#and be neighbors with a bear

[alfredosauce50]

Matt going missing in the wilderness for 7 days and when the search party finds him, he looks better than he did before. Like his skin is glowing and it’s like he just went on a spiritual retreat or some shit

[lovertm]

toast by eatingwithwinnie

[beartitled]

I speedrun those while the hype for the game is there

Warning, man covered in blood under the read more ‼️

The joke is cringe probably 💥 but I just find the idea of doubleganges completely not understanding human nature and concepts hilarious 💥💥

(P.S. also apparently “bloody” milkman is not a doubleganger canonically??? I always assumed he was, because only watched lets plays of the game and ppl always called D.D.D. on him. But on the wiki of the game it vaguely states that it is just the milk man💥 Which is omg??? Obviously ignoring it for the sake of funny, but damn if I understood correctly, this is such a cool sneaky detail that makes everyone automatically assume things)

[joyousjoyfuljoyness]

This is my childhood stuffed animal, Bear!

I'm a huge fan of Totoro and can imagine Bear frolicking with Totoro in the rain!

I'm now available to paint custom portraits of your favorite stuffed animal with a cool background!

[whereubeenloca]

Grilled Cheese

Part 8 of the Neighbor! Reader series: Table of contents

Summary: You and Carmy have dinner together.

Pairing: Carmy x Reader

Tags: Slow burn, Awkward

Word Count: 1592

Wanna be added to the tag list? Comment/ MSG me!

Tag List: 

@criesinlies @marchsfreakshow @leminjelly @amberpanda99 @johnmurphys-sass @j23r23 @areyoutheregoditsmecelia @nicksolemnlyswears @saik-k

It happened once.

And then, it happened again. 

And again, and again. 

Before you knew it, Carmy was coming over once a week for dinner. He usually took the lead, bringing fancy ingredients from the farmer’s market and doing preparation methods that involved equipment that looked like it belonged in a lab rather than a kitchen. Tonight, however, was your night. Tonight’s menu: Salmon, rice, and mixed veggies, simple enough. 

Carmy arrived early, a bottle of red wine in hand. He goes to help, but you quickly usher him to the table in the center of your small kitchen. 

He uncorks the wine while the food cooks. You sit next to Carmy, he presents the label to you before pouring a small amount into your glasses. 

“You know how to taste it?” Carmy asks. You try not to be insulted. 

“You swallow it…?” You ask back, inspecting the glass. He rolls his eyes.

“Har, har, you’re hilarious. There’s like- a process to it.” He picks up his glass and tilts it forward.

“First, you have to look at it. Make sure there’s nothing in it.” He explains. 

You copy the motion and look into your glass. He didn’t pour a lot, a small spot of red swirls at the bottom as you tilt the glass forward. The red liquid pools at the sides, a deep crimson in the center that becomes more translucent as it radiates towards the edges. It looks brighter than other wines you’ve had. 

“What, like poison?” 

“Like cork, Jesus Christ.” He laughs, lips quirked up into a smile. “Next step, swirl.” 

He gently swirls his glass, you do the same. 

“What does this do?” 

“Aerates it- wakes everything up. Then you smell…” He explains, bringing the glass to his nose. 

You copy, making a face at him from across the table. The kitchen is filled with the scent of lemon and garlic from the salmon, you tilt the glass forward and inhale. The wine smells sweeter than you expected, notes of cherry and raspberry sit at the top. You breathe in deeply as the warm undertones of clove shine through. 

“Finally, you sip and swish.” Carmy finishes, taking a small sip and swishing the wine in his mouth. 

You take a moment before humoring him, taking a small sip and sloshing it around your mouth. You squint your eyes and nod. The wine feels thick between your teeth as you swish. It doesn’t taste as sweet as it smells. Instead, it leads with a pleasant, earthy kick. Not too dry but not too sweet, the perfect wine to pair with a meal. 

“Yeah, that’s wine.” You say, finally. 

“You just don’t appreciate fine dining.” He smiles. 

“I just don’t appreciate bullshit.” You quip back before taking another sip. “What is this anyway?”

“Pinot noir, 2020, from France- none of that California shit.” He rattles off. You hum, nodding along. 

“I thought you drank white wine with fish.” You ask, topping off your glass. He shrugs. 

“You can. Salmon is a little different, though. It works with red or white.” He flicks the bottle, and the glass dings. “This is a really good one, though.” 

You hum in agreement, tracing your finger around the rim of the glass. You dip your finger down the side before settling onto the stem in a loose grasp. 

“You just have this sitting around?” You ask tentatively, bringing the glass to your lips.

“Like I’m gonna tell you.” He scoffs, leaning forward and picking up the bottle to refill his glass.

Your cheeks go pink at the idea of him buying wine specifically for tonight, something he thought would go with the food you made. 

“You really didn’t have to. It’s my night, you know.” You bite back a smile, tracing your index up and down the stem of the glass. 

“I can’t just show up empty-handed.” He smiles back. 

The wine warms your cheeks, or maybe it’s him- no, definitely the wine. A smile spreads across your face as your eyes roam up his arms. You look at the tattoos on his knuckles, you know he has more, you’ve seen them on his arms but you can’t help but wonder… nope not going there. Look somewhere else. Your eyes flick to his neck, then his face before you give up and decide to just look at your wine glass. 

“Still…” You trail off, pressing your lip into the rim of the glass.

He’s leaning closer now, forearms sprawled across the table. His eyes bore into yours as his fingers fiddle with the edge of the placemats in front of your seats. It’s quiet, you rack your brain for something else to say but draw a blank. His eyes bounce around your face and you feel the panic bubbling into your chest, you gulp down more wine to bide some time. The air suddenly feels thick and you take a deep breath to calm yourself. The smell of burning assaults your senses- shit, wait, burning? 

You stand suddenly, spinning around and opening the oven in one move. A plume of smoke billows out and the fire alarm follows behind. 

“Fuck-” You wince, fanning away some of the smoke and pulling out the trays. 

Carmy is on his feet, hands on your waist as he pulls you away from the oven and quickly shuts the door before turning it off. He moves through your apartment, opening the windows and fanning the alarm while you stay frozen in place. You lean over the food to inspect the damage. The veggies are burnt to a crisp and beyond unsalvageable. The salmon isn’t much better, a thick, black layer coats the top of each fillet and the inside is completely dried out. You attempt a bite, your shoulders slump at the chalky taste. Your rice cooker beeps- at least that’s okay. 

“Maybe we can still eat it?” He asks over your shoulder, picking the fork out of your hand. 

“No, no you don’t have to.” You shake your head as he pokes at the overcooked fish. 

He takes a bite and his face scrunches. You watch as he chews, brows tightly knit together as he forces it down. “It’s… good. Nice.” Carmy clears his throat before looking over to you. You smile at the gesture, shaking your head.

“Carmy, you really don’t have to. I know it tastes bad.” You sigh, slumping your shoulders and opening your fridge. 

“I don’t have a lot…” You click your tongue, scanning your fridge. He comes up behind you and peeks into the appliance. 

“Yeesh- I thought I was bad.” He sighs.

You make a face at him, and he holds up his hands. You roll your eyes and pull out a packet of Kraft singles.

—

Twenty minutes and half a bottle of wine later, dinner is finally ready. The two of you had retired to the living room, tucked into the couch as you finished your grilled cheese sandwiches. 

“I’m so sorry.” You frown, picking at the crust. 

Carmy rolls his eyes as he pours you another drink. “Stop apologizing, it happens.” 

“It was gonna be so good too.” You sigh, gulping down more wine. “I had this planned for like- a week. I grocery-shopped specifically for this.” 

“It smelled good.” He smiles, cheeks full of food. “Maybe we can give it another try next week.” 

You smile at that, electing to take another bite of your sandwich instead of talking. His knee presses into yours, and you don’t move away. It’s quiet. Things are usually quiet with Carmy. You usually hate that. 

“Maybe I’ll leave the cooking to you.” You say with your mouth full. 

You lean forward, set your empty plate onto the coffee table, and scoot closer on your way down. Carmy doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Once, when I was uh- staging, I was in charge of making family.” He starts, “The meal before service for all the staff, so the pressure was on, you know?”

You nod along, leaning into the plush of the couch. Heat radiates in the space between you, your body feels slack as the wine buzzes through your head. Carmy’s eyes bounce around as he speaks, only maintaining eye contact for a few moments before looking away. 

“And I wanted to impress these people so bad. So, I decided to do this roast thing, totally messed it up. The seasoning was bland, it was dry, texture wasn’t great- horrible first impression.” He laughs softly, shaking his head as he recounts the memory. 

Carmy’s body slots next to yours as he slings his arm over the back of the couch, an invitation to move closer. You take it. 

“What’d you do?” 

“Made an au jus, cut up some bread, and called them sandwiches.” 

His palm closes over your shoulder. He’s warm, you feel his heat seep into your arm through his chest. You hum in acknowledgement, head pressing into his shoulder. 

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” You whisper. 

“Maybe. Do you feel better?” He whispers back. 

“Eh.” 

He smiles at your flat remark. Your eyes dart to his lips as they quirk up. 

“What would make you feel better?” 

He’s so close you can feel his words against your skin. You take a beat, pulling back to look at him. Despite your heart pounding in your ears, your body is calm as your hand trails up his chest. You close the gap, lips grazing against his. Maybe it’s the wine, but you swear you feel him kiss you back. 

[rockabully]

biblically accurate francis mosses

[pespillo]

Tillman gets to the Grove and Capo dies

[a-roguish-gambit]

Was at a con this weekend, so I decided to draw all the mini mutants in kigurumi. Enjoy!

[www-sees-nothing]

The Eddsworld mood meter

Despite what it looks this didn't take me that much time (lies)

This is the original one btw:

I don't know who made the image so if any of you could kindly tell me I would be very thankful.

[bearotonin-international]

Apex predator, my ass. I’m going to pet the dog 🐻🐻‍❄️🐼

perhaps now is a good time for some responsible bear programming to remind everyone that as cute and cuddly as they may seem, bears are lethal apex predators and should absolutely be treated accordingly if ever encountered.

DO

NOT

PET

[jeffrrandell]

Some trans queer pride shit because I'm trans and queer

[ghouldtime]

I need more neighbor König getting protective over his little neighbor.

I do believe he can get very possessive, though I'm not sure that's the word I'm looking for. But he's lost so much, so many people in his unit and people he had once considered friends. He won't even visit his own mother because he's scared for her safety. Maybe an enemy finds out some way some how about her and takes her as leverage. Now she gets to see colonel konig with his gear and mask and barking orders and not the sweet man she's come to know. How would he react or feel?

Ofc when she realizes it's just him and throws her arms around him

I'm sorry but I'm answering this because this doesn't fall under my characterization of him 😭 I can do the last part maybe one day when I'm not sick and have planned everything out in my mind THOROUGHLY

I know you meant no harm by this either!! This is just a bit of a rambly tangent to describe WHO my König is and why he's that way.

(Also stating that reader in neighbor isn't explicitly a she nor are they little in the same way. I write gender neutral for a reason! They're a grown adult)

Like I know it's just an imagine and possible scenario but for me I just don't really see it happening unless quite literally EVERYTHING went wrong. He's got plan A, plan B, plan C, D, and E. Always be prepared.

But it strikes me as unlikely in happening at all as he is a VERY cautious man and does what he can to remove his identity as König from his residential life. He keeps his gear under lock and key, he doesn't tell personal details of his work, he doesn't want to track ANY of that back. His field life isn't his personal life and he's intent on keeping that separated. Anything that could be used to identify him, he doesn't keep around or its hidden so NO ONE would suspect it.

It would take some absolute major intel and someone working within KorTac itself to follow him like that - even then, dude is a bit paranoid. He's got a security system for a reason, he doesn't wear his mask in public, his body is covered up usually by the long clothes he wears, he's not out socializing - he's just blending in. He's watching cars that pass, he usually keeps curtains drawn or has privacy film, he knows who drives what car and their schedules - so if it's off, he's picking it up.

The way he's protective is in his actions - that's WHY he won't tell details of his work, that's WHY he works hard to ensure personal life doesn't meddle with what his job is, that's WHY he has backup plans. That's WHY he makes sure they get a security system too, if they haven't had one already. That's why he makes sure they're trained in self defense and have at least some form of weapon at the ready, even though they ARE in a safe area. He's protective in the sense of "I'm doing what I can to prevent that aspect of my life from coming into yours" , he's protective in the sense of "I've seen what people are capable of, I've protected myself so I'm protecting you too as much as I can because you matter to me". He's protective in the sense he's caring, he's going out of his way to make sure you're safe.

But he's not going to be protective in the sense of "let me be with you constantly" or "who were you talking to???" or "Why didn't you invite me". Reader is a grown, independent adult and he's aware of that. He's respectful of that and knows they're capable of caring for themselves too. Being IN their life doesn't mean he IS their life. They both operate in their own lives and have their own interests and both, as such, need alone time and time to spend with others too. That's just how to have healthy relationships.

He's very independent himself and having another person around as his friend has taken a significant adjustment period. Honestly, it takes a long time for him to even register that he can go do things with them. He's so used to being on his own that it has to catch up.

And I'm going to say that my König is NEVER possessive towards people. Never. Possessive implies treating them like an object or piece of property, like they're something that's his alone. Possessive means great insecurity in his sense of relationships to the extent where he's manipulating them and monopolizing their lives for his gain.

He's not, because he's a well adjusted adult who has been to therapy throughout his life to manage his own insecurities, especially involving interpersonal relationships. Hell, when he STARTED to even get feelings for neighbor, he brought it up to said therapist just to be sure he's going down the right path. He's built a set of healthy behaviors to cope with unhealthy feelings that may arise.

He gets jealous, especially initially, but once again - he's a grown adult and is capable of handling his own insecurities in a productive way. Everyone is allowed to have more than one person in their lives and a healthy network of relationships matters.

Protective? Yes. Possessive? Absolutely not. He respects independence as he himself is that way. He wants to spend as much time as possible with his neighbor but he realizes that he too needs his own space and time to recharge, and he can't be singularly focused on one person alone. His primary concern is their safety, no matter what they do.

He's lost many comrades and brothers in arms but that's also bound to happen in his line of work. This might sound brutal, but he's desensitized to it to a degree. Losing someone is never easy, but it's expected. The blow will always hurt but when it's always a possibility, it never wanes. He's wary of it and aware of it, and losing any friends he made happened earlier on in the army before his private contracting days. It numbed him too it and set the precedent for his relationships with anyone and is why he's so guarded.

After then, he's not really had many friends. Not that he had many to begin with but he doesn't go out of his way to get close to others. Acquaintances and work buddies? Yes. But friends are a rarity as he's really rather unapproachable. He's there to do his job, he's there to take people down and get paid, he's wary of getting close to ANYONE knowing they can be taken at any moment. He'll work with them, he'll know them, he'll be proud of them - but making friends and forming personal relationships like that in a private military contracting company is a bad idea, when they can easily swap over to the other side if they're offered more pay. He's seen it happen, he knows it's a real possibility.

That's why he picks any personal relationships closely and takes eons to warm up. His social anxiety, as well managed as it is, doesn't make it any easier. He knows what can happen, so he prepares as best as he can. Which INCLUDES being protective and prepared, and planning accordingly. If he's letting anyone into his life, he's already got a game plan for what he'll do.

And no, he DOES visit his mother, as I've stated! As much as his work allows and as much as possible, he does visit. He just doesn't live with or near her. He can easily visit throughout the year when his schedule allows and its sporadic, with no rhyme or reason. He doesn't take repeating cars, he doesn't do anything in a pattern that can be tracked. He's also made sure she's secure in her home too so it's unlikely things will happen, but he won't flat out not communicate with her and not see her at all. He's just smart and careful about it! He can't bare to never see her again.

I'm sorry but my König just doesn't fall under how most people portray him or see him. He's just a guy with his own personal issues. And like the proper guy that he is, he manages them and knows its his responsibility to do such. He's extensively gone to therapy, he's worked on himself, he knows where he stands.

Sure, he's still prone to jealousy and a touch of paranoia, but that doesn't mean he lacks the skills to work through them. He communicates like an adult with whatever he's feeling. Expressing it can be hard but he DOES get it out there and he also heavily respects reader's own autonomy. They're an adult, so is he. He'll protect them and do what he can, he'll care about them, but he will never seek to control them or treat them like something for only HIM to have. He's not and will never be a "they're MINE and NO ONE touches what's mine" - that's just not him to me. I don't write him as a big, broody dommy guy who is growling every sentence or can't handle others talking to someone he likes.

To me, he's just a dude. An introverted guy who likes to sew ridiculous pillows and tend to his garden who is happy in the home he made for himself. He's comfortable with who he is and where he stands. He can communicate properly, knows how to respect boundaries, and likes seeing others who matter to him happy in their lives as they establish a supportive network. Just because he isn't always with them or going with them doesn't mean they can't take care of themselves or he HAS to be there. He's not some ultra possessive dude because he has healthy understandings of boundaries and knows the world doesn't revolve around him and his wants (also he wouldn't WANT them to depend on him and him alone when its very possible he too will die on the field one day). He's not always going to look over your shoulder or instantly treat any other person as a threat.

He's seasoned with the things he's seen and is wary enough to be protective and to do what he knows to prevent what he's seen happen. He's cautious, he's considerate, he's caring - and he's not a cunt about it. Really, he's just perceptive and accepts what can happen so he tries to set up anyone in his life for success to avoid what he's seen and to keep them from harm. He can't always be there, he knows he can't, so ensuring that those around him who he DOES care about have a proper, healthy network of friends around for support and have a game plan for if shit hits the fan (as well as a system to enact it) is his way of showing he cares and can always be with them and help, even if he's long gone or buried six feet under.

[vampyriclykoi]

whatever go my theotto

[beartitled]

[tigertan]

neighborly favors and chicago cigarettes.

uhh late to the bear party but eat up anyway .

probably part one of a slow burn fic im writing .. lmk if the public wants more :3 CONTEXT } you recently moved to chicago with the help of your friend syndey, who's boss-slash-friend-slash-business partner had an open apartment across from him. [word count ; 4k] [ mentions of alchohol, cigarettes, cursing. ]

;; all fluff. awkward first meetings. a lot of fuckin' tension and shared cigarettes.

the blackened mac and cheese in the pot bubbles vengefully on the stovetop and you curse it right back with a hissed out, “fuuuck.”

you’d left the stove on for a bit too long when you went to hop into the shower. as a result your mac and cheese became charcoal black and smoking. it’s a wonder how the fire alarm didn’t go off as you grab the handle with a stained rag and toss it into the sink. 

the hot pot emits a dying hiss as it hits the water, and red whines from under the couch. “yeah, i know.” you respond to him, standing square in the kitchen and staring at the pot of your former dinner. “that was the last box too, shit.” you groan, finally stepping forward to peer over the sink edge and now you were staring at the guttering pasta and dairy mixture with furrowed brows. “fuck.” you say once more. instead of red’s usual whine in response your phone buzzes on the countertop and you received a text from sydney. she’s down by the bear if you wanted to stop by and maybe grab dinner with her and some of the staff since closing is in 30 minutes? you respond to her with a swift hell yeah. you didn’t dress up much. neat white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. afterall, the bear was a walking distance of four to five minutes. and you throw on a black puffer jacket, for chicago wasn’t christened the windy city for nothing. again, an entire scene change from the warm, near stagnant winds of southern california.

leaving red in the bedroom as it’s way past his bedtime, you grab your phone, wallet, and keys before stuffing your hands in your pockets and stepping out. but as you do there’s a rustling of paper against polyester and a crumpled sheet inside your left pocket. you already know what it is before pulling it out and every fiber in you wants to throw it away. it’s a photo roll— from last winter— of you and your ex-boyfriend, lucas. you sigh, stuffing your bottom lip between your teeth as you stare at the once over the moon you and him. it seemed so long ago, before he started drinking. you clench your jaw. you’d moped around enough in the past three months. this was a fresh start that everyone said you’d deserved, and it would not be ruined by him. nothing would ever be ruined by him again. a spike of anger wedges between your ribs, familiar and fucking ugly. you heave your chest once, exhaling it out along with the paper roll, tossing it to the floor. you jet down the stairs two at a time and step into the windy streets of the windy city, smelling the air. it smelled of petrol and cigarettes, but you didn’t outright hate it. it smelled like l.a. but then again, every big city probably smelled like gas and smoke.

the walk was quicker than you expected, as you strode down the street, you took in the street signs and flashing lights and other lone passerby who shared the sidewalk with you. a peaceful time of stressful pacing, for many a person walking the streets so late at night. 

the bear was an elegant place, with a contemporary touch to the furnishings and finishings that you could see from the outside itself. you stepped inside, warm smells of food filling your nostrils and teasing your tastebuds.  

it was beautiful, the ambiance had an aura that screamed both family and stress. but such was to be expected from a place that was aiming for a michelin star. you spotted where staff filtered in and out from the front of house and back of house and was beginning to make a line towards it when you were stopped by a very tall man— in his forties most likely— standing behind a lectern at the front who slid his hand between you and your goal. he wore a crisply pressed, all black suit and a buzz cut. “reservation ma’am,” he asked, a cocked brow as he took in your simple attire. you suddenly felt extremely self-conscious of your sweatpants and plain shirt; probably stained as well. “ah— well, i’m friends with sydney,” you reply, hoping it gets you past him. he doesn’t seem to be budged and you get nervous, even a little pissed from the way he’s looking at you. you’re a decent height, but he’s tall. that makes you shift on your feet. “i moved in next to her uh, friend-slash-buisness partner-slash-executive chef? does that— does that ring any bells?” you add on, shrugging. the big puffer you have on probably is not helping your case. “uh-huh.” he nods over another waitstaff, whispers in their ear and sends them off. you two then stand there for a bit, his blue eyes seeming staring directly into you and you shuffle a bit on your feet. you introduce yourself, guessing that maybe reducing the barrier of strangers would ease the tension of this encounter. telling him your name, you hold your hand out. he looks at it then back up to your face before taking it with a grip like iron. “richard. richie. nice to meet yo’.” “nice to meet you too, richie.” you nod shake his hand. at that moment the wait staff is back and whispers again in richie’s ear. he nods and they go back onto the floor and richie nods towards the back. “guess you’re free to go sweetheart.” he gives you a wink as you pass and you give him a scrunched up side eye. what a weirdo. the kitchen is fast. fast isn’t even the best way to describe it. just standing in the doorway had your palms itching to jump in and help, although you wouldn’t be much help, being a preschool teacher. a waiter was coming at you in long strides, an expensive dish in their hands and you immediately stepped to the side, not wanting to be the cause for someone missing their meal. you spot sydney, at the front of the line and constantly spewing out order after order after order, each one responding with a, “yes chef!” from the cooks in the kitchen. 

suddenly another chef bursts into the kitchen from the front and his pale brown hair is flying at the ends, although it looks like he’d tried to slick it back it obviously failed; his eyes are a striking blue and widened, the irises eating away the white sclera. but even though he seemed a tad shorter than you, he was pretty fuckin’ cute. that was, until, he opened his mouth and his voice climbed to a screaming spiel at sydney and anyone who was around, really. rounding the large table of food and preparation in the middle of the kitchen, he grabbed two trays and shoved them at the waitstaff. while you didn’t understand most of it, kitchen lingo was incredibly confusing— why was everyone chef? how do you know who was talking to who?— you could tell that he was practically bursting in anger, the bridge of his nose bunched up with the t-zone of his face. 

it was a sight really. a perhaps five seven man in a pressed white chef outfit screaming like all hell was breaking loose. maybe a little scary, but you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. from whatever dramas you’ve seen on chef life and the such— take marco pierre white, for example— head chefs were incredibly demanding, seemingly downright arrogant.

you didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, being a prime target for your un-chef-liness in the midst of a busybodied kitchen, so you ducked into what looked like an office, one wall plastered with a ceiling-to-floor bookshelf and a framed picture of a baseball stadium. hopefully you were safe in here. you sighed. 

but it turns out you weren’t, because that same short angry chef came barreling into the office area and stopped short when he spotted you, the scream dying on his tongue. there was the thick and familiar air of awkward tension and you fiddled with the material in your pockets, swallowing. “hello.” you break in and he blinks. his eyes are huge, you realize. “are you— are you going to yell at me too?” “uh. i’m– i’m sorry, wh—” he replies, brows furrowing as he looks you up and down.  “CARMY!” sydney followed in closely after the chef, cutting him off. she looked at you, doing a short double take before looking back at— carmy? “can you just— can you calm down? you’re scaring everyone again.” she sighed, obvious exasperation on her face. it flicked a switch in carmy and he turned to her, all the anger filling his features in an instant. “no syd, the fucking fish is cold again. we have a vip up there and the fish is cold and—” he was like a candle wick, you realized. exploding now and then in violent, flashing flames, only to get doused out with a simple thing or the other. 

this time it was sydney circling her heart with a closed fist. and he stuttered, swallowing harshly before doing the getsure back to her. “i’m sorry.” she says, “i was caught up again and it all got fucked. i’ll fix it.” unsure of what to do, you debated doing it too. but maybe that would be weird. so you instead shoved your hands deeper in your pocket and thinned your lips. “uh. sorry,” you shot a look to carmy. “should i go?” you asked sydney. “i thought you guys were uh. done so i like— came over here.” 

sydney chuckled lightly, though it sounded more tired than anything. “no, no you’re fine. it’s just the dinner rush. it’s dying out, the kitchen closes in like— fifteen minutes. i didn’t realize you’d get here so quickly.” “well, it’s like a five minute walk, so.” you explain. “i would’ve hung out with red,” you joke. sydney grins. “yeah, he would’ve liked that a lot more.” “okay, who is this?” carmy interjects, hands splayed in front of him as if he tried to physically stop the conversation between you and sydney. your friend nodded as if to say oh yeah, and gestured to you, telling carmy your name. “she’s the one who moved across from you. that’s why i asked you for that apartment information.” 

he just nods, then hands you another look before turning on his heel back into the kitchen. 

sydney watches him walk away and then turns to you. she shrugs in apology and you dismiss it with a wave. “i’m. so sorry. i genuinely thought you’d take longer. just… hang out in here, i guess.” you laugh and take a seat— gingerly— in the office chair. “yeah, i’ll just hang out in here.” sydney nods then jets back to the chaos that is the kitchen after flashing you another one of her signature smiles. thank goodness you’d downloaded that mind-numbing mobile app on the flight here.

-- you could hear the unwinding of the kitchen from the office. it was evident; the defeated hiss of fired pans falling into a sink, stoves clicking off, and the urgent yells of the staff had reduced to inaudible chatter. carmy walks back into the office, and he seemingly forgot you were there, from the way he stopped in his tracks and blinked at you. he was no longer in a chef uniform, eight sets of buttons across his chest were swapped out for a plain white t-shirt and black jeans that were too tight around his calves. the shirt also was fitted around his chest despite the bagginess it held around the rest of his frame. did he have a thing for too-tight clothes? you looked up, and immediately stood from the chair, apology written across your face. “ah. sorry. syd said i could wait in here after… all that.” “yeah, no no, it’s… it’s fine. i just need, uh,” he pointed to the jacket hanging on the seat of the chair. the one you’d been half sitting-slash-leaning on, and had noted mentally that it was a pretty ugly shade of brown. “oh. yeah.” you fumble the pickup, fumble the fucking delivery, but the jacket ends back in carmy’s hands and he slides it on. only then you realize he had tattoos. all over his arms.

you’d always wanted a tattoo, maybe one of red. you’d seen other dog obsessed people on tiktok get tattoos of their dog’s paws and noses. carmy’s ink peered out from his jacket, littering his left hand in numbers and other stray marks. you sort of stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do until he speaks, “are you um— you’re sydney’s friend?” he asks, blinking voraciously. you nod. “yeah. that’s me.” theres a bit of a chuckle to it, in the hopes of the labored tension between you two will dissipate.

unfortunately it doesn’t. 

you’d heard many things about this guy, everything but his name, surprisingly. sydney had raved about him being named the ‘best chef’ in the ‘best restaurant’ in america. in socal, with the budget you had, the best you’d get was souplantation. it’s a shame they shut down. 

maybe he should win an award for most awkward man ever, you thought with a bitter edge, swallowing hard. “are you going to the bar too?” you ask. he seems almost surprised you decided to continue to talk to him and he looks behind him then back to you in rapid succession. “oh. yeah. just for, for a few.” he replied. you nod back, and jump at this newfound opportunity. “how far is it?” “huh? oh, like, a ten minute drive.” carmy responds, taking out a rung of car keys from his left pocket. perfect. you think. “do you think—” you begin, on the path to ask him for a ride, maybe you’d break the awkward silence between you two and you’d be friends. but it never happened on account of sydney walking back into the office, changed into her large trench coat and grins at you as she calls your name. “you ready? we’ll take the subway,” she nods to the door, and waits as if you were to follow. you sigh internally. oh well. maybe he’d drink enough and they’d loosen up and you could ask him if his name was really carmy and why the hell he was so mad earlier. you side step carmy with a muttered, “excuse me”, and follow sydney out the back and around the corner and to the subway. —

the bar is quaint, some local pub with local teams and references plastered from wooden mahogany wall to wooden mahogany wall. it smells strongly of beer and grease, so thickly it lays gently on your tongue and makes you immensely hungry.

sydney walks to a table in the far right corner. a tall man and very short woman sit side by side, joking as the woman grins widely. a pudgy guy with a braid sits beside— great. richie is here too, you realize with sullen realization and swallow the sour bile in your throat. he just radiated a terribly immature aura. the other side of the table were four seats, the two on the right side filled by another tall man in a beanie and beside him sat carmy. you wonder in passing how he got here so fast. “sydney! you’re late,” richie booms, beer glass in his hand. the image is crude and you cringe by the slightest. sydney scoffs playfully, rolling her eyes. “shut the fuck up richie,” she retorts. you sit on the side next to carmy and sydney takes your right. he raises his hands in mock surrender, and passes two untouched beer glasses to you and sydney, you take it slowly. you hadn’t drank since— well, since you realized why lucas acted the way he did. so you held the beer glass between you hands on the table and watched the witty banter of the staff members unfold, so natural and so familial it felt warm and fuzzy— for lack of a better, less cheesy term— in the deepest parts of your heart.

but it was broken, momentarily, by carmy standing up in a bit of an abrupt manner and muttering something along the lines of “smoke break,” and you watch him leave with some sadness. he hadn’t talked much, during the whole show, whenever he did it was a sideish chuckle or a shut the fuck up to richie. a lot of people were saying that, you realized. the break let everyone take a hearty swig from their glasses, and the silence brought the attention to you. tina— the short woman with an underlying spanish accent— asked you where you were from. “california,” you replied. “it fucking sucks out here,” you joke, and feel a sense of social accomplishment when the staff laughed alongside you. it grants you that moment of courage for you to take a sip of ‘liquid courage’. you hadn’t drank in so long. you were never a heavyweight, but the long gap between your last taste of spirit let the alcohol in the drink go immediately to your head and opened the metaphorical floodgates of your surprisingly dirty mouth and quick whips that were always the highlight of your college party experience. 

“so why’d you move out here, then, sweetheart?” [“you can’t just call people sweetheart, richie,” sydney scolded almost subconsciously, but was brushed off by richie with a wave.] you held the beer glass in both your hands, a brow lifting with the side of your mouth in a half-disgusted-half-scorned look. “um. california’s too fucking expensive?” you offer in a ploy to change the subject but he shakes his head as he follows through with his question, staring at you. “don’t believe that.” he retorted almost immediately in between a swig of beer. you glared at him. “okay, fucko. i needed a new job.” “and what are you?” “... a preschool teacher.” “not with that mouth!” ebra interjected with gibelike laughter, the other members of the beef chiming in. you had to admit, that was true. you’d always had a bit of a sailors tongue, something your fellow teachers berated you on during your days as a TA. 

“okay, okay, yeah, i have a filthy fucking mouth, but i’m still a preschool teacher.” you shrug, taking a sip with a snarky smile. “okay, but preschool teacher pay is worse in illinois.” richie pressed you. he knew there was something, you knew he wanted it out of you, like the nosy fuckin’ bitch he was. “okay, but—” “come on, what is it really?” he interrupted you with a plaguey tone of voice that made your stomach curdle and your mouth twist in an annoyed grimace. “you fuck the wrong principal? buy the wrong drugs? bad fuckin’ boyfriend?” when your grip on the glass tightens, the beer sloshing the sides at the miniscule impact, richie knows he’s won. and like the loud mouth he is, he makes it known. “oh HO, so that’s your fucking pandora’s box. come on, what kind of asshole was he? the tight assed asshole? the—” 

he doesn’t get a chance to finish because you slam your beer glass down onto the honey-washed wooden table and it spills, getting your hand and the sleeve of your puffer damp. you glare daggers into richie, the familiar javelin of rage fitting in your chest almost familiarly. “do you fucking mind? ever hear of privacy, you washed up gossip whore?” you damn near snarl, shoving the chair back as you stand and cock your head to one side. the bar had quieted; curious, nosy bystanders had taken an interest in the sudden spike of aggression and noise that radiated from you. sydney gingerly tried to lay a hand on your arm, but you pulled away from her as the pressure fell on your bicep. you didn’t mean to snap at her, but as of that moment, you’d snap at anyone. you felt cornered, like a wild animal being poked through the bars of a cage by jeering children. the teeth in your jaw ground together, and you pushed the chair back further with your legs to untangle yourself from the situation, taking long, deliberate strides to the back door, the one carmy had gone through. shoving through the heavy metal door, it didn’t take you long to find carmy. he stood a few paces away from the door, under a flickering street lamp that flirted with various winged insects. it splayed over him, illuminating the chef in harsh yet complementary light.

he looks almost surprised you’re there, a cig pursed in his lips, the case in one hand with the lighter in the other. “uh. hey,” he nods to you. was it routine for these awkward silences to find a home between you two? you nod back, the flush in your cheeks hopefully falling out. then you nod to the cigarette case in his hands. “enough to share?”

–

you two stand; around a foot or two apart, cigarettes in your mouths. one looked up and the other looked down. the sky was shittily pretty, you noted. city pollution obstructed the sight of any stars, but the neon glows of various billboards and street signs rose into the air and tinged the edges of the purple-black canvas. 

you exhaled heavily, the smoke burning your nostrils on the way out. it’d been, what— two, three months?— since you’d “quit” smoking. it didn’t fit with the whole preschool teacher-esque you needed. but tonight was just getting worse and worse and you wanted to go bash your head against the brick alleyway until god herself would come down and take you away. “richie?” he speaks, and it startles you. the cig nearly falls from your mouth, but you take it away between your index and middle finger. you look back at him, blinking then nodding slowly. he nods back in acknowledgement. “what uh– what he’d do now?” “other than be a big fucking nosy bitch, nothing, really.” you reply, taking a long drag on the cigarette, the spike in your ribs chipping away with each wash of nicotine. 

carmy makes an o with his mouth and nods again. he looked like a bird, you realized. but not in a bad way, or anything. like a flighty falcon, the kind you saw on those nature rehabilitation shows on animal planet. you just needed to hold them the right way, maybe say the right cooing words. maybe find something in common if you did that right.  you give a slight look to him from the side. the cigarette was cushioned in his lips, and while they weren't very large, from here alone you could tell they were plush pink and soft, from curve it held around the butt of the cig.

“why’d you come out then?” he asks another question, snapping you out of your creepy lip-admiration. the fact that he was asking you more questions made you think this was either progression or unsettling, but it was hard to decide. you shrug in response, however. “i was hungry, actually. burned my mac and cheese.” there was another few moments of silence, filled only with the city life of chicago and your noisy exhale, blue gray smoke tendrils curling in the air.

“i could make you somethin’.” he offers, his voice nonchalant and passive, even though his big fuckin’ eyes stared at you like he was some lost puppy.

it was kind of endearing, actually. no one had ever cooked for you. why'd it make your chest tighten pleasingly?

you laugh. “sure. one day, when you can, neighborly favor of sorts if you’re into that.” you jest, unaware he was being serious. you take another lung filling puff of the cigarette, nicotine thick in your senses. “chicago cigarettes are strong,” you remark.

he nods. “like em’ better than the new york ones.”

you raise your brows in acknowledgement. he swallows some air, not for the cigarette, you realize as he begins to speak.

“i was, uh, being serious, by the way. i fucking hate mac and cheese.”

you grin, looking over at him, the dim glow of the cigarette hanging from your lip. “me too.”

...

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[whereubeenloca]

Cigarettes

Part 7 of the Neighbor! Reader series: Table of contents

Summary: You come home from a date, only to run into Carmy.

Pairing: Carmy x Reader

Tags: Slow burn, Awkward

Word Count: 958

Wanna be added to the tag list? Comment/ MSG me!

Tag List: @criesinlies @marchsfreakshow @leminjelly @amberpanda99 @johnmurphys-sass @j23r23 @areyoutheregoditsmecelia @nicksolemnlyswears @saik-k

This really wasn’t your scene, but there you were in a sports bar drinking a PBR while your date explains pool to you like you’re five. He grabs your hips like he didn’t just meet you an hour ago, you’re just barely drunk enough to let it slide. You pull back and sink two balls into the corner pocket.

“You’re good at this.” He whispers in your ear.

“Thanks.” You smile back politely as he lines up his next shot.

He seems nice enough, his Tinder profile matches up with his face at least. There’s no harm in being polite, and you know what? You’re kind of having fun. This is what you should be doing. Going out, meeting new people, not snooping around in you-know-who’s apartment. He misses the 8-ball by a hair, you take your turn and sink the shot.

“Y’ mind?” Your date asks as he places a cigarette between his lips.

You shake your head as you walk beside him. The warmth of the bar now replaced by a frigid Chicago evening, you tug your zipper up a little higher to cover the rest of your neck. 

“Go for it.” You respond.

He takes a drag, puffing out smoke upwind and into your face. You let it slide.

“Y’ wanna get out of here?” He asks softly. 

You mull it over for a moment, eh, why not?

After 30 minutes of pool, a 20-minute walk, and 10 minutes of ok-ish sex, you’re tucked into the back of an Uber and headed home. You fold your arms tight against your body as you beeline towards your building only to stop dead in your tracks at the sight of Carmy on the stoop. He looks up at you, a cigarette tucked between his lips.

“Hey.” His voice is soft, almost distant. His eyes flick over your form before coming back to your face. “Y’look nice.”

“Thanks.” You can’t help but blush as you look down at your outfit again.

 “Hot date?” He jokes, flicking on his lighter and cupping the flame.

“He wasn’t that hot.” You joke back, sitting next to him on the stoop.

He laughs a bit but it’s hollow. He must’ve just gotten home, hair gelled back, the white of his chef jacket peeks out from under his wool coat as he stares out into nothing. 

“You good?” You ask. He’s on the inhale so he takes a beat to respond.

“Yeah- yeah just… opening night.” His words leave with the smoke in his lungs.

“Oh shit. How’d it go?”

Carmy scrubs his hand down his face in place of a response, pinching the bridge of his nose and pressing his fingers into his forehead.

“Damn, the food not turn out?” You wince.

He shakes his head. “No, the food was perfect.” He whispers, bringing the cigarette back to his lips for another pull. 

You look at him for a moment trying to figure out if you misheard the quiver in his voice. 

“Something happen?” You ask tentatively, he prickles. 

He shakes his head again, flicking his thumb over his pinky finger so it makes a small click.  

“Don’t really wanna talk about it.” He murmurs into his palm. 

Your eyes meet his, glassy and unfocused. You take a chance and reach a hand onto his shoulder, attempting to comfort him. He doesn’t move away. 

“Okay.” You whisper back, rubbing circles into his shoulder blade.

Carmy leans into you, pressing his shoulder into yours. It’s awkward. You can’t help but focus on the contact point. The smell of smoke fills the air as silence hangs between you. It doesn’t bother you when it’s on him, the earthy scent of tobacco floods your senses before the notes of  tar do.

“My date wasn’t that good.” You say in an attempt to change the subject. 

“No?” 

You shake your head, leaning your arms onto your knees to look at him right. 

“He kept explaining pool, like- it’s pool, not rocket science.” 

Carmy cracks a smile and you soak it in. He blows his smoke away from you, a courteous move that unfortunately hides his face. 

“Free dinner at least.” He shrugs. 

You shake your head “Just the beer.”

He gives you a look and you give one back. 

“What? I’m efficient. I’m not gonna marry the guy” You defend, Carmy scoffs.

He flicks away the butt and slumps forward. He bounces his knee and flicks out his free hand in a repetitive motion, over and over. Your knee bumps his and he stops, looking into your eyes. 

“Sorry-” You say, pulling away. 

“I broke up with my girlfriend.” He blurts out finally. 

Your eyes widen as you digest the information. Sure, you guys were closer than before but you didn’t realize you were anywhere near that level. Carmy is fidgeting again, obviously uncomfortable at his confession. He picks at his fingernails, avoiding eye contact. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally respond, “That uh- that… sucks.” 

Great pep talk, very inspirational.

“Yeah. It’s sucky.” He rasps, tears in the back of his throat. 

Fuck, what do you even say to that? Silence hangs heavy in the air as he looks at anything but you. 

“You… uh… eat dinner yet?” You ask tentatively, leaning into his shoulder. 

Carmy kisses his teeth and shakes his head. 

“I was uh- gonna make something… If you wanna like, join… me.” You mumble, cocking your head towards the front door of your building. “Unless you wanna be alone-” 

“Sure.” His words overlap yours. 

Before you know it he’s standing, you mirror the action and dust yourself down. 

“Don’t expect anything fancy.” You murmur as you fiddle with your keys. 

“I think I’ll survive.” He smiles back, shutting the front door behind you both.