particularly difficult day, the two of you settled into bed together, silent as you faced each other, gazing in silence.

"i'm scared." he whispered, finally breaking the silence.

just a look in his eyes was all it took for you to know it was true. he was terrified.

you placed your hand on his cheek, caressing your thumb over the skin, "i know. it's okay to be scared."

he shook his head, squeezing your hand. he squeezed his eyes shut, breaths quickening as he thought about the idea of sleeping. sleeping wasn't kind to him, and he knew it, because he never, never slept well.

"hey, hey, just breathe, okay?" you breathed deeply to set an example, one slow inhale preceding a lengthy exhale, "like that."

he followed your example, slowly relaxing his features, "yeah, yeah, okay."

"i know you're scared," you whispered, "but no matter what, i'm here. no matter what monster you see, no matter who's out to get you, you're going to open your eyes and it's gonna be me. it'll always be me."

he nodded, wordlessly, and scooted into your waiting arms.

-

you slept lightly since living with bakugo. that's what made it so easy for you to identify the earliest signs of his episode.

every shift in the bed, every ruffle of the sheets, you were stirring.

so when he sat up, you were half-awake. his steps fully woke you.

you shot up to a sitting position, watching carefully as he stood still for a moment.

"baby?" you whispered, scooting over to the edge of the bed.

no response. he walked over to the center of the room, going stiff.

"kats?"

just as you called out to him, he let out the most throat ripping scream you'd heard.

you jumped on the spot, blood going cold as the shriek reached your ears. your hands shook as you took your first step on the bed, careful to not get too near.

he faced you, eyes open but unseeing. they were glazed over, looking right through you with the most fear-filled eyes you'd ever seen. he was terrified, looking at you as if you had a knife in your hand and a slasher theme following you wherever you went.

"get away!" he screeched, staggering backwards, "get the fuck away!"

your heart shattered at his words, but you knew it wasn't about you. you sucked up your fear, your sadness, and took a deep breath to ground yourself.

"okay, okay. i'm sorry," you spoke calmly, sitting down on the floor cross-legged, "i didn't mean to scare you."

your voice still wavered, still shook with the fear you definitely felt.

he didn't seem to hear you, but your smaller presence seemed to make him feel less threatened.

he was grunting, groaning, crying. his stance was defensive, ready to defend. those hero instincts that he learned as a teenager, the need to protect himself because he was always, always in danger, never left.

that always scared you. the possibility of him activating his quirk and using it on you. but being hurt isn't what scared you--it was the guilt you know he'd feel. you were terrified of him leaving you because he thought he was a danger, or too much to handle. that couldn't be farther from the truth.

you just watched, at least five feet away from his shaking form. you wouldn't touch him, wouldn't yell or panic. you'd just watch, occasionally whispering some affirmations.

it took a while for him to calm down, to stop yelling and crying. about ten minutes later, his eyes went blank again and he walked himself back to the bed and laid down.

you followed him with your gaze and pushed yourself up with a soft sigh. after a moment of processing, you grabbed a water from the kitchen and set it on his nightstand.

you checked him once more to make sure he was comfortably asleep before taking your place next to him.

you watched his face, scanning it for any signs of discomfort or anxiety. nothing. as if it had never happened.

you kissed his forehead, "i'm so sorry, my love. i hope things won't always be like this."

ngl, i have so many opinions on all the trauma these poor kids have gone through, but i like to avoid discourse at all costs. also, i had to do some research on night terrors, so i hope i wasn't too far off.

[romanarose]

Favorites of 2023

Hi! I've seen a lot people doing these so I thought I would too!

These are all sorts of Oscar Issac/Pedro Pascal fics that delighted me this year <3

I tried to keep it to one rec per author just because I have soooooo many friends with wonderful fics and blogs who deserve recognition

If yours didn't make it, NO FEAR you are still wonderful to me &lt;3

Everything is labeled properly in the fic so be warned, many of this contains dark!

3 series that I couldn't stop thinking about

Hungry Hearts By @atinylittlepain: The Last of Us, A Bruce Springsteen themed Joel series? SHEEEEEEEESH

Yearling by @justagalwhowrites : The Last of Us, Jackson!Joel and a victim of prolonged sexual assault. If you know me, you know I love a traumatized reader healing with the power of love and friendship

The Fractured Moon by @melodygatesauthor : Moon Knight, NON CON, dark moon boys is always a slay but the way Marc is so tortured and Steven is so needy?!?!?!?! Mels characterization of Steven may or may not have influenced my Ben in ROF

Three fics that rewired my brain

On the Waterfront by @beefrobeefcal : Triple Frontier, Now, I've always loved a tubby man with a belly (who else had a crush on Samwise Gamgee in LOTR?) BUT DARK FRANKIE?!?!?!?! Turned it into a full obsession.

I can be your pretty girl by @walkintotheriveranddisappear : The Last of Us, Wow, I devoured every single chapter!!! I thinka bout it so much, ESPECIALLY that scene with Tommy... I've never looked at a pool ball the same way.

Dancing With Wolves by @hon3yboy : Moon Knight, Now, I'm not the biggest monster fucker out there, but this?!?!?!?! WEREWOLF MARC SPECTOR??? Unwell about it.

3 times men jerking off was hot

Caught by @toxicanonymity : The Last of Us, I've mentioned in the authors note for Keep Cry'n that this fic inspired it, it's one I go back to allllll the time

Take Care of me Tonight by @missdictatorme : Moon Knight, Jake is horny and lonely and jerks of..... reader helps, and makes our boy feel special <3

Pent Up by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin : Narcos, Javi is... well... pent up, needs to let loose! and boy does he.

4 times it got gay bc something is wrong with me and I couldn't decide

Behind Enemy Lines by @astroboots : Triple Frontier, Y'all know how much I love this series, seeing as I wrote a fic for it XD but this chapter is something i always hold close <3

Captain of the team by @writefightandflightclub : Triple Frontier, MAAAAAANNNNN this fic is why I will never be the same as a person.

Trine by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction : Sucker Punch. Anyone who reader blue jones should be reading this. Incredible.

What if he never had to go? by @velocibeewords : Triple Frontier, The infamous series I read on my friend bachelorette weekend! So good I couldn't put it down, going so far as to read it at a casino XD Benny and Santi, my babies

3 times underused characters shined

Oxford Comma by @whatthefishh : The Two Faces of January, Tell me, how does someone take a character with almost no following and make a series so damn beloved by many??? Only Mona could.

My Ex's Tapes by @runa-falls : Lighteningface, Basil Stilt AND Jake Lockley??!?! God bless this mess hnnggggg

I'm Getting What's Mine by @winniethewife : The Card Counter, dub con, I think we as a society need more William Tell, and sensory deprivation to break down reader? Amazing.

3 times they talked dirty to me *trumpet noises*

Not a Survivalist Girl by @tightjeansjavi and @chaotic-mystery : The Last of Us, when they finally fuck??? HELLO?!?!! unreal

Only Daddy That'll Walk the Line by @millerscoffee : The Last of Us, Joel is so degrading and condescending in this I think about it so much it's fucking unreal.

Making Trouble by @juneknight : Moon Knight, The fic that completly fried the brains of the moon knight fandom. "You cried like I was killing you—except you were begging me not to stop" yeah. Yeah...

3 times there were three or more

The story of us by @pimosworld : Triple Frontier, This series has a special place in heart bc Priscilla said I influenced a lo of it with the characterizations and thats such a big honor. Priscilla Is so talented and I adore how she writes these guys... and the FishBen wins my heart

Eyes on Me by @cavillscurls : The Last of Us, Soft Joel? Tommy watches? AFTERCARE?!?!?! Y'all know how much I love aftercare.... I should read this again shouldn't I?

Run the Table by @katiexpunk : The Last of Us, MORE TOMMY JOEL THREESOME! MORE!!!! This one came out recently so its still fresh in my mind

3 Times I should NOT have been into that

No Soul to Sell @atticrissfinch : The Last of Us, NON CON V DARK, this is the fic that made me like... yeah I'm into piss. No doubt. It was so dark and hot ;-;

Plushies Series by @pedge-page The Last of Us, Haru knows how much I love this, and it was a toss up between this and their piss kink but seeing as I got that above.... plushes needs more love bc its so soft and domestic and horny <3

Plaything by @missannwinchester : The Last of Us, wow, I adored this fic… then I lost it!!!! Thank you to everyone who helped find it bc it’s one of my favs. I wanna be Joel’s lil doll he dresses up 🥺

3 times I said “this is underrated af”

No One But Me by @koshkamartell : The Last of Us, Are y'all tired of me talking about this fic yet? Koshka told me my series The Wrong Way inspired this so it's special to my heart <3

Safe by @criticallyacclaimedstranger and @apascalrascal : Triple Frontier, Cal has so many good Frankie one shots it was hard to pick, but this one is sooooo soft. We love Frankie being willing to listen and learn.

Through the Scope by @ssuperficialspacecadett : Triple Frontier, Y'all know I love a traumatized reader learning to heal, but his fic is fantastic bc it's a traumatized reader who has done a lot of the work already and is strong and brave as it is <3 Also, all 4 of the guys are her friends now which is the best way to have a fic

Thank you all soooooo much for all these amazing fics and for a great 2023! Well. Not so great, I had terrible time lol but y'all were my solace <3

If you feel so inclined, check out my best of year wrapped for both RomanaRose and Romana-after-dark

I'm not gonna say 2024 is my year, I leanred my lesson XD I am approaching 2024 with RESPECT. It will be the year it is.

[lieslab]

Idle town

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: Being quiet and a little ditsy is all fun and games until your boyfriend either accepts you or has something to say about it.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 3.8K

A/N: This is something I've never done before. I've taken two different requests and combined them. If you'd like to know why, I've got to be real, the wheels weren't spinning in my head. I couldn't come up with sixteen different drabbles in total without them being repetitive and I don't like doing that. I don't think anyone wants to read repetitive stuff.

So in saying that, some of these are geared towards the reader being more quiet. Others are more where the reader is kinda out of it and not paying much attention. So to the two of you that requested these, I hope this works <3

_ _ _

Chan: 

So many thoughts were running through your head. A cognitive wheel of clusterfuck that never seemed to stop turning. Over and over again, the hum of your brain churned out thoughts like a never ending robotic machine. 

“Are you listening to me?” 

“Hmm?” You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your thoughts. 

“I’ve been talking for the past five minutes. Did you hear what I just said?” His eyebrows furrowed and his head tipped to the side. “Are you okay?” 

You nodded. “Sorry, I’ve just been stuck in my thoughts lately. So what were you saying again?” 

“I was talking about the new song that I was working on.” 

“What about it?” 

“I’m stuck on a certain part.” 

“Can I listen to it? Maybe a fresh set of eyes and ears will help you. Have you had the guys listen to it yet?” 

“Not yet, but yeah. Maybe you can help me figure it out. There’s a specific part that I feel like I’m missing, but I don’t know what it is.” 

You watched as he pulled out his laptop and opened the file. A melodic beat floated from the laptop speakers and drifted into your ears. You had to fight to stay concentrated on the song and not drift back into your thoughts. 

When it stopped where Chan had stopped producing it, it turned off. He glanced over at you, almost sheepishly. “So what do you think?” 

“I think it would do really well with some added drums in the background. Drums are the baseline of a lot of songs. The steady beat helps keep pace for other instruments. Sometimes, it’s almost like the foundation. What do you think?”  

“I think,” he smiled, “I’m dating a genius.” 

“You could say that again.” 

“I’m glad you’re listening this time and you haven’t floated away in the clouds.” 

All you could do was send him your own sheepish smile. 

_ _ _ 

Minho:

Crash! 

You jerked your head up with wide eyes. Around you, shards of glass glistened along the ceramic floor. You shut your eyes and forced yourself to remain calm. This was the third time this week that this had happened. 

Heavy thuds slapped the floor as Minho burst from his room and came rushing. He was breathless as he reached the edge of the sunlit kitchen. “Are you okay, I heard-” He paused when he saw the glass around your feet. “Are you injured?” 

“No, I’m just annoyed, I guess. I’ll clean it up, just let m-” 

“No!” His hands went up with a face full of worry. “Just stay there and don’t move. You don’t have socks or shoes on. You don’t need to get glass in your feet. Don’t move, I’ve got it.” 

Too many times you had found yourself feeling absent-minded. It started with a quietness that enveloped you and then it slipped into a full daydream. Usually, you’d catch yourself and stop it, but sometimes you forgot about your surroundings. 

You mumbled apology after apology as Minho swept up the shards. Humiliation filtered straight into your core. “I really didn’t mean to,” you continued. 

“I know you didn’t mean to. However, I think we should ban you from glass cups. No more glass cups, plates, or bowls. I’m going to get you an entire plastic set, so you don’t hurt yourself.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“The next time you apologize, I’m throwing a glass at your head.” 

You blinked in shock, caught off guard by the sudden threat. Minho grinned and kissed your forehead. “I’m just kidding, I love you. Do you love me? Of course, you do.” 

Before you could respond, he disappeared to the other side of the room to dispose of the glass, so nobody else got hurt. 

_ _ _ 

Changbin: 

The groan from Changbin caused you to glance over at him. The familiar hum of the car’s engine beneath you cut off. His lips stuck out in a pout and he side-eyed you. With a loud hmph, he spun away from you and glanced out the window. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. 

“You’re not paying attention to me. I tried to ask if you wanted to go have dinner somewhere, but you’re not listening to me. You don’t love me anymore.” 

“That’s not true, I just-” 

“How much aegyo do I have to do to get your attention?” 

“Now, hold on, don’t you da-” 

His body flopped back, laying along the center console, the back of his head greeted your thigh. You glanced down at him with wide eyes as he called your name in a baby voice. 

The familiar feeling of disgust crept up in your stomach. Your face scrunched up in disapproval. “Why do you have t-” 

“Why don’t you love me? Hmm?” His lips stuck out in a dramatic pout and he poked his cheek. “How about now? Binnie is just the cutest.” 

“Are you done now?” 

He was not done, unfortunately. On and on he went with his complaints. When he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, he reached up while cooing and tugged at your cheeks. 

You smacked his hand away and leaned back. “Get your dirty paws off of me!” 

“I don’t have paws!” 

He shoved his fingers into your face and wiggled them. “Can you count? There’s ten! Should we count together?” 

“Should we stop hanging out with Hyunjin so much, so you don’t pick up on his theatrics?” 

“Meanie! Meanie!” He cried louder with a finger pointed at your face. “You don’t really love me!” 

“You have three seconds to start running, before I start t-” 

With a loud yowl, he scrambled off your lap, jerked the car door open, and took off. You didn’t waste time getting out of the passenger’s seat and chasing him around your yard. No matter how much you seemed annoyed, you loved him with your entire heart.

_ _ _ 

Hyunjin: 

“Hmmh.” Hyunjin hummed softly as he took in your appearance. 

You were sitting criss-cross applesauce on the couch. Your hands were folded in your lap. For quite a while now, you have been zoned out. 

“Can you hear me?” He asked, but received no response. “What if I raise my voice?” His tone grew louder by a few octaves. When you didn’t respond, he frowned. “How peculiar.” 

He stepped closer, but you were still in your own world. Wrapped around in your own pleasant daydream, you had no idea what was coming. Hyunjin’s hand outstretched and he gently waved it in front of your face, but no response. 

He stepped closer and bent down towards you. With narrowed eyes, he pushed his head towards yours. “If I told you I knew all your secrets, would that snap you out of this?” He whispered. 

When you didn’t respond, he stuck his tongue out with a scowl. With no response, he sat back on his legs with a sigh. His eyes narrowed while he tried to figure out how to snap you out of your daze. It wasn’t new for you, it was something you did a lot. He usually didn’t mind it, but he wanted to talk to you. 

His face lit up once he realized what he could do. With a small giggle, he pushed himself up and took off to the bedroom. When he came back, he stepped halfway into the living room and stared down at you. 

“I’m giving you one more chance to snap out of it.” 

With no response, he shrugged. “I suppose I’ll have to resort to more drastic measures.” He raised the nerf gun and then he- 

Ping!

A cry escaped your lips as the styrofoam bullet slammed directly into your eye socket. The stinging pain caused your eye to water. He gasped and came rushing towards you, the plastic gun hit the floor in the process. 

“Oh my god, are you okay? I’m so sorry! I was aiming for your forehead!” 

As you rubbed your eye, he dropped to his knees and cupped your face. You blinked rapidly, trying to get over the faint current of pain. His hand cupped your cheek as he gently pulled your hands away. “Here, let me see it.” 

Your eye was bright red from irritation and watery. Other than that, it seemed to be fine. “Can you see?” He gently turned your head from side to side. His hand reached into the air. “How many fingers am I holding up?” 

“A few,” you mumbled as you rubbed your eyes again. “What was that for?” 

“You zoned out and I wanted your attention.”  

“You could have just shaken me.” 

“Well, yeah, but…” He trailed off with a frown. “I’ll remember that for next time. Are you alright? Do you need me to take you to the hospital? I can call an ambulance if we need to.” 

“I’ll be fine, I just think I need to flush it with cold water. I think dirt got into it or maybe it’s just my eyelashes.” 

“Do you want me t-” 

“Not really, I’ve got it.” 

He felt awful as he leaned back. You got up and started to walk back to the hallway. He frowned and turned back to go after you, but to his surprise, you were holding the nerf gun at his head. 

“Baby?” His eyes went wide. “What are you doing?” 

“Payback.” 

“Wait!” He cried as he curled into himself. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean to nearly take out your eye! Don’t do this to me, you’re better than this! This isn’t you!” 

“You did this to me!” 

“Nuh-uh! I-” 

Ping! 

Hyunjin shrieked as you pulled the trigger. The neon green bullet flashed through the air and before you knew it, there was a soft pop. The rubber section on the end had attached itself to the center of his forehead. 

He groaned and placed a hand to his heart. Without another word, he slumped back against the couch with wide open eyes. His tongue fell out of the corner of his mouth and you snorted. 

His own snort fell out before he clamped a hand over his mouth. “Baby, don’t make me laugh. Corpses aren’t supposed to giggle. I’m trying to commit to the bit!” 

“You’ve already failed.” 

“I was doing so good until you made me laugh.” He reached up, pulled the bullet off, and dropped it to the ground. “Really though, let me help you.” 

“I’m banning nerf guns.” 

“You know what? I’m not mad about it. You should because next time, I might accidentally kill you somehow.” 

_ _ _ 

Han: 

“Honey?” Han’s voice came from behind you. The two of you were curled up on the couch together.

“Hmm?” 

“Do you feel like talking today?” 

“Not really. What about you? Do you feel like talking today?” 

“Meh, not much. It’s just one of those days, you know?” 

“Oh, believe me, I know.” 

A soft sigh came from Han. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tighter to his chest. You didn’t fight it as your legs tangled together. 

He shifted and gently placed his face in the crook of your neck. With a deep inhale, he got a whiff of your scent. The sweetened smell of your shampoo and conditioner sent soothing waves of bliss through his body. 

Your hands reached up and gently laid on his own hands. A faint blush came across your cheeks as he gently pressed a soft kiss to your neck. The simple gesture sent electric shocks along your spine. 

Both of you had days where you weren’t up for much talking. Talking required energy and sometimes, you just didn’t feel like it. Sometimes, you had days where you wanted to live in your head. 

It was nice to be in a relationship with someone who understood it. The two of you didn’t have to do anything because you understood one another. Sometimes, you both just wanted to relax without the desire to talk. 

It was so nice to have a connection with someone where the two of you just got it. It wasn’t often that people like this existed, but the ones that were out there, they were special. The comfortable silence where actions spoke louder than words, you wouldn’t change it for anything. 

For the rest of your life, you’d cherish it. 

_ _ _ 

Felix: 

“So lately, I have been thinking about what you told me the other day and your quietness. I used to think that maybe I was doing something wrong, so I did some research on it. I learned that sometimes people that are quiet tend to be more introverted and self-sufficient.” 

You hummed softly in agreement with his words. The two of you were sprawled out on a blanket in a park. With the bright yellow sun radiating warmth from above, you soaked up the bliss of the day. 

The warmth of the sun, the chirping birds, the feeling of Felix playing with your hair, and the scent of wildflowers. For the past twenty minutes, your head had been laying on his lap. 

Intrigued by the small patch of flowers nearby, he asked if he could put them in your hair. You didn’t fight it and that’s when his fingers started to weave the stems in. 

The eye-catching yellow of buttercups, the pollinated dandelions that stained the tips of his fingers a matching brilliant color. The milky white yarrow that he weaved between the two shades of yellow. You didn’t mind any of it. 

“I think that can be such a beautiful thing, you know? How cool is it to function inside your own head? Some people think that’s a weakness, but I don’t think that it is.” 

“I wish I could do that sometimes, but I tend to cling onto people. I like to have my voice heard and I want to be praised. I’m sure you want that too, so I’m here to tell you that I think that’s an amazing ability to have.” 

“I know you talk sometimes and every time you do, I feel like it’s such a privilege for me. I don’t get to see everything inside your mind all the time. I know it must be pretty scary to be vulnerable and open up to people. Google says that sometimes people are afraid to be more loud.” 

“I don’t know if that’s true for you and you don’t have to respond to that. You don’t have to respond to any of this, I’m just…” He smiled and continued to braid strands of your hair. “You see? I’m just venting and rambling again.” 

“If you ever need anything, I hope you come to me. If I’m talking too much, just let me know. Google also said that sometimes people prefer listening rather than talking. Despite my constant stream of conversation, I hope that you know you can talk to me too.” 

“Whatever is going on in that brain of yours, it’s fascinating. I love you so much and even if there’s days where you rarely speak, I’ll love you anyway.” 

He bent down over your head and pressed a warm kiss to your head. “So thank you for being you and thank you for being mine.” 

“Thank you for understanding,” you softly got out as your eyes met his. “So many people can be cruel about it. Sometimes I just…I don’t know, I just feel better being quiet.” 

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. If you ever have any issues for anyone, just let me know, sweetheart. I’ll put those taekwondo lessons to good use.” 

_ _ _ 

Seungmin: 

There was a silent tension between the two of you that you didn’t know how to break. In the distance, people quietly talked among themselves. The two of you were dressed up and in some well-known Italian restaurant. 

Seungmin’s fork scraped across his glass plate and you winced at the harsh sound. You twirled your fork around your own pasta. The scent of fresh basil and acidic tomato reached your nostrils. 

“Are you okay?” You finally got out. 

“Am I okay? Yeah, I’m perfectly fine. It’s not like I brought my significant other out to dinner and have been ignored half the night. I’m totally fine, don’t worry.” 

You pressed your lips together in a frown. This wasn’t going how you intended it to go at all. Seungmin had been looking forward to this night for quite a while now and you were destroying it with your hesitation to speak. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally got out. “I haven’t meant to come off that way. I’ve had a long day and sometimes I get overwhelmed and I mentally shut down. I didn’t mean for you to think I was ignoring you.” 

Seungmin’s head perked up at your voice. “Rough day at work?” He threw out the suggestion as a hail mary.

“You have no idea. My boss has been up my ass and down my throat at the same time and-” 

“I hope they haven’t because that’s my job.” 

You blinked, entirely taken back by his words. The confusion laced in your face made him chuckle. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, so what’s the big issue? Why is your boss being the big bad wolf?” 

“Because he’s a dick,” you grumbled. “He’s constantly telling us to work faster and that our work isn’t good enough. Yet at the exact same time, earlier he told us that we should be proud of ourselves and then offered us an ice cream day.” 

“How can a person be hot and cold at the same time? I don’t understand it and I’ve been silently thinking about it. It’s annoying and I just-” You shut your eyes and sighed. “Sorry for ruining dinner, I’m just trying to process everything.” 

“You didn’t ruin dinner, I’m just annoyed and taking it out on you. I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable. I feel like it’s been a while since we’ve done something like this. I just want to enjoy it, you know? Not to be a sap, but I’ve missed you lately.” 

“You see me every day.” 

“I can see you every day and still miss you. You can be sitting at the bar while I make breakfast and I’ll still miss you. I can’t believe I’m admitting it, but I’ve got a soft spot for you.” 

Your face softened at his words and a teasing grin grew across his face. “While I’m at it, I should point out that you got sauce on your face.” 

Your face fell instantly. “What?” Your eyes widened in shock. “Where?” 

He bent down, dipped his finger in his pasta sauce, and smeared it across the tip of your nose. Your face scrunched, you grabbed your napkin, and quickly wiped it away. 

“Seungmin! We’re in a public restaurant!” 

“So? Who cares? They should be thankful for dinner and a show.” 

“You are unbelievable,” you mumbled while still wiping your nose off. The scent of tomato still lingered in your nostrils. 

“I love you too.” 

_ _ _ 

Jeongin: 

“And then I wrecked my car.” 

“Mmhm.” 

“And I flipped it.” 

You hummed again. 

“With me inside it.” 

“And then?” 

“It blew up and I died.” 

“Wow,” your voice came out flat. 

Jeongin knew you weren’t listening and that was proof of it. He leaned back in his chair with a deep-seeded sigh. Usually, you were pretty good at listening, but once your hands were full, you tended to zone out. 

There you were in the kitchen with an apron. Ingredients were scattered throughout. There was a pile of flour here and there. The front of your black apron was smeared in it. 

You dumped a bag of chocolate chips into the messy dough that you created. Struggling to stir the sticky batter, you sighed and wiped your hand along your forehead. In the process, a mixture of butter and vanilla smeared along your skin. When you felt the greasy texture, you groaned. 

Jeongin couldn’t help, but laugh. You shot him a glare, stomped your foot, and huffed. “It’s not funny!” 

“Sometimes, I think it’s ironic that you were born a blonde.” 

“Do you have a death wish?” You flung the wooden spoon up with annoyance. Both of your eyes widened in shock at the soft splat behind you. A hand cupped your mouth as you whipped around. 

Dough stuck to the peach wallpaper. You cursed and rushed over, wetting a rag in the process, to wipe it away before you ruined the wallpaper. Jeongin couldn’t help, but laugh again. 

“You’re such a klutz sometimes.” 

“It’s not my fault I was born blonde! That’s not even a nice assumption! Do you know how many blondes are smart?” 

“What a shame that one of them isn’t you.” 

With a whim of anger, you stuck your hand into the sticky cookie batter and whipped a ball of it at him. He yelped as the heavy batter stuck to his white shirt. “Hey!” He cried out. “What was that for?” 

“Do you want another one?” 

“No!” 

“Take it back!” 

“No!” 

With a fierce determination, you picked up that bowl and began to march towards him. He screeched and got up to run away. The two of you bickered while you ran. 

“Stay away from me, you demon!” 

“Get back here!” 

“Run faster!” 

“I’m trying!” 

Unfortunately, you forgot about the flour that had begun to coat the bottom of your bare feet. White footprints of yours began to circle around the middle of the kitchen island. Jeongin’s socked feet were causing the same issue. 

Before you knew it, you squeaked as your feet slipped in a spot of melted butter. Down you went and Jeongin spun around with wide eyes. The hollow thunk sent both of you into sudden shock. 

The wet and warm texture of the batter coated your scalp. Your teeth bit into your bottom lip. You squeezed your eyes shut and then-

“Hey, babe, I think you’ve got something on your head.” He reached out with a fist and knocked on the metal bowl. “Anyone home in that head of yours?” 

“I’m going to kill you.” 

“I’d like to see you try, helmet head.” 

You opened your mouth, but the feeling of batter sliding down your forehead stopped you. You sucked in a deep breath and let out an annoyed sigh. A glob of greasy batter slipped down the curve of your nose. 

Deep-belly laughter came from Jeongin as he collapsed to his knees in front of you. You pressed your lips together, but soon you found yourself laughing too. You reached up and pulled the bowl off your head. You already knew it was going to take a lot of shampooing and warm water to get everything out. 

“I wish you could see your face right now. You look so silly. Oh god, I love you so much.” 

“It’s not,” you sucked in a breath, “funny.” 

“You’re right.” He whipped around and pulled out his phone. You glared as he pressed a few buttons. “It’s hilarious, so say hi to the guys for me.” 

“Wha-” 

With a loud click of his phone, he snapped a photo. “This will look so good in the group chat. They’ve been asking about you lately, I think this will be sufficient.” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“What are you going to do? Stop me?” 

“You’re so lucky there’s a ton of batter weighing me down and holding me back.” 

“Sure, blame the batter and not yourself. Not like you want to risk tripping and falling again, hmm?” You stuck your tongue out at him and he mirrored your expression. 

His hand stuck out to help you up. “Come on, butterfingers. Let’s go get you out of this mess. In the meantime, I think I’ll just ask Felix if he can bake us some cookies instead.” 

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