#i cleaned the brush and it looked like blood fr

[lavenoon]

So I dyed my hair! My bathroom looked like a battlefield, oops

@naffeclipse next time the hair gets dyed to match a fool the bathroom gets cleaned up before said fool gets home </3

*self insert Aster is not a girl (he/ she)

og detective au by sunnys-aesthetic!

[pbnbucks]

enemies to lovers Caitlin Clark fic?

word count : 1.4k

warnings : iowa caitlin, cussing, harassment?

summary : you worked for iowa wbb for 3 years as their photographer and you and caitlin have hated each other since you crossed paths when you accidentally spilt coffee on her and one night she ends up in your bed after a late night out.

song : Don’t Fall In Love With Me by Khalid || play dat shit !

your walking through the courtyard when you feel somebody’s finger tap your shoulder gaining your full divided attention when you turn around to see who it was your mood drops.

“even though i dont like you kate asked me to invite you to the bar with the team tonight.” caitlin says trying to throw as much shade she can keeping her evil promise that was to always hold her grudge against you.

you and caitlin’s freshman year you two met on the way to the girls basketball practice to take pictures like your boss told you to.

when you tried to open the door caitlin was trying to leave causing your non fresh cold batch of black coffee that you were holding on to all day to spill all over caitlins practice jersey.

“you sure its just kate who wants me to come clark?” you tease already preparing your shady conversation.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How we always end up, in the same place, at the same time.” she retorts trying to regain your attention as you tried to make your exit.

“It’s not funny, I know you’ve been stalking me. That’s how we always end up together.” you say giving her a cold shoulder as she blocks your failed exit from the conversation once again.

“Stalking? You? in your dreams.” she scoffs finally moving out the way turning her body watching your back as you walk away from her.

you walk through the glass doors entering the bar seeing the group of girls next to other groups of drunken horny college kids in all different areas of the bar.

you grab a spot next to kate and hannah the girls you were closest to on the team showering you in hugs as soon as you sit down.

caitlins gaze remained on you sending glares the second you maintained eye contact with her. her purposeful ways trying to get on your nerves failing as you refused to make a scene in front of the others.

a group of non sober college individuals walked by when one of them dropped there glass cup of beer on your arm as it made a tiny cut around your elbow.

the noise of the glass bear gains the teams attention as they all rush to see if your okay as kate grabs you pulling you up off the couch to get you away from the broken glass that surrounded the table.

���are you okay?” sydney asked you with worry in her voice as you brush her off to head to the family bathroom. you lock the door behind you grabbing paper towels to dry the small patch of blood.

your interrupted by the sound of loud hard knocks on the wooden bathroom door. you unlock it holding it shut for a second to regain consciousness when you unlock it to see caitlin standing there pushing herself in through the door.

“Come here, let me see the cut.” she states giving you no time to ask her, her needs to be there. you keep your distance shooing her off turning back to face the mirror continuing to clean the paper cut.

“No its not that big of a deal.” only for caitlin to snatch your arm “let. me. see.” she says looking closely at the minor injury studying the small cut intently.

“ill be right back” she says carefully freeing your arm from her grasp as she leaves keeping her promise to be quick as she returns with a pack of alcohol wipes.

“hold still. this might sting a little.” she coos grabbing your arm again this time much more careful, preparing the wipe running it along the cut as the feeling of the short amount of pain fades away.

“now be careful, you don’t want to hurt your good hand” she says referring to your photography hand. her words never failing to confuse you as she has never behaved like this before.

“Since when did you ever care about me?” you respond catching her off guard receiving a dirty look from her as she rolls her eyes at your question.

“are you seriously going to do this right now?” she says standing in front of your face now as she focuses her anger and compassion on you making you roll her eyes at her comment.

“because you never act like this, since when did you begin to care all of a sudden.” backing up your statement trying to prove your point to the brunette.

“Since fucking forever, you fucking idiot!” she says throwing off your ego and pride as her whole energy was off this night letting her passive side show.

“your drunk caitlin, you don’t know what your saying.” you saying refusing to believe her recent statement shoving her only to make her stumble back a few steps as she was much stronger then you.

“…This is why I knew I shouldn’t have gotten close to you.” she says cornering you between the wall as shes inching towards your face intimidating you by the second.

“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” she breaks silence yet again as her eyes begin to visibly get watery but she refuses to loose eye contact with you.

“i bet you say that to every girl you pick up clark.” you ignore her desperate pleas for you to get her point across.

“Shut up before I-” you cut her off making sure your shouts are louder then hers topping hers not accepting defeat in the arguement.

“Before you what, huh? say it. Let me see if you can finish that sent-” your cut off by her coaxing your lips with hers startling you before you ease into the kiss.

you taste the alcohol on her tongue as her lips mix between yours. you both sit there for a second taking in each others presence before breaking the kiss.

“let me take you to your dorm” caitlin begs as her hands rest on your cheeks sneaking her arm around to your back pocket grabbing your keys from you.

“im driving, you cant so technically im taking you to my dorm” you say snatching the keys back from her hands. as you leave the bathroom after being there for at least 20 minutes catching some peoples eyes.

you and caitlin both get in the car with tensions still running high as she carefully places her hand on your thigh keeping her eyes on you studying your reaction.

your face grows red as a tiny smile forms on your face as you switch your eyes between her and the road.

“did you mean everything you said tonight” you said throwing yourself down on your already messy bed that cradled you in the tiring mornings.

“of course i did and you know that” she reply’s mad you would ask her a question like that as she has always adored you and made her weird ways trying to show it.

“alright im going to head back to my dorm” she said as she took your silence as a response turning around only for you to jump back on to your feet stopping her from exiting.

“no.” you plea as your body snaps up as your see her trying to walk away almost making you jump out of your skin from the sight.

“what do you mean no?” her voice almost silent regretting her comment instantly as she was worried you would change your mind.

“i want you to spend the night….” you say being returned with sharp awkward silence as a look of worry plastered across her face.

“in my bed with me.” you continue trying to reason to her why its a good idea as you pull the covers over you waiting for her to lay next to you.

“what, am i not allowed to look at you?” she coaxed as you got on her for stealing glances at you as you slept peacefully making her smile at the silly comment.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile clark.” now resting on your side to return the stares as your eyes where fixated on her plump lips and her euphoric smile.

“this sounds like you’re flirting with me.” she smirks teasing you before passionately throwing herself on your stomach placing kisses along your tender collarbone.

“...i have been trying to do that for three years now.” you playfully hit her thigh before taking her beauty in giving her another kiss except this time was different from last nights, it was long and meaningful.

[borathae]

Chapter 36

idk feeling soo content cuz last chapter ended fluffy and she is cleaning the library (i lobe her and she is my wifey) and the warning is slightly scary haha 😃👀

“Again, it kind of is”, he answers you HE IS SUCH A LIL SHIT SCARING HER FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES

“I’d love to see you try. Your uppercut is weak.” VIOLENCE

WAIT HIS SWEATER??? RAAAAAAH HE SAID SHE LOOKS GOOD IN IT AND CAN TAKE IT *jumps out the window

he really said you want it? here take it (irl tae's power lol)

“what’s gotten into you?” fr did he drink some love potion or something lol

I’m entirely yours for the rest of the evening SOMEBODY ARREST THIS MAN HE JUST KILLED ME

He seems….sad, OH NO UM CLEAN THE CEILING

YOU CANT FLY man that sucks

He looked for a book about plants for her? OMG HE READ FOR HER He wanted to be prepared so he could sound intelligent and professional and maybe also impress you or whatever. UWUW AAH “Just some books”, he says, scratching the side of his neck. shy baby What did he look up? um smut SORRY I HAD TO

their banter aaah i love it so cute NO WE DONT HATE U WHO SAID THAT

Yoongi seems confused at first, moving his head away until your fingers finally brush against him. Like a cat that doesn’t know if it wants to be petted or not.

what do you want me to say? Yeah, I care about it.” YES OLD SOFT KITTY ADMITTED IT

HE PURRED FUCK IM LEAVING IDK WHERE BUT IM GOING TO WALK THROUGH WALLS

“I didn’t purr! Shut up, I’m not a bat. This is racism against vampires”

This awful sorcerer cursed you to uncontrollable violence and blood thirst, but you broke that curse. Are you even aware of what you achieved? What you did? You wrote your own destiny, Yoongi. And honestly you always speak of redemption, but in my eyes you have redeemed yourself a long time ago.” namjoon stop cutting onions, i love this para

you think that’s something you can handle?” STOP IM BLUSHING AAAH like her compliments are making me giggle like my crush smiled at me hhahaah

“okay…thank you”, he says nonchalantly. oh my tsundere kitty i love you

"But they’re honest”, he sounds offended as if he doesn’t want them to be cheesy.  did i tell you i love yoongi? (definitely not) and that i love the way you write him? (nope never)

“Is it another prison?” He looks saddened for a moment. “Sorry, dark humour. POOKIE NOT THE TIME 😭😭

“That’s so weird, I was never here before.” how big is this house man? narnia? who cleans it?? the cleaner needs a raise we got the keys? im so emotional dont touch me

TAER IS GETTING OUT YES MY LOV EMY OOOKIE MY BOY MY HEART AAH

oh boy this is going to end bad huh yoongi, at one point, she has to leave and go to university soo... oh thank god its winter break. imagine she has a bestie and she just texts, "guess what happened during the break", "you probably rot in your bed like the potato you are" "well, im now dating 3 vampires???" "BITCH WTF" "i may or may not have been kidnapped too??"

TAE OH TAE OH TAE MY HEART IS HURTING FR WHAT DID YOU ADD HERE SIBI

yoongi wtf man

oh no yoongi is already upset and tae provoked yeah jimin my baby 😭😭 we didnt get to give him a chance 😭

ok yoongi is right about that, but tae regretted it and felt real for her

YOONGI STOP HURTING HIM PLEASE waht are u doing no no

yoongi idk waht to say

“Again, it kind of is”, he answers you HE IS SUCH A LIL SHIT SCARING HER FOR SHITS AND GIGGLES

I love him he is just a goof 😔

WAIT HIS SWEATER??? RAAAAAAH HE SAID SHE LOOKS GOOD IN IT AND CAN TAKE IT *jumps out the window

He is my pookie <3

“what’s gotten into you?” fr did he drink some love potion or something lol

he is just in loooveee

I’m entirely yours for the rest of the evening SOMEBODY ARREST THIS MAN HE JUST KILLED ME

I NEED HIM VIOLENTLY

He looked for a book about plants for her? OMG HE READ FOR HER He wanted to be prepared so he could sound intelligent and professional and maybe also impress you or whatever. UWUW AAH “Just some books”, he says, scratching the side of his neck. shy baby What did he look up? um smut SORRY I HAD TO

I'm so sad :( he loves her so much :(

their banter aaah i love it so cute NO WE DONT HATE U WHO SAID THAT

I LOVE THEIR BANTER SO MUCH!!!

you think that’s something you can handle?” STOP IM BLUSHING AAAH like her compliments are making me giggle like my crush smiled at me hhahaah

heheheh she is so cute heheheh

“okay…thank you”, he says nonchalantly. oh my tsundere kitty i love you

i love him so MUCH!!!

"But they’re honest”, he sounds offended as if he doesn’t want them to be cheesy.  did i tell you i love yoongi? (definitely not) and that i love the way you write him? (nope never)

i love him so so so so so so much!!! my beloved boongie <3

TAE OH TAE OH TAE MY HEART IS HURTING FR WHAT DID YOU ADD HERE SIBI

:)

hahah the downfall at the end is so funny to me JFJADJF

[queer-whatchamacallit]

I just rewatched 1x02 of The Bear, and took notes to get deeper into these fucked up silly guy’s heads, so here we go!!

Tw: workplace abuse, intentional emeto

The staff at EMP wear white tops, black pants, and a blue apron which Carm continued after his switch to The Beef

With both the “why?” bit and “Do you like working with fucking idiots?” “I’ll do better,” the only accepted response is that a mistake was made and it was their fault

“Do you like working with fucking idiots?” “I’ll do better.” “Say ‘yes Chef’” both serve to paint Carm as a fucking idiot and to show Chef as always deserving his respect

There’s a constant flip flop between absolutely tearing Carm to shreds and making him feel like dirt beneath Chef’s shoe for the problem that occurred and making sure he’s keeping work flowing at a rate and quality that’s acceptable to Chef (which it never will be)

I’m sure you’ve seen the “Chef saying ‘you should be dead’ was off screen so you can’t tell if it was actually Chef or if that was in Carmy’s head,” and I lean more toward the latter. I know it’s plausible (which is really fucked up), but I just like the narrative possibilities for Carm starting to hear Chef’s voice. It sounds different too. It’s whispered, but Chef had to be careful about who heard that one more than everything else, so idk

His eyes are kinda hazy through the whole thing, and when it’s over, he stalls for a second before blinking hard and brushing it off. He still sounds kind of off-kilter after though.

There’s a time skip I never noticed before where one moment, he’s desperately calling hands, and the next, they’re cleaning up after service. Maybe unintentional but maybe slipping in a little of that s1 unreality and showing that Carmy misses time sometimes

Marcus just loves messing with Richie, first his cologne and second “DeVry, we’re serious about success!!” and he’s so real for that

SYDNEY: [mocking laughter] <333

Carm doesn’t actually clean the floors with a toothbrush, he had a rag which feels… weird. His floor-cleaning toothbrush is such a staple in fics

He walks to and from work

On his coffee table, he has an ash tray, a mason jar of water, and some clutter I couldn’t make out

“YOU KILLED MICHAEL” on the order tickets is an interesting one. I’d probably tie this most easily to the train of thought that he wasn’t there, but he could have helped, and if he never left, Michael would still be alive. Maybe he thinks the pressure of having to deal with him as a kid contributed or that his success as a high end chef made Mike feel like shit by comparison, but idk, there’s a lot of ways you could go here

“That’s um… a lot of words.” We have a work day here and reading about managing his business is not fast and exciting and Carmy is a little blood-sniffing shark, if he stops moving, he’ll die. Fr kinda love him for this but am pissed at him for just shoving it back to Syd

“Is my hair on fire?” I had to look up a definition, but Carmy’s starting to wonder if he’s just totally fucked and if The Beef can make it out of this. It’s interesting to see him so unsure of whether he’s going to make it. “Not yet, no, but you need help,” just feels nice. It’s both sugar-coated and completely accurate

I love Ebra for just listening to T rant about how much she hates Syd, and later, he just fuckin rocks it when Syd calls orders out. Ebra’s one of my favs <33

Syd with her journal shows the first signs of her impatience and Richie interrupting her with the inspector I think finally flipped the switch of her just absolutely despising him

Them getting a C and seeing everyone go through the 5 stages of grief is so funny omg

Syd breaking up fights and stubborn idiot-proofing by getting the right caulk was so hot girl of her

“Fak, fix that fuckin sound.” I want to know what made the difference between this and the “I don’t mind it” alarm during the s2 Cicero meeting

“He’s a baby. Don’t get Carmen into trouble, y’know? I was a baby too once, Sydney. Nobody gave a fuck.” This is pretty self explanatory, but… yeah ouch

Carm’s willing to vent to Jimmy about work with the slightest encouragement. Might point to them having a closer relationship, or maybe Carm would vent about work to whoever will listen

“I asked you where you’ve been.” So he hasn’t seen Cicero or his mom since moving back, and I feel like him and Nat had at least texted or called before 1x01 but probably not seen each other, could be wrong on that though. So he just dove headfirst into the restaurant the second he got back to Chicago, and hasn’t even talked to the family he’s been self-isolating from for the past 5 years

I love Carm’s phone password being 11111

Edit: I’m watching this ep yet again, and the flowers on the table in the scene with Pete are the same from his cooking show dream in 1x08!!! Maybe tying in that he feels like his slow breakdown is being seen by everyone he knows, not just those connected just by cooking. Or maybe it’s connecting his conversation with Sugar to how he was also struggling especially hard at the time of the dream, but then, I feel like it would be in Sugar’s kitchen when they’re talking about it. Idk but I love this detail a lot

Sugar doesn’t seem to treat Pete super great :’(. She kinda pushes him away after he hands her the phone, and he instantly assumes that she’s telling him to shut the fuck up. She is the sibling trying hardest to change and be healthier, but she did indeed inherit that Berzatto temper and fast pace to the point of rudeness

Carm’s “Did you hear I apologized? :D” is so funny to me

Carm will vent to Sugar when something happens that’s more in the mental side of things. He wants to be casual about it, doesn’t want to think too hard into how deeply fucked he is, but he needed to talk to someone about almost setting his apartment on fire

Apparently he sleep cooks “sometimes,” and that wasn’t the only time

We know that the breathing difficulties started “sometime in New York maybe?” and I feel like crying out of nowhere is a little more recent, but the nightmares could’ve started at any time, or maybe he was saying New York for all 3, who knows

“I don’t want to bother you.” When considering who to tell what, he does consider his perceived burden on the other person

“I was throwing up every day before work… kinda dug it.” This quote has naturally festered in my brain for the past couple months because it says so much about him. He experiences stress nausea and maybe it became an intentional way of gaining control and consistency in an environment that fought so hard to make him feel faceless and powerless. It shows how far he is willing to go for this. He’ll do whatever it takes, including making himself vomit from anxiety. In his mind, it helps him become a better chef. Could also illustrate his likely connection between perfection and suffering. He kinda dug it. He felt like that self-destruction was necessary for him to excel. I could go on all day

He stayed there because “People loved the food. It felt good.” Here’s his stated motivation. His actual motivation is some messed up combination of that and lot of stuff he talks about in his Al-Anon speech: the excitement of being that good at something for once, just keeping going, hoping that one day, Mikey would acknowledge how good he was at it. People loving the food was confirmation that he was really fucking good at this. More than anything though, he wanted Mike to love the food

When the health inspector reveals that a pack of cigarettes was left by the stove, it doesn’t cross his mind that it was him. He was the CDC at EMP, he wouldn’t make a mistake like that, but he did, and now, this is just reinforcing how fucked everything’s gotten, especially himself. He’s just the type of person who leaves cigarettes by stovetops now

And yeah, that’s 1x02 - Hands all good and done!! Again, I don’t know how far I’ll get with these, but they’re very fun

Edit thanks to Pinterest scrolling: in Carm’s nightmare, the dates on the tickets are set before and after Mike’s death

[the-kr8tor]

yeah my cats....walked all over my keyboard...and then my finger slipped and I pressed send.. Daily Hobie HC! One day I'll tell what happened to cause hobie not to be allowed in the kitchen near fire without supervision...not this time though Hobie could practically smell your cramps before they hit you like a brick, causing you to curl up on the couch with your fingers digging into the heatpack that he had warmed up for you. After cradling you close and rubbing your back, you eventually dozed off, letting Hobie set you down to nap on the couch while he moved to the kitchen. He kept his eye on you as he brought out the ingredients, briefly skimming over a chocolate chip recipe that came on the back of the packaged ingredients. Hobie hadn't had cookies in a while, usually maintaining a blood diet, but sometimes he just ate some sweet foods for the taste of it, as it was unable to contribute to actually filling him up. He was baking them for you, as a surprise for when you wake up, but he was sure you wouldn't mind him snatching one or two from you. As he slowly stirred up the batter, occasionally popping a chocolate chip into his mouth to savour the chocolate-y sweetness, eventually it came to when he was able to pour them in from the packet. Hobie was quite generous with the amount of chocolate chips, practically covering the surface area of the batter, before beginning to churn the mixture once more. Letting the batter sit for a moment, Hobie took out a tray and lined it with baking paper, before scooping out decent-sized balls of batter and dropping them onto the tray, trying to make sure they were all evenly spaced out. With the left over batter, Hobie unraveled some clingwrap and put it over, putting the large bowl aside with the spatula inside, just in case you wanted to lick the leftovers, or just eat the batter. He looked over the recipe carefully, double-checking he was pre-heating the oven correctly. Once he was able to determine that it was preheated properly, he slipped in the tray, closing the oven and throwing off the mitts. Hobie stayed as quiet as possible with cleaning up his mess, not wanting to wake you up knowing you needed rest. After all, you were bleeding against your will, and he was definitely aware of it. The moment he was done with cleaning up the kitchen, Hobie shapeshifted into his other form as a bat, flying over to you and draping himself over your chest, nuzzling himself under your limp hand as he laid against you. Hobie's ears twitched as he heard the alarm he had set go off. He wriggled his way (sadly) out of your hand, flying over and shutting up the alarm by kicking it with his bat feet. Hobie shifted back in front of the oven, slipping the mitts onto his hands and closing his eyes in response to the blast of heat emitting from the oven. He took out the tray, setting it on the counter to see what he'd done. Closing the oven door, Hobie was satisfied with his skills, with the cookies looking nice and crispy, with the chocolate chips half-way between solid and melted. Hobie moved the cookies onto a plate when they were cool to touch, setting it on the coffee table and stirring you up gently, holding the batch of cookies near you so you would see that he didn't wake you up just to tease you. He kisses you tenderly on the forehead as you took one and bit into it, taking one cookie for himself to see how well he had done, biting into it. Admittedly, the cookies were perfect. Warm, crispy on the outside, and perfectly done chocolate goo on the inside. He holds you close with an arm around your shoulders as you two munch on the cookies, with you leaning against him, your knee brushing up against his own. -🐦‍⬛

Hmmm 🤨 that's sus

Don't blame the cats!!

Daily Hobie HC!!

Lmao i would like to hear it someday

R is just like me fr

I could go for some warm cookies rn 🤤

Bruh I raised my brow when I read 'blood diet' and went "okay hobie I won't judge" until I realised that this is vampire! Hobie lmaoooooo 🤣

GASP HOBAT WITH AN APRON WHILE BAKING COOKIES!!!!

Ngl my mouth watered at the description of those cookies I want some so bad

[carmenized-onions]

Zero Pulse. | Oven Hotfix

logline; It's Friday.

[!!!] series history, this is the tenth; You're gonna need to check to make sure you're caught up babe because there's a LOT of context behind this one.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. Wish you could sort by emotions, on playlists, but this is really a very good playlist i think.

portion; 12.5k Jesus Christ, new record.

possible allergies; Incredibly excessive hateful self-image, very frivolous way of talking about mental illness/death/Mikey, I'd say just like ? stress? BLOOD ALSO !! minor cut dw

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd into oblivion this round, mb)

said it before i'll say it again, this is the new best and longest chapter i've written-- of all time now. and im being so fr if i don't get actually like harassed in my inbox with the amount of people chattering about this i will WALK INTO THE PIER BITCH

It’s Friday morning, and today is the first day in possibly years that Carmen has actually snoozed his alarm. Opting to sleep in for an extra hour, despite how uncomfortable his whole body is where it lays. He’s trying to avoid waking up today— Because he knows, he can tell: Today is just not going to be his day, today. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, today— Not even—

He fell asleep on his couch, last night. His TV is still on and when he turns it off, it sizzles from being on the stupid Cooking Channel for so long. He’s covered in crumbs, hands coated in chip dust— Chin and neck sticky with spilled Diet Coke. Just don’t wake up and you won’t have to clean it. The day can’t get him, if it never starts.

But then his alarm rings again, for maybe the hundredth time, and there’s no real reason as to why this time is different from the other times, but he suddenly remembers why he fell asleep on his couch, last night. Why he had such a difficult time crawling just fifteen feet further when he got home last night. His face grows hot and red with shame and embarrassment, like a child.

A plate was sent back. A plate he made, was sent back.

Most would find it too dramatic, but he really did almost throw up. Syd gave him an antacid— From a pocket pack that you gave her. Did it help all that much? No. But at least he kept everything down. He just heaved a lot, in the walk-in. Probably good that he didn’t eat much of anything, yesterday.

He’d been thinking far too much. Spent way too long thinking about what to make for you, tonight— Which is fine, you’re inspiring— But he should’ve been keeping those thoughts to pen and paper. But he was making the stupid fucking roux for the stupid fucking order and his autopilot system got all mixed up and suddenly he was making a fantastic Montmorency, but an awful roux. Fucking brain dead, Berzatto. Talentless. Can you not handle this?

How is it possible, to fuck up that bad? You’re terrible at this. His instinct— Everyone’s instinct was to tell the patron to get off their fucking high horse. There’s always that one guest, that thinks they own the goddamn place. But then the dish came back to the kitchen, and everyone just stared. Silent. He was mortified. Is it too much for you? Practically unrecognizable, from what was ordered. It was entirely his fault. Dumb fuck. So fucking slow.

What happened to him? Seriously, what the fuck happened, to him? How could he possibly forget what’s important here? What’s at stake? He can’t look himself in the eyes when he brushes his teeth. Why are you so fucking slow? You are bullshit.

Regrettably, you happened to him; in a good and bad way.

He sighs, washing your conditioner out of his hair in the shower. Scrunching it, as you’d directed. He listens, he does. He takes direction well. Go faster, motherfucker. And he likes you, Carmen does. You are not tough. And he doesn’t fault you for being a good person, no, he faults himself.

He’s not meant to be a good person, he’s meant to be a good chef.

He’s not meant to be a good work partner, with Syd— That doesn’t get results. Everyone thinks they’re happier when he’s happier, sure, but they’re in the red. They’re not gonna be so fucking happy when their cheques start bouncing. It doesn’t matter how good a person he is— What matters is what he’s actually capable of providing— And it’s not amusement or enjoyment— It’s fucking talent. But he sought out your affections, your approval, in a key moment, in every moment— In place of who he should’ve— A Michelin Inspector.

He's let himself forget, what it meant, what it takes, to get a star.

And that made him fuck up a dish— A simple fucking dish. Again, not your fault, his. But God, he wants both. Carmen needs both. He can have both. You should be dead. He just needs to lock it in, keep it tight, push it down, comb it back, you should be dead—

He needs to spray his hair with rosemary, it’s looking thin. The basil on his balcony is coming in nicely, though.

It’s just hit four o’clock when you’re mostly finished getting ready— Well, you are ready, but, y’know, final checks and all that. You smooth out your palazzo pants. Gotta look presentable. Or at the very least, normal.

The Bear is high-class, you’re not going there as a repairman, tonight, for once. Plus, Richie wears suits twenty-four fucking seven now— So you need to dress accordingly, or he and every other guest there are going to look at you like you’re some broke freak. Which, like, not inaccurate, but still hurtful. You’ve broken out the good but not too good jewelry. Money talks, wealth whispers, or some shit. Black turtleneck, blue pants— To match the stupid fucking Executive Chef’s eyes, or whatever, shut up! The pants are not actually that bright, but you think they’d still pair well with Carmen. And even if they didn’t, they match The Bear’s aesthetic, and you like to remain on theme, even when there isn’t really at all a required theme.

Not like you’re going to be seeing much of Carmen tonight, anyway. As much as you’d like to see him, he didn’t send you his Connections, this morning, not even after you sent yours, and you’re taking that as a sign that today is probably rough. And not in the way that can be helped by talking to a person, either, in fact, probably the exact opposite.

You debate whether or not to wear Carmen’s jean jacket. This is a thin turtleneck, and it’d go really well with the whole outfit, and like, Sydney already caught on— It’s only a matter of time before the whole kitchen clocks it.

Yeah, fuck it, hard launch this situationship. You toss it over your shoulders. Okay, okay, one last last final fit check. Hm. Yeah, you’ve definitely gotta put the necklace away. You kiss the plastic pendant for good luck, before tucking it under your shirt. Not ready for that story, just yet. You will be, eventually. But you certainly don’t want Carmen to notice and ask about it. Soon, though. You will, soon.

You grab your purse, your keys, your finished art piece— Wrapped, neatly, in brown paper, with a little card taped to it. Okay, that’s everything. One last last last final review. Makeup? Great. Hair? Perfect. Outfit? Stunning— Fuck, what shoes are you going to wear? Fuck fuck fuck—

Alright, you know it’s not the shoes you’re worried about. Just get out the door, Chip. It’s gonna be fine, Chip. Dinner’s gonna be good, and normal, actually, because two people having their first real one-on-one conversation after their mutual best friend killed himself just under a year ago is historically always super calm and chill and normal, actually. That’s how that works. It’s not gonna be tense, at all.

This is immediately so tense. “Hey. Good to— Good to see you.”

You go in for the hug, so does Richie, only then do you both realize how full your hands are. And then it becomes a weird side hug from you combined with a full hug from him. It’s terrible, this is terrible, this is so tense. Maybe you can still run and have it not be weird, somehow.

“You— Too.” Richie clears his throat, “Cousin.”

It’s not like this is the first time you’ve seen each other since, no, you’ve seen each other thrice now, but it was different all those times. You were helping Carmen escape a freezer, or having an episode over a broken toilet, or delivering a baby— It wasn’t awkward all those times because it couldn’t be. You didn’t have time to be awkward, they were always emergencies.

“So uh, Fak’s gonna be our, our server?”

“Yessir.”

“He any good?”

“No-sir.”

But this meet up is intentional, booked. It’s got a point to it, and both of you know what it is. You’re just anxiously waiting for the other person to be brave enough to bring it up. Thankfully, neither of you have to, just yet, as Fak sidles up to the host stand.

He’s pushing so many buttons on the P.O.S. before even speaking to either of you that you’re starting to believe he doesn’t know what the fuck the buttons he’s pushing are doing. Based on the way Richie starts to lean over the stand to see what he’s doing, you’re pretty sure you’re right.

“I— I got it, man.” Fak puts a hand up, defensive. Richie backs up, then gestures for Fak to get the fuckin’ show on the road. He does.

“Table for, for uh, how many are you?”

“Oh wow.” It comes out of you instantly, in a true state of shock, at how bad this is already going. You cover your mouth, uh oh, inside thought became outside thought. “Sorry!”

Richie loses it, next to you. You slap his shoulder with your free arm, but you’re laughing too. “Don’t be mean!”

“You’re the one bein’ mean, Chip!”

“I didn’t— He’s trying.” You turn your head back to Fak. “I— Table for two, darling. M’sorry.”

Fak is quick to fold and forgive you, you’ve just called him darling— If a siren ever called to him, he would be dead. “Right, right this way— My name is Neil, I’ll be your server, tonight.”

You follow him to a table that lets you see pretty well into the kitchen. It’s a decent trade-off for not getting a cozy little booth. You look into the window, everyone’s far too focused to know you’re here, right now, but that’s okay— It’s not rushed right now, though, so that is a little… weird.

Richie pulls out your chair, fake Italian chivalry, and what not. When you’re half way through sitting down, a few things are realized instantly, and all three of you speak simultaneously.

“Oh, I should drop this off in the back, first.” Your art piece, you mean.

“Is that Carmy’s?” Your jacket, Fak means.

“You’re fucking Carmen?” What the fuck else could Richie possibly mean.

“I—” You pause, pointing to Fak, first. “Yes, it is.” Then pivot to Richie, “No, I’m not. It’s more like a reservation—”

“Don’t talk about your sex life like it’s a restaurant.” He waves his hand in the air, immediately regretting asking. Listen, it was just the first metaphor on the brain.

“You fuckin’ asked! And we haven’t done shit yet— Not even a fuckin’ date, a’right? Technically not even dating.” It takes maybe, two seconds, in the presence of Richie, for you to go full Chicago accent. It’s unhinged. You have to stand up. “I’m gonna drop this off, in the back.” You lift up the wrapped piece. “I’ll be back, don’t be weird.”

As you walk off, you do your best to pretend you don’t hear Fak mumbling, “Bet it’s one of those sex paintings.”

But it’s very hard to do so when Richie all but booms out a resounding and genuinely baffled, “...What?”

As much as you’d like to continue to hear that insane conversation, you swing through the door, and it’s thankfully a pretty soundproof divider, considering all the yelling you know happens in here.

“Chefs, table twenty-four, two people.” “Yes, Chef.”

Or… Maybe… It’s instead, weirdly subdued? In a tense way, not a calm way. Like when a knife falls off a table, and you’re not sure if it’s going to stab you in the foot and there’s no time to pull back.

“Twenty-one, four people.” “Yes, Chef.”

That kind of quiet. The calm before the storm, maybe. The fall before the blood, you think may be more accurate. God, Syd looks exhausted and it’s only half past four. The rush hasn’t even started yet. Why are they pushing so hard, right now?

Carmen’s on expo. Which, based on the night terrors he told you about, seems like a recipe for fucking disaster. Again, he’s not yelling. His voice is monotone, it sounds dead, frankly, and you’re wondering if you would prefer him screaming, actually.

There’s a mantra, amongst first responders, that it’s better to hear screaming than silence, because then you know they have a pulse, they’re drawing breath, they’re able to feel. You can’t honestly tell, with Carmen.

Syd hands off a plate to expo, to Carmen. He calmly, quickly— And like, really quickly, barely more than a two second glance is given, to the dish, before he says, “Refire, Chef.”

Oh, Jesus Christ. Not your business, not your restaurant, don’t overstep. But God, it hurts to watch the order hit Syd in the face, like a splash of cold water. She repeats, in disbelief. “Refire?” The dish looks fine to her— And it sure as fuck looks fine to you.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Why, exactly? Chef?”

Carmen does not look up from his system, he does not watch what is practically heartbreak, mortification, tempered anger, play out on Syd’s face. “Not perfect. Fire twenty, twenty-five— Two waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

“Heard!”

“Not perfect?”

He looks up, finally, at her. You can only see the back of his head, so you can’t tell the look. “Sauce is broken.” It’s definitely not. Well, at least to your untrained eye, it’s not. “We don’t serve what’s not perfect. Do we, Chef?” He slides the plate aside, deading it.

“Do you want your star, or not?” You don’t think he means to be antagonistic, or at least hope he doesn’t, but it really comes off that way. He rubs his chest, but his tone lack empathy.

Syd closes her eyes, taking a breath. She has so many words, for this man, but she holds her tongue. She does not rub her chest in return, she just restarts the dish. “Yes, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef.”

There’s a lull in orders, for the moment, so you very gently place your hand on Carmen’s back, to make him aware of your presence. As gentle as you try to be, he still flinches. Anyone over his shoulder would make him flinch right now, but it’s you. “Oh—!”

Now, do you let out a small yelp, inadvertently, when he turns to look at you, and you see him as he is right now? Yeah, yeah you do.

“—Good to— Did you just scream, at the sight of me?”

Syd puts a hand over her mouth, heavy exhale of laughter still escaping through her nose. Schadenfreude.

Your mouth hangs open, for a second, squinting, goddammit, inside thought got outside, “…No?”

“What— What, I look bad?” He’s immediately looking over himself, trying to find the culprit. And though the emotion he’s feeling right now is insecurity, you feel relief that at the very least, the glow of anything is shining through him, right now.

Doesn’t make you a fan of the slicked-back hair look, though. That’s what made you yell— Like when a dog or a baby doesn’t recognize their parent. Like when Mikey shaved for the first time after you met him, and you considered him completely unrecognizable. You practically ignored him until some stubble came in. What did he expect?

You also just don’t like it. Clean-Shaved Mikey nor Hair-Gel Carmen. The pomade is overpowering your shampoo, and now he doesn’t smell like you. Doesn’t smell like him. His curls are all gone— Man, his pattern was just starting to revive, too. He looks just too clean, too cookie-cutter, too… Someone else. He just doesn’t look like— “No, Bear, you look good— I just— You look— Don’t look like the Carmy I’m used to, is all.”

Who are you to tell him what he looks like? You don’t know why, but the energy today is just making you feel like… You’re intruding, you’re stepping in on a space that has nothing to do with you, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, right?

He nods, compartmentalizing, only acknowledging that you’ve said he looks good. “You look nice.”

“I clean up.” You shrug, it gets a nearly imperceptible smile out of him. Hm. Where’d your Carmen go? He’s really making you work for it, tonight. You gesture to your painting, holding it by your knees. “Not here to disrupt, M’just gonna put this in your office, for later.”

“Painting?”

“Incredible guess.” Again, that smile and that exhale of laughter, thin. “Yes, it’s the piece— Wait ‘til close, to open it, please.”

He nods, when you start to walk off, he grabs your arm. “Ah, uh—” He lets go. “Can I, uh— I planned— I planned an off-menu main, for you, is that, that okay—”

“It would always be okay, yeah.” You nod, reassuring. It would be more than okay, if Carmen decided and designed every meal you ever had for the rest of your life, you think. “Trust you— With, with my taste buds.”

You’re not sure if it’s the right move, but you awkwardly step forward and kiss Carmen’s temple anyways— In his hairline. He seems to care a lot about appearances, right now, so you don’t want to get lip gloss on his forehead. Despite your quickness, there is still a very childish ‘ooooh’ reverberating throughout the kitchen. But he’s ignoring it, so you ignore it too. Carmen, more than anything, would like to reciprocate, but he’s running a kitchen, and he cannot let himself nor the crew get distracted. He nods, smile small, and turns back to his station.

“Waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

You don’t take it personally; the guy is busy, what can you do? You drop the painting off in his office, leaning it against the table for Carmen’s perusal after close— It’s not the kind of piece he should look at during his break— Who are you kidding, you saw him, he’s not taking a break tonight. God, he might hate this piece. What if he hates this piece? It’s a risk you have to take, it’s art. Hopefully the card will help smooth any questions over. You’re clearer over text, you think.

On your way out of the kitchen, you nod to Marcus and Tina. A sign of ‘Hey, I’m here, I know we can’t talk, but I’m here.’ They nod back. When you pass Sydney, you take a moment to squeeze her shoulder. That star thing was rough, but you don’t know enough about cooking to intervene— It’s not your place. Still feel for your girl, though. Awe, you’ve only just noticed, she’s wearing your collar pins. She puts her free hand over yours, squeezing it in return, just for a second. She doesn’t turn to face you, but the silent encouragement and sympathy is exchanged. She gets back to work, and you get back out to the front.

If there was time for it, you’d be her designated coach and cheerleader, find a motivational bookshelf to carry somewhere again and give a speech, but there’s not. So, this will have to do, for now.

Fak is absolutely bombing every step of this introduction, when you sit back down. The second-hand embarrassment is truly eating you alive, as he stumbles through today’s specials, which, you’re pretty sure is not the order these things happen in—

“Hey, uh, Neil, wasssit?” Richie scratches his nose, attempting to play the part of blind customer. “How ‘bout drinks first, bud?” He’s trying to keep a sympathetic attitude, which is making all of his pointers come off as extremely passive aggressive.

“Yeah, for sure, right, yeah— What’uh— What can— Drinks? Hey, hey you want? Drink?”

You cup a hand over your mouth, to block your mortified expression. “Yeah, yeah, Neil, I’ll just have a water.”

“Water!” Fak yells back, way too fucking emphatically, “I— I love water, that’s so crazy.”

“Jesus Christ.” Richie holds his face in his hands, elbows on the table. “I’ll get a fuckin’…” He lifts a hand to wave in the air, willy-nilly, still not looking up. “Chippy, name a wine.”

“Red?” Richie usually doesn’t have wine. It’s the rich man’s beer. But when he does, it’s red.

“Mhm.”

He’s probably gonna get steak, just go with a safe bet, “Cab Sav, for the gentleman, please.”

Fak writes it down, but seems bewildered and confused, staring at it. “You want a taxi?”

“Oh my god.” You and Richie are in unison. Two very different tones, though. You sound baffled, he sounds like he’s two seconds from lunging.

Which, isn’t an entirely unfair reaction, Fak has been training for this moment for a month. Rich thought he’d at least be ready to start with you. You’re the least intimidating person he knows, you wouldn’t hurt a fly. Maybe that’s what makes it so difficult? That you’re too nice? Even still, Fak should at least know this, not choke as hard as he is, right now. It’s embarrassing for Richie, when his staff are flailing this bad, especially in front of the people he loves and admires.

Rich wrings his hands together, looking back up to you. “I fucking taught him this, just so y’know.”

You nod, looking to Fak. You’ve just gotta get him out of here, honestly. “Cabernet Sauvignon, baby— Just a glass, not a bottle. We’ll look over our menus, in the meantime, maybe?”

The sleeper agent line has been spoken, and the server autopilot in Fak’s brain finally turns on. “Right. I’ll just give you lovely two a second to look over your menus, alright, haha, be safe— Be back with your drinks, folks.”

The delivery may need a little work. Though you think his edits should probably start with the way he walks backwards, eye-contact unyielding, and almost trips as he pushes backwards into the kitchen door. That might be considered bad, to some.

“Trainwreck.” Richie presses his palms into his eyes. “M’fuckin’ sorry, Chippy, Jesus Christ.”

You shrug, leaning back in your seat. “I don’t see a problem, it’s dinner and a show, baby.”

Richie laughs, at that, after a few seconds of silence, he adds. “He’s not gonna fuckin’ last.”

“Probably not.” You shrug. “But it was worth a shot. N’ he’ll do in a pinch, if you’re ever short-staffed.”

“We are always short-staffed.” Richie grumbles. “Do fuckin’ servers ever actually stage? Need the free labour.”

“What the fuck is stage?”

“I honestly still don’t know.” You both laugh. “I fuckin’ did it and I still don’t know.”

“What have you been up to, besides uh, staging?” You finally open Pandora’s box.

Well, it’ll stay small talk for a little bit, to be fair, gotta warm up to the real stuff—

“Tif’s getting remarried.”

“—Oh, holy shit.”

He nods, looking aimlessly nowhere, certainly not your eyes. “Engaged, at least— Haven’t gotten a fuckin’ invite, or anythin’.”

“You think she’ll invite you?”

“She asked.” He closes his eyes, for a second. This has been hanging over his head, all day. “Called, this uh, this morning, cause of Cousin Vinnie n’ Mira—”

“She comin’ to that?” You’ve never actually met Tif. They were on the rocks when you’d come to The Beef, so it was mostly just waves through car windows, if anything. It might be better if it stays that way, you think.

He shakes his head, “Someone’s gotta take care of Eva, n’ she’s got work. But the invite made her think of my invite, and uh, if I’d want one, come when it may.”

These are the moments you wish you had a glass of water, so you could sip and do something with your mouth and hands, as you think of what to say. He continues, because he knows you’re going to ask, “Said I’d think about it.”

“I think it’s okay, if you don’t want to.” You lean forward, as a show of sympathy. “That’d be a fuckin’ lot, for anyone.”

“Yeah. Yeah, but it’s uh, it’s— I’m good, Chip.” Richie leans back in his seat, swiping at his nose. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready, and you know that. He makes eye-contact, again, finally. “How’ve you been holdin’ up?”

You bite at your lip, alright, its fucking game time, this is what you’ve been prepping for, time to tell him everything you’ve been thinking about, for the past year, time to tell someone other than your former therapist what the fuck is in your head. “I—”

“Drinks! Hyah!” Fak busts through the door, far too boisterous. It scares a few patrons, and honestly you, a little bit. He returns to your table, pitcher and bottle of wine on a tray— Hey, it actually is a Cab Sav, he did it! Gotta celebrate the victories, here.

You can’t help but notice, as Fak pours your glass of water and attempts small talk, that he seems a bit more distressed than he did before he went in the kitchen. You crane your neck to peek through the window. Hm. Syd and Carmy are not where they were before. They’re talking. It doesn’t look like a fight, though. Let it lie. You’ve really got to let it lie, because Fak is in front of you, staring straight forward like he’s in a catatonic liminal state, not acknowledging either you or Richie with his gaze. A touch disconcerting, possibly.

“So, hey, you guys, you guys like food?”

Your lips form a line. “Fak, are you okay?”

“I’m great—” His voice cracks, oh dear. “Am I doing great?”

“You’re certainly trying—” “You’re fucking this up tremendously.” At least Richie is honest, and usually you are too, but, when it comes to a trainwreck, you’ve gotta tell the train they’re doing a great job. You just can’t bear to let it know it’s on fire.

When your glass of water starts to overflow, you take the pitcher from Fak’s hand so he can’t keep overpouring it in his fugue state. Jesus Christ, what happened in the kitchen? Who died? Actually, probably don’t joke about that.

It’s in within this moment that you learn a lot of things very quickly. First thing you learn, Sweeps is a server now, you guess. He’s in the suit, coming out of the kitchen, terrified, serving tray in hand, two champagne flutes wobble upon it. Second thing you learn, Sweeps is not a good server, or at the very least, isn’t right now, he’s too shell-shocked to keep any level of awareness of where he’s going. He bumps into Fak’s back. Third thing you learn, Richie has great reflexes, he catches the wine bottle from Fak’s tray. You have decent reflexes, managing to reach an arm out in time to keep Sweeps from entirely falling over and eating shit.  

You were however, not able to keep the champagne flutes from elegantly flying off of Sweep’s tray, and falling to the ground, shattering. Sonofabitch.

There’s a silence, then an overlapping chorus from the two distressed servers, “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve got it—” That’s the fourth and last thing you’re able to clock immediately. These two know serving is not for them. They do best sweeping or fixing, not fucking talking to people. Breaking something and needing to clean it up is like a gift from God, to them, they’re genuinely fighting to be the one to clean it up. They end up tag-teaming it, as they feel Richie’s quiet glare burn into them. He’s gotten very good at silently laying down the law. They apologize, scramble to clean, hastily apologize, and rush back into the kitchen as soon as possible.

Fuck. It’s like Richie texted, Fak has shit the bed, and that almost certainly means your dinner is gonna get cut short. You’re not going to get the chance to tell him everything— Let alone anything you wanted to get out. You won’t get to apologize properly, and then he’ll head right back on his shift, and you’ll just be the kitchen’s friend that’s taking up a table. Fuck, you’ve got to try to stumble something of note out.

“I missed you, Rich.”

The man in question turns his head from looking through the kitchen window, back to you, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I was here.” Could’ve visited.

“I know.” No, I couldn’t.

He nods. The unexchanged words are still understood between the both of you, somehow. You fiddle with your fingers, gearing up to just say your big speech, you practiced it in the car ride here, if you just cut it down to the key bullet points, you can probably get it all out.

“Richie, I’m sor—”

Once again, Fak interrupts, door swinging open, he looks extremely panicked this time, tripping over nothing, sweating like it’s a million degrees, looking to both of you, alright the kitchen situation seems to have escalated. It seems like he’s about to scream to you— But then remembers that there are guests other than you and Richie, in the front of house, and so he speed walks to your table.

Richie is the one to ask this time, “Are you fuckin’ good—?”

“Uh-uh.” Fak shakes his head, in repetitive, tight small swivels. His posture militantly straight, taught, eyes darting everywhere, like there’s spies lurking in the booths, watching him. He speaks through tight teeth, to hide his words from onlookers. “Bad. Bad bad.”

“Bad bad?” You repeat after him, waiting for him to lend any explanation to the subject, he doesn’t really.

“Need you.” He nods to Richie. Then nods to you. He looks… Disdainful? Remorseful, maybe. To be doing so. “You too. Bad.”

Richie looks to you, letting you make the call, here. You look at him and sigh, your plan has been utterly ruined, your speech— Dashed. He adds. “Intermission?”

There’s no way this is just going to be an intermission. “Intermission.”

You both stand, he takes his wine glass, then takes the bottle, a bit more realistic. You take your water. Cheers, and into the cesspool you go, abandoning your table, for what Richie hopes is for an interim, for what you both know is for the night.

The first thing you notice, Carmen’s not at expo. No one’s on expo, actually. Which feels like a problem. The second thing you notice is where Carmen actually is— In the walk-in— Not locked in, no, not this time. No, you notice he’s there because he’s yelling, better than zero pulse, but you still wince. All yelling makes you wince.

“Who was on veggie prep today?! What is this dice, Chefs!?” He storms out, large deli container of onions in his hand— He’s bringing it to his station— Which was Syd’s station, but he’s now co-opted it, seemingly, as she’s not there. However, in her stead, are five more containers of pre-diced veggies— You imagine Carmen brought those out, too. “We are not serving fucking sandwiches, anymore, Chefs—”

Carmen stops short of his aggression, when he sees you. You can’t tell if you like that. You’re pretty sure you don’t. What’s that stupid idiom? Mean to the world, good to your girl? Don’t like that. Don’t like two faces. Don’t like the shade on the old sandwiches— Mikey’s sandwiches, either.

Carmen doesn’t move to you, or anything like that though, no, he’s busy— With what exactly, you’re not sure. No fucking way he’s redoing all the prep right now, right? That would be insane. The dices are fine, and they can’t just waste food right now with their budget nor their time— Fucking Christ, he is actually redoing the prep and making Tina use the old for broth— Oh dear God.

The third thing you notice is where Syd really is, in lieu of her station. She’s having what looks like a panic attack with Sweeps by the ovens. Your legs move to her before your brain really registers anything else, and you can hear behind you that Richie has gone to Carmen and is handling expo. Fak did not need to tell either of you what your jobs needed to be back here, you just know.

“This is, this is just fucking great—” Syd heaves, holding onto the handle of the oven. Next to her, Sweeps is still in his hosting attire, but he’s mopping up water by Syd’s feet. There’s a tipped over mop bucket on the ground. He looks significantly more comfortable now, but still equally as distressed as the rest of the kitchen seems to be.

You put a hand on Syd’s shoulder, leaning down to her level. “Bubs, what’s going on? M’here.”

“Fucking everything is going on.” She starts to catch her breath; she brushes your hand away. You know it’s because she has sensory overload, it still kind of hurts, though. “Carmen’s fucking freaking…”

“No shit.” You step aside and lift your left foot, when Sweeps needs to mop by your feet. “Why, though?”

“On our opening night, he had a fuckin’— Episode, I dunno.” She’s still keeled over, hands on her knees, but she’s breathing. “N’ he had this like— Like saw this guy, who wasn’t actually there. Out—” She nods her head to the window to the front of house. She stands up, again. “Out there.”

“His, his old Executive— Chef.”

“Oh.”

The night terrors. The oven. The fire. The wanting it to happen, even just a little bit. The man who’s in his head, talking to Carmen, every night. The man he saw on his opening night, apparently. Your poor Carmen.

“Yeah, yeah he was like— Apparently kind of a dick—” Understatement of the century. “But like, so is he.” Syd nods to Carmen. You can’t completely deny that. You wish you could. “Anyways, he called.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I fucking know.” She nods, emphatic. She then realizes that this story is going to take a second, and gestures to the oven behind her. “This won’t turn on, spilt water on it.”

“Oh.” You take a beat, then remember this is what your job is, “Oh!” You feel around the pockets of your pants. Should’ve expected to bring a screwdriver, at the very least, it’s The Bear. Get with the program. The tools are in your car, to be fair, but for a quick simple check-up—

You call out, “Yo, Fak—” “Yes?”

You jump, he’s standing a mere inch behind and adjacent from you. You hold your heart, stepping back from him, just a touch. “…Do you… Have a screwdriver?”

Neil leans back, like he’s tough, like he’s sizing you up. “Something broken?”

“Tryin’ to figure that out.”

“Cause you’re a repairman.”

“Cause I’m a repairman, yeah.”

“You got a degree?”

“Just give her the fucking screwdriver!” Syd yells before you can answer. Fak begrudgingly and with a lethargic show, hands you the screwdriver from his chest pocket.

Jealous, is he? Oh, that’s cute. That’s very cute. He’s the one that said he wanted to host— Whatever, no time to tease or bicker, you’re pulling the oven out, trying to lift as much as possible with Syd’s help, to keep from scrapping tile, but it’s inevitable.

You kneel down, taking the screws out the back, “So Exec dude, he called?”

“Uh-huh.” Syd focuses on her pan on the oven next to you— Thankfully that one did not get fucked in the crossfire— so they’re short but not fucked, just yet, at least. “Called Carmen, said he’d heard about the opening— That he wants to come try the place.”

“Right, but he’s from New York, isn’t he, you’ve got time—”

“He already took a flight here; he’ll be here in thirty.”

“Oh, my fucking God.”

“I fucking know.” Everything is going on. It’s all starting to make a lot more sense now. The kitchen’s general distress, Fak and Sweeps dropping shit from anxiety but also an inadvertent way to guarantee Richie does not table them with the fucking guy, Carmen’s sudden paranoia over someone noticing a decimal less than perfect dice— Because he would, he will.

The man in Carmen’s head that’s been torturing him has at the very least been confined to his head. And now he will be materializing, before his family, to dress him down at any opportunity, in thirty fucking minutes. Oh, your poor Carmen…

“And this guy—He’s like, like fucking big, if he likes the food— Likes The Bear— We might end up getting an inspector, in here.”

You lean out from the back of the oven, practically being swallowed by it. Confused. “Getting an inspector is a good thing?” To your knowledge, inspectors are what shuts down restaurants.

“A Michelin Guide Inspector.” Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I fucking know!” Syd replies, emphatic, Richie calls out an order to her, from expo. She clears her throat. “Heard, Chef.”

A Michelin Guide Inspector. What’s that mean? Well, if you’re thinking correctly, it means a star. It means accolades. It means recognition. It means money. It means 800k. It means not going under. It means clawing their way back out of the woods. It means everything. Oh, fuck.

“So, anyways—” Syd sautés, violently. “Carmen fuckin’ finishes that call, storms out the office, and like demands shit to be perfect— Which like— Like it should be, I know, but like— Tellin’ me to fuckin’ mop already perfectly clean floors, is like, like fucking stupid— Especially when I’m fucking cooking here, like what?”

It’s amid this retelling, as you stand, that you notice Syd’s hand— The left one, the one on the pan’s handle, is bleeding, two of her fingers, cut. “And I— I fucked up, like, like I know I did. I dropped the mop bucket, n’— n’ now my fucking oven won’t turn on.”

You take her hand, she tries to rip it away, you don’t let her. “I cut it on the edge of the bucket, stupid sharp plastic, I’m good—”

“Lemme just bandage it.” You’re already fishing through your pocket, with your free hand.

She’s quick to shake her head. “You need to figure out how I fucked up the oven.”

“I already know what’s wrong with the oven.” You pull out your wallet, flitting through the bill fold with your fingers— You keep band-aids there, in case of emergency, because of course you do. Syd tries to tug her hand away, again. Her blood is rubbing onto your fingers. It’s not a big cut, but it’s enough. You can’t help remember the ye old days of you as teens, hearing about the concept of blood brothers for the first time, and genuinely considering going through with it. Funny what time does. Funny who it brings back.

“Then fix the oven.”

You mumble, tearing the paper open with your teeth. “This first.”

“I’m fucking good, Tony.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

She grimaces when she notices they’re children’s band-aids, with goofy little cartoon heroes on them. “I don’t fucking need—”

“Sydney, I love you.” There is no subtext, behind it. You look her in the eyes, stern. Tone inarguable. It catches the words in her throat, and keeps them there.

“Will you let me?”

She shuts her eyes, tight, for a second, and just looks away, hand going limp in your grip. Which means okay, I love you, too. She does not need to say it. You wrap two band-aids, one around each finger that got cut, and let her go.

Syd takes a second, to look at it. She looks at you.

“The Miles Morales feels racially targeted.”

“I fuckin’ hate you.” You point at her, you both break into laughter. Richie barks out another slew of numbers and orders, and it’s like getting caught talking in class. She goes back to her cast-iron, you start walking off to Rich. From behind you she mumbles.

“Love you, Inky.” Oh my God. Chippy’s a flashback, Inky is like a history textbook.

“Love ya, Squid.”

At expo, Richie’s sweating, he turns to you, and you speak at once.

“Carmy give you the run down?” — “Syd tell you the bullshit?”

You both nod. You’re first to ask, “Fuck dinner?”

“Raincheck. Let’s say.” He shrugs. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t need to be.” You nod to the oven. “Thermocouple in your oven’s broke. I have backups in my car.”

“You have backups in your fucking car?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of the one hyper-specific part we need?”

“Yeah, the timing is crazy—” “Ey, when’d you get a fucking car, Cousin?” Richie realizes a discrepancy he simply always forgot to ask about for the past few weeks.

“Early this year. It’s a piece of shit. It works.”

He nods. “Hands!” Fak, swings by you, grabbing the plate from Richie, “Got this!”

Richie nods, smiling, very clearly fake, turning his head to watch Fak walk all the way out and have the door swing shut behind him. When he’s sure Fak can’t hear him, his head snaps right back to you. “We cannot let any of my fuckin’ staff near the fuckin’ big shot.”

It’s honestly nice that dinner is over, despite how bad you wanted to talk because now it’s this. Now it’s nostalgic. Now it’s comfortable— Distressing— But it’s you two, again. You nod. “So you’re gonna run expo and serve him at the same time?”

“What, you think I can’t?”

No, you don’t. “Of course you can, you’re Richie Jero—Uh, whatever the fuck.” You’re already walking to the back door to grab your tools.

“Jerimovich, Chippy! Not that fuckin’ hard!”

You should put oven expert on your business cards, when you eventually get to making new business cards. This is like, the third oven fix you’ve done in two weeks? And you just changed a thermocouple a few days ago! It takes you maybe five minutes tops, to switch the old wire for the good one.

When you push the stove back against the wall and test the burners— It works, thank God. You might’ve hyped yourself up a little too much before even checking that. Once you do, though, before even saying it’s fixed, Syd violently shakes your left shoulder, as a point of approval. Tina, on your right, slaps you on the back several times as her vow of praise, too. This is like riding a roller-coaster, and not in a good way.  

But it ends soon, as they’ve got to get right back to work, since Richie calls out—

“Guys fuckin’ here!” That’s like, ten minutes early, bullshit— “He brought a party of five—” Are you fucking kidding— “Booth Twelve— When I say booth twelve, don’t fuck up booth twelve, a’right, Chefs?”

“Heard!”

Where’s Carmen, right now? You look around— He’s at his station, on the final part of the line. He’s simultaneously making a dish completely on his own and doing the final touches on plates before they get sent out. Alright, okay, so maybe it’s best expo doesn’t get foisted on him, right now. But fuck, how is Richie gonna serve five and run this fucking kitchen?

Tina claps your back again, bringing you out of your state of worry. “Baby.”

“Yeah, T?” She turns your attention to a big pot of stock, on the burners that now work, thanks to you.

“Can you just stir this, f’me, for just a minute? Make sure the—”

“I’ll get the brown off the bottom yeah.”

She slaps your cheek, approving, “That’s my baby.”

And so, you stir. It’s an easy job, it just takes time— Time this kitchen doesn’t have, time you’re happy to give. Tina rushes over and takes over expo, while Richie moves out to take in stupid fucking booth twelve.

This kitchen is dysfunctional, the constant switches of expo require everyone to find a new rhythm, every time, and T needs to play catch up. Tina, Carmen, and Richie run expo just a touch differently from each other, since it’s a pretty cookie cutter job— But those minute differences change a lot. The tempo and tonal switches throw everyone off just slightly. They’re small mistakes, like a poor aesthetic sauce splatter, like Syd cutting her hand, like Marcus fucking up his saffron placement like five times in a row— It takes seconds off, it takes time. Time you do not have.

But what can you do? It’s all hands-on deck. Except for Fak’s hands. Get that man a water and a corner to sit in. He needs a second. So does the rest of this kitchen.

When Richie comes back in, it’s with a whine, he’s already so tired of this stupid fucking Michelin Exec. “—Wants to see a fuckin’ wine menu, do we have a fuckin’ wine menu?”

“No, Chef!” Syd and Carmen both chant out from other sides of the kitchen. Your ears perk up. They could’ve just asked you to make one, you would’ve. But, guess you don’t work here, technically.

Richie grimaces, “I know fuck all, bout wine.” He takes a swig of the red wine he left sitting on the expo podium. “Tastes fuckin’— Red, I dunno.”

Finally, something you can actually help with, in a critical way— Well, you just fixed an oven, but that doesn’t count, in your head. Most things you do don’t count, in your head. “T! Switch!” You whistle to her, and though she doesn’t love being ordered around, you’re already walking away from the pot, so you don’t really give her a choice.

“Rich, let me take it.”

Richie looks at you like you’ve grown two heads, but also, he finds those two heads very amusing. “Chippy...”

“I fucking know wine. I tend. I’m personable, I—”

“You don’t know how to kiss ass.”

“But I could.” You’re already peeling off Carmen’s jacket— Hey, thank God you dressed on theme, right? This could absolutely be a server’s fit. “Under duress.”

If it were up to Richie, you would already be out there. But his name is not on The Bear, as much as he’d like it to be. He looks to Carmen, who’s been staring at the both of you this entire interaction. Which is kind of concerning, he should probably be focusing on his three-quarter dice or he might to chop his fucking fingers off. No, he’s wouldn’t. He could probably do it with his eyes closed.

Carmen looks from Richie, who’s silently asking him for permission, to you. “Y’sure?”

“Yeah.” You nod, tucking his jacket under the expo podium. You don’t catch the way his face hardens, just a bit— Because you turn your gaze to Richie. “I’ll just do the drinks part, like an actual somme— Warm him up, f’you, when he’s ready to order. Let you stay on expo, longer.”

Richie rocks his head back and forth, considering it. You tack on, “I’m stage— What the fuck did you call it?”

“Staging.” Carmen answers.

“That one.”

Carmen stares at his cutting board, thinking and working, working and thinking. He does not look up at you, when he makes his decision. He just nods, “Okay.”

You nod back, happy. You don’t wait for him to change his mind. You take one quick overview of their wine rack, noting what they do and don’t have, and then you’re off, out the door, to the front of house, to a warzone.

The motherfucker at Booth Twelve sticks out like a sore thumb. There’s something about the aura he radiates, that tells you immediately that it’s him, despite not knowing his face or name. Bet it’s fucking Tony, somehow.

He’s doing his best to peer into the kitchen window without being obvious about it, which, he’s currently failing at that. Richie sat his party in a good booth, it’s just the worst booth for a good view of the kitchen. Smart. This guy is an asshole, and it’s clear from his stupid equally punchable looking friends, that he’s doing all of this on purpose.

The big party, unexpected. The him, unexpected. The asking for a wine menu. He wants you all off guard, he wants Carmen off-guard, he wants Carmen’s breath to hitch, he wants Carmen to sweat, and most importantly, he wants to watch.

You stand in front of his view, on purpose. “Hi, pleasure to serve you lovely people tonight, I’m—” No shot you’re giving this guy your real name. “—Jack, I’m your sommelier. I heard you wanted to look over a wine menu?”

“Yes,” His voice is just as stupid as you expected it to be. This is the fucking voice Carmen hears? God, lock it in, bite your tongue. “And I see you are not holding one.”

“Well, actually, we don’t carry a wine menu because we at The Bear believe in a personally curated dining experience.” You don’t miss a beat, you don’t hitch, he hates this and you can tell. “I like to think that I’m your wine menu, flip through me at your leisure.”

Your eyes crinkle, as you do an expert customer service smile. This stupid fucking table laughs at the lukewarm joke, he just smirks, because rich men don’t have time for laughter. So, their cronies do it for them.

“Well then,” He gestures his hand, giving you the floor. “What’s the menu?”

“Ah, well, was there anything on the main menu that caught your eye, so I can best pair you?”

“Hmm…” There’s a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve just expertly set him up to say ‘No.’ And then you’ll have no fucking comeback. You’ll probably throw up on the table, fuck fuck fuck— “Yes, actually.”

Oh, thank God. “The Wagyu steak with wild mushrooms and hazelnut-gruyere croquettes?”

Oh, that’s the one Carmen made for you, weeks back, you know that one. “Ah, one of my personal favourites. I’d recommend a young Pinot Grigio, maybe a 2006 Gravner?” How the fuck did you remember that? Doesn’t matter. What matters is this motherfucker is not getting under your skin.

“And what about the braised oxtail wellington?” The hot pocket, he means. You’ve had that, too.

“We have a fantastic Barolo Brunate to pair with that, Giuseppe Rinaldi 2019.” You have no idea if it’s fantastic. Who fucking cares. It’s expensive, you know that much. You only bothered to review the top rack.

“Lot of Italian vineyards.” A woman next to him comments.

“Well, we are Italian owned, so.”

It does not end there. No, why would it? No, he and his compatriots go about naming every single fucking thing on the menu, asking you to pair it. And not to toot your own horn too much, but this is, really, the one job you feel the most trained to do. All those games with Syd, all those men at Eden’s, all the parts and tools and forty different types of wrenches you have to keep track of and memorized as a repairman— Your brain is trained for this. This isn’t easy for you, sure— But you are maybe more equipped for this than any other person you could possibly think of. Good think you don’t have to think of people, you have to think of wines.

Once you survive the gauntlet, his ‘friends’ order their actual wines— Each by the bottle. Alcoholism in the food world is crazy. Also, how are you going to carry four to five full bottles here? Dear God. Whatever, you’ll live, and make insane bank— Or, The Bear, will, rather. That’s like a thousand on wine alone. When you get to Him, he puts his menu down and sighs, it’s very clearly fake.

“Can I be honest with you?”

“I’d want for nothing more.” You’d want for a lot more; actually, you’d want for him to shut the fuck up. But this is kind of a good thing. They’ve wasted a solid ten minutes just talking wine— Giving the kitchen ample time to catch up. This guy just shot himself in the foot with the sweat plan.

“This is a fine menu, but as you said, The Bear believes in a personally curated experience.” Fuck. “I don’t know if you know this, but I have a very personal relationship with the owner.” Fuck. “Would you hate me, if I asked for you to… Surprise me?”

He doesn’t need to ask for a surprise for you to hate him, is what you want to say, but instead you just smile, appeasing, kissing ass. You hate yourself just a bit for it. “I’ll see what we can do, sir. And so, you’d like a surprise wine, as well then?”

He does a customer service smile right back. You’re both passively cursing the other. “If that’s no trouble. Oh—” He tilts his head, cocky attitude really coming to a head now, “And budget isn’t a problem. Just the best.”

“I couldn’t imagine giving anything less, sir.” Another coy smile from you, before bowing and leaving their table. Your tight shoulders fall as soon as you walk back into the kitchen.

“I want him dead.”

“Agreed. Temp check?” Richie hums flitting through his notes, “We’ve got five steaks all day, Chefs, kill two. Fire now, Chefs.”

“Yes, Chef!”

You sidle up next to Rich, “They’re trying to make us sweat with quizzes. Just know your shit and they won’t be able to touch you.”

“Heard.”

“They ordered like five fucking bottles of wine.”

“Christ.” He turns to you, at that. “You upsell?”

“Didn’t have to. Named the most expensive bottles and they didn’t give it a second thought.”

He daps you up, it is difficult to hide your pride. “That’s my fuckin’ Chippy!”

You quell your smirk to the best of your abilities, especially since it isn’t all good news, “I think they’re ready to order, one problem, though.”

“Problem?” That’s when Carmen tunes in. He hands a finished plate to Richie, who hands it off to Sweeps, who begrudgingly heads out to deliver. “What’s the problem?”

“He says he wants to be surprised.”

“Like fucking Ratatouille?”

Carmen squints at Richie, for this, incredulous. You cannot back up your man, in this case, fully on Richie’s side. “Don’t act like you didn’t fuck with Ratatouille.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“You didn’t see it?!” Carmen’s always liked it, when the two of you speak in unison. Carmen hates it, when you and Richie speak in unison. “You’d love it, Carm.”

Any other time, he’d love to entertain you, on this, but he can’t. It makes you both feel very cold, when he brushes past the idea. “I’ll think’ve something.”

You nod, already moving to the wine cooler, sorting out bottles. “You have time, I’ll stretch out serving them—Richie, help me bring out bottles? Take their orders? Two birds, one stone?”

“It’s bullet.” “It’s not.”

The wine pouring is nothing to write home about.

“Don’t mind us tag-teaming, didn’t want anyone to feel left out for a minute!”

But is definitely a weird vibe, when you and Richie serve this table. You’re both equally personable— Though, going as fast as you can without making them feel rushed. Richie needs to get back on expo A-S-A-P.

Despite the fact that both of you are just as nice as the other… This fucking guy is absolutely giving Richie more attitude, in comparison to you. You have a feeling the only reason he didn’t shut you down earlier with the menu is because you’re a hostess. Yeuch. Gross man senses are tingling, but maybe it’s just you.

Richie whispers to you, when you’re walking back to the kitchen, “He’s a fuckin’ creep, eh?”

Okay, not just you. You know it’s bad when another man notices it. “Yep.”

Whatever. Use it to your advantage, in this case, if possible. Not like you have anything to worry about, just about everyone in the kitchen would jump him for you, upon request.

Would Carmen?

It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s a thought you can’t seem to stop yourself from having. Would Carmen choose your safety and comfort, over the chance to get a chance to get a star? …He would, right? He’d choose you, right?

“M’sorry for derailin’ dinner with our bullshit, Chip.”

The door swings open, Richie lets you in first. “You kidding? No where I’d rather be, than in your bullshit.”

Maybe this is better, than any apology you were planning to give. Better that you show with your actions, that you’re both actually back. That it’s you two, again. That you’re not going anywhere, this time. That even if you did leave, Richie’s gotta know, with a certainty, you’d rather be here.

Richie smiles, and you think you’re right. While he’s shouting out Booth Twelve’s orders, Carmen hands a plate to expo. You tilt your head, curious. He slides a folded-up card, with it. You don’t recognize the plate at all from the menu.

“S’yours.” Is his simple answer, already getting to work on Booth Twelve. He’s scribbling down notes and quick sketches of what surprise dish to make for the Exec. On the front of the card, it says ‘won’t have time to do it myself’, alongside a smiley face, for levity.

You open the card, flitting vision between the dish, the note, and Carmen. Digesting the recipe he’s written for you and your eyes, only. He knew he wouldn’t have time to explain it verbally, so he wrote it down for you. You could throw up, honestly.

This is, the sweetest, most thoughtful, most complex thing, anyone has ever made for you.

You have done your damndest, to almost never be the one to instigate a kiss, not a real one, with Carmen, because he asked for distance, so you try to give it. But right now, more than anything, you’d like to assail this man to the floor right now with your affections.

But you can’t. Because he’s busy, and he needs this, not you. Carmen needs this to go well. He needs this guy to like the food, he needs the inspector to like the food, he needs a star. Fuck, even without the prospect of an inspector looming over him— He needs to prove the man in his head wrong. There is no time for any of the love you have to give.

…Did you just think love?

Gotta table this, for now…

“Thank you, Carmy.” His movements relax, when you say it. He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t slow down, he doesn’t pivot to you and confess some long-standing prose of love, but he nods, and his shoulders untense. That’s practically the same thing.

His phone, laying on the expo podium, rings. Sug. You furrow your brows. “Carmen.”

“Hm?” He’s tense, and still not himself, but he sounds so sweet, when he hums.

“Nat’s calling.”

“Let it go to voicemail.”

“She’d know you’re working, right now.”

“She’s got mom brain.”

“Mom brains’ aren’t dumb.” You frown, a touch worried. Always doting, aren’t you. “Could be an emergency.”

Carmen wants to say it’s not a big deal. That there’s bigger fish to fry. That if he fucks this dinner up, it could mean Nat won’t have a job to come back to. That with all the love in the world, he does not have time for this, right now. And then he thinks of his brother, and suddenly he has time for this, right now. He picks up his notepad and pen, he can work anywhere, it doesn’t need to be at his station. “Give me.”

He takes the phone, shouting to his crew, “Taking two minutes, Chefs!”

There’s a half-second of complaints before a resounding, “Heard!”

Carmy points to you, as he walks to his office, “Eat.”

“I will.” You nod, and lie.

You won’t be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you.

You already made your decision, when you saw the plate. When you read the note. When you saw the frantic scribbles at Carmen’s station, loose pieces of paper everywhere, all crumpled. He can’t come up with shit for the man in his head. You already made your decision, when the four other plates showed up on expo for his table, and all that’s left is the surprise dish, for The Man.

You will not be eating the most perfect, most complex, most personal, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever made for you. The man out front, the man in Carmen’s head, will.

Carmen needs this.

Your heart just short of breaks, when you put it on the serving tray, handing it off to Richie. “What’s this one?” He asks, not knowing, not having paid attention. He would’ve refused, if he did.

Syd was, though. She looks like a puppy watching another puppy get kicked. You swallow the feeling down, ignoring her stare. You don’t need to reread the card, it’ll stick in your head, for the rest of your life.

“Lamb saddle, roasted, pink. Aigre-doux eggplant, means sour sweet sauce, with lamb confit, fresh spring garlic, Montmorency sauce— It’s a dark red cherry sauce, topped with cherries and baby basil.”

You wouldn’t know any of the French terms, if they weren’t defined for you in the margins. There’s a parenthetical, next to the lamb— Mentioning that it’s roasted, explaining why saddle is a superior cut of lamb, noting why it’s best served pink— Mentioning that it’s similar to pork. Your favourite. There’re exclamation points next to the cherry additions, because it’s your favourite Italian ice flavour. They need to be emphasized, in the recipe. There’s another parenthetical, next to baby basil, ‘(yours)’. It’s your basil, from your balcony to his, now to his kitchen, now to your plate.

In spades, this is the best gift anyone has ever made you, and you watch it leave, through the swinging door. You can’t stop your expression from twitching, falling into a frown. Your heart sits heavy in your throat. When Syd silently stands next to you, taking over for Richie on expo, she returns your tiny container of Tums. You take one, eyes distant, looking at the kitchen, Carmen’s kitchen, biting down on the antacid.

Cherry.

This isn’t sad. It’s just a plate. It’s literally just a plate. Carmen can make it again. Carmen can make it a million times over again. So why does it sting like this? Why does it carve its way into the pit of your stomach? That was yours. Carmen— Carmen’s plate was yours, and you had to give it up. You want nothing more than to rip the dish from the stupid fucking Exec’s greedy fucking hands, take it for yourself, eat it whole, in one bite— Decree that he can’t fuck with Carmen anymore, that he holds no ownership anymore, that he is not the be all end all, that he is not the gavel and the sound block.

But he is. It hurts, because he is. Carmen is still under him, and so, you, being by his side, are under him too. You know you made the right call, giving the plate up, but the meaning behind it all hurts insurmountably.

Syd takes your hand; the wrinkles of her band-aids are a nice texture to return to. You appreciate that she’s comforting you, but you can’t help but notice, “Uh, uhm, let’s fire table twenty-five, twenty-eight, and— And fuck, twelve, Chefs.” She’s not great at the whole expo thing. She’s fast as a cook, she’s slow as a speaker.

You take a look over the book on the table, and bump her aside with your hip.

“Chefs, I’m gonna need ‘ya to fire six fish all day— ‘kay?”

“Heard, Chef?” The crowd is confused but they’re not gonna stop you.

“Good, good.” You note the dead plate by you, “This asparagus is fuckin’ dead can I get hands on flashing it, please, Chefs?”

“Yes, Chef!”

Syd eyes you, on the sidelines, perplexed. You shrug, “You and Carmen are not the first people that tried to get this fuckin’ kitchen in order, check yourself.”

You didn’t do all the French bullshit, but some days at The Beef definitely ran better when they had a former Lead EMT barking at them— With love, though. Always with love. Syd just laughs, shaking her head. It’s a delight, to always be learning new things about you. How overarching your handful of talents are. You really are a Jack of All Trades.

You run things a little differently than a typical actual expo would. But sometimes, that’s kind of a good thing.

“Baby, where are we at with table twenty?!”

“T,” You say names, instead of Chef, more often than not, “If you yell at me like that, I will, what—?” Your call and responses, are a bit different. “Start crying, yes, thank you, Chef. Table twenty’s plated, we’re just waiting on placement from Syd, take your time but not too much, babe.”

“Heard!”

Levity, temperature, ease. It’s what you bring to the table, in everything you do. And sometimes, yeah, that’s not what you need. But right now, that’s everything this kitchen needs.

When Richie eventually comes back, handling front of house almost entirely by himself, he’s relieved to see you on expo, and the kitchen functioning, but he seems a little thrown. Off his rhythm.

You put a hand on his shoulder, as he stands next to you. “You good, Cousin?”

He sighs, he’s not good. “M’good, Chip.”

“Can I get an all-day on pasta, Chef?” Marcus’ voice doesn’t really occur to you, in the background, right now. You’re all about Richie.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothin…” He kisses his teeth, “S’just, man’s a real piece of work— N’ I can’t— Can’t give it back to him.”

“What’d he say?”

“Just, just kinda… Made fun ‘a—” Richie pauses, clearing his throat. “He made fun of my voice. To his fuckin’ friends. Called me unprofessional, said the suit’s prol— Probably a knock-off— Which, it is, but—”

“Chef, pasta?”

“One second, Marcus!” You call out, quick, not taking your eyes off Richie. You hate to hear him attempting to switch, all the syllables fit uncomfortably in his mouth. You frown. “He’s an asshole. Don’t listen to ‘em. You should bite back a little, I think.”

Richie hums, arms crossing, guarding himself. He sighs, finally voicing the worry. Son of a bitch, this guy’s in Richie’s head now, too. “…D’you take me serious, Cousin?”

You soften, while simultaneously growing so angry, at how quickly Richie’s become demoralized, “Richie— Cousin, of course I take you seriously.”

The moment is cut short, however, by a reasonably frustrated Marcus, at his limit. “Tony, all-day pasta, shit, c’mon!”

About a minute or two earlier, Carmen went into his office to take a call. He’s still jotting down notes, trying to come up with a recipe, not knowing the effort is meaningless now.

“Everything alright, Sug?”

“Hm? Yeah, everything’s good, I just wanted to call ‘stead of text ‘cause my hands are full of baby.” He told you so, not an emergency. “You guys busy?”

“Yeah, actually, s’maybe I’ll call you back, after?”

“Sure, sure, yeah, I just wanted to let you know I didn’t get Tony’s invoice.”

He pauses, no longer writing. “What’d’you mean you didn’t get her invoice?”

“She said you took care of it.”

“She told me you took care of it.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause, as Natalie thinks, trying to recount. “Well, maybe I’ve just got mom brain, but I swear she told me you covered it, thought I wrote it down…”

“Yeah, you did.” Carmen flits through the folder he was looking at yesterday, finding her sticky note. “You wrote down to ask me for her invoice.”

“Yeah, so I could get a copy for our records. Maybe I just got mixed up and left it somewhere— Just double check before you ask her for it again, I like her, Carmy, I don’t want her to think we’re unprofessional.”

“We are unprofessional.” And you like them anyways. He pops open the desk drawer, flitting through folders, most of them labeled ‘stuff’ ‘shit’ ‘bullshit’ ‘bullshit stuff’. Carmen loves his brother but sometimes he curses the fucking sky. There’s every chance Sug slipped your invoice into one of these by mistake.

“Yeah, but I don’t want her to know that.” Carmen can hear little baby Michaela murmuring on the other end of the phone. “Tell her to come see the baby, by the way.”

“I will. I’m plannin’ on it.” After dinner. Maybe when he opens up your painting and he forces you to tell him ad nauseum what you thought of the cherry and lamb dish. Your dish. That shit is never getting put on the menu, no. It’s a lot easier to think of plates when they’re for you, it’s fucking impossible to come up with a dish for his old Head Chef— He really needs to get back out there, actually, he’s out of thinking time, he just has to throw shit at the wall.

But then he sees a folder he’d never paid attention to, before. ‘ICE Chip’s’. Another one of Mikey’s extremely confusingly titles. Carmen always figured it’d been a weird way of naming a folder meant for bulk orders of ice for drinks or for the walk in— But now, Carmen knows better, Carmen knows you. No harm in looking, right? He’ll take a quick peak, see it’s actually for ice, and then he’ll go back out there, rip his hair out, and put it on a plate for the fucking man out front that talked to him during his entire morning routine, today.

Except there’s not invoices for ice, in this folder.

“I’ve been reading her Frog and Toad, almost every night, by the way, Mickey loves it.”

No, it’s you, in this folder. Carmen wants to throw up. He’s being dramatic, he needs to relax, the blood in his veins is freezing and boiling at the same time.

And maybe if Carmen's day had started off a bit better, if he was acting like himself today, and not the man in his head, in his restaurant— Maybe he'd be a little more reasonable, right now. Maybe if he ate family earlier, instead of skipping it to re-tape all the containers in the walk-in, he'd feel a little more forgiving. If he wasn't so tired, if he wasn't so hungry, if he wasn't shaking off a minute cold he got from walking to your house past midnight, a few days ago, he'd be a bit less inclined to spiral.

But there’s a handful of film photos with the two of you— Just the two of you— Richie’s in one or two, but it’s mostly just you and Michael. His arm, over your shoulder, in again, most of them. Mikey looks non-plussed in half of them. You’re always holding some sort of cupcake or cake, in all of them, and there’s always a numbered candle, being blown out. There’re a couple different times there’s a One candle, a few Twos, only one Three.

You knew Mikey for two to three years, didn’t you? Anniversary photos?

Carmen is going to fucking throw up. Why are there multiple ones? One week-iversary? One month-iversary? He has never imagined his brother to be some fucking sap sentimentalist, and it’s making his skin crawl. You dated his fucking brother? He is just a fucking gap filler, he is.

There has got to be another reasonable explanation, for this. You wouldn’t do this to him— Someone would’ve said something to him— Richie would’ve at the very least made some sort of stupid fucking derogatory comment about him getting sloppy seconds— There is no fucking way you dated his fucking brother—

‘I’m with you Bear!!’

‘Just one more, Mikey’

‘love you’

Sticky notes. Your handwriting. There are sticky notes with your handwriting in this forsaken fucking folder. Telling Mikey you love him, and to keep going— You called him Bear. That makes sense, everyone calls all three of the kids Bear— But that was— You— He needs to throw up. It cannot stay in his throat; he cannot let this stay in his throat— ‘We go under together’ — And yet he cannot stop reading them. ‘Same team.’

Same team. You’re on the same team. With his brother. Isn’t that fucking sweet. Isn’t that just adorable. Isn’t the fucking photo booth strip of you two, clearly taken after seeing a movie, fucking precious?

The last thing in this folder is the nail in the coffin, the knife in the hand. Paperwork. Not an invoice, no. Not the fucking thing he was looking for. No. An old agreement form.

A joint bank account. Wells Fargo. Signed by both of you. Photo IDs photocopied, side by side on a black and white piece of paper, stapled onto the end. This feels more intimate than any piece of paperwork that has ever existed. Even a fucking marriage certificate can’t hold a candle to this. You had a joint bank account with a fucking two-bit junkie—

You fucking trusted him with your credit score— You loved Mikey enough to ruin your life— You wanted to go under together. That’s what you fucking wrote, isn’t it?

Every fear Carmen ever had is more than affirmed. He is here to fill a void, he’s here because his brother isn’t. He is nothing but a series of stories his brother has told you, to you. Nothing but another Berzatto man that you desperately try to rehabilitate and fix and inevitably fail with, because they’re all fucking hopeless, before moving onto the next.

He doesn’t even need to kill himself, this time, no— You’ll realize he’s a lost fucking cause when you realize he’s nothing like his brother, when you find out he’s sharp and rendered, that even if he was a good person, he’s still him, and that’s a rot that not even you can fix— You’ll leave him unfinished like all the projects in the corners of your apartment. Because that’s what he is, to you, a project, something to fix. He’s like all your other jobs. He’s a job. Just another distressed restauranteur. Nothing but a fucking replaceable part, that you’ve got ten more spares for in your car.

Carmen doesn’t need to be fixed— He’s perfectly fine the way he is— He was fucking great before you showed up, actually— No, he wasn’t happy, but he was talented, and he wasn’t so brain-dead that he’d fuck up a basic meal thinking of you, he wasn’t so stupid that he’d speak out of turn and call you pretty, he wouldn’t have gotten a cold walking to your house in the winter, he would’ve just taken a hot shower until it hurt, without you— Carmen was— is— A Two Michelin Star chef, he’s fucking great without his brother— He runs The Bear without him just fine, he did everything without his fucking brother just fine, it didn’t hurt when Mikey stopped picking up the phone, Carmen doesn’t need his fucking brother, so he certainly doesn’t need you.

“Carmen?” His sister is still on the phone. Waiting for him to respond. Waiting for him to entertain the idea of being a good uncle. He doesn’t need his sister, either. He hangs up without as much as a simple ‘bye’.

He hears Marcus, yelling for an all-day, yelling Tony. Even still Carmen’s expecting Richie’s voice to reply, but instead, it’s yours that reverberates in past the office door.

“Aye, Marcus! We’ve got three alfredo, two cannoli, one gnocchi, okay, sweets? Same team, right?”

“Same team, Chef.”

Oh, so it’s a fucking Beef thing, too? That’s so fucking cute. It’s so cute, how you’re everywhere, in everything. It’s so goddamn tender how he finds you carved into tables, finds you in filing cabinets, finds you under his booths, finds you in his walk-in, finds you in his shower caddy each morning, finds you on his balcony in a plant pot, finds you in his fridge in a spray bottle, finds you with Syd, finds you with Richie, finds you with Tina, Marcus, Jimmy, Mikey.

So cute. So fucking cute, that he’s gonna see you out there, running his kitchen, fixing everything you deem wrong with him.

Carmen Berzatto doesn't need anyone to ruin his own life except for him. He'll prove it.

i know i know i know i know--

I said it wouldn't be that much of a cliffhanger but when i got through writing the last fourth of this chapter i was having a lot of trouble because pace wise it just really really needed to be a separate part-- and this way, i get to do a fun format style change that i planned but thought i wouldn't get to do TURNS OUT I DO GET TO!! yeehaw

so much happened this chapter, like while writing it, when i'd go back to edit, i was like oh my god that was this chapter?? jesus christ. I was really waiting for y'alls reaction to this one, so please do harang me wherever you feel comfortable ranting to, i love to see it.

But yeah, really fuckin brutal, eh? And a lot of half lore dumps! You think they dated? You think it's something else? The RichiexTony and SydxTony crowds are eating fucking good tonight, also. Love those cuties and their friendships.

We've got a taglist now, I'm bad at keeping track of it, but remember if u wanna be added to this silly little thing you need to hand in an essay (more like a cute lil paragraph) tellin' me what you thought! And also ask. Duh. BUT YA GOTTA DO BOTH!~

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin

Next Part

[onlyseokmins]

coups and vernon corruption/ size kink on reader

Hi anon, tysm for sending this in >:) hope u enjoy it ~

“Where on earth did you find such a perfect lil sweetheart?” Seungcheol asks in disbelief as he stares without shame at your fluttering hole. “She’s too gorgeous to be real.”

Vernon chuckles. His right-hand squeezes and gropes at your chest while his left firmly holds your inner thigh to make sure you remain on proper display for his friend to see.

“Fell right into my lap like an angel. Go on, sweetheart, why don’t you tell him the story?”

Your ears must certainly be on fire with how hot they feel, cheeks burning furiously in tandem. Highly tempted to bury your face in your boyfriend’s neck because you usually preferred to not be the center of attention, but something in the hungry way Seungcheol looks at you keeps your legs spread and shy gaze fixed on him.

“Was getting my fr-friends their refills. T-too many people. Spilled the dr-drinks on him.”   

It’s hard to recount and relay a story from months ago with a hand creeping closer and closer to where you ache the most to be touched. Warm, nimble fingers pause at your hip crease with a tight grasp, and you can’t help but throw your head back against Vernon’s shoulder as you let out a needy whine despite how he clicks his tongue.

“Soaked me for sure,” he finally sinks a finger into your pulsating heat, “not that I cared about the drinks because it was this pretty pussy that was absolutely dripping after cleaning me up like the good girl she is.” Vernon nods to his friend. “Would be happy to give you a demo but I’m sure you want to experience it for yourself.”

Pornographic sounds of Vernon slowly easing additional fingers inside of your tiny cunt mixed with your breathy moans are music to Seungcheol’s ears. He’s pleasantly surprised at how hard he continues to get and gives into palming the bulge you keep sneaking glances at that you think he doesn’t notice.  

The brown-haired man had already felt the blood rush down to his cock when you waltzed in on your boyfriend’s arms with those absurdly short white shorts and a lovely baby-blue shirt snug around your cute tits — all clothes that now lay useless in a bundle on the floor of the bedroom. Even the partygoers were drawn in by your demure presence, curious glances sent your way — thankfully all of them oblivious to the true intentions between the threesome’s somewhat innocent interaction at the start of the night.

“It would be my pleasure,” he says as he approaches like a predator eyeing its prey, but you find him far from scary, not even the jingle of his belt buckle making you flinch. As a matter of fact, Vernon can only shake his head at how you clench tightly around his fingers at Seungcheol’s question. “You would like that wouldn’t you, sweet babygirl?”

You can only nod eagerly, mouth opening obediently for him to stick a finger between your lips. He grunts when you lightly suck, grazing your teeth across his knuckle before your tongue swirls around to soothe the sting, eyelashes fluttering innocently at the unspoken hint and promise of better things.

It only makes sense that this man could utterly wreck and destroy you. He withdraws his finger and runs it gently down your cheek, the saliva trail making your skin shine in the dim light. His dark brown eyes are filled with a soft warmth as he appreciatively gazes at how breathtaking you are with three fingers inside your pussy.

“Gonna need an answer first, baby.”

The assuring “yes” trails off into a loud moan when Vernon’s thumb brushes against your clit as he readjusts you on all-fours.

“We didn’t disclose the full truth, did we? That this angel actually fell face-first into my lap ‘cause she’s so cock-hungry. Oh, and how needy she got after seeing your pic on my feed that she actually begged to ride my face for an hour?” Your boyfriend sighs. “You really bring out the dirty in her, Cheol.”  

“I do?”  

Seungcheol’s embarrassed laugh is cut off with a surprised grunt when you suddenly reach for his dick, anxious to have something filling you up now that Vernon is simply licking his fingers clean, enjoying how you always taste so good. He’s probably sulking a bit, though, which is proven true in the way he answers the unspoken question hinted by his friend’s raised eyebrow.

“If you’ve still got it after she sucks you off, I’ll let you taste her but beware — she sucks… frankly, very well. Killer game.” Vernon pauses, getting the message when you grind your ass against him while you kitten-lick the thick head of Seungcheol’s cock to assess his size. “And like I told you earlier, you gotta make her squirt first. It’ll really get you to appreciate what this special pussy can do before you even think of entering it. First off, it’s mine and second, she needs stretched just right and even then, she’s tight as hell.”

“Of course, your princess needs to be treated just as precious as she deserves. I'm more than happy to provide.”

It’s a euphoric haze of pleasure for everyone involved — especially for you, between two men who think so highly of you but can fuck you so hard and good as if you’re a demon in disguise. And maybe you are.

Send me a NSFW headcanon and I’ll write a 5(ish) sentence ficlet about it 👀👅

[faegirly]

Round Two - (Slight Injured) Sevika x Fem Reader

after a familar brawl with an unexpected opponent, Sevika makes her way back to The Last Drop holding whats left of her mechanical arm, looking for a drink and getting it with some love to go.

hello hello, here is the Sevika x Fem reader story I started yesterday but lost so rewrote today. writing for Arcane is as fun and fulfilling as I imagined and i cant wait to write more so for now, here is our Lady and Savior of the Sapphics, Sevika 💐 i hope you enjoy 💫

~

Sevika grunted as she shouldered open the door of the Last Drop, but kept her head high as she hid her limp as best as possible. she stomped across the floor as calmly as possible before dropping into one of the booths on the far side of the club, not waiting or bothering to ask the patrons already sat there to clear the table; just one steely fatigued glare of her smoke-grey eyes was more than enough to send them tripping over stools and chair legs and disappearing into the clouds of bodies and pulsating neon lights.

once sat, Silco's right hand stopped the front she'd been putting up as she entered the remade building, hissing a tight groan of pain through tightly clenched teeth as she clutched at her side. of course Vi just had to show up again, just when everything was getting under control, but Sevika wasn't about to let a lucky jab keep her from seeking out a rematch.

the heat of her rage and ever thrumming pain pulsed under her brown skin like flames, licking at her nerves until she slammed a fist on the rickety wooden table and snapped, "For fuck sake! What'll it take to get a shot around here?!"

while the hollow bang of a fatigue-weighted fist echoing through the old wood and the floor sent nearby drinkers and brawlers scrambling away, you just sighed as you walked past her fidgeting build like it was nothing more uncommon than a fist being thrown. you'd been working at The Last Drop for longer than you could remember, had seen the aftermath of Sevika's brawls for longer than that, but this time, you could tell that teasing as much as you were used to wouldnt end as well.

hearing her curse and groan through the pounding electric music, the clinking of glasses and jeering laughter of patrons of the club, you set down the tray you'd carried from across the floor on the bar, reaching over it to pick up two bottles, two shot glasses and a clean cloth before finally sauntering over to her to answer her sharp question.

"A please would work, I'd say." you smirked as you stopped before her, setting down the bottles and glasses so you could lift her chin with a knuckle.

but Sevika swatted your hand away as soon as your skin made contact with hers, those steely eyes immediately slicing up to your face. "Quit it. I'm not in the mood for jokes right now."

again, you just chuckled softly and didn't hesitate to lift her chin with the tips of your fingers as you said, "Then I suppose the thank you will come later. Now stay still. Let me look at you."

Sevika pushed out a heavy breath through her strong nose, her eyes never leaving your softly smug face as the music continued to radiate through the smoke and shimmer misted air, but after a while, as your velvetine touch brushed against her chin and strong cheeks, catching beads of sweat and blood splatters that marred the copper sheen of her face, her heavy stare eased back until at last, she sighed and rested her forehead against your stomach.

taking the first bottle and tilting some of the alcohol onto the cloth, you smiled and gently held her cheek on your hand, blushing softly when she turned her head to kiss your palm. "Rough night?" you asked quietly, rubbing at a particularly nasty bruise just under her right eye.

"You could say so." Sevika confessed under her breath, using her free hand to pour you both shots, unflinching as you wiped her open wounds with the soaked cloth. "Had a little run in with pinky."

immediately, your hand stilled at her cheekbone and with a frown pushing down onto your brow, you pulled back just a little to read her expression. when she met your eyes and answered your silent question with her own while throwing back her shot, your own gaze blew wide with frustration and shock. "Vi?!"

just the mention of her name was enough to make the whole bar still, the music seeming to dull away into the distant winding alleys and hidden corners of The Lanes, whiskey mixed chatter catching in throats and soon enough, all eyes turned to you and Sevika.

the weight of the eyes of The Last Drop settled slowly on your shoulders like a shadow, but you weren't afraid. not with Sevika sat before you. near simultaneously, her eyes and yours glided from each other to the club's main floor, narrowing to calm and collected threatening scowls, a warning for any of them to try anything with action or words.

just from that alone, most of the patrons turned back to their own business, but for those brave enough to maintain eye contact with you and your immovably powerful girlfriend, you added onto your glare by gently pushing your short apron aside to reveal a plethora of short throwing knives, daggers and shards of metal strapped up and down your thigh just below the cuff of your short. and Sevika, grinning with pride at your confidence, slid her hand up the length of your leg until she held your skin there in her warm human hand, brushing the back of your thigh with her thumb as she smirked at the crowd, daring any of them with her lethal glare to be the first to challenge either of you at all.

that was more than enough to get the privacy of your conversation back, but not without a deep chuckle from Sevika.

"you're so sexy when you do that." she mused, kissing your hip before leaning back against the booth, letting you stand between her legs as you cleaned up her face, neck and arms with the cloth. "maybe you could come with me for my rematch, show Vi I have a girlfriend with a good shot too."

a smirk pushed into your cheek as you stole a glance at her beautifully proud and scarred face, shaking your head as you took your shot, then sat yourself down on her lap to clean the blood and shimmer from her mechanical arm. "Maybe she's just learning from the best. Immitation is a form of flattery, though the lowest mind you but one none the less."

"Oh, so you finally admit it."

"Not like I haven't before."

"Of course, I've heard you praise my other... talents but it's nice to hear you appreciate this side of me also."

"You say that like I don't tell you every day how wonderful you are."

"And so are you, sweet thing." Sevika purred, her lips pulling up at the corner to reveal that devious gleaming grin that sent you melting to the core. your hands stilled at her mechanical shoulder, the hiss of the released shimmer vial chamber at her forearm being the only thing to break the silence.

with a low and breathy laugh, the brown beauty leaned forward, her free arm slinking around your waist to pull you close so she could whisper against your slightly parted lips, "Come with me when I go for our rematch, and we'll show them both how wonderful we are together."

the breath you'd been holding slipped out of you slowly as you held her gaze, that ash grey of them like the fur of a wolf glinting in moonlight beneath the bulb swinging above your heads. by now the bar had faded away from your minds, the only things that existed in all of Zaun being Sevika's body beneath you, strong and firm and warm as the whiskey in the back of your throat, and your ever pounding heartbeat as her gaze flicked to your lips.

Now it was your turn to grin as you teased, "I bet you wouldn't kiss me right here."

the laugh that erupted out of her was more melodic than any of the fragmented music that would ever be played in The Last Drop, bold and strong as she was, and when she met your eyes again, all she could say in response was, "You said the same thing three seconds before I took you on Silco's desk. Did think I'd do that there either... did you?"

the memory bloomed at once in your mind, sending your vision spinning with the residual bliss of that night and in your dazed state, Sevika took the chance to close the gap and kiss you deeply, frowning into it as her fingers pressed into your heated flesh just below the hem of your shirt, needing to feel you skin to skin even just a little.

you let yourself melt into her body, your fingers sliding into her dark brown hair, gripping just enough to make her hum a laugh into your mouth and bite your bottom lip before pulling away slowly to purr, "Easy, baby girl. You'll make a scene."

"Oh am I? I thought you liked that."

"Oh, I do, trust me. But save your energy for the pink one. It'll be a great show with you there."

You let yourself laugh at her proposal but sighed as you leaned back a little more and holding her cheek, took in her whole face. Fearless, controlled, determined. Kissing her lightly once more, you whispered, your voice lowering with sincerity, “It’s a deal… if you promise me you’ll be more careful next time.”

Sevika’s smug expression softened at your words, but she shrugged and turned to pour herself another shot as she replied, “I can’t promise-”

“Please, Sevika.” you interrupted, catching her attention once more. Brushing her cheek with your thumb, you insisted, maintaining her gaze, “I love you, and I don’t doubt your strength, but it doesn’t make seeing you hurt any easier. Please, even when I come with you, be careful.”

Something in Sevika’s chest fluttered stronger than before as she listened to you, and she knew if she didn’t reply soon, you’d see her blush at your care. So she dropped her gaze and smiled, holding your hand to her cheek and once again, turning to kiss your palm before agreeing, “I promise, sweetness.”

Relief was a wave of cool air in the stuffy, humid club that night and it washed over you just enough to take the weight off your shoulders and bring a beaming smile to your cheeks. “Thank you. It’s a date then.”

“It is not.”

“It is too, now stay still so I can loosen these screws, alright? I'm not having you make even more of a mess all over me.”

And with a grin that contained all the pride of being with you in the world, Sevika breathed a chuckle and muttered, “Yes ma’am” before throwing back another shot and letting her hand slide down to your waist while you helped her get back in order again, as she could always rely on you to do.

end

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

The angst anon has me thinking, what about Vex having a post-canon brush with death and Percy saying something to the essence of “I never thought I’d have to live without you?” Lifespan angst with a side of Hurt/Comfort?

Percy is going to die well before Vex. That's something he's grown comfortable with. After all, the thought of having to watch her die, just like so much of his family before, hurts him to no end. He's glad she'll out live him, even if it is selfish.

But now he's facing that very possibility.

It was supposed to be an epic last hurrah for Vox Machina, finding the biggest monster the could and tearing it to shreds. It was a day trip, nothing more. But it ended with Vex lying bloody on the ground. Percy kneels by her side, holding tight to one of her hands as Pike stands over her, divine magic swirling between her hands.

Percy doesn't look away from his wife. Her chest is still, not rising and falling, there's no trace of life on her face. There's a ice cold fear in Percy's veins, what will he tell their children? Gods, Gwendolyn is barely old enough to talk, she can't lose her mother. Fuck, Vesper is almost an adult, she can't lose her mother. None of them can. He can't lose his wife, not when he knows what grief does to him. He doesn't know how to live without her.

Pike's divine magic sinks into Vex's skin, making her glow for a moment. Peercy squeezes down on her hand, "Don't leave me, please don't leave me." He doesn't know who he's talking to, maybe Vex, maybe the Raven Queen, maybe his brother in law.

His eyes are blinded with tears, but he still hears her talk in a long breath, her beautiful eyes blinking open. Percy doesn't waste a second before he pulling her into his arms, crying a bit into her hair.

Vex hugs him back and after a moment pulls back and takes his face in her hands. She wipes his tears away, "I'm alright, darling."

At the sound of her voice, Percy takes a long breath and presses a kiss to her palm, nodding a little bit. She kisses him, it takes like blood and tears, but she's here and she's alive so Percy doesn't mind.

When they return to Whitestone after getting cleaned up, no need to terrify their kids by arrive covered in blood, Percy doesn't leave Vex's side. Together, they corral their kids into their beds, having a late dinner, and make their way to their bedroom.

When the door shuts behind them, Percy pulls Vex into another hug, breathing slowly. Vex holds him back, "Darling, you're worrying me," she tells him softly.

Percy pulls away just enough to meet her eyes, "Vex, I...I never thought I'd have to live without you and for a second I saw everything. I-I saw me trying to raise our kids by myself and trying to rule Whitestone..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I don't ever want to live without you because I am terrified that I would become who I was before you changed me."

Vex smiles sadly and kisses him. "Percival, neither of us can predict the future. But if you were to lose me, I know that you would still be an amazing father and ruler." She squeezes the back of his neck, "I hope it never comes to that, but we both know that it's possible."

He nods with a sigh. "Are you ever worried about the time you'll live after I'm gone?"

Vex says nothing, she walks over to their bed and sits on the edge. Percy follows her, sinking down beside her as she takes his hand in hers. "Of course I am. You changed me as well, Percy, and the thought of having to live without you or my brother is terrifying. But I'll have our children and Keyleth. I'll be alright."

She leans her head on his shoulder. Percy squeezes her hand. "We're destined for a tragic ending, aren't we?" He asks quietly.

"I don't think so," Vex tells him, just as soft. "Every story has hard moments, sad moments. It doesn't make the story a tragedy. Besides, our story doesn't end when we die. I'll see you again, Percy, in the same place where I'll find my brother and our mother and your family and the rest of our friends. That's a happy ending to me."

Percy smiles a little bit, though tears gather in his eyes. "Too me as well."

[anyoneseenadam]

The Moon Spirit - One

Dorian x reader (throne of glass) (future fenrys x reader)

Description: When you’re taught to be a queen from such a young age, nothing could go wrong. But when the king starts to fear your growing power you find yourself thrust into a world of faeries, evil magic and powerful men, learning to stand on your own can be harder than it seems.

warnings: blood, graphic descriptions of violence, objectification, gross old men, Dorian is a ball of love and niceness however, angst, fluff, possibly smut in later chapters

word count: 4.5k

a/n: ahhhhh I’m finally writing this!! This has been in my head for so long now so I’m so glad I’m finally getting it down and I’m really excited to develop it further and possibly go into some poly!dorianxfenrysxreader but that shall all be revealed soon lmao, pls comment and let me know your opinions and theories and shiz it always makes my day!!!

—————————————————————————-

“Wake up.” You felt insistent tapping on your forearm, groaning as you shook it off, turning onto your side and burrowing deeper into your soft duvet. “C’mon wake up princess,” your brain barely registered Dorian’s whining as you groaned in return, throwing and arm out behind you and batting at his firm chest.

“Go away.” You moaned as you felt a firm body land on top off yours. Dorian pressed his face in between your shoulder blades as his arms wormed their way beneath your stomach, warm fingertips massaging the skin of your belly as you cracked open an eye, albeit reluctantly.

“I have to say all those lessons in ladylike manners sure paid off.” You heard Chaol’s sarcastic voice and turned your head just enough to glare at him as well as he sat comfortably on the armchair next to your fireplace.

“I also have lots of lessons in stabbing rude boys, shall I demonstrate those,” you grumbled, flipping him off before shaking your clingy boyfriend away, sitting up in bed and glaring at both of them as they laughed at your disgruntled expression. “What do you want and why are you waking me up?”

“Well, my love,” Dorian moved behind you to gently start brushing your hair as you hummed in delight at the attention, both of you ignoring Chaol’s eye roll, “It is your birthday isn’t it?”

“So you choose to torment me?” you asked as Dorian stood again, smiling at you boyishly as he moved around your room, tidying away clothes.

“Well seventeen is a big one,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you and Chaol moved to translate as you stood and made your way to your bathroom where a bath had already been run for you, the hot water smelling of expensive soaps and salts.

“We have to make appearances today, and there’s a ball tonight.” Your shoulders slumped as you realised what your day entailed.

“Appearances?” you gave your friend a pleading look, but he just shrugged his shoulders sympathetically.

“Carriage through the city, the whole point in the public seeing you so much is to dampen any threat of revolution and they haven’t seen the two of you together recently. Your birthday is as good a time as any.” The older boy explained as your dark-haired prince moved closer to you, wrapping his arms tightly around you and kissing your head.

“I know it sucks princess, but if we make the rounds this morning, we’ll have all afternoon to ourselves before the ball.”

“I don’t like being a show pony.” You grumbled as the familiar frustration prickled behind your eyes, tears forming on what was supposed to be a happy day for you.

Chaol and Dorian averted their gazes at your words, both feeling a deep sense of guilt over something they truly couldn’t control. You had spoken of this before, only in confidence to them; Dorian the love of your life and Chaol alike a brother to you, you had told them how you felt like a toy, a shiny thing for the king to display, waved around in front of the public until you were drained, and they were putting artificial colour onto your face. You had once described it as being alike a corpse in makeup, dragged around for others entertainment as you slowly rotted and decayed until you were unrecognisable.

“I’ll be there the entire time my love, when it gets too much I’ll drag the attention away from you okay?” you nodded as he stroked your arm reassuringly.

“I love you,” you said to him as you leaned up to kiss him gently.

“I love you too baby, happy birthday.”

Chaol walked past as he left the room so you could clean, ruffling your hair as he passed. “Maybe next year you’ll grow,” he mocked, narrowly missing your smack as the three of you laughed.

“Clean up, we’ll be waiting when you’re ready,” Dorian pressed another kiss to your head before he was dragged out of the room, his grin easy as you waved him away.

--

You washed quickly without the help of the maids that usually surrounded you. You presumed that was a birthday present from Dorian as he knew how much you despised the bustling groups of women that would preen over your every feature.

You spent half the bath scrubbing off layers of dead skin and the other massaging your hair until it had no option but to shine in the morning light. Cleaning your face and dragging a razor over any visible body hair as you repeated the rules you were taught in your head.

1.      Never look anything less than perfect. A queen must look put together.

2.      Always stand straight.

3.      Never smile with your teeth.

4.      Wave to children only, adults get a polite head bow.

5.      Speak once spoken too and only if given permission from the Crown prince…

The list went on for what seemed like hours and at one point you had it written down and pinned on your wall next to your mirror, reading it every day. The first four years you had spent under the king’s care were the same. Lessons followed by more lessons, restrictive diets, and waist training. They broke you down and remodelled you into the perfect queen, and throughout those lonely years you never once saw Dorian, excluding the first time you met as children.

Only when you were twelve did you see him again, and from then on you did everything together. When he sword trained you practiced ballet, when he read, you read, when he ate, you ate. You became one person, never doing something without the other, Chaol turning your duo into a trio soon after.

When you turned fourteen he kissed you. You both knew you were to be married one day, but one snowy day he had pulled you aside and kissed you quickly, face as red as the roses your mother used to grow every summer. He had asked you to be his girlfriend, speaking so quickly you barely heard him as you held in laughs at your usually so composed prince. You had nodded in response and he kissed you again, holding your hand tightly as the two of you escaped the castle for the night, determined as he was to take you on a real date.

You dried quickly when you got out the bath, rubbing your favourite lavender scented hand cream into your hands and neck. You towelled your hair off and dressed quickly, mindful of the delicate necklace that always hung around your neck, the one that secured your place in the glass castle. Even if you didn’t know why.

Your dress was dusty blue with silver stitching, the king and queen liking when you and Dorian sticked to a theme. You thumbed some silver earrings in and adorned your wrists in similar dainty, silver bracelets, finally twisting your hair into a low bun and pinning away the loose strands, applying minimal makeup.

You heard a soft knock at the door before it pushed open, a familiar mop of dark hair appearing at an odd angle from behind the door. You smiled when you saw him, unable to escape the rush of feelings that appeared whenever he walked in a room, all easy smiles and suave manner.

He sauntered over to you with a cheeky smile, his hands hiding something behind his back.

“Maybe Chaol was right about the height thing,” he commented when he reached you, your similar heights long gone as you both grew into your bodies, the days of being young and without consequences gone.

You jabbed him in the rib jokingly, “It’s my birthday and all I’ve gotten so far is abuse.”

“Let me change that then,” he pressed a kiss to the underside of your jaw, and you shut your eyes, revelling in the attention from your lover. He pulled away and revealed the flat box he was holding. “I know you can’t take your necklace off, but I thought this would go nicely with it,” he opened the box in your direction, and you looked down at a beautiful gold necklace with a circular pendant showing an opalescent crescent moon with three stars on the gold plating it rested on.

“Oh Dorian,” you whispered, picking the necklace up gently to admire it.

“Of course I have a million other presents waiting for you later, I have to treat my best girl,” he scrunched his face up in the way that always reminded you that he too was just a boy, despite his lessons. You loved these gentle moments when you both let your masks drop, and instead focused on the true love you shared, a lack of care for the way it was pushed. You instead focused on the luck that had given you a man you could truly love, through all the pain and harsh words, the world had given you someone to endure its hardships with, and for that you would remain grateful.

“Put it on for me?” you smiled at him, biting your lip gently as he turned you around, clasping the necklace that sat perfectly under your crystal behind you neck, his fingers soft and gentle as they trailed down the chain and settled between your collarbones, his touch almost wary of the stone as he moved to stand in front of you.

He seemed like he was about to say something but clearly decided against it, instead reaching to tug some strands of hair down to frame your face, twirling them in his long fingers.

“We’ll be fine today, it’s only an hour or two.” He said, his voice steady and sure, his courage coursing through you as he cupped your face lightly.

“We will be. We always are.” You moved away and sat to pull on your shoes as Dorian checked his sword was hanging safely from his side still before he picked up a light shawl, slinging it around your shoulder and linking arms with you.

“The city awaits my love,”

--

Chaol was escorting you through the courtyard when you were surrounded by a fleet of soldiers, exchanging a worried glance with Dorian.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his arm tightening around you as he and Chaol both scanned the area.

“Yes your highness, however a rather dangerous prisoner is being taken to the king, so we are simply on high alert.” A guard you recognised said, Dorian frowned but you all continued onwards, only slowing when you passed an ever-larger group of guards. When you passed them you looked to the centre where a beautiful girl with a tear-stained face stood, being dragged along, her blonde hair matted with blood and dirt. She locked eyes with you, and you felt a pulse of power go through your body, her turquoise eyes widening for a second as time seemed to slow around you, a soft glow emitting from your neck. However before you could ponder it she was dragged away, and Dorian was asking you a question.

“Huh?” you asked quietly, mind occupied by the strange, beautiful girl.

“What do you think she did?” he asked, his grin cheeky.

“Maybe she steals princes hearts and eats them,” you joked, nudging his side even though your smile didn’t feel real, hiding your shaking hands behind the pleats of your skirt.

“Shame mine has already been stolen,” he flirted, and you laughed genuinely as he helped you into the carriage, pushing down the thoughts of the girl and the anxiety that surged through you as you prepared to plaster on a fake, placid smile.

“I haven’t eaten it yet though,” he laughed, joining you and squeezing your hand.

“Save it for dessert.”

--

The rest of your day passed slowly. Practiced waves and polite conversation taking up a majority of your morning as you tried to keep a pleasant facial expression when all you wanted was to curl up with your very cute boyfriend and sleep your birthday away.

You hated being put on display, the way you were shown off like a shiny toy and your hand was frequently finding Dorians, holding his tightly while you dug your nails into the palm of your other hand, the biting pain reminding you that you were in fact human.

By the end of the long, slow loop of Adarlan your shoulders were aching, and your mouth hurt from the still, soft expression you had kept it in. However you didn’t let your shoulders drop as you moved swiftly through the castle, Dorian by your side and Chaol a pace behind. Instead you only let your shoulders fall when you reached your room as you squealed, clapping your hands together and turning to Dorian with wide eyes when you saw the copious amounts of presents laid out for you.

“Dorian this is too much!” you exclaimed as you tackled him in a hug.

“Nothing is too much for you angel.” He muttered, kissing your head as you practically swooned in his arms.

“You read too much romance,” you said, ducking your head to hide your heated face.

“Plus a solid twenty percent are from me,” Chaol said, and you turned, hugging the tall man tightly too.

“Thank you!” you held your hands to your face, biting the tips of your thumbs like you used to as a child as Dorian led you to the seats where the presents were placed.

“I think this one needs to be opened first,” he said, a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t place as he passed you a large but light box. You opened the lid cautiously as Dorian exchanged excited looks with his brother. You were met by a ball of white fur, bright blue eyes blinking up at you and you gasped.  

You placed a hand over your heart as you reached into the box, picking up the kitten that was roughly the size of your hand and cooing gently as you stroked it, tears filling your eyes. You looked up at Dorian and he smiled at you as you pressed the furball into your chest, nuzzling its soft head.

“I found it abandoned on a street and had to take it home,” he explained, “He doesn’t have a name yet.”

You wiped away a tear that had escaped as they laughed at your emotional state, “Amaris,” you whispered, still choked up, “My little ball of light.”

You leaned into Dorian’s arm and kissed him gently in thanks, his head coming over your shoulder as you cooed at the small kitten that was pawing at your hand like new parents.

“As sweet as this is we’re going to be here for hours if you take this long on everything,” you stuck your tongue out at Chaol, placing Amaris in your lap as you were passed more presents. You ended up opening many presents for Amaris, Dorian sheepishly explaining that he got slightly carried away, countless books, dresses, hair pins and bags filled with sweets from all over the world.

By the time you were finished you all felt slightly sick from the taffy you had shared but the aches left from your smiles were real this time. Maids came in to clear away the wrapping paper and dishes Dorian had ordered up when he realised you hadn’t had any substantial food yet that day.

“I should go, we’ve got dinner then the ball in an hour and I can hear the maids outside,” Dorian said late that afternoon, his arms tight around you as you snoozed on his chest, Chaol having left to complete his duties for the day, not having the luxury to laze around like you and Dorian, and Amaris curled on Dorian’s chest next to your head.

“Do you have too?” you whined, and Dorian laughed,

“Yes, now c’mon. Wear the gold dress tonight,” he was referring to an intricate rose pink and gold dress he had bought you, currently hanging on the screen in your room, the matching tiara in a velvet case on your vanity. You looked over to it with heart eyes, wondering how you got so lucky before you sat up and Dorian marvelled at you, eyes puffy from your nap and lips parted and pouty. He reached up and stole a kiss, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before deepening the kiss with a hand on the back of your head. He pressed into your body, his tongue seeking out yours and you moaned softly into the kiss, his grin a promise of more to come later in the evening.

He pulled away too soon, leaving you breathless and left with a wink as you were surrounded by a sea of flustered maids, getting swept up in the lace and satin, the rush of the room silencing your mind for the time being.

--

You sat next to Dorian on a velvet seat, Dorian’s hand protectively resting on your knee as you spoke to the duke and duchess of some shit you didn’t care about. They were speaking about their fifth horse when you felt a sharp gaze on you and turned to see the king staring at you with his cold eyes, and for a second you felt that pulse of power again, the Duke cut off mid-sentence as the world slowed. You tore your eyes away quickly, clenching them shut as the image of the blonde girl came back into your head, Dorian gazing at you with worry as he excused the two of you.

“What happened?” he asked, leading you to dance as you forced yourself back into your practiced facial expression, the mask slipping on hiding your fear.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned into his embrace, “I need to talk to you about something that happened today,” you whispered low enough for him to hear.

“Are you okay? Did someone do something?” he asked, grip tightening slightly as he led you in a waltz.

“Not quite, I’ll tell you when we can go somewhere more private.” You peered over his shoulder and met the kings’ eyes again, watching as he spoke lowly to Chaol who turned slightly pale before bowing and making his way over to you.

“May I but in,” he asked, and Dorian nodded, still watching you cautiously as he passed you to Chaol.

“The king wishes to speak to you after the ball, he says it’s the first thing you have to do.” He told you quietly and it took all your training to mask your fear.

“Did he say why?” you asked, taking a deep breath when he shook his head. “Okay, that’s fine. Thank you for letting me know.” You finished your dance with Chaol before carrying on with Dorian, occasionally having to entertain a noble who would breathe heavily in your ear for ten minutes before Dorian found an excuse to steal you back, giggling like the teenagers you were as you did.

When the ball ended and everyone began filing out, all wishing you a happy birthday and you and Dorian a happy future you felt the ball of anxiety that had been in your stomach all night grow, consuming your entire being and swallowing you whole.

“Are you sure you’re okay going alone?” Dorian asked for the fourth time and you faked a laugh to appease his nerves.

“He probably just wants to let me know of new duties now I’m older, I’ll not be long.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“But why won’t he let me or Chaol escort you,” he looked concerned, his trust in his father depleting as he grew older.

“Probably because you’ve both been drinking,” you squeezed his hand as his shoulders slumped, “I’ll be fine.”

“Come up to my room as soon as you’re done okay?” you smiled at his concern, placing a hand over your new necklace, and walking back, away from him.

“Promise.” You blew him a kiss, “see you in a minute, I love you.”

--

You knew something was wrong even before you walked in the room as you watched the queen walk out, eyes red. Her breath stopped when she saw you and she looked as if she were about to come over to speak to you, but shook her head, continuing on with a tight smile.

The guards opened the doors to the large throne room, escorting you into the dark room.

The king sat alone.

The room was dark, lit only by the light of the full moon coming in from the glass walls and ceiling. He sat on his burnished throne; his crown lopsided on his head as he swirled a goblet of blood red wine.

You stepped forward, head bowed, posture never faltering as your mind travelled back to the way you had watched your grandmother stand up to him as well, only to pass away less than a month later leaving you with no real family.

“It’s a shame really,” he started, voice low and gravelly and you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “You were truly doing so well, and Dorian the poor boy, this will affect him greatly I presume.”

You fought the bile rising in your stomach at the implications of what he was saying, but kept your mouth shut.

“And I have been nothing but fair, giving you all you could ever dream of and keeping you on a tight leash. But I suppose teenage girls will always want to disobey.” He stood then, motioning to the guards who came and kicked you down, landing on your knees harshly with a yelp as you looked up at the approaching king with fear in your eyes.

He reached you, his hand stroking your cheek lightly before trailing down to your necklaces, gently twirling the stone between your collarbones before holding the one Dorian had gifted you tightly.

“Hmm, tacky,” was all he said before tugging harshly, ripping the necklace of you, and throwing it to the side. “I guess I’ve dragged this out enough now.”

You were shaking were you sat, tears slowly trailing down your face but still to afraid to say a word, even as a guard you didn’t recognise approached you, drawing his sword as the others held you tightly. Your eyes widened, fear seeping in as you started fighting the guards, desperately thrashing in their grips as you met the kings’ eyes.

“You can’t do this,” you begged but it was futile as he laughed in your face, “Please it will destroy Dorian, he is your son please don’t do this.”

“It builds character, a strong king needs to be broken.”

“What about the public! They will figure it out, you can’t spin this one.” You were pulling at strings, but you had to try anything you could.

“I AM KING! WHATVER I SAY GOES, WHATEVER I SAY IS THE TRUTH!” he exploded, and you started sobbing, begging for your life as the king turned away, gesturing for the guard to continue. You were shaking, pulling away from the guards as you fought against their death grip.

You watched the guard raise the sword above his head, squeezing your eyes shut as you sent a prayer to any god that was listening. As you prayed, clutching your necklace letting loose sobs and cried for Dorian you failed to notice the glow emitting from you. You heard the guard step forward to slash down and raised your hands to brace for the blow, a blow that never came.

You looked up to see the three guards that were next to you were all sliced in half, blood spilling onto the floor. You screamed pushing away, slipping on the blood as you tore away sobbing as the king turned to you, face white with fear and rage.

“GET HER!” he screamed but you had already begun running, skirts bunched in your hands, the glow around you shielding you from their arrows as you tore through the doors and into the courtyard, running as fast as your legs would allow, dropping yours arms as the full force of the moons light hit you. You saw a path you and Dorian often took to sneak out and headed for it, hiding behind the mock door that was covered in shrubbery, a hand pressed to your mouth as you muffled your sobs hearing the guards stopping nearby, speaking in hushed tones.

You felt something wet press against your leg and almost screamed, looking down to see Amaris gazing up at you with those bright, unblinking eyes. You held in your sobs, picking him up and pressing him into your chest as you quietly made your way down the path that led to the woods, walking in the moon veiled forest.

Your dress was bloody and torn, your delicate heels had snapped, and your feet were tearing from where you stepped having removed them. You ran through the woods, heading as far away as you could get, however you eventually had to slow walking and holding in your sobs as you realised what you had done.

Not only had you used magic, but you had also killed three men and left Dorian. You held Amaris tighter to your chest as he licked at you gently, your necklace still glowing even thought your entire body ached, ready for rest. But you ploughed on, coming out of the forest onto an empty dirt road.

You sat down for a second, letting Amaris down as you sobbed into your hands until you had no tears left, your entire body still shaking. But you forced yourself to stand, picking up Amaris and walking down the road, luckily finding a small farm with horses.

You quietly took a horse, placing down your tiara in its place, wishing you could apologise more but instead mounting the horse and leaving, riding into the night, tears drying on your face as you held your light close with one hand. You wished you could just wake up, wrapped in Dorians arms as he comforted you after your bad dream, but the pain in your body suggested that wasn’t going to happen.

You wanted Dorian but you needed a plan. And you needed a drink.

--

Chaol stood in the throne room, his hand clenched so tight his knuckles were white as he watched the king spin his story of your sudden disappearance, the sound of Dorians silent cries breaking his heart.

When they were excused he dragged Dorian to his room, where he finally broke down, falling to his knees and sobbing into his hands, muttering about how he should have protected her.

“Dorian I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now, but I think something bad happened to (y/n).” he said, approaching his brother cautiously as he looked at him with wide, tear filled eyes.

“What?” he asked, his voice breaking in his throat. Chaol finally unclenched his hand and passed what he had been holding to Dorian.

The gold necklace was caked with blood.

[bokutosbubblebutt]

A little help

from us students

- Since Sensei Y/N joined team 7, the three students noticed that their usual teacher behaved a bit weird, weirder than normal! So they assumed that Kakashi had a little crush on their new teammate and they tried everything to help him out

Pairing: Kakashi x fem!reader

Words: 2540

Genre: fluff, a bit 16+

- a/n: This was fr so much fun to write and I‘m honestly really proud if it lmao

—————————————

„Okay, guys! We need to talk!“ Sakura sat down next to Naruto and Sasuke. The three we’re eating ramen together after their training session with Sensei Kakashi and Sensei Y/N.

„I was watching him now for a really long time and I came to the conclusion that Sensei Kakashi has a crush on Sensei Y/N!“ she said and ordered some ramen with pork.

„Hu? What do you mean, Sakura?“ Naruto asked confused and raised one of his eyebrows. Even Sasuke turned his head and started to think about it.

„Haven’t you noticed? He’s been acting really weird the last few weeks since she joined us. Well, weirder than usual.“ - „I noticed that he doesn’t read his book when she’s with us.“ - „Yeah, and when we have training with her, he’s always on time, sometimes even earlier.“ - „And when we had this fight with the rain Ninjas, he had a nose bleed after that even though he didn’t got hit.“

„But when I think about it, Y/N likes him too, in my opinion.“ Naruto said and put his chopsticks down. „She’s always with him! Since she joined us, you barely see them alone.“

„They even do personal training with each other, although they are both extremely strong!“ - „And she’s always laughing at his jokes!“

„I remember Sensei Guy eyeing them and he made some weird facial expressions towards Kakashi when we met him.“ Sasuke laughed and drank the left over soup.

„Thats it! It’s obviously that they like each other! Everyone notices that but not themselves.“

„We could help them out a little bit? I think they are pretty cute together and Sensei Kakashi just needs a girlfriend. Maybe he will stop reading these weird books!“ Sakura suggested and looked at her teammates. They all agreed on doing that and started to make some plans on how to get them together.

-Plan 1-

It was a casual trainings day and everyone did their own personal exercises. Sensei Kakashi and you were watching over the three, gave them tips and helped them out. Everything was normal and you all minded your own business.

Naruto was standing on a tree he just walked up with chakra in his feet. „Y/N! Look I made it!“ he screamed over to you and you just threw a thumbs up at him.

„Good Job! Now try to walk down again!“

That was the signal for the first plan they came up with. Now it’s was Narutos job to bring you up on the tree. „Uhm, Y/N Sensei! Can you please help me a bit? I‘m scared that I fall.“ he screamed down to you and tried to make a nervous face.

„I think you should try it on your own Naruto! I believe in you!“ - „But I‘m scared that I fall on my face! You probably don’t want me to get into the hospital, do you?“

Annoyed you rolled your eyes and walked up on that tree to the student. He simply thanked you and then made his first step downwards. „See? You can do it! You have nothing to worry about.“

Naruto casually walked down the tree and looked over to Sakura and Sasuke. The girl was training to put a certain amount of chacra in her Kunias with which she simply can hurt her enemies and paralyze them, a special technique she wanted to learn from Sensei Y/N.

You were about to walk the tree down as well right after Naruto. Kakashi was sitting on the ground and watching you doing this simple task.

Sakura was about to throw one of the chacra knives at a dummy but suddenly Sasuke screamed her name. Of course, this was all planed and the little girl stopped paying attention to where she was throwing the knife and looked over to her teammate. Sakura threw the kunai ”accidentally“ in your direction and managed to hit both of your ankles.

Since this technique caused paralyzed body parts and prevented the chacra flow in some certain areas, both of your feet turned numb and you weren’t able to concentrate chacra to walk down the tree. Slowly your feet started to slide and you fell. With a scream you expected to hit the hard ground and break your bones but this didn’t happen.

You fell into two strong arms which catched you bridal style in the right moment. Immediately your cheeks turned bright red and you tried to avoid eye contact with Kakashi, who catched you. He just stood there and smiled slightly. „Th-,Thank you.“ you stuttered and covered your eyes with your arm.

Kakashi looked down at you and scanned your facial features. Once again he noticed how pretty and cute you were. Slowly he sat you down to check your ankles.

„Oh my god! I‘m so sorry, Sensei Y/N! I‘m so sorry, it’s all my fault!“ Sakura tried to make it look like an accident and apologized immediately. Sasuke and Naruto gave each other a secret high five and then walked up to their teachers with a faked concerned look.

„Dont worry! At least you got it right. It’s wasn’t a big amount of chacra anyways.“ you said and tried to brush it off.

„Next time you better pay attention to where are you throwing your kunai!“ Kakashi warned her and then slightly touched the cut on your feet. The bandage, which was tied around your ankles, was covered in blood and a slight cut was visible. „Does it hurt? Can you move them?“ he asked and put one of his hands on your thigh.

„I can’t feel anything in them, they are numb.“ you answered and massaged the bridge of your nose.

„Kakashi, I think you have to carry her to the hospital when she can’t walk!“ - „Yeah, I guess I have to do that!“ Both of you just looked at each other and blushed. Carefully he placed one arm under your knees and the other on your back. His left hand rested on your hip and pulled you close.

They probably would never admit it but they secretly liked it how close they were to each other. The physical contact wasn’t uncomfortable, more like the opposite and they enyojed each others touch.

-Plan 2-

A week later your ankles were completely healed and you could move them normally again. Now it was time for their second plan, which was well, less painful.

The friends noticed that Kakashi visited you almost every day and brought you flowers. When you got released it was time for the second part.

You five were walking trough the village and talked to each other. „Uhm, Sensei Y/N! We wanted to invite you for dinner as an apologize and we will pay, together.“ Sakura said shyly and hit Naruto slightly in the side. He just nodded and agreed to what she said.

„You don’t have to. It’s okay“ you simply answered and smiled. „We won’t take a no! And we are already here.“ Sasuke threw in and walked towards the restaurant.

It was their favorite ramen noodle shop and Sasuke hold up the sheet for the others. „Hmm, when we are already here.“

Quickly the three picked their seats and made a gap for their senseis so they had to sit next to each other. Normally you sat down and put your hands on the table.

The nice lady took your order and then they started to make your food. As always you ordered ramen with lots of veggies and your favorite drink.

„Do you know what our next mission is going to be? Hopefully something cool, I wanna see Sensei Y/N fighting again!“ Naruto laughed and looked over to Kakashi. Naruto sat besides you and Sasuke sat next to Kakashi.

„Yeah, she is really good, right Kaksahi? The way she does her genjutsu is amazing.“ Sakura mentioned and smiled at their Senseis.

„Hu? Uhm, yeah! I-, I also think your fighting skill is pretty good. It’s, uhm, nice to watch you.“ Kakashi stuttered and tried to hide that he was blushing.

Finally the soup was ready to eat and you all started seating silently. Suddenly Naruto reached over to Sasuke with the intention to get a towel to clean his face.

Accidentally he managed to push against your arm and make you spill your drink all over yourself. Now your shirt and pants were soaking wet and it felt disgusting.

„Oh my god! I‘m sorry Sensei Y/N! I‘m so sorry!“ he started to apologize and looked shocked at you. Sasuke and Sakura gave each other a little high five and just giggled a bit.

Annoyed you looked at your student and then at your wet disgusting clothes. „It’s okay, just be careful next time!“ You tried to brush it off.

Kakashi asked the nice Lady for a towel and she gave it to him. „Wait, let me help you.“ he said and started to gently pet the towel on your wet clothes to dry them a bit.

Carefully he pat it on your torso and on your boobs. You didn’t even realized it at first what he did because you just thanked him for helping you but after a while you noticed the gentle touches. Your face turned bright red and you tried to cover it with your hands. „Th-, thank you!“ you stuttered and looked away. „This is so embarrassing.“

„I can give you my jacket!“ he offered and immediately took it off, although you haven’t answered yet. Now he just sat there with a tshirt and his mask. Slightly he threw it over you and closed it for you. Again you thanked him quietly and smiled.

His jacket smelled good. It smelled like him. Not what you expected, even better what you expected. He smelt like the forest after a rainy day and a hint of wet dog. Maybe he had washed his dogs while wearing it.

-Plan 3-

Your team planned instead of training to do a day off and just hang out and spend some time together. And the tree students had the idea to relax a bit and go to the public bath together.

„You are really exited, aren’t you?“ you giggled because the three rushed immediately into the building. Together you and Kakashi paid for their bath and said „see you later“ to each other since the bathes were separated into men and women sections.

While humming a little melody, you took off your clothes and wrapped a towel around your body. After that you went outside and made your way to the hot bath. You didnt even look in which part you went because you knew the women bath was right and the men bath was left. Suddenly Sasuke stopped you.

This was their third plan.

„Uhm, Y/N Sensei, this is the men bath you are walking in!“ he said and pointed towards the sign. A little figure which looks like a boy was on it. „I think they changed it, I almost walked into the girls bath.“

„Oh! Thank you, Sasuke.“ you smiled and looked at the sign again. Weird, you thought but went through the other door.

Little did you know that they changed the signs before you could walk in. Kakashi went into the right bath and then they changed it. Exited the looked trough a little hole to see what happens.

„If this doesn’t work, than they are both too stupid. A better plan doesn’t exist“ naruto laughed.

Unbothered you walked into the bath, dropped your towel halfway through and threw it over a stone. Slowly you walked into the water and let your body react to the hot steamy atmosphere around you. The hot water hugged your body and relaxed you sat down and finally closed your eyes.

After a while you opened them again and looked around. Where is Sakura?

Quietly you heard a embarrassed male voice which cleared his throat. „Uhm, Y/N, I think you are in the wrong bath room.“ he said calmly and slightly smiled at you amused.

„Oh, fuck! Kakashi!“ you screamed and pulled your legs closer to hide your body. Why does this always happen to you?

„Don’t worry, I haven’t seen anything.“ he said and tried to avoid eye contact with you. His hair was down and he didn’t wear his mask. That was probably the first time you saw his full face and, and he was beautiful and hot. You have fantasized about how he looks several times and this just topped your expectations. He was really attractive.

„But, but even Sasuke told me that I have to go in here.“ you whined and tried to hide your bright red face in your knees. This was so embarrassing!

„Dont worry, it’s not like that I don’t know how a female body looks.“ he giggled and slowly swum into your direction. With distance he placed himself next to you and quickly scanned your body.

You were beautiful in his opinion. Your skin looked so soft and the little rolls your stomach formed, were adorable. The wet hair and your blushed skin caused him to not taking his eyes from you.

„You don’t have to hide your body.“ he calmly said and grabbed your chin to make you look into his face. „I-, I think you are really pretty, Y/N. And I’ve liked you since the first day you joined us.“

„You, you really do?“ you asked and looked into his blushed face. Slightly he nodded and then started to pull your face closer to his.

Finally it’s happening.

At first he gave you a gentle kiss, just a little one to make sure you were into it. After that he smiled and pulled you closer again. This kiss was way more exiting and got heated pretty quickly. Slowly he placed his hand on your waist right under your boobs.

After a minute you pulled away and you smiled but immediately started to laugh at him. „Kakashi, you got a nose bleed!“ - „Oh shit! It’s quite a long time ago since I kissed someone.“ he giggled and tried to make it stop.

~Time skip~

After you two spent sometime together in the bath and talked about the last few things that happened you went outside to face your students.

„Okay! First of all, that was evil and very inappropriate! We are really disappointed and you three will get cleaning duty!“ Kakashi said and looked down at his students.

„We‘ve noticed that you three were acting really weird in the last few weeks and now you have to tell us. Of course it wasn’t an accident that Naruto pushed me and Sakura "accidentally" threw her knives at me! Explain!“ you wanted to know angrily and crossed your arms in from if your chest.

The three looked at each other and then finally they explained everything to you. „We noticed that Kakashi might has a crush on you Y/N Sensei! And, and we know that he is, well, a bit stupid when it comes to girls and love in general.“ Sakura started to tell the story. „And so we decided to help you a bit with that and made these plans.“

„And we guess it worked out, right?“ Naruto smirked.

Masterlist

[beautifultypewriter]

Arthur Shelby Fluff Alphabet

Requested: Yes / by my absolute fav @fandom-puff​ and also an anon

Warnings: Some mentions of alcohol and Arthur’s issues

Full credit to whoever created this template (I still don’t actually know who that is). Gif credit to the owner. Also, I changed the prompt for letter Q from quaint to quickstep.

Also, I love this gif? It’s so soft.

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Arthur loves your hands. He loves the softness of them and the gentleness of your touch. He finds so much comfort in standing before you, your hands resting gently on his face as his eyes slip closed and he holds your wrists. Then you start to rub small circles on his cheekbones, and he swears he could die a happy man right then and there. He loves taking your hands into his and he especially loves to press kisses to your knuckles and palms.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Absolutely wants to have babies with you. He thinks you’d be the most incredible parent and he can’t wait to see you with your children. Family is extremely important to Arthur and he wants to have one of his own, so he’s down for kids whenever you are. There is that little voice in the back of his head telling him that he’s going to turn out like his own father, but it’s quickly silenced by you. Arthur sees how strong and caring you are and he knows that he can do anything so long as you’re right there by his side.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

He’s all limbs and he’s lean, but he loves to cuddle. Usually, the two of you only ever cuddle when you get into bed after a long day. You two face each other and he’ll pull you close to his chest. One of his legs will tangle with yours and his hands will move to the back of your head, getting tangled in your hair. Your hands will rest on his chest or cup his face and it’s so quiet and peaceful that he never wants to leave.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Arthur is more into low-key dates. He will, on occasion, take you to a fancy night club, but those nights are few and far between. He prefers more quiets nights with you where he doesn’t have to fight other people for your attention. The two of you go to the Garrison a lot and sit in the private room, drinking and talking. Arthur loves to take you for drives around the country because it gives the two of you the chance to be alone (which is his favorite). Honestly, though, Arthur will pretty much do whatever you want, so you two have gone on a lot of different types of dates.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

Home.

You are the most important person to Arthur. You are warm and safe, and you don’t judge him. These are all things that Arthur associates with the perfect home, so to him you are the perfect home. He doesn’t need much else if you’re there.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

Arthur first knew he was in love with you the first time he brought you home to meet his family. The Shelby family is a bit chaotic and can be a bit intimidating, especially to people who haven’t known them for years, so Arthur was a little bit nervous to be bringing you to dinner at Polly’s. He didn’t want them all to scare you away. He was pleasantly surprised when you not only held your chin up the entire time, but you were kind to everyone, treating them like they were any normal family and like you weren’t frightened of them at all (which he later learned you really weren’t). Arthur watched you sit at the dinner table and hold your own with Polly and Tommy and he watched you smile at everyone and ask them questions and he just knew. He knew that you would fit perfectly into his life and he only hoped that he’d fit perfectly into yours as well.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Arthur tries so hard to be gentle with you. He has his issues. He knows this, but he would never intentionally hurt you, so he takes extra care to be gentle. Sometimes, if Arthur’s had a bad day, he’ll hold you a bit too tightly. He doesn’t mean to do it and he’s quick to loosen his grip, his movements becoming slower and more purposeful. He just wants to be as gentle with you as you are with him.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Arthur absolutely adores the feeling of your hand in his. He will take any moment he can to hold your hand and he does not care if it’s inappropriate for the situation. Family meetings? You’re sat next to him and Arthur has your hand clasped in his. Walking home from the Garrison? Arthur has a tight hold on your hand as the two of you stumble down the cobblestones. Arthur’s hands are always really warm, so if your hands are cold then he will happily warm them for you.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

When Arthur first saw you, his thought was that you didn’t quite fit into Small Heath. You were this light that stood out from the gray smog and he wondered what you were doing in such a dull place. What had brought you here? When you smiled at him, though, he found that he didn’t quite care, he was only glad that you were there.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Oh yes. Arthur has a lot of insecurities and he’s not always in the right headspace. This can translate into jealousy if he sees other people trying to make a move on you. His first instinct is always to storm over and pick a fight with the offender. Whether or not he actually does this depends on how much alcohol he has consumed. Drunk Arthur almost never makes good decisions, so if he’s had a lot to drink and he sees someone flirting with you, you can bet that he’s going to start throwing punches. He always feels really bad about it later and he avoids your gaze out of shame. Sober (or Mostly Sober) Arthur has better impulse control, so he’s able to hold himself back a bit. He still storms over, but he gives the offender the chance to back off before he gets physical. He wraps an arm around your waist and tells you that you look beautiful. All of this stems from the thought of losing you which is the scariest thing to Arthur. He can’t lose you and if his brain is muddled then he’s willing to do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen. He knows it’s wrong though and he’s promised to control himself, which he is making progress with, it’s just going to take some time for him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Arthur’s kisses are usually needy and fast at the start, but they always melt into something deep and comforting. He wants to be as close to you as he can whenever he can and that comes out in his kiss. Once he’s had a minute to relax and melt into you, though, he’s much calmer and he’s able pull back a bit and gain better control.

You initiated the first kiss. Arthur had come over to your place for dinner and he had been exceptionally quiet, obviously nervous about something. You had found the entire evening comical as he tried to hold a normal conversation with you, but getting tongue tied at the oddest moments. Finally, you just looked into his eyes, “I’m going to kiss you now, Arthur.” And you leaned across the table and pressed your lips to his. He was shocked, but he kissed you back, chasing your lips as you pulled away. You smirked at him, “Feel better?” He nodded and lunged across the table, capturing your lips again.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

He did. It was after he had been in some fight that you didn’t ask too many questions about and you were patching him up in your kitchen. He had stumbled through the door and you quickly grabbed your first aid kit and sat him down in one of the chairs. It was quiet between the two of you as you cleaned the blood from his face, slowing your movements when you noticed him wince. He watched you intently as your eyes roved over his face, not once meeting his eyes. That’s when Arthur grabbed your wrists, halting your movements and causing you to look into his eyes. He leaned into your hands, “I love you.” You smiled at him, watching his eyes close before pressing your palms lightly against his cheeks. His eyes flew open and you nodded at him, “I love you too, Arthur.”

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Arthur’s favorite memory is of the moment the two of you first met. You were walking down Watery Lane and he had been so distracted by you that he accidently bumped into you and almost knocked you to the ground. He cursed himself and made sure you were okay, getting ready to scurry away, embarrassed, but you stopped him. And you smiled at him and he felt a flutter in his chest, and he knew he needed to see that smile again. This is his favorite memory, the first time you smiled at him.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

He tries to because he’s Arthur and he feels like he needs to take every opportunity to show you how much he loves you. Usually he buys you gifts when he’s done something wrong and he’s working hard to make it up to you. You always try to tell him that it’s unnecessary, but he just brushes you off with a smile and a kiss to the temple, telling you that nothing is too good for you.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Pink

You are light and comforting and full of love. When Arthur looks at you, he is reminded of everything good and wonderful and a certain softness overtakes him. A softness best associated with the color pink.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

‘Love’ is a big one with Arthur. He just loves you so much, he has to let you know (by literally calling you love – he isn’t subtle). He calls you ‘love’ all the time, it kind of just slips out after your name, “Y/N, love.” Another one that Arthur likes is ‘darling.’ He doesn’t use this one as much as ‘love’ which actually makes it a bit more special when it slips past his lips. This is the one that is mostly used in private. His family has heard him say it maybe twice, but you’ve heard it much more. Arthur gets teased a lot for the pet names, but it will never stop him from using them.

Q = Quickstep (How do they feel about dancing?)

Arthur definitely loves to watch you dance. On occasion, he will take you out to a fancy nightclub and watch you dance. He loves to see how happy and relaxed you become while you sway to the music. You always try to get him to join you, but he shakes his head, saying he’s fine just enjoying the show. This never fails to make you roll your eyes at him and you decide to go back to dancing. Later that night, when the two of you stumble into your home, your shoes in Arthur’s hand, he pulls you close to him. The two of you slow dance on the living room rug, your bodies pressed close together and Arthur’s breath fanning over your face. There’s no music, but you don’t need it; you’re fine with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

The two of you love a rainy day because everything seems to just slow down. Neither of you are in any rush to get going, so you sleep late and take your time getting up. Arthur steals a few kisses as the two of you cuddle in bed. You make a big breakfast and the two of you sit across from each other, listening to the sound of rain as you enjoy your tea. Arthur smiles over at you every five minutes and when the two of you are done eating, you move into the other room where you sit on the sofa together and talk. Arthur builds a fire to keep you warm and he makes sure that you’re comfortable on the sofa.

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

Arthur had never been one to try and cheer himself up. He was always one to drown his feelings in a bottle and wake up the next morning, push the headache aside and get back to business. Then you came along, and Arthur started to actually talk about his feelings. He was still pretty guarded, but he let you in enough that just talking to you made him feel better. Kisses never hurt either. When you see that Arthur is caught in his feelings, you place yourself in his lap, your hands gently cupping his face, and you press your lips to his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, and finally his lips. When you’re sad, Arthur just goes straight for cuddles. He knows you like to physically feel that someone is there for you, so he wraps his arms around you and presses kisses to your neck.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Other than your day to day talking, the two of you do most of your talking at night when it’s just the two of you tucked away at home. At this time, Arthur asks you to tell him stories. Stories about your childhood or stories about what you see in the future. He loves stories and he loves to lay his head in your lap and listen to you tell them. You always make sure that he knows he can talk to you about anything. He’s usually a bit hesitant to open up about the war or the business, but there have been a few times where the weight of it all was just too much and so he shared some deep feelings with you. You listened closely and offered comfort and it was a really beautiful moment for him to be able to trust you like that. He knows he can tell you anything and you’d never leave him.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

In order for Arthur to relax, he needs to be away from other people, in a quiet place, and with no chance of interruptions. Arthur’s mind runs a mile a minute, so it can be difficult for him to calm down. In the past, he turned to alcohol to slow his mind and to numb his body, so that he could find some peace. Now, he tries to use alcohol less frequently because he knows that it’s messing with his time with you. Instead he just tries to find a quiet place where he can cuddle with you and turn his brain off.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

You. Arthur thinks you are the most amazing person in the world and he still can’t believe that you chose him over everyone else and he loves to talk about that fact. Probably more than he should, but he can’t help it. It’s not even like he’s bragging, he’s more in awe than anything else. He still gets on everyone’s nerves though when he gushes about you and how he really doesn’t deserve you, but he has you anyway and that’s amazing.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Arthur took you on a long drive through the country, pulling over by a babbling brook and putting the car into park. It was quiet between the two of you for some time. You were enjoying the peace and the scenery and Arthur was trying to work up the courage to pull the ring from his pocket. You had noticed his fidgeting, buy you said nothing about it, knowing that he would tell you what was going on when he was ready. The sun was starting to set and from the corner of your eyes, you saw Arthur’s hands moving. You figured he was starting the car up, getting ready to head home. You were wrong though as you saw him turn his body to face yours. As you moved to face him, he started his speech about how you were the best thing to ever happen to him and he didn’t want to spend a single moment without you. Then he pulled out the ring and asked you to marry him. You wiped away the tear that had formed in the corner of his eye and nodded, a quiet ‘yes’ passing your lips.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Hard to Love – Lee Brice

(I defy anyone to listen to this song and not immediately think of Arthur.)

Arthur knows that he’s not the easiest person to deal with and he knows he makes things difficult sometimes, but he’s so grateful to you for loving him. He thinks he doesn’t deserve you, but he loves that you stay with him. He sees the two of you as opposites in a sense and he wishes he was more like you, softer and gentler, so that he could be someone who deserves you. You always tell him that he’s the perfect amount of soft and strong though.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

There is so much love between the two of you that it’s no surprise that Arthur wants to put a ring on your finger. He wants the two of you to be a “proper” family, married with kids and together forever. Now, just because he knows he wants to marry you, it doesn’t mean he’s any good at asking. He’s nervous and worried that you’ll say no, so it takes him some time to actually pop the question, but once he does, he’s completely elated as he hears your “Yes.”

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Arthur wants to get a big dog to keep you company around the house when he has to go out for business. He’d also like to think of this dog as some form of a guard dog, so he knows you’ll have someone that has your back when he can’t be there.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love Is Not Forced ~ 34

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,900ish

Summary: Something happens to the King.

It couldn’t have been no more than twenty eight hours since King Steven’s departure when the kingdom of Alexandria was informed of a terrible situation. King Steven and his guards had been attacked on their way back to Brooklyn. All of the guards had been killed, while the King was back in Brooklyn in critical condition. Y/N collapsed onto the floor upon hearing the news, her brother kneeling beside her to hold her. The Princess almost immediately insisted that she leave for Brooklyn at once. Nervous to send his daughter, but realizing that she needed to be there, King Anthony allowed his daughter to go as long as she allowed all the guards he could get to come with her. Y/N wasn’t up for a fight, she just longed to be with Steven.

The group from Alexandria, rushed to Brooklyn. When she arrived, Captain Barnes and Lady Natasha were there to greet her.

“Where’s Steven?” The Princess immediately asked, not waiting for anyone to help her out of the carriage. “Where is he?”

“Princess, you need to know what you’ll be walking into,” Captain Barnes warned. “He is not doing good.”

“He’s in a lot of pain, with many large gashes and bruises,” Lady Natasha explained. “The King hasn’t been fully conscious since he arrived, but he has been heard mumbling your name.”

“I must see him immediately.”

“We will guide you to him,” the Captain said.

Y/N nodded before allowing the couple to lead her to the King’s suite. She let out a shaky breath before going to through the doors that we being held open for her. As she entered, Y/N could swear her heart was ripped from her chest. Her Steven was lying there, almost lifeless on his bed. She slowly moved closer, able to see that what she thought was a shirt was bandages. The closer she got the more Y/N was able to see the blood slowly seeping through them. Tears sprung in her eyes that she didn’t bother to hide or wipe off her face.

“Let’s give the Princess and King some time alone,” Captain Barnes told everyone else in the room.

Once the room was clear, Y/N sat on the bed beside Steven. Her fingers trailed over his bruised face, barely brushing over his skin. She moved down to his chest, allowing her tears to fall onto them. Overwhelming guilt rushed inside her. Is this how Steven felt when he was sure she was gone? Had she caused him this much heartbreak? Had his heart felt like it had been ripped out of his chest?

Y/N carefully took hold of Steven’s closest hand and allowed herself to break.

“P-please don’t leave me…” She sobbed. “It’s my turn to beg you now… to p-promise you the world… Just don’t l-leave me… I’m begging you.”

Lady Natasha snuck back into the room dropping off a glass of water and pulling a chair over to the side of the King’s bed. She got a clean bowl of water and some rags to set next to the King just in case. And before Lady Natasha left, she gave the Princess’ shoulder a gentle squeeze and quickly took her leave. Y/N moved onto the chair, still holding onto his hand. She laid her head on her arms, resting on the bed, and cried into them. Eventually, she wore herself out and fell asleep. No one bothered to try and move her, fearing what could possibly trigger her.

When Steven began to come to, the first thing he could feel was pain. The second thing he felt was a hand in his hand. Trying not to move too much, Steven looked to see what—or who was beside him. A brief smile ghosted his face when he noticed it was Y/N. But he quickly feared for her well being. How long had she been next to him? Had she eaten? Taken care of herself? Had she been so worried about him, that was all she could think of? Steven carefully moved his hand, combing his fingers through her hair. She hummed in content, which made the King happy.

The Princess began to stir, waking up from the forced sleep that she succumbed to. As she did, she felt fingers running through her hair. Blinky slowly, she raised her head to see the King wake and looking at her. She couldn’t help the tears that fell onto her cheeks.

“You’re alive,” she said quietly, sitting up more so that she could place her hand on his cheek. “I was so worried.”

“I’m so sorry my darling,” Steven rasped, putting a hand on her cheek. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“What happened, Steven?”

“We were ambushed, by Hydra survivors. They’re angry about what happened to their leaders and the engagement.” Steven saw Y/N’s eyes turn fearful of the ways Hydra could possibility continue to ruin their lives. “My darling, please don’t fear.” He ran his thumb under her eye to catch the tears that were falling. “I won’t let them hurt you.”

“But what if they hurt you, again? What if next time they’re able to kill you? I can’t… I love you too much to live without you now.”

“And I with you. That is why I have fought for you and will continue to do so.” Y/N leaned into Steven’s hand, grabbing it in her own. “You are my world now. They will not touch you again.”

Steven pushed himself up to meet her lips. Y/N allowed herself to savor the feeling of her loves lips on hers. She had been so scared that she’d never feel them again. Steve moved to push himself up more, groaning into her mouth. Y/N pulled slightly away, leaving Steven chasing for her lips.

“Are you okay?” She worried. “Is something hurting?”

“I’m fine, as long as you’re here. Just kiss me again, please. I did almost die,” a smirk formed on the King’s lips.

Y/N shook her head as she chuckled, giving into the King’s request. Steven, again, moved to push himself up closer to her, causing him to grain in pain.

“Okay,” Y/N pulled away, “we must stop. You’re in pain. You’re—oh my gosh!” Her eyes widened when they caught sight of his stomach. The bandages there were now covered in blood. “Steven, you’re bleeding!”

Steven looked down as she used his shoulder to help him lay back down. “It’s not too bad.”

“Steven! I’m getting help.”

“No!” Steven’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist when she tried to head for the door. She winced at the grab. “I’m sorry, just…Don’t leave… please…”

Y/N observed the King, noticing that his skin was quickly paling and the blood was now running through all the bandages.

“I have to get help, Steven.” She pulled her arm out of his grip, which was far to easy she realized, and rushed to the door. Luckily, Captain Barnes was outside. “Bucky. It’s Steven. He’s bleeding out.”

“Get the doctors back here now!” The Captain ordered the guards in the hallway, while rushing behind Y/N into the room.

It had already gotten worse. Too quickly. Steven’s face had gone pale and his eyes were fluttering. The blood from his wounds was streaming onto the bed. The two hurried over, one on each side. Bucky grabbed some towels from beside Steven, handing one to Y/N.

“We’re going to need to try and slow the bleeding,” Bucky explained. “Place the towel on that side of the wound and press down.” Y/N nodded, doing as she was instructed. “Very good. We also need to keep him talking.”

“Okay… Steven, Steven, can you look at me?” The King’s head and eyes slowly moved so that he was looking at Y/N. “You’ve got to stay with me.” Tears ran down the Princess’ cheeks, but she didn’t care. “We’re getting married and that can’t happened unless you’re here… so, please… fight…”

“…Okay…” The King rasped, trying to keep his eyes focused on Y/N.

“Very good… Why don’t we start planning, huh? Obviously, I want it here, in Brooklyn. If this is to be my new home with you, I want it to start right.”

“….with… me…”

“Yes. And—No! Steven! Focus here!” Y/N begged as the King’s eyes closed. “Steven!”

“Let us take over!” A doctor said as him and a few others rushed into the room.

Y/N stepped back, allowing for the others to reach the King. Lady Natasha hurried over to the Princess, noticing that she was shaking. Y/N’s hands were covered in blood, her love’s blood. But she couldn’t pull her eyes away from Steven’s figure.

“Come, Your Highness,” Lady Natasha urged, trying to guide the Princess to the door.

“No!” Y/N moved out of Natasha’s reach. “I’m not leaving him!”

Y/N tried to get over to Steven’s side and Natasha tried to stop her again. But Y/N continued to fight. She couldn’t leave him, not like this. Lord Wilson had been watching from the door and decided he needed to step in. He came up from behind Y/N, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her up.

“Put me down!” Y/N cried, thrashing in Sam’s arms as he headed out of the room. “I’m not leaving him!”

“I’m so sorry, Princess,” Sam whispered, trying to stay calm himself.

“NO! STEVEN!”

Y/N fought the whole way to her room, tears cascading down her face as Sam carried her. Natasha stayed behind to get Bucky out of the room, who had frozen in his spot. When Sam arrived to Y/N’s room, he set her down to stand on her own. The Princess quickly turned around to leave, but Sam was there to stop her.

“Let me see him!” She cried, hitting Sam’s chest as he stopped her from leaving. “I need to be with him! Let me see him!” She continued to cry and hit him until it all became too much and she collapsed into his arms in a puddle of sobs. “I can’t— I can’t lose him… We— w-were not even married yet! I can’t do it— my heart can’t take it…”

Sam stayed silent, listening to the Princess’ sobs and pleas while trying his best to physical comfort her. Natasha and Bucky soon came to the room as well, clinging to each other as they watched Y/N break. When it seemed like her sobs were dying down, Natasha went to Y/N to lead her to the bathroom to get cleaned up. The Princess was trembling, unable to take stable steps. Sam quickly swept her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. The men stayed out in the main part of the bedroom while Y/N allowed Natasha to clean her up.

Once Y/N was all cleaned up, Natasha had Bucky bring her to lay on the bed. The Princess seemed to be out of it, which worried them immensely. They were also extremely worried about their King, their friend. That hadn’t heard anything, nor been allowed back into his room. And so they each found a spot in the Princess’ room to wait. And boy did they wait.

next chapter >

Thank you for all the likes, comments, reblogs, and dms. You guys are awesome! I love reading your thoughts on what’s happening and who you want Y/N to choose. Thank you guys for all the support!

If you want to be added to the tag list, send in an ask or dm me.

Tag List:

@dreamilyunaffectedwreck (won’t link)

@freya-xo​  

@laic2299​

@kissesofdeadforme​

@paintballkid711​

@cherthegoddess​

@frozenhuntress67​

@hadesnewpersephone​

@pukklv​

@marinettepotterandplagg​

@learning-howto-be-myselfx3​​

@kaithezaftig​

@booknerd-3000​​

@jasbins​​

@the-writers-reader​

@paintmekala​

@imdreamingaboutwhitechristmas​​

@supernaturallover2002​​​

[early20sfailingplenty]

If I let you near my hair in any kind of way, it’s an “I love you”.

so... the Sinclairs would be allowed?

anyone tries to mess with your hair and they'll just kindly have their fingers cut off

- 🔪

YES YES YES!!!!

I would let all of them near my hair, though I have two conditions: clean hands (no wax, no grease, no blood - Vin, Bo and Lester in that order) and no scissors in arms’ reach!!!

Honestly I’d almost always be angling for one of them to brush my hair for me hasdfghjk it’s a huge thing for me🥺and you KNOW I’d look after their hair in return; it could be like a mutual night time ritual - hair care🥺

(AGREED!!!! The Sinclairs are biiiiiig on protecting each other & what’s important to them!!!! And fr, if any of them ever pulled a ‘prank’ like that family member did to me, I’d never forgive them. Ever.)

Now I’m imagining self-care nights with the Sinclairs😭

[toruhalo]

Psychotic (3/?)

Pairings: Ledger!Joker x Female OC

Wordcount: 1622

Warnings: blood and injury, self-destructive thoughts, threats, manipulation?

previous chapter: 2

A/N: I hope people still read this lol and idk if it’s even good but writing Joker makes me happy

Tranquility. The dense humid air sweeps through the forest floor, leaving behind droplets of water in its wake. She can feel the nearby leaves brushing her calves and fingertips as Violet observes her surroundings. She feels comforted, as if she was surrounded by people who cherished her. In the distance rests a foggy view of a waterfall, glowing green from underneath. Vines begin to entangle and caress her as she walks towards the source of the light.      

"Violet?" the voice whispers.       

"... You okay?"       

She elevates her head from her hands to see Sharpener looking at her with furrowed brows. She blinks to regain her eyesight and leans back in her chair.      

"I-I didn't realize I fell asleep. Sorry..."      

Sharpener chuckled, "It's okay, if my story was so boring you could've told me."      

Violet smiles and begins to daintily pick at her food in her tray. Her thoughts begin turning to the dream she just had. The environment she recalled made her ache to witness it once again, as it conveyed a feeling of belonging. A feeling Violet isn't familiar with.      

"Blonde Barbie, two o'clock," Sharpener snickers.      

Violet looks up at the cafeteria counter to instantly see the one and only Doctor Harleen Quinzel. She quickly grabs two trays of decent looking food from one of the workers and makes her way out of the room. Violet huffs and takes a bite out of her bland, discolored lasagna. She knew that Joker was currently having a session with Harleen, so was she getting lunch for the two of them? A date?     

"Woah there, what'd that spork do to you?" Sharpener slides the plastic utensil from her deathly grip. Flecks of blood followed the movement and pooled in her palm. Sharpener grimaced and handed her his leftover napkin.     

"T-thank you. I wasn't thinking," she mumbles.     

"Clearly..."     

The two fell into mutual silence while the rest of the cafeteria continuously grew louder. Violet's thoughts instantly began to swarm her mind while mindlessly finishing her lunch. She recalls the time Joker reassured her that he was only using Harleen for his own gain, but as days passed she began to consider, what if he was lying to gain her trust? She didn't know him very well, but she suspects no one does. Why would J like her out of all people, if he could even like anyone that way.     

“You gonna tell me why you got so angry when you saw that doctor?" Sharpener inquires.     

"I-I don't l-like her very much."     

Sharpener laughs, "I can tell that much. Is she your psychiatrist?"    

"No... She's my fr-" Violet stopped herself. Was J even her friend? What was he to her? A silly crush at the most, she thought. "Someone I-I talk to is her p-patient."     

"Hmm. And here I thought I was the only one you talked to..." Sharpener jokes. "Who is it? You don't have to tell me, I wouldn't care much."     

"The J-Joker," Violet mumbles. She figured it might help to talk about him to someone else, other than Doctor LeLand who clearly doesn't perceive him in a good light.     

Sharpener furrows his brow, "Are you sure it's him?" Violet nods. "Huh. You're the last person I would think who would have enough balls to even look at him, let alone hold conversations with him."     

 Violet freezes and slowly picks up her tray. "And y-you're the last person I would think to say t-that to me." She stands up and makes her way to the trash cans, leaving a stunned Sharpener behind.

    The bed frame squeals loudly as Violet harshly sits down on top of it, not even bothering watching the guard lock her cell door, as she routinely does. She could feel her eyes start to burn with fresh tears as she tried calming herself down. Yet to no avail, one leaks as she's overwhelmed from her deteriorating self-worth. The more she thought, the more she agreed with what Sharpener said. Joker was the one who started talking to her, Joker was the one who prompted the conversations. She had nothing to give to J. She was worthless, and she can't even talk without stuttering. Her parents were right about everything; she realized. J had to be manipulating her, she couldn't think of another reason why he would talk to her so much.     

The sound of a door creaking open swayed her out of her manic state. She shifts to unfortunately see Joker standing in her cell, same as the day he lied to her about Harleen. He smiles slyly and holds up an ID card of an Arkham employee in his stained hand.     

"Here's the secret to the magic trick. Figured I might as well, uh, show ya."     

Violet quickly wipes away her tears and turns her head opposite of him. She could already feel his attentive gaze burning a hole in her head, which made her heart rate increase from merely thinking about it. As she didn't respond, Joker took a seat next to her, tapping the card against his palm in frustration. She could still feel his eyes roaming her and even heard his breaths coming out of his nose. He suddenly huffs and stands up, walking to the toilet sink combo in the corner of the cell. He promptly tears off toilet paper, wets it in the sink and walks back to the low bed. J stops in front of Violet and crouches on one knee, causing them roughly to be the same height. Violet's heart is now pumping furiously in her chest now, and she's sure Joker can overhear it from how close he is.     

Still refusing to look at him, she jumps when he grasps her injured hand and turns her palm upwards. Joker glides the water soaked toilet paper onto her hand, gently cleaning up the dried smeared blood.     

"You don't, uh, belong here, doll. You and me both. We belong out in the city of darkness. Causing chaos. We can't be restrained. We're like, uh, wild animals. If we're kept inside a... cage, we'll itch to get out, so we can live." He threw the bloody wad of toilet paper over his shoulder and grabbed Violet's other hand in his own.     

"That's why I'm getting us out of here. I can see it's, uh, eating you up inside."     

 "Why me?" Violet whispers.     

 Joker laughs through his nose, "Because, my porcelain doll. You have yet to live up to your full potential." He slowly retracts his hands from hers and stands back up. Violet already feels cold without his rare touch. "We'll, uh, talk more tomorrow."

    Weeks pass until the two decide to put their escape plan into action. Violet had forgiven Sharpener the day after he insulted her, as he sincerely apologized. Now, she was trying to convince Joker to bring him with them during their escape.     

"He can't come," Joker almost growls.     

"W-why not? He's nice to me and he's been in here a w-while."     

  "I don't care if he's the nicest guy in the world. He's not coming."    

"What if he a-agrees to work for you?"     

J sighs and cracks his neck. Violet continues to look at him with her puppy dog eyes, never looking away. Joker chuckles and leans towards her, entangling his hand in her long hair.     

"How about... I, uh, come meet him...and decide for myself. Would you be happy then and, uh, stop nagging me?"

Having J with Violet during lunchtime is a strange sensation. Him being next to her, causes all eyes to be on them at all times. He's a notorious criminal, who has never stepped foot in the cafeteria. That would make anyone stare at him. However, Violet seems to be the only one affected by it. J is humming to himself while eating her pudding, not bothered by the dozens of gazes on himself and his companion.     

"Aren't ya... gonna eat that?" He points at her breadstick.     

"I-I don't like to eat when p-people are staring."     

 Joker hums and sets his pudding cup down.

"They're harmless. Just a bit... looney," he chuckles. That doesn't seem to ease her worries, so he stands up at the table. "If you, uh, keep staring at us like the creeps you are, I'll, uh, cut your tongues out of your mouths in your sleep," he exclaims with malice.     

 Instantly, everyone looks away, no set of eyes are locked on the pair anymore. Violet smiles and picks up her breadstick she was craving.     

"T-thank you," Violet says before taking a bite.     

"...It was becoming, uh, irritating."     

Sharpener finally shows up at the table, setting his tray down next to Violet's. His brows are furrowed in confusion at the intruder, nudging Violet to get an answer.    

 "O-oh, hi Sharpie."     

 "Sharpie?" Joker questions.     

Sharpener coughs and sits down, "I guess that's a nickname of my nickname."     

J turns back to his pudding and eats a spoonful. Violet can tell Joker doesn't like Sharpener already, but it won't hurt to try harder.     

"S-sharpener has e-experience of working for someone. I-I think he could be h-helpful to you, J," Violet takes a deep breath after finishing her sentence.     

Joker eats another bite and talks with his mouth full, "For who?"     

"Sal Maroni. He died in a car crash, so I lost my job and eventually ended up here."     

J laughs and swallows the last of the pudding, "How, uh, unfortunate... But, I work very differently from Mister Maroni."     

"I've noticed... But I don't care who or what my boss does, I just do what they ask of me."    

Joker looks at Violet between the two men who's staring at her food, "If he screws me over, I'll screw you over, dollface."

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Nightmare or Scared To Be Lonely

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @stupidbluegirl

This Passage contains potentially: swearing, violence, blood, angst, whump, fluff and smutty content.

Summary: Kirby addresses a fear that she hasn't felt in a long, long time.

Kirby's POV:

Waking up on the morning of the Twenty-Second, with Roddy's arms wrapped around me was a welcome comfort from what had arisen inside my mind. Thoughts I never dared put to words, I eased myself out of his grasp and did my old morning routine, giving myself a moment to breathe and think through the recent recurring nightmares. It had been at least a year since the last nightmare, twenty years since they started. I thought they had finally stopped, but I was wrong.

Since I was nine, I have had nightmares of being alone in a dark place, usually a forest but sometimes an empty town or city, sometimes even walking through a deep valley. Utterly alone, completely alone, abandoned by everyone except a consistent nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me that I'm not 'normal' enough.

Catching my breath and calming myself down, I look over at Roddy, still asleep on the bed, and I sigh in relief. He's real, he's there, I'm not insane. I look at myself in the mirror, brushing my fingers over the scars on my face and remembering just how I got each of them. I heard a long yawn from the other room as Rod stirred awake, shaking the 'cobwebs' from his mind and I stopped, looking over at him again and smiling in admiration at the rowdy Scot.

"Well, that's a beautiful sight to wake up to," He waved me over, "C'mere baby."

I reached the edge of the bed and Roddy pulled me onto his lap.

"You are so beautiful, don't you ever forget that. I love you, you can tell me anything," He kissed my shoulder, just above the dragon tattoo, "Anything at all."

"Rod" I mumbled, my breathing catching in my throat.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I can tell you anything right, you won't laugh unless it's a joke right?"

"I promise you, I won't laugh at ya."

"What would you do if someone you loved had recurring nightmares?"

"I would try to understand why they keep having them. Why?"

"What would you do if they were scared by them."

"I'd comfort them. What's going on in your head, baby?"

"Rod, I'm scared."

"Why are ya scared?"

"I don't want to be alone. I'm not normal. I'm a fr-"

Rod pulled me into a kiss, pressing his forehead to mine after he pulled away, "You're not a freak. You're my lady and if that makes me a freak for loving you, I don't give a damn. You're stunning and they can all kiss my ass."

"Thank you Roddy, I needed that."

"So, uh, about that Erik guy?"

"What about him?"

"What made you like him?"

"Well, aside from the flaming red hair, the freckles, the green-hazel eyes, the tattoos and his muscles, probably his personality, he made me laugh, he was sweet to me, and he was ballsy enough to wear a kilt and fight in it."

"So, who's better, me or him?" I could hear a twinge of jealousy in his voice.

"Roddy," I whined, "In a different universe, then I'd probably be with him but I'm with you. I will be with you regardless of if this works out or not, for at least the next few years career-wise, and who knows, if this does work out, maybe one day the two of us will have a proper life together. Family. Pets. Kids, maybe. Actually," I stood up and grabbed the keys to my D200, twirling them around my finger for a moment, "I'd actually quite like to have kids one day. That is, of course, if I can have kids."

"Whaddya mean 'if'?"

"Well, I'm a giant, giants have diminished reproductive systems." I muttered out.

"So, uh, hypothetically speaking, if you can have biological kids, if, if ya could, ya know," I looked at his face, his cheeks flush a rosy shade of pink, "Well, if you," he slowed down his words, looking to the ceiling as if asking God above for guidance, "If, you, could, have, bio-log-ical, kids, you, would?"

"Yes Roddy, why was that so hard to ask?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and covered his groin with his other arm, "no reason."

"Jesus, Roddy. If that gets you hot you might end up breeding like a rabbit one of these days."

"With you?" I heard a twinge of optimism in his voice.

"Of course fuckin' not, Jesus, whaddya take me for?" I spluttered out, shocked that he'd even think of me like that, I took a deep breath before explaining myself, "I'm not a very, oh God, uh 'Sexual' being. I don't see the pleasure side of it, I think of sex only through the lens of science."

Rod looked up at me once again, cocking an eyebrow before talking, "Where are ya planning on going?"

"Anywhere with food, wanna come with."

"Actually, before you leave, can I ask you about your family?"

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Well, what are they like?"

"Uh, hmm, well, my da's tough, he was raised on a farm and thus is incredibly strong because of his upbringing. My mam on the other hand is like your stereotypical fiery red head when angry but usually she's quiet and peaceful. My da never shuts up, unless he's watching TV, which is when his ears don't work."

Rod's brows knitted together in a confused way, "His ears don't work?"

"As in he shuts everything that isn't the TV out."

"Oh. I see, so your dad shuts the world out when he's watching sports and the like?"

"Exactly, Roddy. Do you want to go get food or not?"

"Well, of course I'm gonna go with ya," he covered his mouth but I could vaguely hear him mumble to himself, "Can't risk other guys trying to get to my lady. No Sir, not her."

I put on my leather jacket, my back to Roddy, unintentionally showing off the Welsh flag painted on the back, once again hearing Rod mumble to himself.

"Where've ya been all my life baby."

"What was that, Roddy?"

"Nothin'," he spluttered out, as if he was shocked that I could hear anything he just said, "Let me drive."

"Rod. It's my D200, I'll drive."

"I know it's your car, but I'm gonna drive us." He said, quickly getting changed into some clean clothes and his usual kilt.

"Why?"

"I wanna treat ya, give you a surprise."

"Ok then, catch." I throw him the keys to the D200 and he catches them in one hand.

We drove out to a small Irish bar and Rod parked nearby.

"This place does the best homecooked fish and chips."

"Oh, really, so they're legit Irish?"

"I think so."

We walked in and the place went silent and I could feel the amount of eyes on the two of us. We got to a small table at the back and ordered full English breakfasts for two.

After a while and several drinks, not one being actually alcoholic, we got up to leave and this meant we had to walk past the main bar.

"Wrestling is fake, you know." one of the drunken idiots slurred out, he had obviously connected the dots of why we looked the way we do.

I bit my lip and tried to control my breathing, Roddy on the other hand…

"What did you say?"

…He was already advancing towards the guy, fists and teeth clenched.

"Rod, we should g-" I stated, trying to keep myself calm.

"NO!" he cut me off, "What did you say?!"

"Wrestlin' is fa-"

Rod's fist silenced the guy with a quick right hook, sending him sprawling on the floor and silencing the rest of the bar patrons.

I dragged Roddy out by wrapping my arms around his midsection and dragging him backwards out of the bar before letting him go.

"That, that fucker."

I got in front of him and pushed him back, away from the bar, "Rod, get in the fucking car before they come out here!" I yelled at him, and holy shit if that didn't set him off.

"I don't give a fuck if they come out here, I'll fucking kill him."

"Rod, let it go."

"No, I will not 'let it go' that fuck needs to be taught a lesson."

"Would you just get in the fucking car?!"

"Would you just fuck off."

"Fine, I will."

I stormed off, Roddy still had the keys to the D200 and I believed I could walk back to the hotel, my mask obscuring my face so people started looking, the fight, the argument and now the fact that people were staring at me. Today can not get any worse.

Oh boy was I wrong, it took two minutes for the rain to start and ten minutes for Rod to pull up in the (or rather, MY) D200. He pulled up and rolled the window down.

"I'm sorry, please get in the car."

"Fuck off, Piper."

"Kirby, baby, get in the car. Please."

I sighed and got in the passenger seat, "Why do you fly off the handle so easily, Rod."

"Why don't you, that fuck was insulting our job, our livelihood."

"Rod," I breathed out a hefty sigh and removed my mask so that my voice wouldn't be muffled, "Rod, I may not have fought the guy but I had to bite my lip and control myself. I had to count to ten in my mind and try not to escalate the situation further. I would have loved to go up to the guy and said 'Hey, the business isn't fake, we do this to feed our kids, but that's the thing Rod. I don't have kids I need to feed, I've been wrestling and working out for so long that I feel like I've forgotten to have a family, or even a life."

The car stopped suddenly and Roddy put his head in his hands, if the car had been any quieter he could have heard the pounding of my heart.

"You're not the only one."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I forgot to have a life. I've been alone and angry at the world for so long that I have forgotten that I'm human, and I need a private life, away from the ring, and for me to have that life, I need someone to share it with. A wife, for example, maybe a couple kids too. Heh, Imagine that, Roderick Piper, family man, forget it."

"Rod?"

"Yeah, Sweetheart?"

"Rod, I don't want to be alone."

"I know, baby."

"Rod?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about storming off earlier. I love you. I don't care how much this makes me sound sappy, but I need you in my life, I need that Scottish fire. Americans are dumb and the British are the British, and well Scots are the fiery, hot blooded warriors that I've grown up knowing but never being around until Erik. God, I just, I want to have a home, Roddy, and a family of my own."

"I wonder what our kids would look like?" He sounded like he had zoned out, but what he was mumbling to himself made me realise he hadn't zoned out, "What would we name them?"

"Rod, what do you think of the name, 'Enfys'?"

"What does that mean?"

"It's Welsh for 'Rainbow'. I'm not suggesting anyone name their child 'rainbow' I just think it sounds pretty."

"Why do Welsh names have to be so weird?"

"I'll walk back to the hotel if you insult my homeland again, boyo."

"All I'm saying is that there's a lot of 'y's and 'u's in Welsh names. Alright, lass."

"Rod, shut up and drive us back to the hotel."

"Make me."

We locked eyes and for a moment I forgot that we had started arguing again, I reached over and stroked Roddy's cheek, now realising that he had gotten himself beaten up again.

"Kirby, don't ge-"

"Why do you always get hurt, Roddy, don't tell me 'don't get upset' when you're beaten and bruised. Rod, drive us back to the hotel so I can patch," my breathing caught in my throat and Rod realised I was about to cry, "Rod, drive us back to the hotel so I can patch you up."

"Anything you say, just, please don't cry."

"Rod, I can't help the fact that seeing the love of my life battered and bruised, my natural instinct as a protective person is to show my sensitive side as I feel like I've failed to keep you safe."

"I failed to keep me safe, after you left I did the idiotic thing and stormed back into the bar, I got myself thrown through a table."

"Roddy, you fucking idiot. I told you it was better to leave without getting yourself hurt. Why didn't you listen?"

"Don't you go pulling the 'I told ya so' technique on me."

"Why not?"

"I've heard it my entire life, that's why."

"Well, maybe if you listened to it once in a whi-"

END OF NIGHTMARE or SCARED TO BE LONELY