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carmenized-onions · 3 months

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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

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

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livlaughloveluke · 4 months

Text

ᡣ𐭩 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗳𝘁 𝗽.𝟭

child of dionysus x luke castellan 🍷

IN WHICH… the man you hate just can’t seem to leave you alone

warning! this fic contains- swearing // alcohol mentions // shitty parents // use of y/n // angst // daddy issues! // spoilers to tlt // probably not book accurate // implied sex!! // no actual smut, but definitely heavy illusions to sex (both characters are 18) // loss of virginity // drugs (medicinal) // blood // reader wears a swimsuit?? // reader gender isn’t mentioned i think // mentions of death/drowning // ends on an cliffhanger!!!

[a/n]-we’re just going to say tlt takes place in 2005, so luke and will have been born in 1986. also, incase you didn’t know, Hera doesn’t have any demigods, so her cabin is empty :)

part two is in progress, just wanted to put something out until then. also kinda ends on an odd note because it wasn’t intended to be multiple parts

🎧- night shift by lucy dacus

6.6k words (oopsies)

You hated Luke Castellan above all else.

Coming from you, that was a pretty bold statement, considering that you had a fiery hatred for plenty of things. Whether it be people who smacked their gum too loudly or ignorant gods who brushed off their children with no remorse, everything seemed to unwillingly ignite a spark in you. However, someone in particular really seemed to piss you off.

The mere sight of his stupid curls and even stupider scar hadn’t always awakened such a burning rage in you; in fact, he used to do the opposite. He was fourteen when you first met him.

April 13th, 2000

Luke had been placed into the chaos of Cabin 11, the other campers unfazed by a new demigod living with them as they carelessly bumped into his shoulder while playing tag. Old magazines scattered the wood floors, and dust covered the edges of his scrappy bed. With a sigh, he threw his bag onto the floor and escaped the overwhelming sensations provided by his siblings.

The light tour Chiron provided was seemingly useless as he mindlessly waltzed down to the lake, unsure of another quiet space to go to. He performed a quick glance around to ensure he was really alone, and then plopped down onto the rocky shore with a groan. Without his father and now Thalia, he wasn’t sure if he’d survive a night at this bullshit camp.

“You okay?” You emerged from the woods, staring at him with a concerned expression. He jumped slightly, startled by your presence since he literally just checked to see if he was alone. “Oh, uhm, yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked, noticing the way his tone was so unconvincing while sitting down next to him and staring out at the view. It wasn’t typical of you to be so welcoming, but you had recently received dessert privileges back after getting them taken away for punching some Aphrodite girl, so a cheery mood was accompanied. He glared at you, slightly annoyed by the way you interrupted his moment of peace. But then again, you weren’t really bothering him, so he figured you could stay. You were also breathtaking, so how could he shoo you away?

“No.” Luke replied honestly after a moment of silence, a slight grimace decorating his features while thinking about his long past.

“Fair. I’m sorry about your friend.” You said, your voice filled with empathy rather than pity as you kept eye contact with the horizon despite the cooling wind that turned your eyes glossy and ruffled your neon orange shirt. “Thanks.” He muttered as the memories flooded his mind, to the point where he had to clench his teeth together so he wouldn’t cry.

“I’m Y/N. Child of Dionysus.” Turning around, you offered a friendly smile until you realized he had his head buried into the crook of his elbow and emitted gentle sniffles. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Did I say something? I’m trying to work on it, I swear-“

“Does it ever get easier?” He interrupted, although his request came out muffled as he whispered into his skin.

“Well… sorta.”

“Sorta?”

“You get used to the whole Greek God thing, I guess.” You reply, avoiding the question he was clearly implying about his father being present. It wasn’t one you typically liked to talk about, along with most of the other campers with daddy issues. The truth was, you hated the gods for abandoning their children, but speaking out about that would have some brutal consequences. Let’s just say you would lose more than just dessert privileges for a week.

“I’m heading down to the bonfire; you should join.” You said after another long pause of silence, standing up and dusting the particles of sand that had collected on the bottom of your denim shorts.

“Okay.” He stood up, wiping his eyes, and followed you as you hiked through the trees.

“So, why were you stalking me again?” Luke spoke up with a sarcastic tone, stepping over the large tree trunks that had fallen down onto the forest floor.

“Woah, I was not stalking you, newbie.”

“Sure looked like it when you magically appeared out of the woods.”

“Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.” You snapped, the caring facade slipping away as you stared at him harshly enough to pierce his heart.

“Jeez, sorry.” Luke looked down at his feet, feeling a little guilty for being too pushy with practically a stranger. After seeing his suddenly reserved body language, you stopped the hike and faced him.

“Don’t apologize.”

“What?” His gaze averted back up to meet your cold expression.

“Don’t apologize. I was being a bitch. Stand up for yourself.”

“Uhh..” Luke was now extremely confused, looking around as if this was some sort of prank show with the way you switched up so fast.

“Let’s try again. I’m gonna say the sane thing, and you’re going to stand up for yourself. Kay?”

“I don’t-“ He started, but was quickly interrupted by you.

“Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.” You repeated from earlier, making your voice sound even ruder as you dramatically exclaimed.

“N-no? Is that what I’m supposed to say?” He questioned, still nervously glancing around and searching for some sort of explanation or another person hiding in the undergrowth to reveal it was a silly joke. You raised your eyebrows in disbelief at his terrible performance, blinking slowly as you scoffed.

“Oh gods. It’s not what you say; it’s how you say it. Be more confident.” Stepping back, you repeated the sentence again. “Well, I wasn’t, okay? Mind your business.”

“No.” Luke said, this time with more pride, although he kept staring at you for a sign of approval. “Good!” You supportively with a grin, turning to continue your walk. And after a sassy eye roll, Luke followed behind.

“Just trying to protect you from the Ares kids. They can be assholes.” You happily explained, a little too cheery for someone who just snapped at him.

“Yeah, okay.”

Luke knew he should be bothered by your interesting behavior. I mean, most would, but deep down, he liked how you were empathetic in such a strange way. It made him feel human, instead of like a tourist attraction that people whispered sweet nothings to and stared at curiously.

“Don’t take anyone’s shit, and soon enough you’ll be swimming in kleos.” You stated, swaying with every step and providing plenty of hand gestures.

“Kleos?”

“Glory. Everyone here is basically fighting to be respected.”

“Oh. Shouldn’t everyone just be respectful?” He obliviously asked, ducking under a low, hanging branch.

“They should, but they aren’t. But with glory, it makes you important. People sit up when you walk in the room; stay out of your way; things like that.”

“Wait, so I just have to stand up for myself, and suddenly I’m all important?”

“Sometimes. Usually, though, you have to major in some skill. Archery, sword fighting, healing, etc. You been claimed yet?”

“Yeah, Hermes.”

“Oh.” You replied, dissatisfaction noticeable.

“Oh??” Luke questioned, offended and sounding a little more rude than he intended.

“It’s not really a bad thing. Just different demigods are usually good at certain stuff. With Hermes, they typically tend to be good liars.”

“What’s your talent?” Luke asked, causing you to go quiet for a minute while thinking.

“Well, I’m really good at poker. That’s about it.”

“You’re a good talker, too.” He said, causing you to shoot him a threatening glare.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you give decent advice, and you’re pretty welcoming. That’s a plus.” He instantly backtracked.

“Half of the camp would disagree with you on that. Turns out hostility doesn’t get you the best reputation.”

“You’re hostile?” Sure, you may have had a little anger management problem, but hostile? You seemed sweet enough to Luke, at least.

“I don’t talk to all the newbies like this.”

“Then why me?” Luke, from his understanding, wasn’t special. He didn’t stick out. He wasn’t super hot, smart, or funny. He was just average, in his opinion.

“Dunno. Why not?” You said, which wasn’t entirely true. He just seemed different, like he was hiding more beneath the surface. Similar to a puzzle that you needed to solve, except if you didn’t, you’d be burdened with a painful itch of curiosity for the rest of eternity.

“Hm, Fair. But what should I try to achieve kleos?”

“Don’t go for archery or healing; the Apollo kids will smoke you. Maybe sword fighting? I could show you the basics sometime.”

“Sword fighting it is.”

May 21st, 2001

"Where were you during arts and crafts?" You asked while sitting down next to Luke at lunch, clearly irritated by his absence during this morning's activities.

"I was-" He tried to explain, but you had already taken his hands and begun to inspect them, your touch shutting him up. You huffed in annoyance while gently tracing over his callouses and cuts.

"You were training again."

"I just needed more practice. I didn't mean to-" He started, feeling remorse for not showing up, but you were there to quickly interrupt him.

"Save it. I have bandages back at my cabin; let's go. It's the least you can do for leaving me with your siblings all morning." You slammed your hands on the table, standing up and practically dragging Luke to follow you (he would have followed even if you didn't force him).

Once a long distance away from the pavilion, you brought up a topic he wasn't the most comfortable with. "Training to prove yourself?" He swallowed back his anger, not wanting to lash out at you, despite the fact that you could obviously take it.

"Maybe I am. Who cares?"

"I do. Stop caring about the gods so much."

"Easy for you to say. Your father's here." Luke mumbled mockingly under his breath, barely above a whisper, but you heard.

"I'm not sure he even knows my name. He's a drunk dumbass, not exactly great dad material." This shut him up, his gaze traveling to the dirt floor until you reached Cabin 12. Silence and tension filled the air as you opened your backpack, scouring for the gauze and anticipatant. Gripping his wrist with a rage-filled force, you carefully rubbed the Neosporin over the red cuts and wrapped his palms with the stretchy material gifted by an Apollo friend.

"Don't say I don't care about you. You know I do." You whispered, breaking the quiet atmosphere and filling it with fiery love.

"But he doesn't."

"So?"

"He's my father. He should."

"You should stop focusing on what you don't have. Working yourself to the bone won't improve your relationship."

He didn't respond, not having an argument or a sassy comment whipped up, because you were right. He manufactured this mindset that if he was good enough, if he had glory, Hermes would finally notice him and would finally love him. However, there was always a little voice in the back of his head that made him doubt all of his hopes for a family. You just amplified that voice like a microphone.

"And you left me alone with your brothers. Bleh." You smiled, trying to lighten the mood a little while tying off the first bandage.

"C'mon, they aren't that bad."

"You should have heard how they were talking about Julia from Aphrodite Cabin."

"Ew." He laughed, looking at you while you concentrated on wrapping his last hand. You looked so stunning like this, with your pearly teeth peeking between the skin of your lips and your eyes squinting while focusing on making sure it was perfect. He was truly a dumbass, focusing on the gods while you were right in front of him. "Done." You said while tucking in the end of the gauze. He hinged his hand open and shut a few times to make sure it was sturdy, and of course it was.

"Thank you." Luke praised you, not just for patching him up, but for caring.

"Anytime. Hey, I made you something during arts and crafts." You dug through your plastic junk drawer, clinking around all the junk in search of something specific.

"Hm?"

You snatched up a small beaded necklace from the drawer before extending your hand and showing it to him. It was crumpled up, the flimsy string intertwined with itself and the beads out of order, so he picked the jewelry up and awed at the handmade piece. It was wooden beads painted in deep burgundy paint with your first name spelled out in Greek letters, strung on black elastic.

"It's gorgeous." Was all he could manage to utter out, still starstruck by the thoughtfulness of your gift.

"Thanks. We should probably get back to lunch before it's over." You replied, and for the first time in Luke's year of knowing you, you look flustered. You nervously glanced down at the laces to your shoes and fiddled with your fingers, even swaying from the tips of your toes to the back of your heels.

"Yeah, yeah." He agreed, slipping the necklace on and walking out with you behind him. For the rest of the day, he was all smiles and giggles, with others unsure of why he was in such a good mood. Until the inky night sky swallowed the bright blue light, and nightmares came with it.

Most demigods were prone to the occasional bad dream, but Luke was a frequent victim of Hypnos’ curse. Every other night was filled with images of losing what he loved, but he was too embarrassed to talk to someone about it, so he suffered silently.

That night, the dreams were particularly horrific, to the point where he awoke covered in sweat and probably some tears, too. His mind debated whether or not sneaking out and waking you up was a bad idea, but the thought of staying awake alone in his bed another minute scared him more than any profanity you could throw at him for interrupting your “beauty sleep.”

Tiptoeing silently outside the hot cabin, his heart pounded as he traveled to your room next door. He was still in flannel pajama pants and an old tee shirt with some vintage band plastered on it, the chilling wind erupting goosebumps.

Luckily, your bed was right next to a window, which he promptly (and quietly) tapped on to wake you up. A few groans and twists later, you slid open the glass and gawked at him.

“Luke, what the fuck are you doing?” You whisper-yelled, praying to the gods none of your siblings woke up and started bitching.

“I had a nightmare.”

“You woke me up at two in the morning because you had a nightmare?”

“Please, I just need someone to talk to.” Hearing the desperation and seriousness in his voice, you couldn’t possibly reject him, no matter how tired you were.

“I’ll be out in a second.”

Sliding the window shut, you slipped on some sandals and exited to see Luke, who was standing on the porch.

Walking down the steps with him tracking behind, you waited until you were isolated by the lake to talk. “Everything okay?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been having really bad nightmares lately, and I know that sounds stupid, but I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Have you tried talking to the Apollo kids? It’s not rare for them to deal with insomnia.”

“Well, no. It’s humiliating. It’s taken me a year to talk to you about it, and you’re my best friend.” Luke skimmed past the term ‘best friend’, unsure if you felt the same. It was stupid; you were definitely his best friend, but what if he wasn’t yours?

“First of all, it’s not. But I don’t mind talking to them. I can say I’m having nightmares, and they’ll probably give me melatonin, and then I can give it to you.”

“You’d do that? Smuggle drugs for me?” He spoke softly, the moonlight enchanting his features.

“Course. You’re my best friend.”

December 27th, 2002

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You yelled at Luke in the empty Hera Cabin, angrier than ever. Word had spread to you like wildfire of a quest Luke had accepted, despite the fact it was a suicide mission.

“Listen-“

“No! You told me you didn’t care about the god’s approval anymore. And now you’re going on some bullshit quest?! You’re a fucking dumbass.”

“I just need one chance to prove myself to him.” He pleaded, begging for you to understand and forgive him, even though he knew you weren’t the “forgive and forget” type. Honestly, he was about 80% sure you were still holding a grudge against him for stealing the dessert off your plate three months ago.

“Why aren’t you happy where you are? You’re the best swordsman at camp in three hundred years; half the girls here are in love with you, and everyone practically worships the ground you walk on!”

“I don’t care about them.”

“Do you not care about me, either?” You spoke softly, which was a dramatic shift from the heated yelling a few seconds ago.

“What? Of course-“ Luke cared about you more than anything— more than himself or any silly god. It wasn’t very far-fetched to assume that he even loved you, although his anxious self would never admit anything of the sort. But this quest was a dream of his, and it wasn’t possible for him to just give it up.

“Whatever. I’m done with your bullshit.” You cut him off and stormed out, leaving him to watch you walk away with an aching pain in his heart. That wound was left open as he set out for his journey that night, along with two other campers who were slightly underqualified.

The quest went to shit the minute they left camp’s solace, with monsters attacking from every direction. However, he and his companions were able to make it to the guarded tree with only a few minor injuries.

Until Luke reached for the golden apple and was sliced by the dragon who protected the fruit. Blood gushed out of the cut that decorated his eye as he stumbled away. The loss of blood and shock caught up to him, and eventually he lay in the arms of his friends, fading in and out of consciousness.

The idea that your life flashes before your eyes when you're near death is indeed true. Memories of previous years flooded his brain, from his childhood to his teen years (which mainly consisted of you). As the light faded away, all he could think of was how he never admitted his love to you and how your last interaction with him was an argument.

The next time he awoke, he was in the camp infirmary, dazed as he slowly blinked the sleep away from his eyes. The teenage nurses yelled at him as he slowly stood up and deliriously walked outside, but he couldn’t care less. He just wanted to see you and apologize. His near-death experience was a wake-up call, a sign that what he was feeling towards you wasn’t just friendly admiration.

Luckily for him, you were waiting for him outside, sitting on a wood bench as you anxiously bounced your leg. As he stumbled out the door, you immediately stood up and rushed towards his weak body. What caught him off guard was the way you hugged him instantly, wrapping your arms around his torso while burying your head in his chest. For the first time in days, you were able to breathe, inhaling his musky scent rapidly. The fight had taken a toll on you. You lied awake at every night scared out of your mind that he would die hating you.

“I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things, I was just angry at you for leaving me, but-” You rammbled into the cloth of his shirt, the vibrations on his skin making his heart flutter.

“Don’t apologize.” He said with a loopy smile, making you laugh with relief while remembering the first time you met. His original plan of confessing his love to you the moment he woke up with a dramatic spiel was immediately thrown in the trash as he looked at you from above. The worries of ruining this magical friendship you had spent two years building overtook the joys of the possibility that a new relationship would blossom. So for now, he was comfortable being friends with you. Best friends.

The stares from others went unnoticed, Luke too enchanted by your warming touch to see the way others gawked at him from afar, like he was a monster. Not until the next day, when he wasn’t drugged, at least.

When he looked in the crowded bathroom mirror the next morning after plenty of rest, it almost scared him. His gash was a beaming red with dried maroon blood on the edges and a violet hue discoloring the nearby skin. Swallowing nervously, he did his best to clean it up with warm water before rushing to the picnic tables for breakfast, where you sat munching on cereal.

“You’re the most brutally honest person I know. How bad is it? Like, can I even show my face anymore?” He blurted out, causing you to glance up with a slight panic. After a few seconds of consideration, you replied.

“It makes you look badass.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Go get something to eat and come back to talk to me.” Luke responded with a nod, heading off to grab a quick breakfast. With a tray of pancakes in his hand, he returned and sat down across from you.

“So?” You waited eagerly for some explanation of his trip.

“It went like shit. You’re right, I’m not good enough.”

“Woah, I never said that.”

“You implied it.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant you shouldn’t rely on your successes or failures to determine your worth.”

“Same thing.” He retorted with a scowl, stuffing his mouth with food.

“Not even close. So, what’d you learn?”

“That I need to train harder.”

“Holy shit, you are a dumbass.” You said with a long blink and a theatrical sigh.

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. How’s Annabeth?” Annabeth and you were always so different, but somehow that made you closer. She spent her hours strategizing and acting like an adult, and you spent yours playing games and wishing you were younger. Regardless, she was like a little sister to you.

“She’s… like usual.” Luke replied with a crinkle of his lips.

“Mm, so she’s still forcing herself to be an adult at nine?”

“Yeah, just about.”

“We should get her to play poker with us one night. Help loosen her up a little.”

“Not a chance.”

March 19th, 2003

You and Luke stood side by side, anxiously waiting for Capture the Flag to start, while Chiron yapped about the rules. You’d already heard the whole spiel of instructions multiple times, so naturally you grew bored, and your mind wandered off to the boy beside you.

He looked like a true warrior, with his pointy metal helmet that somehow sharpened his features. Over the past few summers, he had grown significantly, and the puff on his cheeks had thinned out. Needless to say, he wasn’t short of admirers.

You painfully watched as hundreds of girls fawned over him and even began to dread getting ready in the bathroom because of how many praises were thrown at him.

Luke sensed your annoyance from afar, although it wasn’t hard to notice by the way you scowled every time someone approached him with a new compliment. However, he thought you were just envious of the praise he received. In reality, you felt threatened, like someone would steal your spot in your best-friend-who-sometimes-flirt-with-each-other relationship with him. He would never let it happen though, even if you weren’t aware.

“Let the games begin!” Chiron yelled, snapping you out of your daydreaming session.

“You take the east side of the forest, I take the west, we meet up in the middle, right?” You wanted to confirm the Athena cabin’s strategy with him, to which he replied with a quick nod.

“Mhm. See you on the flip side.”

“See you on the flip side, Castellan.” You both turned to the different small groups that you were leading, setting out on foot to start your plan.

Annabeth and a few other geniuses had spent the past two weeks carefully crafting a flawless plan for today’s Capture the Flag game. You and Luke would attack, traveling into their side of the woods, while the rest would defend.

While you might not have been the best swordsman, you were a master of trickery and deception and decent at fist fighting. Plus, you had a solid team backing you up.

“So basically, we just need to fight some of the red team and then meet up with Luke and his group in the middle. Kay?” You instructed to your acquaintances, who diligently followed behind you as you hiked through the evergreen trees, until you saw a few of the other team lurking around. With a surprise attack, you were able to defeat them, with little of your squad lost in the process.

You kept on trekking through the dark depths of the forest before spotting some of the best members of the red team, specifically Sam from Ares cabin.

They were the biggest asshole around, and extremely cocky for someone who was the second-best sword fighter in camp. Plus, they were always trying to get in your pants, along with every other counselor who was old enough. To be frank, they were super hot, but you weren’t interested in anyone currently. Well, anyone who wasn’t Luke Castellan.

Knowing you wouldn’t win this battle, you shuffled to the bushes and silently watched while thinking of a good plan.

“Nice try. Up. Slowly.” Sam said unexpectedly, causing you to sigh with frustration and calmly stand up, along with your teammates.

“So, you can either give up now and save yourself the trouble, or we can do the whole fighting thing and eliminate you that way. Your choice.” They stated with a smile, only egging you on.

“What a little bundle of joy you are.”

“Hm, okay, fighting it is.” They sliced for your stomach, the metal of their blade clinking with the iron of your breastplate. You were stunned at first, but immediately charged back while his goons attacked your friends.

The sound of swords slicing and heavy grunts filled the woods, alerting Luke, who was a decent distance away. Most of his teammates had been eliminated, so now it was just him and one other member. He lightly jogged to the scene, not caring too much.

Meanwhile, your group was putting up a solid fight, but so were they. You clashed swords relentlessly with Sam, while your teammates suffered a bloody battle. In a mere minute, all of your team had surrendered, but so had all of Sam’s team.

With every second that passed, your efforts got messier and energy your got lower, and it was apparent this wasn’t going to be your victory. With one clean slice, Sam nicked your arm violently, and you let out a scream in response. Unbeknownst to you, Luke heard your pain and panicked, changing his pace from a careless jog to a speedy sprint. His partner yelled at him, confused, but Luke just kept going, despite his muscles that ached like fire.

You grew exhausted, now just weakly defending yourself from every attack. Seeing how unfocused you became, Sam took this opportunity to swipe your feet with his leg and send you tumbling to the ground, disarming you in the process.

Both panting heavily, they shakily brought the blade to your neck and stepped on your torso to prevent less squirming.

“You’d be a lot hotter if you weren’t such a bitch.” They said, and before you could come up with a witty reply, Luke had charged from behind. Slicing at Sam with adrenaline-fueled anger, he instantly knocked them down to the floor.

“Don’t ever talk to them like that again, or I’ll seriously fuck you up. Okay?”

“Okay, Jesus! What are you, their boyfriend or something?”

Luke wasn’t sure how to reply, so he didn’t. Was this too protective of him? No, he was just helping a friend. Right?

“Just say you surrender already.” He mustered up.

“Fine, I surrender.” Sam mumbled, and Luke took his sword away while they fled. Then, he turned to you, who was watching the whole thing from the floor.

“Holy shit, thank you.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. They hurt you?” He replied with a grin, helping you up with his right hand.

“Nothing bad.” You responded, twisting your arm to get a glance at the cut. He winced with empathy while grabbing your wrist so he could get a better glance.

“Ouch. Go to the infirmary. It’s bleeding a lot.”

“Whatever. Go get the flag, trooper.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. With a sly salute, you both headed your separate ways. Luke had a pep in his step as he jogged to the bright flag, forgetting all about his partner, who was somewhere in the trees far behind him.

You headed to the nurse, getting it cleaned and patched up easily before setting off to the lake. Sitting on a pointy rock, you waited mindlessly for this stretched-out game to end. Technically you were still in, but your match with Sam was enough fighting for the day.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long, because Luke emerged from the forest a few minutes later carrying a gleaming red flag with pride.

Standing up, you cheered with excitement as you ran up to him, squealing like a little girl. He stopped in front of you and dug the pole into the rocky shore with a grin. Still in awe, all you could manage out was a toothy smile in reply.

“Congrats, Castellan.”

“Eh, it was no big deal.” He joked, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Whatever. Bonfire tonight!!” You laughed and made sure to yell out the last sentence for all of your teammates, who whooped with glee.

When the sun drifted down the horizon that night, you and dozens of campers headed down to the shore, where a sparking fire raged. The flames danced as you sat around, scattered on different logs. You currently sat on the floor next to Luke while he sat on the wood, leaning your back against the dead tree and ever-so-slightly brushing up against his legs.

Everyone had noticed your change in attitude over the last few years. You seemed bubblier and more happy because, well, you were. Falling in love with someone who had a chance of reciprocating feelings was heaven. Every long stare from across the room and gentle touch made your skin crawl with adoration. Maybe you should tell him. But why ruin everything?

As the night stretched on and the violet sky dissipated into a jet black that was freckled with stars, you grew sleepier. And after the third yawn in only ten minutes, you decided it was time to hit the hay.

“Okay, I’m calling it quits. Night guys!” You stood up before turning to Luke.

“Goodnight, Luke.” You whispered in such a caring tone that he felt shivers down his spine. Speechless, he watched with hearts in his eyes as you walked away.

“At least try and be discreet.” One of his friends laughed as soon as your figure went unseen.

August 2nd, 2004

“Absolutely not. No way!” Annabeth yelled at you.

You, Luke, and her all sat on the floor of Cabin 12 playing Uno because apparently gambling “isn’t appropriate for an eleven-year-old.” The problem was that you liked to make up your own rules, while Annabeth strictly stuck to what was written in the instructions.

“Beth, everyone plays this way! Just take your six!”

“If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?” She gave you her signature death stare.

“What are you, my mom? Luke, what’s your opinion?”

“Do not drag me into this.”

“I quit. I’m heading down to the lake, you guys wanna come?” You stated, slamming your mountain of red cards onto the floor and jumping up to search for a bathing suit in your dresser.

“I have archery training.” Annabeth said, grabbing her stuff and walking out.

“I’ll go.” Luke replied a little too eagerly.

“Okay. Meet me at the docks in ten?”

“Sure.” Using his bandaged palms to push off the wood floor, he left to go change.

Slipping into your black swimsuit, you threw a baggy shirt over it and skipped down to the shore, where Luke was waiting with his feet in the icy water.

“Hey.” You alerted him of your presence while sliding off your cover and tossing it down beside you. His breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but gawk at the slivers of your exposed skin. Nervously swallowing, he weakly replied. “H-hey.”

Ignoring the way he stuttered and stared, you jumped into the cool lake. The blue water engulfed you in a refreshing embrace, rolling off your skin as you emerged from the surface.

“I’ll race you to that buoy over there.” You pointed to the white float that bobbled up and down.

“Deal. Winner gets loser’s dessert for a week.”

“Deal.” You took off before he was even in the water, pushing off of the wood dock to accelerate forward.

“Cheater!” Luke yelled playfully before jumping in and following your path.

Eventually, he caught up and even reached the buoy first, grinning triumphantly as you paddled towards him.

“I hate you.” You mumbled, but the beaming smile plastered on your face told another story.

“Fine, you can keep your dessert privileges, but I still want bragging rights.” He offered, not caring a smidge about anything but making you happy.

“Gods, you’re such a good person.” You said, knowing you would have taken his food and flaunted on him for the next seven days.

“Race you back?”

“Fuck no. I’m tired.”

“I’ll carry you. The waters not too deep; you can sit on my shoulders while I walk.”

“You’ll drown.”

“I’m pretty ripped; I think I can manage carrying you one hundred yards.” He jokingly replied with a flex of his bicep, which was definitely appreciated by your wandering eyes.

“Sure. I’m not saving you if you do end up drowning, though.” You climbed onto his shoulders, and he gripped your calfs to help stabilize you and because he really just wanted an excuse to touch you.

“That’s a pretty badass way to die.” He said while trailing through the fresh liquid.

“To die while swimming through five-foot-deep waters?”

“Well, not when you phrase it like that.”

“How would you phrase it?”

“Glorious hero meets his fate at the lake with another counselor’s thighs wrapped around his head.”

You both froze with shock when he uttered his suggestive remark, even Luke not realizing his mistake until after. He felt his cheeks go hot and nervously tried to apologize for making you feel uncomfortable.

“Oh my gods, I swear I did not mean-“

You cut him off with a deep and angelic laugh, clearly not hurt by his poor choice of words.

“You’re a dumbass.” You choked out through heavy giggles, and he instantly relaxed upon realizing you didn’t think he was a complete pervert. Every laugh you released was like a weight off of his shoulders, and that was when he knew he could not shove his feelings down anymore.

Hours had passed, and you two ended up watching the sun fall by the lake while sharing a cherry red and white striped blanket. Not a word was whispered as you rested your head against his shoulder, his curls dripping onto your skin. He couldn’t help but smile as he felt your slow inhalation of the crisp air.

Once night arrived and the cicadas started chirping, it was finally time to break the comforting silence.

“I’m gonna go shower.” You said while slowly standing up and letting the towel drape off of your body.

“Me too.” Luke replied, getting up and placing the towel back on your shoulders so you wouldn’t have to brace the chilling breeze in a swimsuit. As you walked away, he couldn’t help but stare.

“Wait, I need to talk to you once you’re done. Meet me in the Hera Cabin after we’ve showered?” He called out after you, to which you nodded in response.

He needed to confess how he felt about you immediately, or his chest might actually explode. He needed to tell you about how his heart raced every time your touch lingered a second too long, how he ranted to Annabeth every night about the things you did that made him swoon, and how he was madly, head over heels, in love with you.

Once the musk of lake water had fully washed off, you headed to the infamous empty cabin, where Luke was waiting. His hair was still wet from the shower, causing his curls to separate, and he fidgeted with his fingertips while anxiously waiting for your arrival.

“You okay, Castellan?”

“No, I’m not, actually. I need to tell you something, like right now.” He stuttered out, his lip crunched up like he was in pain.

“You’re scaring me a little, but I’m all ears.”

“I love you.” Luke blurted out, the tension in the air increasing significantly with just three words.

“What?” It seemed as if the world had stopped, even the birds quieting down for a listen.

“I’m in love with you.” He repeated, like it was no big deal, like it was second nature.

“You love me?” You whispered out, almost like it was unheard for you to be loved.

“More than anything.”

You swallowed, thinking for a second while he awaited a response.

“I love you too.”

With the conformation of your words, he leaned in until the tips of his nose rubbed against yours. His lust-coated eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips, making it apparent what he wanted. Luke breathed in your fresh scent heavily while watching and waiting for a reaction—for you to pull away or do something.

Trailing a hand up into his hair, you delicately pushed his head until your lips met. His skin was honey-sweet as you gingerly kissed; it looked like something out of a romance movie. He forced himself to be a gentleman and pull apart after a few seconds, no matter how much he wanted to kiss you until his oxygen ran out.

Looking up into his eyes, you craved more. This built-up tension between you two was finally erupting, and it needed more than just a little kiss to be satisfied. So, you took charge and feverishly leaned in for more.

His hands cusped your cheek, carefully avoiding any boundaries you might have set up. That was until you snagged his bottom lip with your teeth, and he lost all self-control. The sweet kisses turned into a full-blown make-out session as he steadily snaked his hand down your torso and to the fat of your ass.

Only breaking for air when absolutely necessary, passion filled the atmosphere, along with hushed moans from the both of you. Luke warily trailed his hand upwards to your chest, and you could tell where this was heading. Panting, you removed your lips from his and spoke up.

“I’ve never.. I’m still…”

“Me too. Do you.. still want to?” He revealed, his heart racing while still daintily grazing your skin.

“Yes. Please.” You desperately nodded, like death was approaching if you didn’t continue. With that, he laid you down on the squeaky mattress of an unused bunk bed and hovered over.

“Gods, you look stunning.”

୨୧

part two in progress…

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pucksandpower · 1 year

Text

Grid Kids: Awkward Encounters

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: times when your grid kids gained way more insight into your relationship than they asked for

Series Masterlist

The Time Max Just Wanted to Sleep

Max checks into his hotel room after a particularly tiring day at the track, desperately needing some rest. But as he sinks into the plush hotel bed, he’s met with unexpected noises coming from the adjacent suite. Recognizing the familiar voices, he groans, realizing that he’s unfortunately booked right next to you and Sebastian.

Pulling a pillow over his head, Max tries to drown out the sounds but they seem to only grow louder. He paces the room, plugging in earphones and trying to blast some music. Yet, the thin walls of the hotel make it hard to escape the breathy gasps and banging of the headboard coming from next door.

Getting desperate, Max considers going down and asking if any other rooms are still available but then decides to tackle the issue head-on. Grabbing his phone, he shoots a cheeky text to you and Sebastian: Hey, mind keeping it down a bit? Some of us are trying to sleep here!

***

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on Max’s door. Opening it, he finds the two of you, looking sheepish and holding a bottle of champagne.

“Peace offering,” Sebastian says with a grin. “Sorry about the noise.”

Max chuckles, shaking his head. “Next time, maybe we should coordinate our room arrangements a bit better.”

You end up sitting in Max’s suite, sharing the champagne as the initial awkwardness of the evening fades away.

As the night draws to a close, Max hugs you and pats Sebastian on the back, “Thanks for the drink. But next time, seriously, a bit of discretion wouldn’t hurt.”

Sebastian laughs, raising his glass before downing the remaining champagne, “To fewer awkward hotel nights.”

The Time Lance Just Wanted Some Music

It’s a bustling race weekend and the paddock is alive with activity. Inside the Aston Martin garage, Lance is fumbling with the PA system, trying to connect his phone to the system so he can share his new pump-up playlist with the team.

Meanwhile, nearby in an unused back office, you and Sebastian steal a few moments of intimacy away from the spotlight and the stress of the race.

Just as things heat up between you two, Lance unknowingly reroutes the PA system, and suddenly, the sounds from the office you commandeered echo through the entire garage. The mechanics and engineers freeze, their eyes widening in shock, while some try (and fail) to suppress their giggles.

As the soft murmurs and distinctive sounds start echoing through the garage, everyone stops in their tracks. Eyes widen, jaws drop, and awkward glances are exchanged. The team quickly realizes what’s happening and a frantic search begins to find the source of the unintended broadcast.

Max, who ran to the garage at the first sense of drama, snickers, leaning over to Charles who joined him, never one to resist good gossip either, “Seems like Seb’s getting a turbo boost.”

Charles stifles his laughter, nodding, “Definitely achieving maximum force.”

Realizing what he’s done, a horrified Lance scrambles to correct his mistake, finally disconnecting the PA system.

***

You and Sebastian, initially clueless about the unintended broadcast, step out of the room only to be met with a chorus of playful wolf whistles and knowing grins.

Charles leans in, whispering to Sebastian, "You guys put on quite the show.”

Max, laughing uncontrollably, slaps Lance on the back, “Best PA announcement ever!”

Lance, beet-red with embarrassment, mumbles his apologies, “I had no idea! I was just trying to fix the connection.”

Despite the initial shock, the hilarity of the situation soon takes over and the entire team is rolling with laughter. Sebastian, taking it in stride, wraps an arm around Lance’s shoulder, “Well, that’s one way to boost team morale.”

You, trying to hide your blush but failing, add with a smirk, “I guess we just set a new standard for team bonding.”

Later that night, at a dinner with your grid kids, George raises his glass, “To Lance, for reminding us all of the importance of ... connecting. And to Seb and Y/N, for providing today’s unexpected entertainment!”

The Time Lando Just Wanted to Stream

It’s another busy race weekend and the paddock is buzzing with energy. Lando, with some rare free time, decides to give his fans a live behind-the-scenes tour of the paddock on Instagram.

With tens of thousands of fans tuned in, Lando enthusiastically shows off various parts of the paddock. The garages, the control rooms, and the media centers all get their moment in the spotlight.

As Lando continues with his tour, he approaches a drivers’ lounge, thinking it would be a great idea to show his fans where the drivers relax and chat.

But as he pushes open the door, camera first, he unexpectedly broadcasts a very private moment between you and Sebastian. There’s a split second of stunned silence as the three of you stare at each other like deer in headlights before chaos ensues.

“Oops! Wrong room!” Lando exclaims, hastily retreating, his face turning a brilliant shade of red. He quickly ends the live stream but the damage is done.

***

Minutes later, the paddock is buzzing with whispers. Lando, mortified by his mistake, immediately approaches you and Sebastian to apologize.

“I swear I didn’t know! I thought it was empty!” he stammers, clearly distressed.

Sebastian, although embarrassed, pulls Lando into a one-armed hug to calm him down, “It’s okay. We should have locked the door.”

Lando nods, “And I should’ve knocked.”

That evening, as your not so little family regroups, there’s no escaping the topic. But instead of letting it hang awkwardly, the grid kids decide to turn it into a joke.

Charles, holding up his phone, teases, “So, thinking of starting a new career as an influencer couple?”

Max chimes in, “Yeah, your ratings went through the roof!”

In the middle of the laughter, you lean over to Lando, “Maybe stick to streaming video games for a while, okay?”

Lando grins sheepishly, “Deal.”

The Time Mick Just Wanted a Massage

The race had been particularly challenging that week and Mick, knowing how hard everyone had been pushing themselves, thought it would be a kind gesture to gift you and Sebastian a day of relaxation at the luxurious spa resort nearby. The couple’s massage package, complete with aromatherapy and access to private thermal baths, seemed perfect.

Thinking he’d also take the opportunity to indulge in some self-care, Mick booked a Swedish massage for himself around the same time, imagining quietly de-stressing in adjacent rooms.

As he settles in for his treatment, the gentle background music and expert hands of the masseuse almost lull Mick into a nap. But just as he’s drifting off, a familiar, muffled giggle floats through the walls, quickly followed by other ... less innocent noises.

Recognition dawns and Mick’s eyes snap open in horror. Next to him is the couple’s treatment room and it appears that you and Sebastian are finding more ways to relax than what the spa menu offered.

Panicking and wanting to escape the increasingly awkward situation, Mick whispers to the masseuse, signaling that he wants to end the session early. But the sounds, both from the neighboring room and his own racing heartbeat, make it hard to communicate discreetly.

Finally, unable to bear another second, Mick bolts upright, wrapping himself in his robe and leaving behind a very confused masseuse and a half-finished massage.

On his hurried way out, he generously tips the spa staff, adding a whispered plea, “Thicker walls. Please consider getting thicker walls.”

***

After the spa incident, you and Sebastian felt the need to make amends for the unintentional awkwardness you’d caused Mick.

The next morning, Mick receives a package at the door of his hotel room. Curious, he unwraps it to find a luxurious noise-canceling headphone set along with a cheeky note:

For the next time we’re all at the spa (or anywhere, really). May these help you find the peace and quiet you truly deserve!

We are so sorry,

Y/N and Seb

Mick chuckles, appreciating the humor and thoughtfulness behind the gift. Shaking his head with amusement, he sends you a text: Thanks for the headphones! I’ll be sure to put them to good use. And no worries, it’s all in good fun!

The Time Charles Just Wanted to Play the Piano

One breezy evening, Charles, looking to relax, decides to play the grand piano in the lounge area of the upscale hotel you’re all staying in. He’s excited to show off the piece he recently composed and thinks the soft tunes would be the perfect backdrop for the sunset.

As the first notes float in the air, Charles becomes more engrossed in his performance, letting the melody guide his emotions. Guests gather, drawn by his beautiful rendition, creating a small, appreciative audience.

However, as he transitions to a quieter, more mellow piece, another sound begins to subtly accompany his piano playing. It’s coming from the suite above the lounge and the faint but unmistakable noises are in stark contrast to his elegant music.

Charles’ eyes widen in recognition, realizing the suite above belongs to you and Sebastian. Trying to maintain his composure and not draw attention to the … additional soundtrack, Charles decides to improvise.

Switching to a louder, more vibrant tune, he plays with increased vigor and volume, trying to drown out the amorous symphony from upstairs. The crowd, oblivious to his true motives, applauds his versatility, thinking it’s all part of the show.

Once his fingers are numb and you seem to have quieted down, Charles wraps up his impromptu concert with a flourish, earning hearty applause from the crowd.

Later, as he walks past your table during dinner, Charles leans in, whispering with a smirk, “Your ... appreciation for my music was evident but maybe next time, stick to clapping something other than your cheeks?”

The Time George Just Wanted to Hang Up

George is prepping for an upcoming race, headphones in, studying the track layout on his tablet. Your name flashes across his phone screen and he quickly answers, eager to discuss your plans for the weekend.

The conversation goes smoothly and as it concludes, George believes he’s hung up, returning to his race prep. However, the call hasn’t disconnected and as moments pass, he starts hearing faint, intimate whispers, quickly recognizing the familiar voices of you and Sebastian.

Panicking, George tries to hang up but for some inexplicable reason, the phone seems to be in a rebellious mood. In his flustered state, he accidentally switches the call to speaker mode, amplifying the ... private conversation for all to hear.

In a rising state of desperation and embarrassment, George mashes buttons but the phone, now seemingly possessed, continues to broadcast the sighs and moans. His face reddens, realizing that his team, busy in the adjoining rooms, can probably hear everything.

In a final bid for respite, George, driven to the edge, hurls his phone against the wall. The device shatters, mercifully cutting off the call and restoring sweet silence.

Catching his breath, George contemplates the wreckage of his phone, feeling a mix of relief and regret.

Later, when he sees you and Sebastian, he sheepishly explains the demise of his phone. “You owe me a new one,” he jokes, “And maybe a pair of earplugs.”

Sebastian chuckles while you reach up to ruffle his hair, “Next time just put it on airplane mode.”

The Time They Just Wanted to Check the Group Chat Without Having to Bleach Their Eyes

On a quiet evening as you’re prepping dinner, your phone buzzes with a new notification. Wiping your hands, you pick it up only to find a message in the group chat you share with Sebastian and your grid kids. To your horror, it’s a risqué photo of Sebastian, clearly meant for your eyes only but now out there for the entire gang to see.

Immediately, the chat explodes.

Lando: My eyes! My eyes, they burn!

Charles: Seb, trying to spice up media day?

George: Well, that’s a different kind of pole position

Max: Blackmail material acquired 😈

Lance: This is taking teammate bonding a bit too far

Mick: I can never look you in the eyes again

Sebastian, realizing his mistake, quickly responds: Oops, meant to send that to Y/N. Sorry guys

Then, because he’s still a menace at heart, adds: Enjoy the view 😉

Max, always ready with a quip, shoots back: Enjoyed and scarred for life. Thanks, Seb

You jump in, trying to diffuse the situation: Okay, as fun as this is, let’s all delete and pretend this never happened. Deal?

Your grid kids collectively agree, although the jokes don’t stop anytime soon.

***

Later that evening, you find Sebastian slightly red-faced but chuckling. “Guess I need a lesson in texting,” he admits.

“You think?” you laugh, giving him a playful nudge.

To ensure no future mishaps, your grid kids gift Sebastian a book titled “Text Messaging for Dummies” when you meet up the following weekend, turning the awkward incident into a funny memory.

It’s just another day in the unpredictable but always entertaining life with your family.

And you have to admit, it was a nice photo. You make sure to enjoy the view in real life that night.

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delirious-donna · 7 months

Text

A Shaky Arrangement [Part Three]

story summary: Your best friend lets you crash at her place over the spring break since you have nowhere else to go. Little did you know that it isn't actually her place. Instead, it belongs to a tall (grumpy) hot guy who finds you in his apartment–her brother.

chapter summary: You've nowhere else to go, surely he wouldn't kick you out so easily? You are so very attractive after all...

pairings: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: sibling bickering, mentions of food, SFW

Part Two | Series Masterlist | Part Four

Kento scowled.

He sat stiffly on the leather couch that occupied most of the living room space, watching as you took container after container out of a brown paper bag with a grease stain pooling at the bottom. The desire to march to the kitchen and find the surface spray and kitchen towel to wipe up any damage to his coffee table was rampant. But he didn’t. He sat still with a growing grimace.

“You think you could stop scowling at me?” you said from your spot on the floor, sitting cross-legged with your back to him. “I can feel your distaste crawling up my spine.”

“I am not scowling,” he lied mulishly.

“Yes, you are, but whatever. I did ask if you wanted to add anything to the order. You were the one to turn your nose up at Chinese takeout. I guess you’re used to the finer things in life, Mr Nanami.”

His mouth opened to respond, but he snapped it shut just as quickly. He would not get into a petty argument over his preference of cuisine. The sinking feeling of resignation reared its head once more. Could he honestly share his apartment with you for the next two weeks without you both at each other’s throats?

“Remind me again why am I even considering hosting you?” He half hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sat forward in his seat until his elbows were braced upon his knees.

You paused. The chopsticks you were using to pile rice onto an expensive-looking plate froze in midair. At last, you twisted your neck to look around, adopting a sheepish expression.

He was right, as annoying as that fact might be.

This was his home, and he had every right to send you on your merry way, whether you had somewhere to stay or not–the latter being the case. You were sharply reminded of his stricken features when you explained your plight. How he had grabbed up the glass which you had just finished draining of whatever potent amber liquor he preferred and went looking for a refill. A large one. A large one which he swallowed in one long gulp.

Kento had the same eyes as his sister, Karin. They were rich hazel, and they had the strange ability to lighten or darken depending on their mood. They crackled like popping logs in a roaring hearth when joyful or amused and darkened to the deepest mahogany when angered or upset. This you noticed as he questioned you over and over, his fingers running ruefully through his hair and those eyes that followed your every nervous jerk or twitch became pits of darkness.

“Sorry,” you said quietly. “Are you sure I can’t tempt you into sharing something with me? I ordered way too much, there will be leftovers for days if you don’t.” It was your version of a peace offering. Anything to prevent him from backtracking on the shaky agreement you had reached.

Kento’s nose wrinkled in distaste at the thought of leftovers crowding his fridge and the smells that might permeate into the fresh produce or homemade meals that were labelled and waiting to be eaten.

With a long sigh, he lowered himself to the floor and sat by your left elbow. “Fine. It is probably wise for me to put something other than alcohol in my stomach anyway. Serve yourself what you want and I’ll have what is left.”

“Aye, captain!”

“Don’t do that,” he scolded, rolling his eyes at your salute, but there was no heat in the words. If anything, he was amused and you smiled knowingly to yourself as you began to dig into the meal.

He must be truly mad to be entertaining this prospect, but there was something he liked about you, even if he tried his best to deny it. You pushed back against him. It was refreshing. Kento enjoyed your quick wit and the ease with which you conversed with him. Sure, it was often at his expense but it was enjoyable in a way it never had been before.

As the youngest ever senior partner at work, he commanded respect from all. The junior partners and even those on the governing board often bowed their heads in reverence when in his presence. Yet it wasn’t so long ago that he had been a fresh-faced college graduate eager to reach his current lofty heights and he wondered absently if you possessed the same drive and determination. You certainly weren’t easily intimidated.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Mr Nanami?”

So lost in thought, Kento almost missed your question. It took him a moment to process and when it finally hit home, he nearly choked on his bite of peking duck.

“Excuse me?” he spluttered, banging a fist on his chest to clear the blockage in his throat.

Your cheeks warmed in amusement, impishly shrugging whilst you toyed with the remnants on your plate. It had been on your mind for a little while now. Your host was handsome—a thought you kept coming back to no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

“I said, do you have a girlfriend?” you repeated.

“I don’t see what business that is of yours.”

He busied himself with rolling back the sleeves of his pristine white button up. Your lips quirked before you blew out a puff of air.

“Come on. It’s a simple question, no? Since you’ve agreed to give me a place to stay, surely I should know if I might run into someone else whilst I’m here.”

You had a point, and that bugged him. He was about to answer when you went on, nudging your elbow into his side and he caught a whiff of his body wash on your skin.

“Boyfriend then?” You baited him, though there would be no shame in it if he were more inclined towards his own sex. Other than perhaps the briefest disappointment. No! Shut that down now, you thought to yourself.

“Neither. If you must know.” He levelled an unimpressed stare in your direction and wiped his hands on a napkin.

How annoying the flare of hope that illuminated in your chest upon hearing his answer was. It had no place here, and you did your best to flatten your features into neutrality. You failed.

“I do, however, have a cleaner that visits each morning for a few hours to keep the place how I like it. I will alert Mrs McGarden that I have a guest so that she doesn’t enter your room without consent.” He nodded his head as if that was the end of the matter, trying and failing not to notice how you chewed your lip as if you were deep in thought. Cute.

“Speaking of rooms…” you trailed off as the first wave of tiredness hit you square in the face. It was early by your standards but the day had been filled with ups and downs like nothing you’d experienced before. “Where will I be sleeping?”

It was an innocent enough question, or you had meant it that way, but the lull that Kento left hanging over you both felt thick with something tangible but unknown. Right now your suitcase was still spread open wide on what you now knew to be his bed and you surely wouldn’t be sleeping there.

Before he could answer, his phone rang from the kitchen island, shrill and loud. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, hurriedly moving for the device and slipping down the hallway until he was out of sight.

“I can explain! Don’t yell.” The familiar voice said the second the phone was to his ear. Karin had finally braved his wrath and called back.

“I’ll give you two minutes.”

“Kento! I am not one of your underlings. Not that it matters, shut up. What was I saying?” Karin hissed through the phone and even without seeing her he knew that she was pushing hair out of her face as she always did when she was flustered or annoyed.

He sighed and silently counted to three. “Two. Minutes. Explain.”

“You’re meant to be out of the country, why aren’t you? I didn’t think you’d ever find out,” she hurried on, not waiting for an answer. Kento had long since known when not to interrupt his sister in full flow. “Mrs McGarden assured me that she would keep silent and I was only trying to help out a friend. She tried to refuse my offer. Said she’d find a couch or two to sleep on instead, can you imagine? You haven’t… kicked her out, have you?”

“I was firmly coerced into taking a vacation instead of attending the conference hence my presence. It seems I need to have words with Mrs McGarden as to where her loyalties lie, and no, I have not kicked your friend out,” he answered the questions in the order they were given, turning on the spot in his bedroom. “Though I have been sorely tempted,” he lied.

Karin audibly harrumphed. “Don’t lie, Kento, it’s not a good trait.”

“Who says I’m lying?”

“Oh, whatever. I don’t have time for your little temper tantrum. Y’know… I think she might be a good influence on you, relax you a little. You’re on vacation so maybe spend some time with your guest? She is very dear to me and I’ve got a lot of explaining to do since I never mentioned you to her.”

Kento could hear the genuine worry in her voice and it cooled some of the fires of his anger. His shoulders slumped and half-heartedly he agreed, even if he didn’t have any intention to do as Karin suggested. He would keep to himself and hope that you did the same.

He returned to the living room but found it empty. Glancing to the side he found you in the kitchen washing up the plates and humming. For a moment he simply stood and watched. Considering he had only just met you, he didn’t mind seeing you in his space and the words of his sister echoed in his mind.

“You didn’t need to do that,” he stated, finally making his presence known once more.

Smiling, you shrugged him off. “It was the least I could do, don’t worry about it.”

“Uh, Karin sends her apologies for the mixup. She assures me that she will make it up to you and explain everything when you see her next. Shall we pick a room for you now?”

Your chin jutted out, a wrinkle forming between your eyebrows at the mention of his sister. Kento could tell that Karin was going to be in for hell, and rightly so, when you reunited.

“Yes please, I’m pretty tired after… well, you know,” you stammered with an awkward laugh.

He did indeed know, though he would rather forget. Instead, he held out his arm for you to step ahead of him and followed you discreetly towards the two bedrooms that you could choose from.

The first was on the right and nearest to the living space, this was the room that Karin occupied when she visited and her mark was firmly stamped upon the interior. Kento watched from just outside the doorway as you tried and failed not to wince at the baby blue walls and the mountains of overstuffed pillows piled atop a cream bedspread with lace and frills.

In the corner stood her old dollhouse, untouched and in pristine condition thanks to a certain cleaner with whom he still needed to have several words with. You froze before it, curiosity lighting in your eyes and slowly you bent to inspect through the windows where the tiny families resided.

Before he could speak, you whirled around and brushed past with a soft apology for coming so close to him. Again, he could smell his body wash on you and he liked it even more this time.

“I don’t think this room will do,” you mused with downcast eyes.

“Not fond of dolls?” he guessed in what was more meant to be a joke but your guilty expression told him he had hit the nail on the head.

“There is another room, but… it’s next to my own. I hope you won’t mind?” Kento stalked forward and tilted his head in the direction of the room next to his.

You trotted after him and away from the prying eyes of the dolls in their fancy house, vowing silently not to enter that room again. You reached for him, anxious fingers clinging to the shirt encasing his bicep and tugging like a frightened child might do. It was his turn to freeze, his stare fixed on where you held him until he found your eyes and questioned the gesture without a word.

“You won’t tell her, will you? I just…” You shook your head and feigned a smile, you were being silly after all. “Nightmares as a child, that’s all.”

“My lips are sealed.” He smiled kindly until your hand fell away. “Now, come inside and see if this will do.”

He didn’t know what he’d do if it wasn’t, although he didn’t expect you were an overly demanding house guest even with the little he knew about you. He wasn’t above giving you his bed if it were necessary but it would be a last resort.

This room was decorated in soft pastel shades that were far less bright than the blue of Karin’s. The bed was turned down with what appeared to be an identical grey duvet to the one in the master bedroom.

There was a small vanity set opposite the window and a writing desk in the far corner. Everything was neutral in here, wiped clean as if it had never been occupied and it made you feel safe and warm.

“It’s perfect.”

Sitting on the corner of the bed, you glanced at Kento who stood respectfully in the door. He wasn’t looking at you, instead his eyes were wandering as if he were checking everything was clean enough. His frame filled the doorway, shoulders broad and imposing. Except you didn’t find him imposing, and that was the problem.

He must be at least five years older than you, not that you cared, you were a young woman not a teenager. You were reminded of how long you had gone without a boyfriend or even a lover. One night stands and casual situationships were never your thing so it had been some time since you had last felt an attraction like you did now.

This whole day felt like a fever dream.

You needed to rein in your train of thoughts but it was hard when Kento took a step deeper inside and the air seemed suddenly thick like syrup. His hands were deep in his pockets and finally he blew out a breath, making it easier for you to breathe too.

“If you’re sure. I’ll go grab your suitcase and bag for you,” he offered quietly.

It had to be your imagination but it seemed like he was struggling as much as you were. Although likely for a different reason. You were an unexpected guest and he very much seemed the type of person who was set in routine. You nodded your thanks and let him slip away.

“He is your best friend’s brother, get your act together woman! Stop lusting over him,” you scolded yourself in a hushed whisper.

It was going to be a long two weeks, that was for sure.

#delirious writes #nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

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ssprayberrythings · 9 months

Text

snow angels & ski trips | CL16

charles leclerc x female!girlfriend reader

pov: a glimpse on how you and charles spend your holidays

warnings: none, just tooth rotting fluff cause im a hopeless romantic that got carried away while writing this

this is my first f1 related piece of work on here and also my first time writing in the social media format so i hope its okay and you like it <3

@yourusername posted on their story

caption: where could we be going 😉

╰ @yoursister reply: cant wait to see you

╰ @yourmom reply: so excited to see you and charles 🙂

@charles_leclerc posted on their story

caption: she looks so peaceful

*replies disabled*

@f1_updates posted on their insta

user1, user12, user2 and others liked

charles and his girlfriend @yourusername met fans at the airport in y/n’s hometown, guess we know where they’re spending the holidays

view all comments

user1: awe he looks so cute

user2: on twitter fans are saying y/n was offering to take everyones photos #couplegoals

user12: i was there and omg they are the sweetest, y/n really compliments charles well

╰ user4: really? i love that

╰ user15: STOP I CANT

user7: THE OUTFIT IM DYING

@yourmom posted on their insta

yourusername , charles_leclerc & others liked

waited for the last of my children to arrive home to finish decorating the tree

tagged @yourusername @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: IM SOBBING, Y/N’S MOM CONSIDERS CHARLES ONE OF HER CHILDREN

user2: LET ME JUST TAKE A MOMENT TO APPRECIATE THIS CAPTION

yourusername: love you mama <3

charles_leclerc: thank you for letting me be part of this family tradition <3

╰ liked by yourusername & yourmom

user15: i’ll be crying for 5-10 business days, no one talk to me

╰ user3: you and me both

╰ user7: same here

@yourusername posted on their insta

charles_leclerc , landonorris & others liked

home sweet home with my love 🥰

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: my parents

user3: y/n is so wholesome, i love her with charles

charles_leclerc: no where else id rather be ❤️

╰ liked by yourusername

landonorris: i need to know, who won the gingerbread house contest ?

╰ yourusername: hehe me and my sister 😹

╰ liked by landonorris & yoursister

user4: charles looks so happy

user10: is no one gonna talk about the cute reindeers

╰ liked by yourusername

@yoursister posted on their story

caption: thanks auntie y/n and uncle charlie for bringing my sweet pea to see the lights, she absolutely loved it <3

╰ yourusername replied: anything for my niece, even if she did kick me out of the passenger seat to sit next to charles

You and Charles carefully walked back into your childhood home, your niece fast asleep in Charles’ arms, her little head on his shoulder.

“How was it?” your sister asked as she took the sleeping child from Charles “Great, she was in complete awe the whole time” you told your sister smiling “She even got to sit in the passenger seat” you added looking at Charles with an amusing look

“How was I supposed to say no when she gave me the cutest dimpled smile” He exclaimed chuckling causing you and your sister to join in

“Well I just appreciate you taking her, we should get going, but we’ll see you at Christmas?” your sister asked as she repositioned the child in her arms so she could slip her boots on

“For sure” You replied, leaning in to give your sister a side hug and leaving a kiss on the sleeping girls forehead

“Thanks auntie Y/N for taking me to the lights” your niece mumbled half awake, half asleep

“Anything for you sweet girl” you told the girl back before showing your sister out, making sure her and your niece were safely in the car before shutting the door and turning to your boyfriend who let out a yawn causing you to chuckle

“Is someone tired?” you asked playfully, walking into his arms looking up at him “Maybe a little bit” he said in response to your question looking down at you

“Why don’t I make us some hot cocoa and then we can go cuddle?” You offered “Sounds good to me” he smiled and leant down to give you a quick kiss, knowing you were both enjoying this peaceful moment

@yourusername posted on their insta

charles_leclerc , yoursister & others liked

its a winter wonderland ❄️

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: they’re so cute it hurts

user2: this called me single in so many way

user6: i just want this

╰ user5: same

╰ user10: same

╰ user8: same

user11: so we’re all just single this winter season?

╰ user1: looks that way

charles_leclerc: never met anyone who loves snow as much as you do

charles_leclerc: my little snow angel 👼

╰ yourusername: that is so cheesy but i love it

╰ charles_leclerc: i love you

╰ yourusername: i love you 😘

@charles_leclerc posted on their story

caption: cuddle pile

*replies have been disabled*

@yourusername posted on their story

caption: my own prince charming 🤍

*replies have been disabled*

@charles_leclerc posted on their insta

yourusername, pierregasly, landonorris & others liked

never been happier then when im with you.

je t’aime, mon amour 🤍

tagged: @yourusername

view all comments

user1: OKAY I CANT

user2: anyone else just want to climb under a rock for the rest of their existence

╰ user3: yes

user4: if anyone needs me i’ll be taking a bath with my toaster

yourusername: charles, im blushing

yourusername: i love you..almost as much as i love snow

╰ charles_leclerc: ALMOST AS MUCH? that hurts

╰ user9: y/n and her snow..the real iconic pairing here

╰ user15: agreed @user9

pierregasly: seriously though @yourusername how many times did he fall on the ice ?

╰ landonorris: we need to know @yourusername

╰ user7: y/n please give us the information we all need

╰ yourusername: only a few times .maybe a bit more..

╰ liked by pierregasly & landonorris

╰ charles_leclerc: babeeeee dont expose me and my terrible skating skills

╰ yourusername: my deepest apologies..but seriously i’m afraid to take you skating again..

@charles_leclerc posted on their story

caption: happy holidays everyone. hope everyone is spending time with the people they love the most ❤️

*replies disabled*

@yourusername posted on their story

captions: christmas dessert prep 🥧 & happy holidays everyone ❤️

*replies disabled*

@yourusername posted on their story

caption: weekend getaway ⛷️❄️

╰ yourbestfriend: have so much fun ;)

╰ landonorris: cant wait to hear all about it..;)

╰ yourusername: why are you being weird? do you know something?

@yourusername posted on their insta

yourbestfriend, charles_leclerc, pierregasly & others liked

he hasn’t stopped looking at me like this…what is he planning 🤭

tagged @charles_leclerc

view all comments

user1: get yourself someone that looks at you the way charles looks at y/n

user2: where can i find one of these ? asking for a friend 😩

user3: god has favourites

charles_leclerc: why do i have to be planning something? can’t i just admire my beautiful girlfriend

user5: charles anytime y/n is around: 🥰🥰🥰

@charles_leclerc posted on his story

caption: i love you

╰ yourusername: i love you more

╰ pierregasly: have you done it yet?

╰ charles_leclerc: no..soon though..!

@yourusername posted on their insta

charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, pierregasly & others liked

not captured in these photos, the tears rolling down my face

my forever 🥹💍 ✨

tagged: charles_leclerc

view all comments

yourbestfriend: YAYYYYY HE DID IT !!!!

╰ yourusername: YOU KNEW?

╰ yourbestfriend: OF COURSE, WHY ELSE DID I MAKE SURE YOU HAD YOUR NAILS DONE

user1: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

user2: THEYRE GETTING MARRIED

user3: I’M CRYING user4: THEY FOUND THEIR FOREVER, NO ONE TALK TO ME

landonorris: congratulations ! it was hard keeping this a secret

╰ yourusername: YOU KNEW TOO?

╰ landonorris: yes, i was with him when he bought it 😎

charles_leclerc: cant wait for a forever of snow ball fights, ski trips, holidays with our families, laughs, cuddles, i could keep going but you get the point.

╰ yourusername: 🥹🥹🥹

charles_leclerc: i love you, mon amour ❤️

╰ liked by yourusername

@charles_leclerc posted on their insta

yourusername, landonorris, pierregasly & others liked

here’s to forever mon amour ❤️💍

tagged: yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: no one else i’d rather spend the rest of my life with ❤️

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

╰ user2: im never moving on from this

user3: they are my roman empire

user5: im😭 so 😭happy 😭for 😭them 😭

pierregasly: congrats man! 😁

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

landonorris: congrats mate !!

╰ liked by charles_leclerc

You and Charles were back at the cabin you were staying at for the weekend. Charles was talking on the phone with his brothers and his mom getting their congratulations even though you made sure your immediate family members knew before you both decided to post on social media.

You were sitting by the fireplace, curled up with a hot cocoa wearing one of Charles’ sweatshirts, admiring the ring on your finger, you still couldn’t believe you were marrying the love of your life. It felt like a dream, one you never wanted to wake up from.

“What are you thinking about mon amour?” Charles asked coming into the living area off of the phone. He sat beside you, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer to him

“Just this” you told him referring to the ring he gave you a few hours prior “Cant believe I’m going to be your wife” you smiled, looking at him

“I’d marry you right now if it was an option” He told you returning the same, lovesick smile you were giving him.

“I think our mothers would have heart attacks if we eloped” You joked, knowing your mother was already in wedding mode even if it had only been a few hours “I know” he chuckled, agreeing with you

“Seriously though I’m so lucky” You said giving him a kiss on the cheek

“I’m the lucky one” Charles told you, kissing your head as you laid it on his shoulder “You’re my everything”.

You couldn’t see him but you could hear his smile and you wore a very similar one on your own face.

This was your forever and you couldn’t be happier.

ahhh i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! i already have so many other ideas in the works so if this does well i'll definitely start working on them. anyways feel free to comment your thoughts and happy holidays !

#ssprayberrythings x formula one #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #imagines #social media #smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc smau #f1 #f1 imagine

664 notes · View notes

thechekhov · 8 months

Text

Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts: CH38

Rip to these promising mages. I assume they will not survive this massacre.

IS that where her lungs and kidneys are? Because like. She's huge. Her entire body is behind her. Do you really think she'd keep her vital organs in the little human bulb on the front?

I mean, he has a point. What are you going to do? Fight off more hoardes of dragons?

oh noooo, Kabru.... too bad. That's so unfortunate.... anyway.

It's curious that Laios only got knocked away. He was just as likely to have had his head squished like a grape.

Guys, this is absolutely not the time to be concerned for her privacy.

Yes, queen. Free the tiddy. Murder everyone in this dungeon. I support women's rights and women's wrongs.

.......that's. One way to do that. I guess.

.......what's that rock about.

Oh, I see. That's convenient.

This guy dungeons! Maybe he even dragons.

So we got north (tallmen? dwarves?) and then the easterners.... and now the elves of the west?

He's going to give her to the Americans?! ಠ_ಠ

To be fair, at least they HAD a plan. And they executed it. It's more than you did. I don't mean to point fingers but... at least they... ya know... did something.

Kabru's like 'no, no, hang on, I need to hear what batshit fucked up thing this dude is going to say next, this is important'

Laios is so stressed he broke character.

Then again, maybe it's healthy to let them slug it out a bit. Get it out of their system.

It's true. They wore fitbits and everything.

...hey, hold on a second.

Now hold on a minute.

Damn, this is. Kind of even worse because. I guess I could have guessed that Toshi was just pretending to be polite, like you do. Cultural differences.

But the painful thing is, Laios doesn't seem surprised. He just seems resigned. He's been told before that he's difficult to get along with. To the extent that he doesn't even consider Marcille and Chillchuck his friends? Even though they arguably both care about him? But because Toshiro didn't bother to be deadpan about him being a bit odd at times, Laios thought it meant that was fine.

And that kinda hurts. Like damn. Laios just wanted to make a true connection. And I can't really blame Toshiro either, he was just trying to keep the peace but. Damn.

Free her! Let her do her illegal magics! She deserves it! （︶^︶）

Thoughts:

Senshi just being annoyed about that one last harpy looking for scraps.... like "shoo, this ain't the time"

That gnome seems genuinely nice. I'm sorry Falin squished his pet undyne.

Kabru hugging his..... mage? Girlfriend???? Seems very...one sided. Kinda feel bad for her.

Laios and Toshiro still going at it, I see. Get it allout, boys.

Uhhhhhhhhhh ninja girls.

Aww, doggo.

Last question: Where did the cat go?

Senshi: I can fix that.

Are you all worried because he's finally making sense?!?!

Laios and he punched their singular braincells into several new ones, it seems.

F./....Falin... please give the caterpillar some privacy........

My man, maybe lead with that............

I can't believe Marcille was potentially more forward about her feelings.......

"his pupils are dilated" yes, thank you sherlock. You've finally realized what everyone else who meets Laios feels almost immediately. he's a monster freak club card carrying member. Welcome.

p.....pubby......

As long as he was also inside the dungeon with them.... yes.

The issue with Kabru isn't that he isn't trying his best. It's that Laios isn't trying at all.

On a scale of one to Kabru, how badly do you react to being offered a food you don't want to eat?

......oh no. He's so pathetic it's funny. He's growing on me.

Absolute morons, the pair of them. Immovable object meets unstoppable force. The funniest combination ever. Ghost type and normal type pokemon, forever throwing moves at each other that will never hit. Laios thinking he's made a friend. Kabru just barely stopping himself from killing Laios. Best comedy pair. Tom and Jerry in a can.

Anyway. What a great manga.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi quick reacts #chekhov reads dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi liveblog #delicious in dungeon

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newobsessionweekly · 4 months

Text

Puppy Bradford

part 1

Main Masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: You consider fostering Charlie after his mom's passing, but things don't always go as planned, they are better when Tim proposes to you.

Fluff

Requested: yes

Words: 4k

The weeks after Charlie's initial stay at your home saw a transformation none of you anticipated. Tim's grumpiness was gradually replaced by a quieter acceptance, and Charlie began to see you both as the support system he desperately needed.

"Hey, Y/N," Charlie called one evening, the excitement in his voice palpable through the phone. "I got an A in Geometry!"

You smiled, pride swelling in your chest. "That's amazing, Charlie! I knew you could do it. Tim's going to be so proud when he hears."

"Yeah, he really helped me study," Charlie admitted, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Can you tell him I said thanks?"

"Of course, sweetheart. He'll be thrilled," you replied, glancing at Tim, who was engrossed in a football game. You nudged him playfully, and he glanced at you with a raised eyebrow.

"What?" he asked, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Charlie got an A in Geometry."

Tim's face softened, a rare look of pride shining in his eyes. "That's great. Tell him good job and to keep it up."

This became a regular occurrence. Charlie called you often, updating you on his progress at school, sharing his successes and his struggles. Each conversation filled your heart with a sense of purpose and joy, knowing you were making a difference in his life. Tim, too, found himself eagerly awaiting these updates, though he tried to mask his growing affection with his usual gruff exterior.

"Hey, Y/N, guess what?" Charlie's voice crackled through the phone one afternoon. "I made the basketball team!"

"That's fantastic, Charlie!" you exclaimed, "We'll have to come to your first game."

"Really? You and Tim would come?" His surprise and joy were evident.

"Absolutely. We're your biggest fans."

Tim and you make it a point to visit the hospital every few days, ensuring that Charlie and his mom, Lisa, have everything they need. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the quiet hum of medical equipment become familiar as you navigate the hallways.

Every time you walk in, the air feels heavy with unspoken words and lingering fears. Lisa's frail frame lies against the pillows, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you. Charlie hovers by her side, offering what comfort he can.

"Y/N, Tim, you didn't have to come again," she would say, her voice frail but warm.

"We want to," you would reply gently, setting down a basket of fresh fruits and some books. "You're part of our family now."

Tim would give her a reassuring nod, his eyes softening as he took in the scene. "Is there anything you need, Lisa?" he'd ask, always ready to lend a hand.

Her gratitude was palpable, her eyes brimming with tears at the kindness you both showed. "You two are a godsend," she'd whisper, "I don't know what we would have done without you."

You'd sit by her side, holding her hand, feeling the frailty of her grip. "We're here for you, Lisa. For both of you."

"I can't thank you enough for everything you're doing. Knowing Charlie has you two... it makes this a little easier." Lisa said softly.

Tim, standing at the foot of the bed, nodded respectfully, "We're happy to help. Charlie's a good kid. He deserves the best."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked between the two of you.

"I've made peace with what's coming. Knowing my son won't be alone, that he has you both... I can go in peace. Thank you."

You squeezed her hand gently, your heart aching at her words. "We'll take care of him. You have our word."

The phone rang late one night, jarring you awake. Groggily, you reached for it, your heart dropping as you saw Charlie's name on the screen.

"Charlie?" you answered, your voice thick with sleep and concern.

"Y/N... it's Mom. She's... she's..." he said, his voice breaking.

You sat up, your heart aching. "Oh, Charlie, I'm so sorry. Tim and I are on our way, okay?"

Tim is already moving, grabbing his keys and your jackets. "Let's go."

The drive to the hospital was silent, the weight of the news heavy in the air. When you arrived, you rushed through the hospital corridors, finding Charlie sitting alone in the waiting area, his face pale and eyes red from crying.

"Charlie," you called softly, moving towards him with Tim close behind.

He looked up, his face crumpling with relief and grief at the sight of you. You pulled him into a tight embrace, your heart breaking for the young boy.

"We're so sorry," you whispered, holding him close. "We're here for you."

Tim knelt down beside you, placing a comforting hand on Charlie's back. "I'm so sorry, kid," he said, "We're going to get through this together, okay?"

Tim exchanged a glance with you, silently communicating his thoughts. He then turned back to Charlie, "How about you come home with us tonight? Dinner's ready, you can get some rest. We'll come back in the morning."

Charlie looked between the two of you, uncertainty and exhaustion evident in his eyes. "I don't want to leave her," he said, his voice trembling.

"We get that," you replied softly. "But we want you to be safe and taken care of. We'll come back first thing in the morning. Your mom would want you to take care of yourself too."

Tim nodded, "She's right, Charlie. It's important you stay strong and healthy. We’ll call the school in the morning and let them know you’ll be taking a few days off."

Charlie hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Okay," he whispered, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his grief. "Thank you."

The days turned into weeks, and Charlie had become a permanent fixture in your home. His presence brought a sense of warmth and life to the house, despite the somber circumstances that had brought him there.

You and Tim did everything you could to make him feel welcome and loved, supporting him through the funeral and the tough days that followed.

"Hey, Charlie, want to help me with dinner?" you called out one evening, poking your head into the guest room that slowly turned into his own.

Charlie looked up from his homework, "Sure. I'll be right there."

As he joined you in the kitchen, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride watching him chop vegetables.

"You're getting pretty good at this," you remarked, handing him a bowl to mix the ingredients.

He grinned, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. "Thanks. Tim's been showing me some tricks."

Your boyfriend wandered into the kitchen just then, a tired but contented smile on his face. "Smells good in here," he commented, leaning against the counter.

You smiled back at him, a warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of him. "Charlie's been a big help," you said, nodding towards the boy beside you.

Tim's smile widened, and he ruffled Charlie's hair affectionately. "Good job, buddy," he said proudly.

Later that evening, as you and Tim sat together on the couch, you couldn't shake the thought that Charlie's stay with you might be more permanent than originally planned. You turned to Tim, the question weighing heavily on your mind.

"What's going to happen to Charlie?"

Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Well, he's a minor, so he'll probably be put into foster care," he explained, his expression grim.

You frowned, the thought of Charlie being sent to a foster home unsettling. "But he's been through so much already," you protested. "He shouldn't have to go through even more trouble."

Tim nodded in agreement, his brow furrowing, "I already talked to Social Services," he admitted. "They said the judge will likely consider foster care over emancipation."

You chewed your lip, mulling over his words. "What if... what if we fostered him?" you suggested tentatively.

His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at you, his expression unreadable. "Foster him?" he repeated, as if trying the idea on for size.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yeah. We've been with him through everything, Tim. We care about him. What do you think?"

He contemplated for a moment, his gaze distant. Then, to your surprise, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You know what? That's not a bad idea," he admitted.

You couldn't help but smile, "Timothy, I never thought I'd see the day when you wanted to foster a teenager," you teased, nudging him playfully.

Tim rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. "Hey, I have a heart, you know," he replied, his tone gruff but affectionate.

You laughed, leaning in closer to him. "I know," you said softly, reaching for his hand. "And it's one of the things I love most about you."

His expression softened, his gaze warm as he looked at you. "I see Charlie as a son I always wanted," he admitted, "And I think we can give him a good home."

You smiled, squeezing his hand gently. "I think so too," you agreed, feeling a swell of gratitude and love for the man sitting beside you.

Tim leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'll talk to Grey and Luna in the morning," he said, his voice filled with determination. "Luna can help us with the process of becoming foster parents."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. Leaning into his embrace, Tim held you close, his arms strong and reassuring.

Next morning, as the three of you gathered around the table for breakfast, an unspoken tension filled the air. Tim focused on flipping pancakes, while you tried to find the right words to broach the subject with Charlie. The smell of fresh coffee and syrup filled the kitchen, but the comforting scents did little to ease the anxiety gnawing at you.

"We wanted to talk to you about something," you began, meeting Charlie's gaze across the table. Your voice was calm, but your heart raced.

Charlie nodded, his expression guarded. "Okay," he said softly, his tone wary.

"You've been staying here for a week now, and..." you trailed off, searching for the right words.

"And you want me to go," Charlie interjected, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I bothered you enough."

Tim turned off the stove and wiped his hands on a dish towel before stepping over to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat down, leaning forward with a serious expression. He placed a hand on your back and another on Charlie's shoulder.

"No, buddy," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We want you to stay here with us."

Charlie looked at both of you, surprise and confusion flickering in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

"We know how hard this is for you," you continued softly. "Losing your mom... it's not something anyone should go through alone. We want to help you, Charlie. We want you to finish high school, have a good future."

"We know the foster care system can be rough," Tim said, his gaze steady on Charlie. "And legally, you'd be put into a foster home. But we want to be those foster parents. If you want that too."

Charlie's expression hardened, his grief morphing into anger. "Why do you even care?" he snapped. "You don't know me. You think you can just replace my mom?"

"We're not trying to replace anyone," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "We just want to help."

"Help?" Charlie scoffed, "You think I'm just some kid you can take pity on?" he spat, his voice laced with bitterness.

Tim's jaw clenched, his expression tight with frustration. "That's not what we think, kid," he said firmly, his voice unwavering. "We care about you."

But Charlie wasn't listening. He pushed his chair back abruptly, the screech of metal against tile echoing through the room. "I don't need your help," he said bitterly, his tone final. "I can take care of myself."

You watched helplessly as Charlie stormed out of the house, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you realized that your efforts had been in vain. You turned to Tim, your eyes pleading for understanding.

Tim placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, pulling you into a tight embrace. "We tried," he said softly, his voice filled with sorrow. "We did everything we could."

You nodded, unable to find the words to express your grief. The loss of Charlie felt like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating you with its intensity. You buried your face in Tim's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

"I thought we could help him," you whispered.

His hand moved up to stroke your hair, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I know," he said softly. "I know."

As Tim prepared to leave for work, you stood in the hallway, your heart heavy with the weight of the morning's events. He turned to face you, his expression tender and filled with understanding.

"Hey..." you called out.

Tim stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. "I know," he said simply, his voice a soft murmur against your ear. "I'll keep an eye on him."

You clung to him, finding solace in his strength. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tim pulled back slightly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "We'll figure this out."

Weeks passed, and Charlie found himself shuffled from one foster family to another, never quite fitting in. Each new home brought fresh disappointment and the deepening sense that he didn't belong anywhere.

You and Tim dedicated yourselves to the process of becoming foster parents. The paperwork was extensive and the wait felt endless, but you both knew it was worth it.

Tim reached out to his ex-girlfriend Rachel—who worked for CPS — and with her help, he managed to keep an eye on Charlie's progress. What he saw only confirmed his fears: Charlie was not adjusting well to his new life.

"How's Charlie doing?" Lucy asked, breaking the comfortable silence. "And how's Y/N holding up with everything?"

Tim tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road. "Not great," he admitted. "When we told Charlie about the foster care system and that we wanted to be his foster parents, he didn't take it well. He's been bouncing from one family to another, and none of them seem to be a good fit for him."

"He'll come around," she said softly. "Whether you like to admit it or not, the kid has a place under your skin and vice versa. He's just hurting right now. He'll come back asking for help when he's ready."

"Yeah, tell that to Y/N. Maybe she'll listen to you." Tim sighed, a heavy sound filled with frustration and worry. "I don't like seeing her so sad because of some puppy. I don't want to tell her 'I told you so,' but I did tell her it might not be a good idea to get involved with him."

Lucy gave him a sympathetic smile. "Tamara did the same, and now she's the best roommate I've ever had."

Tim chuckled softly, "Jackson would disagree with you."

"Bradford, someone's asking for you at the front desk."

Grey approached them as soon as they walked back into the station. Tim watched Lucy process the suspect before he headed out to meet his visitor. With a nod of acknowledgment, he made his way to the front desk, his steps quick and purposeful.

Tim's heart skipped a beat when he saw Charlie standing there, his posture tense and his expression uncertain. Charlie stood up quickly as Tim approached, his eyes avoiding Tim's gaze.

"Officer Bradford," Charlie began, his voice trembling. "I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have taken my anger out on you and Y/N. I'm sorry and I'm sorry for running away.

Tim's expression softened, his heart going out to the troubled teenager before him.

"Charlie," he said gently, his voice carrying a note of compassion. "It's just Tim."

The boy's eyes flickered with surprise, a hint of relief washing over him.

"Tim," he echoed softly.

Tim placed a comforting hand on Charlie's shoulder, the gesture conveying more than words ever could.

"Kid, I understand," he said,"We all have our moments. But you're not alone in this."

Charlie's gaze dropped, his guilt weighing heavily on him. "I'm just so tired of feeling like a screw-up," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to do better."

Tim nodded understandingly, his grip on his shoulder tightening ever so slightly. "You can, Charlie," he said firmly, his voice brimming with conviction. "But you're right, there's someone else you need to apologize to."

Charlie's breath caught in his throat, the weight of his actions settling heavily on his shoulders. "Y/N," he whispered, the name a painful reminder of the hurt he had caused.

Tim nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Y/N cares about you, Charlie," he said, his voice filled with reassurance. "We both do. And we're not giving up on you."

A flicker of hope ignited in Charlie's eyes, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You still want to help me?" he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Tim returned the smile, a sense of resolve settling over him. "We're not here to judge you. We want to help you. If you're willing to put in the effort, we'll be there every step of the way."

Charlie looked up at Tim, his eyes shimmering with gratitude and hope. "Thank you," he whispered, "Thank you for not giving up on me. I... I would be beyond grateful if you still want to help me. If you don't hate me."

"We don't hate you, Charlie," he said firmly, "And we're not going anywhere."

The familiar scent of your cooking filled the room, providing a sense of comfort and normalcy. As your boyfriend and Charlie stepped inside, Tim saw you setting up the table for dinner, arranging two sets of everything with meticulous care. The clinking of plates and silverware was a soothing, everyday sound that contrasted with the emotional whirlwind outside.

"Hey, baby," Tim greeted softly, his voice carrying the warmth of a long day finally coming to an end.

He walked over to you and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. You leaned into the kiss, savoring the brief moment of connection. The touch of his lips was reassuring, grounding you in the present.

Tim then turned his attention to the table and added, "You might want to make three of that."

You looked up, curiosity in your eyes. "Who's joining us?" you asked, looking at Tim's expression for clues.

Tim didn't answer immediately but instead pointed to the door where Charlie stood hesitantly, his posture tense and uncertain. Your face fell, tears welling up in your eyes as you looked back and forth between Charlie and Tim, trying to process what was happening. The emotional impact of seeing Charlie there, vulnerable and seeking solace, hit you like a wave.

You walked towards Charlie, your heart pounding in your chest. Each step felt heavy with the weight of the past weeks. As you reached him, you enveloped him in a warm, tight hug, your arms wrapping around him protectively.

"It's so good to see you, Charlie." You could feel Charlie's shoulders relax a little under your touch. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold."

You settled at the table, and Charlie's face lit up at the sight of your delicious food. He took a deep breath, the familiar aromas bringing a sense of peace.

"I missed this so much." The words seemed to break the ice, melting some of the tension in the room.

"You're welcome here whenever you want," you replied warmly, your eyes shining with kindness. You reached across the table, gently squeezing his hand.

"Or," Tim interjected, "you can just stay here with us."

"Tim..." you began, surprised by his straightforwardness. You turned to him, eyes wide with shock and a hint of hope.

"I'd love that," Charlie said, cutting through your hesitation with a hopeful smile.

"What?" you asked, stunned.

"Look, Y/N, I'm so sorry for snapping at you," Charlie confessed, his voice sincere and eyes downcast. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. After everything you've done for me, you deserve better." His voice wavered with the weight of his regret.

You gently took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "Oh, sweetheart. You had a rough time, and I understand that. We understand that. We're here if you need to talk, whenever you're ready."

Charlie took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "Actually, I was hoping I could stay here with you guys. Tim told me about the fostering process, and I was hoping it was still a thing."

You looked at Tim, your eyes wide with shock and hope. When he smiled and nodded, a wide smile spread across your face.

"Yes, of course."

Charlie hugged you tightly, and you felt his relief and gratitude in the embrace. Tears of joy streamed down your face as you held him, your heart swelling with emotion. The warmth of the hug conveyed all the unsaid words and feelings.

Tim cleared his throat, drawing your attention back to him. "Actually," he said, "I was thinking adoption would be a better option."

"Are you serious?" you asked, your voice filled with disbelief, turning to look at Tim with wide eyes.

"Yes," Tim confirmed, reaching into his pocket.

You watched him with bated breath as he pulled out a small box. Your eyes searched his for answers, your heart pounding in your chest.

"What's this? Tim? What are you doing?" you asked, your voice trembling.

Tim took a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. "I thought maybe it was best all three of us to share the same last name. I never imagined adopting a teenager, especially not one I arrested. But you, baby, you make me want to be a better man. And I can't do any of this without you. You showed me the bright side of this world, and you light up my life. Will you marry me? Because this kid's life is in your hands, and I don't want to do this without you 100% in."

"Yes, Tim. Oh, God, yes!" you exclaimed, tears of joy streaming down your face as Tim slipped the ring onto your finger and the touch of the cool metal sent a shiver down your spine.

"You're such a jerk," you teased, laughing through your tears as you playfully swatted his arm. "You almost ruined a beautiful moment."

"I just made sure you'd say yes," Tim retorted with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief. His hand lingered on your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear.

Charlie grinned, the tension easing as he watched the exchange. "Do I need to call you mom and dad or something?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, no, no," you laughed, shaking your head. "I'm too young to be called a mom. But if you want to..."

"I think I'm good," Charlie said, smiling with a mix of relief and happiness.

"But you can call me Officer Bradford," Tim added, his tone teasingly gruff as he gave Charlie a playful nudge.

"Oh, stop it. Leave the kid alone," you said, nudging Tim back. "He's joking, Charlie. You need to get used to his bad jokes."

Tim grumbled, "You should be glad I'm not into dad jokes like Nolan."

"And that's why you should never call him dad," you quipped to Charlie with a grin.

"Roger that," Charlie responded, chuckling as he settled back into his seat.

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seelestia · 4 months

Text

⟡ to set one's self aflame. (do it all for love.)

⎯ how protective are they of you? how do they protect you and how do they like being protected in return? { s for security ノordered by @phantovia! }

RESERVED FOR! ꒰ character ꒱. lyney ft. gn!reader. { 1.5k words wc }

FLAVOR! ꒰ genre ꒱. fluff & sprinkles of lore angst, established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ꒰ tags ꒱. lowkey a character study made poetic (???). mentions of self-destructive habits, also pls don't smile at lyney bcs he's weak in the knees for u.

BAKER’S NOTE! ꒰ thoughts ꒱. thanks for the req, yona! i got to appreciate this silly guy all over again thanks to u ‹3 ik ur acc is already archived so i hope this made for a nice tribute. pls take care of urself & have a good life ahead 🫂

lyney is protective to a concerning extent. the instinct of an older brother, maybe?

there is some sort of irony to be found in it all since the reason he protects to a 'concerning' extent is out of concern in the first place.

behind his show of brilliance, you consider yourself lucky enough to have witnessed a side to lyney that his audience wouldn't have guessed; that he is a worrier in every aspect of the word. whether for his family, for you, for his friends or for others he comes across that are plagued by misfortune - if all that worry were to come in the shape of dimes, he'd already have an abundance of them to share with the entire nation of fontaine.

but he has no choice, does he?

his background is not a clean slate nor is it a display of sunshine and rainbows resembling his magic shows. lyney's hands are tainted, covered by his gloves as a measly means of self-solace. he has to worry. associating himself deeply and intimately with another is a risk on its own - comparable to dragging someone else down into the murkier depths with him. he can never do that, never has the courage nor the heart to.

(but fortunately for him, you've always been braver than most.)

. . .isn't that why you offered your hand, your trust to him first? he swore to never let you down from that day on.

easier said than done, however.

the house of the hearth operates within the shadows but as for its foes? some also prefer to dwell in the dark and some move in broad daylight. no matter what it is, they all require the same precaution: for him to keep his guard up at all times. every child has been trained by “father” to know that but you're an innocent, tied to this precarious matter merely due to your connection with him.

(“i don't regret anything,” you told him but he didn't look into your eyes, conflicted. you couldn't tell if he believed you or not.)

how was your day? have you eaten? you look sad, did something happen? — all these little questions are a way for him to show that he cares, that you're important, that you're his responsibility and he'll be there for you.

bound by both guilt and love, lyney promises to keep you safe. from whatever kinds of threats there are; whether it be fools with nefarious schemes or even an insect you're too scared to touch, he'll keep you safe all the same. so please, don't hide from him if you're dealing with something. it's better to let him handle it. . . right, correction: the two of you can handle it together.

(truly, his desire to protect can both be his greatest strength and most formidable foe.)

the way lyney protects is through self-sacrifice, granting peace in exchange for destruction of the self.

since the very beginning, lyney has grown used to seeing the world through the lens of a protector.

he recalls the old times where he and lynette loitered the streets in ragged clothes and the only refuge he could provide her with was his hand. it mattered not if he was freezing cold from the rain. . . as long as his little sister was protected, comforted by whatever warmth he had left - it's alright. to do that wasn't an option then, it was a necessity.

to sacrifice himself is a habit. it's easy to adopt but not at all easy to discard.

in lyney's eyes, burdens often seem as if they would be lighter upon his shoulders than they are on another's - but this is only wishful thinking. only meant to convince himself that pain shall eventually lose its harsh bite the more he bears it. “well, has it?” if asked, he cannot give an answer. regardless, that alone is enough of a justification for him because he can't bear the thought of doing anything else; to stand idly by, to be utterly useless.

if he has the means to protect others, why wouldn't he do so? even if he wears himself down to the bone, he’d do it again. akin to a bright flame lit in a hearth, lyney envelopes those near him in a blanket of warmth - and if the blaze threatens to flicker, he'd simply ignite a piece of himself to prevent it from diminishing into futile cinders. he won't let it happen.

(but little does he know that even cinders still serve a purpose. they exist as proof, a sign that his sacrifice has never been in vain.)

in return, lyney feels protected by simply knowing that you're happy (and your acknowledgement of his efforts).

let's call it an innate principle that belongs to a magician; he wants to see smiles on the faces of others. “a smile weighs much lighter for your face to carry compared to a frown, no?” he joked to you once, tapping gently on the corner of his lips with a grin. it was said with a light heart, but you knew he meant it deep down.

(he always does so much, only to ask for so little in return.)

you were not so cruel that you couldn't even grant him that, so you smiled. genuine and grateful. “. . .thank you, lyney,” you said. he fell quiet then. had the wind been knocked out of his lungs or had the world stopped spinning? he thought he saw stars in your eyes, but that couldn't possibly be true. the sun glaring down at him from behind the clouds above remained unmoved.

not like it mattered, anyway. his poor heart was far too occupied with you to care about the answer. “o-oh? you're welcome. . .” lyney blinked, multiple times, dazedly.

gratitude is not a foreign concept to him; he often receives it from an audience member, a lonely elder he briefly chatted with, a fellow member from the house of the hearth — so, just what makes it different now? perhaps, it's because he knows that you've beared witness to his heart that lies deeper within.

that you see right through him, that you're thanking him for who he truly is, although he no longer has a definite image of “self” from the countless white lies piling at his feet like a tower. yet he finds comfort in it, in the way you hold his sullied hands so kindly. he isn't wearing gloves this time. strange, lyney had never imagined transparency to be a feeling so benevolent and cathartic.

no matter what thoughts are buzzing in his head or what ache tugs on his body, they can pester him as much as they'd like - with one swift recall of your smile, lyney feels as if he can banish them even if momentarily. they'll come back sooner or later, he knows, but is it cowardly of him to find solace in that brief respite?

when lynette taps on his cheek to wake him up in the morning, when freminet knocks on his door to deliver something, when other siblings flock around him to welcome him home, or when you come to visit him after a long day — those worries disappear — but even if he already knows that they will make their inevitable return. . . perhaps, everything will be okay.

(it has to be, he tells himself.)

“did something happen yesterday?”

your lunch with a certain feline girl in front of hotel bouffes d'ete kickstarts with a simple question. but the abruptness of it all wipes away the content look on your face and replaces it with a frown.

the tea in your cup reflects your reflection as much as it does your perplexity. lynette lifts her own teacup to her lips, composed while you're lost in thought, confused.

“lyney went home with a wide smile on his face yesterday,” she elaborates, humming either at the tea or at the current matter she's recalling. perhaps, even both but you aren't sure yet. “while this wouldn't be an odd occurrence, i thought there must've been a special occasion to warrant a smile that wide.”

ah. the realization dawns on you in gentle waves. he said something that prompted a smile out of you yesterday — the exchange of a kind “thank you” from your side and a flustered “you're welcome” from his — not that smiling is a rarity around him, hardly, the one thing magicians do best is attract smiles.

your gaze drifts down to stare at nothing in particular. fond memories filled with the face of a familiar magician swims before your eyes. “hm. . . it must've meant a lot more to him than i expected,” you mumble to yourself. in your eyes, you'd think the look on your face represents the paradigm of nostalgia but in lynette's eyes, you look like a madman smiling to yourself so intensely.

“not you too,” she lets out a resigned sigh, placing down her teacup. “smiling to yourself like that. . .” she shakes her head in a disappointed manner, “you and lyney must've been rubbing off on each other these days.”

“maybe a bit too much,” lynette adds, but there is a ghost of a smile on her face this time around.

you can only smile sheepishly.

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

#genshin x reader #lyney x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin hcs #genshin impact hcs #genshin x you #seelestial.inks #reveriesincups

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dipperscavern · 3 months

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Can i request Robb Stark with reader who doesn’t like the cold/gets cold easily?

absolutely!! thank you sm for the ask <3

ʚ‎‏ ͜ ̩͙ ︵ ̩͙ ୨ ♡ ୧ ̩͙ ‏︵ ̩͙ ͜ ɞ

you’ve always hated the cold. ironic, considering you live in the north, but it’s true. the heat you can handle. sure, it’s annoying, but you can function. but when you’re cold, all you can think about is the last time you were warm.

the only times you’ll brave the cold are to go to the godswood (and pray for warmth), to hunt, and to ride. anything else can either wait until the sun makes its appearance, or can be done inside the warm halls of winterfell. those are your exceptions.

okay, well, when you said hunting — you meant by yourself. maybe theon. you did not mean the entire royal hunting party of winterfell.

your first response was to deny the invitation to the day-long affair of bracing the cold, but you’re the best archer in winterfell. they need you. and ned stark himself asked you to come, so here you were. trudging through the wolfswood, draped in furs & freezing your arse off.

“I can’t believe she’s doin’ it. Look at her..” theon murmurs to robb. robb nods, the corners of his lips tugging up in a smirk as he watches you.

you’re tightly wound, trying to conserve what little warmth you have. you practically radiate dislike, and theons got bets on how long you’ll last until you call upon the old gods to strike the entire forest down (midday). your horse doesn’t carry your disdain for the snow. having been bred for the cold, it dutifully marches on — allowing you to hug yourself tightly, conserving what little warmth you have.

robb’s brows pinch in sympathy knowing your misery, but he can’t help the silent thanks he gives to the gods for dragging you out here. to rectify that, he sends a silent prayer to ask that the stag that was spotted is caught quickly, so you can retreat back to the heated halls of winterfell. he’s not entirely selfish.

apparently the gods are not taking prayers today.

every time the scent is picked up or tracks are spotted, they’re lost just as easily. even greywind isn’t having any luck — but then again, he’s barely the size of a dog. even so, robb can see your resolve withering. he attempts to fix it, draping his outermost layered fur coat over you. you lightly shiver, sighing as you feel the extra layer work to trap more of your warmth.

“I owe you my life.”

“You’ll be alright. ‘S not too bad out ‘ere.”

his attempts at making the cold seem better than it actually is only result in you sending him a glare, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen such hatred. your conversation is interrupted by shouts, and the scent is picked up once more. they’ve spotted the animal running off, and ned orders for people to go around & enclose it.

you’re eager to get it over with and be done, ready to return to the fur blankets in your room. ready to be warm.

you tie your horse, getting off & trudging to where you guess it’ll be forced to go. most of everyone is focused on pushing it in this direction, and you can only hope there’s a weirwood around here to hear your prayers. you hear shouts, the hooves of horses, and something tearing through the trees. you raise your bow, notching an arrow & waiting.

“Atta girl!” ned says, arm wrapped around your shoulders.

the stag lays on the ground, dead, with an arrow in its skull. you offer a polite smile, but really, you’re just thanking the gods it’s done with. there’s snow in your boots, you’re shivering, your knuckles are red, and you can feel the cold in your bones. you saunter over to robb and theon, muttering under your breath.

“Curse the cold. Curse the cold. Curse the cold…”

theon snickers to himself, and you have half a mind to knock him off his horse. you’re feeling merciful, and instead choose peace. you untie your horse, eagerly starting the journey back to winterfell.

thanks to your arrow, everyone eats well that night, including you. the hall is warm, the atmosphere filled with laughter & your belly is full — a right reward for getting frostbite on your liver. you decide to retire to bed early, the days activities having you beat. robb walks you to your chambers, and you lean into his warmth. he’s always run hot, and he’s happy to share the body heat.

you arrive to the door, and turn to robb to say goodnight. you subconsciously chase his warmth, grabbing one of his hands & playing with it, feeling your cooler ones heat up from the contact.

“Y’did good today.”

you shrug. “Wasn’t horrible…” you’re lying. it was. robb knows it too.

he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Still. Know you hate the cold.”

robb’s hand goes to your jaw, tilting it up as he kisses you. his lips are soft, and warm. he’s caught you off guard, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. once the kiss breaks, you both linger in each others presence. has he ever been so charming?

he’s out to prove you right when he leans in, kissing your temple & murmuring a soft “Night, pretty.”

he turns & walks down the hallway, knowing if he looks back he won’t be sleeping in his room. you watch him leave, and you feel your cheeks heat up as you open your door & step inside.

maybe you’ll have to brave the cold more often.

#game of thrones #robb stark #robb stark x reader #robb stark prompt #robb stark imagine #robb stark x you #dippys asks #i hope this is alright #I’m not really sure where this specific scenario came from but hey!#we rocking w it #this is kinda short I’m sorry #anyways #WHO NEEDS TO GIVE HIM CHILDREN??#DING DING DING #RIGHT HERE OFFICER 🙋‍♀️

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shinidamachu · 2 months

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Today on "little Inuyasha things I haven't noticed before":

It's odd that the villagers would offer anything to Inuyasha. Yes, he just saved them all, but he's still responsible for Kikyo's death in their eyes.

My guess is that the offerings were just for Kagome only and yet she felt the need to share it with Inuyasha because it's only fair to include him and to show appreciation for what he did.

It was obviously a peace offering as well, of course. But that's not the detail that spoke the most to me.

What really got me is that he didn't touch his food until Kagome had some of hers. This, plus that "what are you scheming, witch?" made me theorize that he might have thought the food was poisoned or something similar.

It's heartbreaking that he was so distrustful but it also makes you wonder about the things he might have gone through to consider this as a real possibility.

#Inuyasha #Inukag #Kagome #Kagome Higurashi #Sidposting #Inukag meta #Inumeta #Inuyasha meta

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pandorxxx · 1 year

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A warm welcome

Lo’ak(22) x Metkayina fem reader(19)

Warnings: cursing, slight corruption, p in v, intense orgasms, creampies, DOM-LO’AK, slight age-gap, an angry Aonung at the end.

Synopsis: when Aonung chooses to bully the new family in town, lo’ak doesn’t take it too well. No need to worry though, lo’ak has something that’ll shut Aonung up for good.

🔞Mdni🔞

His walk was confident, long strides with a purpose behind them. Revenge beaming with each step. The 2 free flowing braids that hung down his face were dancing with every harsh step. A sadistic grin plastered across his face with a grip on his fathers cam so tight, he could’ve broken it.

It was about time to teach aonung a lesson for the way he treated him, and his family. Calling him a four fingered freak, and telling him he would never be one of them. He had enough. And finally, he had something that was gonna shut Aonung up for good.

“Lo’ak! You four fingered freak! Didn’t I tell you not to come to this side of the beach?” Aonung teased. With one final step towards Aonung, lo’ak outstretched his hand that held the camera. A devilish smile plastered on his face that made Aonung curious.

“You’re Right, bro! My bad. I just came over to say sorry for hitting you….sooo many times.” Lo’ak joked, making Aonung scoff.

“Here. A PEACE offering. I know I’m a four fingered FREAK, and all, but I made this…just for you.” Lo’ak went on, sounding sincere, nudging the camera into his hand.

Aonung titled his head in curiosity, grabbing the camera out of lo’aks hand. Aonung glanced back up at lo’ak in confusion. Lo’ak rolled his eyes, before reaching over to press the playback button…

Aonungs eyes went wide when he saw his sweet stepsister pop up on the small screen. Her innocent little body sitting on a rock in the middle of the night. She seemed happy, a smile plastered across her face as her legs swung back and forth.

“What the fuck is this?” Aonung asked, his voice becoming serious. “Ohhh, I don’t want to spoil it, just keep watching. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll catch you later , bro!” Lo’ak spoke sarcastically, hitting Aonungs shoulder before walking off. Leaving Aonung there to wonder what the hell he was watching.

-Video plays-

You met lo’ak where he asked you to. When you got to the location, you noticed his camera standing on a tripod. You were always very curious about his human things, and he never had a problem showing you.

You climbed up on the rock, feet dangling about 8 inches off the ground. You were really short, considering the fact that you weren’t the height you were going to be. You were younger than your siblings. You just turning 19, and being the baby of the clan.

“You’re just gonna follow my lead ok?” Lo’ak asked, stepping behind the camera to turn it on. You nodded with an innocent grin, watching the red dot flick on.

“So, tell everyone what your name is baby.” He commanded in a sweet tone. You nodded, obliging to his statement.

“Uh, m-my name is y/n.” You spoke, your sweet voice beaming through the night breeze. He stood up to his full height slowly, crossing his arms around his broad chest.

“That’s such a pretty name. Tell everyone who you are.” He proceeded, watching you through the tiny lense.

“Well, I’m Metkayina. My mother is ronal, my step father is tonowari. The chief of my clan. So I guess that makes me a Princess, right lo’ak? Like how you’re technically a prince.” You went on, with a beautiful smile that showed off your dimples. This was only supposed to be “get back” for Aonung, but he couldn’t help how you made him feel. You made him laugh, you were so sweet to him. And that was something very hard to find in a place like this.

He shook his head with a little chuckle. “Yeah, I guess that does make you a Princess, huh? You’re so pretty like one too, ya know?” He asked, stepping closer to you, his back towards the camera as he looked down at you.

“Am I? You think I’m pretty?” You asked, glancing up at him with those ocean eyes. He bit his lip before caressing your soft cheek. “I think you’re beautiful.” He spoke, swiping his thumb across your cheek a few times. You smiled at him, a glint of purple staining your cheeks.

“Let the people know. Do you have any siblings?” He asked, stepping out the way so that the camera could get you. “Mhm. Older brother, and older sister.” You nodded.

“Hmm. How about you give a big shoutout to your older brother for me. He’s been nothing but….welcoming. So as a thanks to him, I wanna give you a really…reaaalllly warm welcome as well. I think you deserve it.” He smiled, playing in your curly hair.

“Hey Aonung!” You waved at the camera with a bright smile. Lo’ak continued his massage on your head finally glancing at the camera with a dark and mischievous glare.

“Heyyy Aonung…your baby sister and I have some things to discuss. So I’ll just end the video here. Tell your big brother you love him, and that you’ll talk to him later.” Lo’ak commanded, grabbing the camera off the tripod to point it directly in your face.

“I love you, Aonung! I’ll talk to you later.” You spoke gleefully. Then you saw the red light disappear.

Video ends -

Aonung was fuming, yet equally as confused. What did lo’ak do to you? His precious little sister? Or was he just bluffing, trying to get under his skin. Because there was no way that lo’ak fucked his innocent little sister. He’d KILL him.

“This idiot!” Aonung scoffs, brushing it off. He went to turn the camera off, but seemingly pressed the wrong button. Accidently skipping through a segment of videos that were recorded after the one he just saw. He landed on one, and his heart shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Video starts-

“Yeahhh mama, just like that. You’re doing such a good job.” Lo’ak growled, in your ear. He had you pinned against the wall hands tied behind your back with a rope. Cloths still on THANK EYWA, but that didn’t change the fact that he was drilling you from behind.

“I-I can’t- fuuuuck, I can’t, please.” You whimpered, cheek resting on the wall infront of you. Voice rippling from each hard thrust.

“You will though. FOR ME, right?” Lo’ak asked, although it didn’t seem like you had much of a choice. “Yess, lo’ak!” You moaned, eyes visibly rolling to the back of your head. He sent a hard smack to your plush ass before gripping it in his large 4 FINGERED hand.

“Look at that, a man with three fingers couldn’t grip this shit like me, right baby?” He asked, making direct eye contact with the camera as he left a small peck on your cheek.

“Yesss! Oh- shit Yesss lo’ak!” You managed to nod slowly, tears prickling your eyes. He let out a chuckle, laced with lust. With one hand holding your tight restraints, his arm snaked around your neck from behind. A snug, and comfortable hold on your neck while he fucked you like no one else had.

His puffy tip continued to smash into your sweet spot, as he trailed your cheek with kisses. Praising you in your ear. It was all too much, toooo good.

“You’re not the baby anymore, are you? Taking this dick like a big girl. Tell the camera who’s making you a big girl right now.” He moaned in your ear. Still loud enough for the camera to pick up.

You glanced to the side of you, making eye contact with the camera. “L-Lo’ak’s making me a big girl! Mmmm- fuck!” You whimpered, faced screwed in pleasure as your eyes rolled back once again. Silent cries leaving your pretty lips.

He knew you were close. He could feel your tight pussy pulsating around his cock. He shifted his hands to the side of your head, covering your ears for his next statement.

“Seems like I’m not the only freak, hmm? Your baby sister here…whew! She’s gonna make me cum in this pussy. Give you a reason to see my face everyday!” Lo’ak grinned, before turning his attention to your backside . Watching your ass meet his pelvis with every thrust.

“I-Im gonna cum lo’ak.” You whined, mouth agape as you fluttered around him. “Yesss, baby. Let it go for me. Cum on this dick!” He growled, holding your hips to keep your rhythm going as you came undone. It was dramatic, almost pornographic. Your juices trickling down your trembling thighs. He fucked you through it, not letting up on you.

“Yesss, keep fucking m-mee! Don’t stopp, I-I'm still cumminggg!” You screamed with a whiny tone, a river of your slick dripping to the ground beneath you.

“Mhmm, I-I’m right behind you Princess.” He moaned, his eyes crossing in pleasure as ropes of cum entered your empty womb. He continued to thrust into you, making sure that not ONE drop leaked out.

He pulled out slowly, both of you moaning in satisfaction. You slid down the wall as your trembling legs just couldn’t keep you up without the help of lo’ak.

He walked over to the camera, picking it up from the tripod. “Think you might wanna be nice to me from now on because I might need you to babysit in the future, bitch!” Lo’ak joked, laughing Into the camera.

“Tell the camera bye, baby.” Lo’ak spoke, angling the camera to the ground, where your unconscious, tied up, body laid. Still twitching from your intense orgasm, you whimpered in response.

-video ends-

There was really no explanation for how completely mortified Aonung was, all he wanted to do was find lo’ak, and KILL HIM.

But that wouldn’t be so smart. Considering the fact that his future niece or nephew would grow up without a father….

Taglist: @number1gal @loak-bae @tiredmamaissy @terrorthewolf @lethargicluv @reyzzsostellar @m0nst3rfk3r @agelsully @jakescumdump @wekiamo @st-cass @cleardonutangelwagon @tsireqas @satanlovedays @afro-hispwriter @urfavgirlmakenna @fanboyluvr @iameatingmyhair @secretflowerobservation @violet-19999 @xreadersstuff @sweetllamaparadise @lia-nath @sullymenrhot @dotheyevenknowmars @xdbluesky @slay-nt @domino-x3-blog @ladylovegood-69 @itssomeonereading @sweetirilly @j-jinxee @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @cumikering @pxndorasdream @itsaleidasworld @yeletta @eywascall @valeriearriana37484 @avatarsslut @bee782916 @sweethoneycn

#avatar #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #avatar loak #loak headcanons #loak x reader #loak x y/n #loak smut #loak fanfiction #loak imagine #atwow loak #loak fic #loak sully #loak x you #loak #aonung x reader #aonung headcanons #aonung

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persphonesorchid · 9 months

Text

Tasting Jealousy - KSJ

Summary: Seokjin is more than happy to accompany you to your company's New Year's Eve party, he's not happy however, that your co-worker is trying to flirt with you. The presence of this man brings up feelings Seokjin thought he left behind him.

Word Count: 3.2k

Genre: COH!au, Cupid!Seokjin x F!Reader, fluff, smut...angst 😀

Warnings: Jealous jinnie, smut (Protected sex bcus Seokjin ain't looking to be a daddy for the new year. Soft Dom jinnie, fingering, kitty spanking - you'll see what I mean lmao.) Jin gets very sad at one point and it gave me flashbacks of a universe in which he left 🤡

Masterlist - HERE

Notes: Happy New year my darlings!! I hope this year brings you lots of joy, love and peace!! Be good to yourselves!!

Now, I love this couple so much and I just can't get away from them ajsjhsha so here you go, my last fic for the year! And guess what? You guys will finally get to know who sent MC the flower arrangements. I know a lot of you were wondering lmao. I hope to write more drabbles for these two...even though is can't be considered a drabble because it got way out of hand 😭 but! I'm not complaining! I hope you guys enjoy!!

this follows Cupid's on Holiday's What If drabble Picking Peonies

“Ranunculus.” The word is a hissed breath between Seokjin’s teeth, eyes narrowing into slits. There’s a muscle twitching just under his eye, and he should be careful. If he grips the champagne flute any tighter the fine glass will shatter.

You pause in the middle of your sentence, fingers brushing his as you take the glass he offers, head turning and tilting back a little to look up at him.

The chatter of the party populous and the soft crackle of Christmas jingles fades into background noise against the rising ring in his ears.

The man who stands across from you both must’ve been raised without manners, that or at least a little common sense. He stands tall, a inch or so shorter than Seokjin if he were to guess. They’re unintentionally matching, both wearing black turtleneck sweaters. Though, Seokjin’s coat is tweed and brushes his knees, the man’s is dark grey and stops where his hands are tucked into the pockets of his black slacks.

Its been about a minute since Seokjin went off to get you both something to drink. A minute since he spotted this man through the crowd and just knew.

It’s been about a minute since he’s walked over here, weaved his way through the crowd with a wide boxy smile and a wave in your direction. A minute of his eyes trailing over your form, lingering over the way the peach fabric accentuates your waist and flutters at your feet in soft waves. A minute since he’d leaned in with a smile and kissed both your cheeks.

A minute of him pretending Seokjin isn’t standing right here, like your arm isn’t linked with his.

Six minutes. Not like Seokjin is counting or anything.

Something burns hot in the back of Seokjin’s mind when you giggle around the syllables that make up this man’s name. You’re smiling at something he said a second ago, but Seokjin is so far in his head he didn’t hear. It’s the kind of smile you give him when he brings you your favourite treat; your cheeks puffing up and squishing your eyes. He doesn’t know if the guy’s actually funny or if you’re only smiling at him to not seem rude.

“This is Seokjin.” You say, and briefly, you look up at him, smile unmoving. There’s a pinch to your brow, probably still wondering what the meaning behind his word earlier was. A bit of pride blooms in his chest with the way you wonder; you’ve long forgotten where his distaste stems.

Seokjin dips his head in greeting when, the man – Taehyung – finally looks over at him. He extends a hand, overhead lights of the venue catching on the face of his watch that Seokjin knows is expensive. He knows because it matches his.

Seokjin shakes his hand firmly, even as Taehyung’s eyes meet yours again with a smile that seems a little more strained and a lot less boxy.

“Strong grip you’ve got there.” Taehyung's chuckle is deep as his hand falls back to his side and Seokjin only hums. “Friend of yours?”

There’s nothing in his tone that gives reason for the feeling that floods Seokjin’s chest. It rises quickly from his feet and burns the back of his neck and ears and he bristles.

“Partner, actually.” There’s an edge to his voice that he knows you’ve caught; you squeeze his arm a little.

“Ah, partner... That’s nice, I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

There’s no way he couldn’t have known.

He’s not in your department, Seokjin knows. This encounter would’ve happened a whole lot sooner had he been. Seokjin had been about your work place many times over this year alone, sometimes for no particular reason. Everyone in your department knows him by now.

Office gossip spreads like a flame in a dry grass field, so it isn’t that he hadn’t known, the man just chose to blatantly ignore it.

Something about that sets Seokjin’s teeth on edge.

“Ah, well, I’m pretty private so that’s fine.” You wave your other hand, the motion careful as not to spill the champagne that sits in it.

You and Taehyung make small talk, and Seokjin drowns in the feeling that’s swimming around his head. You ask him about how his birthday went and Taehyung says it could’ve been better. And there’s a twinkle in his eyes that Seokjin doesn’t like when he says it.

Taehyung smiles, after a while of Seokjin just staring him down. “Well...all my best for the new year.” He says, the curls of his dark hair sways on his forehead when he looks to Seokjin again. “Nice meeting you.”

And like that, he was gone, back through the crowd to linger when he’d came from.

Seokjin feels you shift, and when he looks at you, you’re already watching him.

“What was that about?” you ask, a brow raised.

“What?” Seokjin raises a brow back and you sigh, tapping at his arm with hand that was looped around it.

“Jin...” You say nothing more and Seokjin busies himself with draining the rest of the champagne in his glass. He sets it down on a nearby table and you do the same, unlinking your arm from his to stand in front of him.

“Do you want to leave?” you ask softly.

“We’ve only been here two hours.” Seokjin replies, shaking his head.

“You didn’t answer my question. And besides it wouldn’t be any fun if you’re gonna be like...that for the rest of the night.”

“I’m not being like anything.” His voice is a little harsh, and Seokjin isn’t sure if it’s because he’s being called out. He sighs, brows pinching. “It’s fine. It wouldn’t be fair to you if we leave now.”

“I don’t mind, that’s why I asked. If you don’t want to stay that’s okay.”

“Why’re you so stubborn? Stop pushing it.”

You step away from him, eyes rolling as you step past.

“Where are you going?” Seokjin calls, turning as you walk, following the motion of your body with his.

“The bathroom.” You snap and Seokjin stares until you disappear into the throng of people.

There’s a low whistle behind him and Seokjin slowly turns, hackles raised again.

Taehyung is back. Barely seems to be paying him mind as he fills a plate with finger food and snacks. The long rectangular table is tucked into a corner, laden with different types of foods. He’s a bit away, but Seokjin’s certain he heard the exchange if the little smile he donned was anything to go by.

“Trouble in paradise?” He nods with his chin in the direction you stomped off to, picking a mini sandwich off his plate.

“Just a small fire. Containable. Although, I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.” If Seokjin’s eyes could narrow any further, he’d close them.

Taehyung lifts his shoulder in a shrug, “Just worrying, she’s my friend after all. Would hate to see her not have a good time.”

“Right.” Seokjin says, and then takes a breath. He doesn’t have to entertain this. He turns on his heel, walking through the crowd towards the bathrooms.

He finds you just coming out, pulling the lace of your sleeves back down to your wrists. He takes your hand, “We’re leaving.”

“Okay.”

You follow without complaint or question. Once outside, Seokjin gives you his coat because he doesn’t need it, a hand on the small of your back as he leads you to where he parked. Ever the gentleman, he opens the door for you and waits until you’re situated before going around and getting in.

He turns the heat on, and the drive is silent.

After a moment of your eyes burning into the side of his head, you finally speak: “Are you okay?”

“M’fine.” Seokjin tries to keep the edge out his tone because there’s no reason to snap at you.

You still catch it, and Seokjin sighs when you go quiet. His teeth aches when he clenches his jaw, grip tight on the steering wheel. It wasn’t long before he’s pulling into the parking lot of the apartment and you’re out the car first.

The way up to your apartment is silent, and it continues until you’re both inside, taking your shoes off at the door.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong now?”

Seokjin feels guilt knot his stomach as you stare at him, a patient look on your face.

“I’m sorry. It’s just...”

There was still a lot of things Seokjin was getting used to. It’s been a year since he decided to break every rule set for him and stay with you. There are times when he’s blissfully unaware of it. When he’s tucked it into the far reaches of his mind in a box under lock and key and it doesn’t bother him. Sometimes though, like now, it rattles along the inside of his head, bouncing off corners.

Taehyung is the one who sent you that horrid floral arrangement on valentines day. It had long stopped irritating him whenever thought about it. The initial jealousy had come and crested like a wave and was gone then. Now it crashes in like a tsunami.

It’s not just jealousy he feels, but a strange sense of being lost. Like he’s walking through a fog with a blindfold. He’s aware of what he did, when he decided to turn his back on his duty and be selfish. He knows well there are some things he can’t ever give you.

A normal, happy life is one of them.

He can give you whatever you ask for, anything you want it’s yours without question. But what happens later? Years down the road and you’re married to him and he can’t give you the one thing you’ll want then.

The person meant for you could give that to you.

He’s being selfish. You’ve never complained, but Seokjin knows you must’ve wondered about it by now. The what if. Maybe...perhaps it would've been better if he'd followed through with leaving then...

“Jin?” you call softly, ducking your head a bit to meet his gaze, “Talk to me, what is it?”

“Do you regret it?” His voice is just as soft, looking down at his feet. He looks up, somewhere above your head, sighing, “Do you know that he’s the one who sent you those flowers?”

You seem confused for a moment, and then recollection lights in your eyes. “Oh! Oh...Jin.” you chuckle a bit and step closer.

“Don’t laugh, it’s not funny.” Seokjin groans, and meets you halfway when you reach for him. Your fingers dance at the nape of his neck and Seokjin pulls you closer by the waist.

“Is that what was bothering you?”

He can only hum, and you chuckle again. The warmth of your hand rubs circles against his back and he feels that warmth seep into his bones and settle there.

“I don’t regret anything. None of it.” You murmur against his neck, and Seokjin pulls away, cupping your cheek with a hand. His thumb gently caresses, and he meets your eyes for the first time in a while and calls your name softly.

“There are things that I can’t give you.”

“So?”

There’s a fierce look in your eyes that makes Seokjin wrap his next set of words up neatly and swallow them.

“None of that matters. You’re more than enough.”

Seokjin closes the gap between you both, pressing his lips firmly to yours. The arm at your waist pulls you close and the hand that sits at the side of your neck tails into your hair to tug at the many pins that you’d secured it with.

He spins you with practiced ease, pressing your back against the wall of the entryway and crowding your space.

He places a kiss at the corner of your mouth just to tease, and chuckles when you chase. His kisses trail along your jaw, stopping just below your ear, and he takes the lobe between his teeth.

The little sound you make shoots down his spine, and he feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his sweater. He taps at your waist, his hand trailing over the curve of your ass and he gives you a moment to settle your arms securely around his neck before he lifts.

He doesn’t need to see where he’s going to find his way to your bedroom, and he busies himself with kissing and marking the skin he could reach. The fingers of his other hand finding the zipper at the back of your dress to tug down.

He sets you on your feet, pulling back just enough to help you out of your dress, his eyes still closed as he trails his lips over your collarbone, pushing the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. Your skin is warm where he touches, he ghosts his fingers along your sides and revels the way you visibly shiver.

The bralette you chose for the night is lace and hides nothing from his hooded gaze, your nipples taut from the chill and his caress. He thumbs at the peaks, and when you tug on the hem of his sweater, he tuts at your impatience.

His hand slides up your back, unclasping the bralette and pushing you gently back until you hit the bed. The straps slide down your arms and he tugs it off, palming at a breast with a groan trapped behind his teeth.

“Jin..” you sigh his name and Seokjin hums, tilting his head at you.

He leans into you and you fall back. Seokjin holds his weight on his hands just above tour shoulders, and his knees trapping your thighs between them. He watches you blink up at him with some confusion as he simply stares.

“Let me ask you something.” He says, and then he shift, getting onto the bed and sitting with his back against the headboard. He curls his fingers at you, and with a bit of uncertainty tinting your form you follow. He settles you between his spread legs, pressing a kiss to the junction where your neck meets your shoulder as he traces patterns against the skin of your thighs.

He spreads you legs with a gentle hand, bringing his legs up a bit so that the back of your knees hooks against his thigh. Seokjin brings his hand down quickly, the lace of your underwear does nothing to shield you from it and he chuckles when your surprised whine meets his ears. He feels you trying to snap your legs shut as the sting of his hand runs through you, the way your back arches away from his chest.

“Tell me, sweet girl.” Seokjin coos, and he decides to be nice, rubbing soothing circles against your lace covered pussy. He could feel just how wet you are, your panties slide against your slick skin with his movements, damp against his hand. “Do you think you’re deserving of my touch right now?”

Your exhale rattles against his chest, and he waits patiently for your answer. He allows you a moment to think, and he knows it’s hard, as his fingers tease at the seam of your underwear, slipping underneath to find the wetness there.

“I am.” You finally say.

“Oh, are you?” Seokjin chuckles, dipping a finger into the warmth of you just to hear your gasping moan. He presses the finger against your clit, circling once, twice, and then he stops. “Do you want me to tell you why you’re not?”

Seokjin kisses your jaw, and the slight shift of your hips doesn’t go unnoticed. “You let that man get near you. Allowed him to act like I wasn’t there. Ignored the way he was looking at you.”

“Jin, it wasn’t...”

“Shh,” Seokjin shushes you gently, fingers resuming the slow, torturous grind against your clit. “I should make you cum until you cry.”

The whimper you let out makes his slacks feel constricting. He sinks two fingers, knuckle deep into you and kisses your neck when your head lulls back against his shoulder. He watches the way his hand moves under your panties, curling his fingers against the spot that makes your toes curl.

He presses the heel of his palm against your clit, and runs his tongue along the shell of your ear when your pussy clenches and your moans go up in pitch.

“Close already?” Seokjin coos mockingly, a chuckle on his exhale. The fingers of his other hand pinching lightly at your nipples, and then he stops, “That’s too bad, then.”

Your groan holds frustration and Seokjin unhooks your legs from his. He stands to rid himself of his clothes, his cock hard and weeping when it slaps lightly against his stomach. The reaction you invoke in him has never changed, a shiver slithers down his spine and watches at your tongue darts out to moisten your lips. You reach a hand out to him and Seokjin takes it, bending a little at his waist to press kisses against your fingers.

He fishes a condom from your nightstand – ever mindful – and then crawls between your legs, taking a moment to slide your panties down them.

“Okay?” He asks to make sure that you’re okay to continue, that he’s not driving you too hard.

You nod, and you lift your hips, pressing his cock between your wet heat and his stomach. Seokjin groans against your lips, tightening his grip against your thigh.

He moves his hips, pulling back and then pushing into you with slow, languid strokes. He kisses you tenderly, his tongue exploring your mouth. When his fingers brush against your clit, the way your core tightens around his cock has him seeing stars. His thrusts gets faster, and he knows just how quickly you’re hurdling towards your end, he watches every minute expression. The way your eyes squeeze shut and how your lips curl around his name, the scratching of your nails down his back.

Just as you reach the peak, Seokjin moves his hand away and slows his thrusts, leaving you trembling and whining. He smiles against your lips, and whispers, “Let’s take this slow.” He kisses you again, his thrusts becoming slower and gentler.

He continues to move in and out of you at a slow, steady pace, taking his time to bring you to the edge of pleasure again and again. Eventually, he begins to speed up, and he moves his hand back to your clit, sending you over the edge into a powerful orgasm.

“Fuck.” Seokjin groans, following not long after, his forehead against your collarbone. There’s a ringing in ears when he comes down, and he presses a kiss to your sternum before pulling away.

After you were both cleaned up and the sheets were changed, Seokjin holds you close as you both watch the couple of minutes tick by until midnight.

“Do you have any resolutions?” Your head is against his chest, a leg over his hip.

He traces patterns against your thigh, thinking quietly. This is another one of those human things that he wouldn’t ever grasp. You rang in the last new year with Yoongi and Hoseok while he was busy with his duties with the other Cupids in the area, so you must’ve had this question for a while.

Seokjin hums softly, “Loving you. That’s it.” He smiles when you giggle and when the fireworks start up at the stroke of midnight you both watch them light up the night sky through your open window.

“Happy New Year, Jinnie.”

Seokjin turns, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss and he whispers the words back to you.

You both lay there for a moment, quiet, and then Seokjin speaks: “You know, I could make him fall in love with his office chair or something.”

“Jin.”

tagging: @xpeachesncream @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @euphoricfilter @luaspersona @mssukeyna @allhobbitstoisengard @eoieopda @minmin2022 @liveyun

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taexual · 1 year

Text

sleepwalking ● 3 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 6.6k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 3 ► guess my fairytale has a few plot holes

It was eight in the morning when the tour bus arrived in Krakow, and everyone was in a good mood.

The day was beautiful and the excitement of starting the tour was still very prominent, so even the heavy sleepers, who could have slept through a hurricane and merely flinched during an earthquake – that is, Yoongi and Jungkook – both went out to stretch their legs and get coffee when the bus stopped at a gas station.

You observed everyone with Namjoon and Hoseok, until the two of them got too engrossed in a conversation about Rated Riot’s upcoming album—especially the demo song that Hoseok had sent Namjoon just before leaving for tour, even though the label wasn’t expecting a new record for, at least, eight more months.

“I brought most of my equipment,” Namjoon was saying. “So, if you want to see how the song might sound, we could get together and work on it.”

“Yes,” Hoseok agreed right away, then turned to you. “How many days until our first hotel stay?”

“About a week,” you said, looking back at the bus behind you. “Do you want me to check specifically? My phone is insid—”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. A week’s—a bit long,” Hoseok turned back to Namjoon. “You think we could record on the bus?”

“If it was empty, maybe,” Namjoon said, bringing his index finger to his chin. You lifted your eyebrows as you listened to him. “Should we stop somewhere and have everyone get out, so we could record? Could we even do that?”

You were mildly surprised by their determination, considering that the tour bus had terrible acoustics. Not to mention, even empty, it was a whirlpool of various noises: the rattling of the window shades, the whirring of the mini-fridge, the clattering of the mugs by the sink.

“How about you set up a recording studio at the next gas station we stop at instead?” you joked, but the two of them exchanged looks as if they were genuinely considering this. Quickly, you clarified, “guys, no. Could you wait just a little bit? Concentrate your creative energy into writing for now, or… maybe find a studio to rent for a few hours?”

“Ah, that might work,” Hoseok said thoughtfully. But just as he was about to add something, Namjoon nodded his head at the scene in front of you three: Jungkook and Taehyung were running away from Yoongi after having, evidently, just stolen his last cigarette.

Yoongi was yelling incoherent curses at the two as he chased them to the corner of the gas station and then paused to catch his breath. While Jungkook took a drag behind Taehyung’s back, Taehyung offered Yoongi his own pack of cigarettes and sprinted away as soon as the older member took it from him—because the pack was empty.

With another tirade of curses at the ready, Yoongi immediately broke into a run after them again. You could still hear the younger members laughing as they rounded the corner.

“Idiots,” Namjoon commented warmly.

You watched the chase in front of you with a small, wistful smile—this felt a bit like you were on a school trip. And this feeling was amplified when the school bully prototype in the form of a twenty-six-year-old man, Sid, stopped in front of you. He was, actually, called Isidore—for his grandfather—and you wondered if calling him by his birth name would make him disappear, like an exorcism of sorts.

“Hey,” Sid said. Then, he glanced—somewhat awkwardly—at Hoseok and Namjoon, and nodded curtly at them, before looking back at you again. “Could I speak to you?”

You’d have rather jumped in front of an oncoming truck that was driving past you on the highway.

You looked at the two boys next to you for help, but they both lowered their eyes, suddenly very entertained by the pavement under their boots.

“Sure,” you were forced to say, but tried not to make your irritation too obvious on your face. You prided yourself on being diplomatic. And, in any case, Sid hadn’t technically done anything obnoxious yet—but you knew him well enough to expect it.

The two of you walked further away from everyone else together—three other people could have fit between you as you walked—and Sid stuffed his hands in his pockets, seemingly looking for a way to start the conversation.

“How was the show last night?” he chose to ask.

“Great,” you replied, although it probably made no difference to him. “How’s Minjun’s jetlag?”

“Great, great,” Sid repeated, likely not even paying attention to your follow-up question. That was all the better for you; you didn’t really care about his answer, either.

Another few meters later, he stopped walking and looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one else was close enough to overhear—no one was. You and Sid were partially hidden by one of the buses.

“So…” he started. “Did you notice anything weird about Jungkook lately?”

Now you started to care.

You turned your whole body to face him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know.” He shrugged. “Irrational behaviour? Maybe moodiness? I don’t know.”

Your frown deepened, yet you hesitated with your question. “What… are you talking about?”

Sid’s smile spread—it was your surprised pause that gave you away. “You did notice!”

You’d already suspected that Sid would know something about Jungkook’s weird behaviour; now his grinning mug seemed to confirm it.

“Well, he’s on tour,” you tried to rationalize. “Of course, he’d act differently.”

“I mean, of course.” Sid nodded with exaggerated sympathy like he was just trying to be nice, but he knew that your reasoning was completely wrong. “But it’s probably even harder for him now that he’s single again.”

He was nearly soaring when he saw the surprise on your face.

“What do you mean, ‘again’?” you asked. The last formal relationship, to your knowledge, that Jungkook had had was a while ago—and, conveniently, you happened to be the one he had dated. He didn’t have time for relationships now. At least, that was what you’d assumed.

“Ah, see, I told him that he should talk to you about this, but I knew he wouldn’t. That’s why I’m doing this,” Sid said, finding himself very noble. He made an effort to look hesitant, even uncomfortable. But you saw the twitch of his lips when he spoke, “Jungkook was dumped four days before the flight to Prague.”

The engine of the bus behind Sid started as soon as he said this, so you weren’t sure if you flinched because of the unexpected noise, or because of the unexpected news.

“Someone,” you said, “broke up with him?”

“Yeah,” Sid confirmed, his face contorting into a pitiful grimace that looked about as fake as everything else about him. “They were together for a few months, which isn’t much, but he said the relationship meant a lot to him. He said it was something different, you know? So, I’m really surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Again, he mentioned the fact that Jungkook kept this from you—really rubbing it in your face—and you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your eyes on his.

“Mmhm. Right,” you said. “And that’s why he’s—?”

“Yeah.” Sid was nodding before you finished the question. “I’m only telling you about it because I’m worried.”

“You’re worried,” you said, finding this even harder to believe than the fact that Jungkook was in a serious relationship with someone and didn’t think it was important to inform his manager. “Why?”

“Because of what he might do,” he explained. “You know how obsessed he gets when he’s in love with someone.”

This was an obvious allusion to your own relationship with Jungkook, and you finally looked away to process this. You missed the smirk that appeared on Sid’s face when he noticed your rapid blinking, but you didn’t need to see his arrogance to know that it was there; you could already hear it every time he opened his mouth.

There seemed to be another reason for his spiteful satisfaction: he wasn’t just boasting about knowing more about Jungkook than you did. He was, as it seemed, also boasting about Jungkook being in love with someone else—so much so, that he’d prioritise this person over everything else, apparently.

“What are you implying, exactly?” you spoke up after a minute. “You think he’ll leave the tour?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I hope not. I know how much this means to him,” Sid said and you tried to look past his saccharine words, tried to discern if he was just trying to bite you, or if this was something you should have been seriously concerned about. “But with Kihyun’s wedding in a few days…”

Here, you needed another minute to connect the dots.

You knew that your old friends, Kihyun and Chloé, were getting married soon—they’d invited you and Jungkook to the wedding. But you both already informed them that you couldn’t make it to the ceremony somewhere in Western Europe. It was so long ago, you could no longer remember the precise location. You’d even sent them a gift already.

Naturally, you were doubtful. “Why would he care? He said he’s not going to the wedding.”

“Well, yeah, but easy for him to say when he’s a continent away, you know?” Sid replied. “Now that he’s in Europe, it’s different.”

“How is it different?” you asked. “The band’s got back-to-back shows. We’ll be in Poland, and the wedding’s—in Italy?”

“Paris.”

“Right,” you said. Of course, Sid would know this. He’d come to talk to you fully prepared.

“Well, he will have a free day, you know,” he continued and you frowned. You hadn’t memorized the band’s full schedule, but you didn’t like the possibility that Sid was right. “So, I’m just worried he might end up going there, after all. He knows his ex will be there, so, you know… Maybe he thinks they can get back together, I don’t know.”

All the “you know” and “I don’t know”’s in his speech did not make it easy for you to tell how much truth there was to his words: how much did Jungkook really care about this? How much should you have cared?

There was another thing too – if this ex was invited to the wedding of your old friends, then, chances were, you would know this person, too. So, wouldn’t that mean that Jungkook would have even more reasons to tell you about his relationship?

And, to make this even more difficult, Sid looked very pleased—like he was showing off. But there could have been countless reasons for that, too: because he was proud that he knew more than you, because he was lying, because he caught you off-guard… Then again, you didn’t exactly look at him much. Maybe he always looked like that.

Unsettled, you only nodded. “Hmm.”

“I mean,” Sid snickered, “the last thing he needs on this tour is a toxic relationship, am I right?”

You thought Sid was the toxic relationship that Jungkook had on this tour, but you only hummed again, saying, “you probably are.”

“Yeah,” he said with a compassionate sigh that sounded like plastic fruit did when you bit into it. His eyes were full of pity, too, but there was not one ounce of honesty in them—he didn’t feel bad about any of this. “I’m just letting you know, so you’re not left in the dark. Sorry he didn’t tell you.”

“You don’t need to apologise on his behalf,” you said, your tone surprisingly strict. You hadn’t meant to let your feelings show—childishly, you thought that if he could see how flustered you were, he’d win. You didn’t realise how much you resembled Jungkook in this regard.

“No, I know. I just feel bad,” Sid lied further. You clenched your fists. “You guys seem close. Guess he didn’t think it was important enough to tell you.”

You almost scoffed at this—close? You were his manager. This had nothing to do with you being close. But, of course, Sid needed another reason to feel superior.

“Right. Guess so,” you said and, with a sharp inhale, decided to end this conversation. “I have to go check something, but, uh, thanks for the heads up.”

“Oh, no problem!” he called out as you began to walk back towards the tour bus without waiting for his response.

Sid knew he got you. Taking you to the wedding had to be the easiest way for Jungkook to win this bet. He was confident that he’d just made sure that wouldn’t happen.

Namjoon and Hoseok both immediately noticed the distress on your face when you walked past them, but you ignored their concerned questions, assuring them both that there was nothing you couldn’t handle.

You entered the bus to find your phone. You wouldn’t confront Jungkook now, but you needed to see how big the gap in the band’s schedule was, to conclude if he could, realistically, make it to this wedding.

Most unfortunately, you calculated that he could. As soon as this show was over, Rated Riot would go to Warsaw, and then they had a free day before the concert in Berlin. If he travelled overnight, he could go to Paris and back in this time.

Unless Sid lied.

You couldn’t see the point, but it wasn’t above him to lie about things for no reason. You found yourself hoping that this was one of those times. Because drifting off-schedule so early in the tour was far from ideal, of course.

And not because you weren’t sure—and this uncertainty was unexpected—how the thought of Jungkook being in a serious relationship with someone made you feel.

Jungkook had, truthfully, forgotten to worry about the bet when he woke up this morning. And then right before the soundcheck in Krakow, Sid and Minjun showed up to the band’s changing room, with a reluctant Jude in tow.

His friends must have known that he was the only one still here (although Jungkook could see that Hoseok had left his phone, so he expected him to come back), and they felt comfortable to immediately settle in the otherwise empty room.

“What’s up?” Jungkook nodded at Jude. “You look hungover.”

“He’s allergic to Europe,” Minjun replied—he’d only landed here last night, but he already looked tired and about ready to go home. “Been sneezing since last night. Even the airport security got worried when they picked me up.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Jude said, plopping down on the settee by the wall. “My head feels so full. My eyes hurt. I’m definitely allergic to something.”

“Maybe it’s you,” Sid pointed at Minjun with a grin. “You’re the one who flew in yesterday, and he started to sneeze right after.”

“Or maybe it’s your bullshit,” Minjun countered—he was one of the few people who could keep Sid on his toes without using violence. “Or your cologne. You know you’re only supposed to spray it once, maybe twice, right? No need to bathe in it.”

Even Jungkook snorted. A powerful whiff of some exaggerated woody scent—the sort that came in a black bottle with large golden lettering—had filled the room as soon as Sid entered.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asked. “I thought you were going sightseeing.”

“We are—” Minjun started to say, but then paused when he tried to sit down next to Jude, and he sneezed again. “Seriously, man. Go to urgent care.”

“I’m fine,” Jude waved his hands around, while Sid laughed—the more chaotic the atmosphere in the room seemed to get, the more amusing he found it.

“We’re here to cheer you on. Why else?” Sid said, throwing a fist in the air. There was a perpetual shit-eating grin on his face. “There’s already a line of people outside. Those VIPs?”

“Yeah, probably,” Jungkook said and then realised the implication. He warned, “leave them alone. Or my management won’t let me live.”

Sid’s grin widened—clearly, he took that as a compliment—and he sat down next to Jude, leaving Minjun standing awkwardly by the settee.

“Speaking of,” Sid said, “did you already ask said management out on a date?”

“Not yet,” Jungkook said. He didn’t suspect anything from Sid’s question alone—and he didn’t catch the glimmering excitement in his eyes. “But don’t worry about it.”

Sid was not at all worried. He never was.

“See?” he said. Jungkook lifted his head to see Sid looking at Minjun. “Told you he agreed.”

Jungkook’s gaze shifted to Minjun in confusion.

“He didn’t believe me when we told him you agreed to the bet,” Sid explained. “He said this wasn’t something he’d expect from you.”

Jungkook frowned. He liked to think that he didn’t care about the opinion of his friends that much, but he wouldn’t have agreed to the bet if he really didn’t. Now he found himself irritated that Minjun, seemingly, disagreed with this decision.

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asked him, but Minjun only shrugged.

“It’s going to get messy,” he said. “I figured you’d be able to see that.”

“It’s not going to get messy,” Jungkook replied with a pretentious roll of his eyes. Of course, on some half-conscious level, he knew that it could get messy. But he trusted his ability to control this, so it wouldn’t get out of hand. “It’s just a date, it’s no big deal.”

“You—” Jude started to say and then sneezed, continuing in agitation, “fuck me. You dated for three years.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook grabbed a tissue from a box on the table by the mirror and walked over to Jude. “And we’re broken up for four. This means nothing, and you’ll see that I’m right when I win this bet.”

Sid shook his head as he sang, “she’s not going to agree…”

“She will,” Jungkook insisted. His agitation was growing, because no one in this room knew you, not like he did—so, what right did they have to make assumptions? He said, “I’ve known her for years. She won’t think much of this, either.”

Minjun looked deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t say anything else, but every time Jungkook glanced at him, he could see the way his friend cringed into himself, sliding his hands into his front pockets and pacing awkwardly around the clothes rack.

It was the first reality check for Jungkook—one of many, but he naively did not foresee that.

If Minjun—who, despite being smarter than everyone else in this room—was still Sid’s friend, yet seemed disturbed by this bet, then Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was ready for what you’d think—what you’d do—if you found out about this.

Maybe he was too prideful when he asserted that he knew you the best. Maybe he only liked to think that he did, but all that he anticipated from you was hopeful more than it was certain. He hoped you wouldn’t think of this as a big deal. But, he realised now by watching Minjun, that your reaction might not be so casual, after all.

“Yeah?” Sid challenged, breaking Jungkook out of his head. “Well, let’s see, then. You’ve got plans for how you’re asking her out?”

Jungkook turned away to grab a water bottle from the table that he’d been leaning against. “Maybe.”

Sid was a very good actor as he jumped on the couch, feigning excitement.

“Well, shit. Spill!” he encouraged. His leap had caused a flurry of dust to go up into the air and Jude managed to groan before he started to sneeze again. Sid added irritably, “if Jude would shut the fuck up, we could give you feedback.”

“Get fucked,” Jude mumbled, blowing his nose into the tissue Jungkook had given him.

“Dream on,” Jungkook replied with a sneer in Sid’s direction. “I’m not asking you out, not even as practice.”

“You piece of shit,” Sid said, his tone boisterous. “I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Alright then,” Sid went on grinning, not the slightest bit unphased by this. Jungkook, clearly, didn’t know the lengths Sid was going to take—and had already taken—to make sure he won the bet. “When should we expect the keys to the Katana?”

“Oh, did you mean the money you’ll be paying me?” Jungkook deflected. This bickering drove him further from his previous concerns about Minjun’s reaction and more towards the thrill of it all—taking you out on a date and winning against Sid. “Have it by the end of tonight. I’ll talk to her before the show.”

“We’re only paying if she actually goes with you on a date,” Sid reminded him. “Just agreeing to it means nothing.”

“I know. And I’m saying, have it ready.”

“Have what ready?” Hoseok asked, entering the changing room so unexpectedly that all four boys inside it flinched. Neither of them had heard the door open.

“Nothing,” Jungkook replied before one of his friends could. “Discussing our plans for after the show. What’s up?”

“Jin says we’re good to go in five,” Hoseok said. “And I left my phone here.”

“Oh, right.” The younger member reached for the device on the far corner of the table. “Here.”

Then, Jungkook looked back at the rest of his friends – all of them looked like schoolchildren after the teacher returned to the classroom. He felt glad, he realised, that they were staying quiet.

He didn’t want Hoseok or the others to know about this, but not because the bet was an exceptionally bad thing. He thought this was like anything else that he did with his friends. And, usually, no one approved of his other after-work activities—not even him, sometimes—either.

But, just like everything other thing that he did with Sid, this was a distraction more than it was anything else.

“Don’t be late,” Hoseok warned, not saying a word to the other people in the room before he left.

“We’re going to head out, too,” Minjun was the first who spoke up – but only after the door was closed. He seemed to make the decision for all of them, because Sid looked comfortable enough to stay longer, but he rolled his eyes and stood up after meeting Minjun’s glare. “Good luck at the soundcheck.”

“Yeah, and don’t worry,” Sid added, winking, “I’ll take good care of the bike.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes and slapped Sid on the shoulder with his palm when he walked past him.

Jude stopped in front of Jungkook. He looked ready to say something, but then he inhaled deeply, as if preparing for a sneeze, and chose to just quietly leave instead.

“Seriously, go see a doctor if this persists,” Jungkook called after him before the door of the changing room closed.

Left alone, he shook his head and looked over his reflection in the mirror.

The bet was just a bet. He wasn’t doing anything significant anyway. Surely, if you knew, you’d think the same. You’d find it stupid, but he’s done worse things. This didn’t mean anything; it wouldn’t ruin your relationship.

It would be fine.

As soon as the soundcheck and the VIP Meet & Greet came to an end, you disappeared like you had last night in Prague, so Jungkook’s plan of getting this bet over with before the show tonight, backfired.

A part of him expected this, however, so he made sure to avoid his friends until he saw you after the show. He hoped that convincing you to go out with him (perhaps by appealing to your sentiments of seeing old friends? Or out of pity? He wasn’t sure which route he’d take yet) wouldn’t take long. Especially if he stressed how little this would mean—just a silly, friendly date.

Sid didn’t have to know about the “friendly” part of the whole deal.

Slowly, Jungkook allowed himself to think what he’d do with the $4000 that Sid and Jude would pay him—perhaps he’d tune the Katana—even though this wasn’t even about the money for him. Of course, the satisfaction of actually winning a bet against Sid would be worth five times the money that his friends would have to pay. But Jungkook was convinced that, more than anything, he just wanted to prove a point.

His friends had insisted he followed you like a lovesick puppy while you didn’t care. He wanted to show them that neither of you cared—in fact, you cared so little, that you could go on a date, and it wouldn’t have to mean anything.

Now, whether that was true, was a different thing, but he chose not to think of your touch—and his body reflexively responding to it—in his bunk the other night. He didn’t need to focus on that right now.

The performance in Krakow threw Jungkook completely off, however. This was Rated Riot’s first time in Poland, and the reception was unforgettable: all the faces of the people who sang along, who jumped when the band jumped, who reacted to every single note, every single lyric at the appropriate times and with overwhelming energy – Jungkook was positive his chest was going to burst by the time he got off the stage.

Even an hour later, after Rated Riot finished the show and met their fans, he returned backstage, where everyone hung out and did shots, and he could still feel the adrenaline in his blood.

That was how you found him – smiling to himself as he scrolled down Rated Riot’s Instagram page, checking all the posts that tagged the band tonight.

“You’re happy,” you pointed out, aware of the smile on your own face as you watched him.

Jungkook lifted his head and his smile widened at the sight of yours. He was practically radiating excitement. Chances were, if someone dimmed the lights in the room, he would have been glowing.

“Crazy,” he said. His voice was a little hoarse, but exhilarated nonetheless. “Feels like there are fireworks inside of me.”

You chuckled and took a seat on the settee next to him. You handed him a package of honey & lemon lozenges and a chocolate cupcake—the lozenges were for his throat, to make sure he was able to perform night after night, and the cupcake was to make sure he survived at all. He never ate anything before the shows, and the take-out you’d ordered was taking a while. It was likely you’d have to eat properly on the bus.

He took everything from you and put his phone down.

“It seems that the show tonight was even better than last night,” he said, peeling off the wrapper of the cupcake first. “I don’t know how that’s possible.”

“Imagine if that keeps happening after every show,” you said. “You might really catch fire by the last one.”

He snickered. Taking a mouthful of the cupcake, he hummed, “Can’ wai’ to find out.”

“Forty shows to go,” you said, patting the package of medicine. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Don’t forget to take it after you eat. I’m going to see how long it’ll be before we can go. And maybe call the restaurant. Perhaps our order didn’t go through.”

“Perhaps,” Jungkook mumbled half-heartedly, too busy chewing. Then, as he was watching you stand up, he suddenly remembered what he had to do. Swallowing so abruptly that the cupcake nearly got stuck in his throat, he jumped to his feet. “Actually, wait a second. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

You turned around. “Yeah?”

He put the remaining half of his cupcake down and wiped his hands against each other to get rid of the crumbs.

“So, uh,” he began, wiping his mouth, too—more because of a nervous tick than any other reason. “Kihyun and Chloé’s wedding is the day after tomorrow.”

Your earlier conversation with Sid flashed through your mind and you felt dread gather on the floor of your stomach.

“I know,” you said slowly. “In Paris.”

“Yeah. I was—I mean, I know we both already said we wouldn’t go,” Jungkook continued. Unconsciously, you reached for the ring on your index finger and spun it around several times. “But I actually called Kihyun yesterday, and he said he’d love it if we came.”

You didn’t even notice the implication that he wouldn’t go to the wedding alone, that the two of you would go together. You were too focused on the fact that this was exactly what you were afraid of: not only did Jungkook plan this exactly like Sid had said he would, but he was, clearly, already taking action to make this plan come true.

“And, uh, Chloé didn’t mind?” you asked.

“No, they’re both very cool about it,” he said, proud—you weren’t sure of what: of his last-minute change of plans, or of your friends, who tolerated these changes. “So, anyway, I was thinking, why don’t you and I take a de-tour to Paris after our show in Warsaw? We’ll catch up again with everyone else in Berlin, and go back on the road.”

Now you noticed.

You cleared your throat, then repeated, “you and I?”

He nodded his head once, less certain. “Yeah.”

“Well...” You tucked your lips in and lifted your eyebrows. Your eyes concentrated on the loose tile on the floor by your feet. “I can’t believe Sid warned me about this, and I thought he was just being annoying on purpose.”

You’d mumbled this in a way that probably wasn’t meant for him to hear, yet Jungkook had never heard anything clearer.

Completely stunned, he tried, “Sid—he, uh… he warned you about this?”

“Yeah.” You sighed, unsure if you should have felt grateful to Sid for letting you know of this in advance—it was hard to imagine him ever doing anything that wasn’t for his own benefit. “Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with someone?”

Jungkook was fairly certain he gasped and not at all certain if the buzzing in his ear was tinnitus or if someone was really screaming in the distance.

“I didn’t tell—um,” he paused, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. You watched this obvious display of his dislike for the turn of conversation.

After a heavy minute—that the two of you stayed frozen as if someone had paused the scene, he asked, “what exactly did Sid say to you?”

“That you were in a relationship with someone, and they broke up with you before the tour started,” you recapped patiently. It was just the two of you in this corner of the room, so no one could have overheard, but you still lowered your voice just in case.

“Okay,” Jungkook said, his eyes still closed.

“And that you only want to go to the wedding because your ex might be there,” you added.

“Mmhmm,” he half-hummed, half-squealed. “I see.”

Hopeful that Sid had, at least, exaggerated, or, perhaps, you misunderstood something, you asked, “any truth to that?”

Aware that there was virtually no right response here, because you’d think he was lying or hiding the truth from you again, Jungkook sighed. There had never been any relationship, of course. You were the only girlfriend he’d had.

Fucking Sid. The cheating bastard was trying to sabotage him.

“I—” he started to say, and then stopped. There might be a way out of this, after all.

Maybe he could use Sid’s lies and make them work. Instead of convincing you to catch up with old friends at the wedding—which could take a while, considering how set you tended to be when you made a decision; and the decision here was, obviously, declining the formal invitation to the wedding—he could convince you to help him with his love life. Either way, you’d come to Paris with him, and Sid wouldn’t have to know why.

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Yeah. It’s true.”

All the hopes you’d had deflated in bitter disappointment. You couldn’t tell if there was more to it, a different reason, perhaps, why this felt so disheartening to you, because you instinctively focused on what mattered more at the moment.

“Jungkook,” you said with a groan. “What the fuck? This is the stuff you tell me.”

Once again, he was doing something that he did not bother to inform you about—how many more times were you going to have to learn about his misadventures from social media?

“Yeah, but, you know,” he spoke even though he didn’t know what he was talking about, “we broke up, so I didn’t think it was important to tell you.”

“It is important if it’s going to interfere with the tour schedule,” you replied, and your frustration worried him.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said this. Perhaps he should have been honest – surely, you’d believe him if he told you Sid had lied.

Oh, but then he’d have to explain why Sid felt the need to lie to you. That fucking snake—

“It’s not going to interfere,” Jungkook tried again. “The wedding’s on my day off. That’s why I want to go.”

“And then what?” you asked, smacking your palms against your thighs – this got some looks from nearby crew members, but they were used to you arguing with Jungkook. Their interest in your conversation faded as soon as they saw that it was you two making noise. You continued hypothesizing, “let’s say you get back together. Are we bringing another person on tour? Or if you don’t get back together, then what?”

“Then,” he swallowed, “we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

You knew he’d say that, but you were still annoyed that he did.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” you admitted. You didn’t like how personal this was starting to get. Your role as his manager was somewhere in the distance now, yet you thought you had to say this, “I’ve never asked any of you guys to put your personal lives on hold for the sake of the band, but I’m giving you my honest opinion. I don’t think you should go to this wedding.”

“But that’s why I’m asking you to come with me,” Jungkook argued, his voice eager. It all made sense in his head – you’d have to agree to come now, you couldn’t have him go off by himself.

You sighed, then gave him the benefit of the doubt, “why? What difference would my being there make?”

“Well, for one, you’d warn me if I was about to make a mistake,” he said, finding himself very smart and quick on his feet.

“I’m warning you now,” you countered easily, and his face fell a little.

“Right,” he said, momentarily hesitating, but trying not to panic yet. “But I don’t think that’s a mistake. Not if there’s a chance I might—well, you know. Get back together with the love of my life.”

He felt the cringing somewhere deep in his own chest and he hoped it didn’t show on his face. It definitely showed on yours.

“Is that…” you faltered, closing your eyes. “Is that really going to happen?”

He watched the deliberate way you chose not to look at him as you asked this, and he wondered—very briefly, even reluctantly—if there was a different reason why this relationship that he was, allegedly, in, disturbed you.

It could just be wishful thinking on his part, he supposed. And it likely was.

“I-I mean, we will be at a wedding,” he said after a moment. “Romantic. So, why not?”

You could see his point—and, most horribly, reuniting with someone at a wedding seemed to make sense—but you had to make him reconsider this. He’d always been spontaneous. You had to get him to think with his head, not his instincts.

“Don’t you think,” you tried, “that people break up for a reason? Because I do.”

He took this personally, but he hoped it wasn’t obvious. At least, not in a way where you’d realise that he wasn’t at all concerned about his non-existent relationship with someone else. Because, of course, he was really concerned about his non-existent relationship with you.

“You… don’t believe in second chances?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said. Contrary to him, you didn’t need to think too much about this. “They’re only an opening for third and fourth chances.”

Swallowing, Jungkook tried to disagree, “well, not necessarily…”

“I don’t know about your situation,” you said bitterly, “because you’ve literally never mentioned this until now. So, I’m just saying what I think. And if you’re still going to do something stupid, then do you really need me there?”

“I do,” he said straight away.

“No—” you huffed, then tried again, putting it straight this time, “Jungkook, I’m not going there as your babysitter.”

“You’re not,” he agreed. “You’re going as my date.”

He had hoped he’d really done something by saying this – perhaps made your heart flutter? He even smiled as he said it, so sure that this would be what makes you change your mind.

But your face remained stoic as you shot back, “right. Because bringing a date would make it much easier for you to get back with your ex.”

Taking a moment to recuperate, Jungkook brought a hand over his hair, his fingers lingering at the ends of his wolf cut. Nothing was going well for him, it seemed, and he couldn’t help but remember Minjun’s earlier discomfort again.

He knew now that his arrogance of knowing you for so long had blinded him, and the reactions that he expected from you were merely reflections of his own. Of course, you wouldn’t go to Paris with him. He hadn’t given you a single good reason to go.

Nearing desperation, he said, “look, just… trust me? Let’s go there and see. Maybe it’ll be enough for me to see all these people that I used to know—that we both used to know—and I’ll change my mind.”

You were half-scoffing, half-yelling at this point, “you went from getting back together with the love of your life, to changing your mind in the span of two minutes! Don’t you think it’s a sign that you shouldn’t be even considering this?”

He exhaled sharply, frustrated.

Nothing. There was nothing else that he could say now.

He fired the last shot—the one he didn’t want to use, because he thought he was better than that. He knew now that he wasn’t, as he said, “I could go with Sid, Jude, and Minjun.”

This brought you two to a standstill: either you convinced him to forget about this and just stay on tour, even though you hadn’t been successful at that so far, or he got you to come to Paris with him, instead of his friends.

And he could see that you’d give in before you even said anything.

You knew he’d never come back in one piece if he left the tour right now for a one-day trip to Paris with his friends—if he’d come back at all.

Jungkook didn’t like how cunning he felt, though, as he watched you cross your arms and bite your lip, clearly disapproving of your impending defeat.

He wondered if it’d be any consolation if he admitted that this didn’t really feel like a win for him, either, even though just the fact that you’d come would mean he won the bet. He had still hoped you’d be more excited to do this with him.

Finally, after what felt like five whole minutes of silent battle as neither of you moved or looked at each other for longer than two consecutive seconds, you exhaled. It was a sigh of defeat, but not resignation.

“Fine,” you said. “If you must go, I’ll come with you. But you’re telling me everything about this relationship and why you think getting back together with this person is a good idea.”

“Sure,” he said, because he had to. He would come up with an excuse or a plausible enough story at his favourite time—later. “I’ll even book the train tickets to Paris myself.”

You didn’t think that was smart—the last time the two of you were planning a vacation together, he’d bought the tickets to and from Hawaii for the same night by accident—and you lifted your hand in immediate protest.

“Maybe I’ll—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he cut you off, grabbing his cupcake and his lozenges from the settee—to show you how responsible he was. Not enough to go to Paris with his friends, of course, but just enough for you to trust him. “I’ll take care of everything. You’ve done enough for me.”

chapter title credits: bring me the horizon, “in the dark”

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