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carmenized-onions · 14 days

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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

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

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eluxcastar · 6 months

Note

Number 13 and 14 with Arlecchino

Arlecchino being comforted by her s/o

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: arlecchino comfort drabbles yesyes

୨୧﹑genre :: sort of fluff

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, possibly ooc because it was written pre fontaine quest, not very proofread, arlecchino is implied to have issues with self-image/perception

୨୧﹑words :: 2.2k

"I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I've met." "I'm going to ask you how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly."

IT'S HERE you guys always spoil me 13 is my favourite prompt and you are the first of two to request it. completely unrelated but this is so familiar to what Kae said a few days ago (months now omg 😭) when we were talking about One of Repetition and it fits those two so well 😭❤️

to the anon who requested furina it'll take me a minute to figure out how to write her because I haven't played the archon quest but I'll watch some cutscenes and do my best for you

I'll also be using this because I got it in the middle of writing this and thought it fit the idea I had going super well 🙏 that makes three Arlecchino requests with prompt 13 😭 also second anon you're fine dw you guys are free to do with your requests with these prompts as you like, mix them together, add extra descriptions and rambles it makes it more fun 👍 thank you btw 😭❤ feel free to give yourself a name for future requests if you want ❤️ I love having new anons

prompt list

It is not often that Arlecchino shows her doubt, maintaining that half-pleasant façade to hide it all. If all people see is a ruthless woman with no regard for loyalty, then the details don't matter. There's no need to question, no need to dwell. She is one thing and nothing more, and she much prefers for nobody to notice the hesitancy in her drastic decisions, the thin-veiled regret as she watches the children she witnessed grow up go on to become valiant children of the Tsaritsa.

If there is anything more, it is disregarded as her unpredictability. She is a roach in the eyes of others, and perhaps she's ok with that…mostly.

To hear someone say "I love you" is strange to her, though it shouldn't be by now.

It shouldn't be unusual to wake up tangled in the sheets with you by her side or the struggle it ends up being to leave that mess as you try to convince her to spend five more minutes with you. It shouldn't be odd to discover that you've gone ahead and made her tea in anticipation of the time she will wake up or to have you remind her every morning that you hung her coat up to dry after she dumped it over the back of a chair the night before or to see you wandering around going about your own job.

But those events all feel surreal to her, even though she has watched you walk your patrol path a thousand times now, and she has seen you slack off where she sits by the window of Zapolyarny when you think nobody is looking.

You are very real, there's no doubt about that.

The things you do never click with her, however.

Perhaps you are real, but she made up these fantasies after watching you loiter by that one spot in the garden a little too long.

Yet every evening, you meet her in her office after you're officially let off for the day, and you usually bring snacks. You are most definitely there, then, as she watches you struggle to get through the door without damaging whatever you found for her to try, usually only small, a pastry you managed to get that you absolutely mustn't knock from your hands.

"I tried to get something that wouldn't make a big mess all over your stuff," you usually say, sometimes hacking on a 6guilty little "But~ these just looked so good…" to try and excuse you for bringing something that would cover her desk in crumbs.

Arlecchino doesn't mind because you went to the trouble of getting her something.

She got you a special chair to pull up and everything, and anyone else who uses it can deal with the death glare they get or find a different one.

But perhaps she made that up too, conjuring the image of someone fumbling their way through her office door to greet her with a smile, sometimes with jam on your mouth from taste-testing the gifts that she'll point out to you that you hurriedly wipe on your sleeve and pretend it was never there.

Maybe she put that chair there for nothing, and it never really moves, and each time she thinks this, she is sure this fantasy will all disappear.

However, every evening, without fail, as the sun begins to set out the window and the room is dyed an orange hue, the door opens, and there you are again. Delusions can't possibly be that persistent, and you would've scowled at her when she approached you in the hallways if you weren't aware of this relationship.

So it must be real, which she's well and truly aware of. There must be a person out there who sees what she cannot, someone who, by some miracle, manages to see past the things that block out all of the good. How can a person see anything but someone unworthy of their love?

What else is there to see?

The idea of a person who deserves to be loved beneath bloodshed has become unthinkable.

For a person who has been exposed to Arlecchino's worst sins, who has seen everything, and whose worst offence in life is a little laziness on the job, how is it possible to look at her and smile?

Arlecchino often wonders as she watches you. She how you go through your routine of placing your things down, whether on the desk or beside them, then all too happily mosey on off to get your chair and drag it over to sit across from her. She doesn't know why it's this particular day that she asks. Perhaps the fact it was weighing on her mind after a recent mission had her list of redeeming qualities shrinking further and further. It is in her job description, and there are plenty of worse people in this world.

But do you deserve to be stuck with one of them?

"Did you ever feel pressured into accepting my feelings for you?" Arlecchino asks the question so suddenly as you're halfway through walking back with your chair that she sees the exact point you register what she said, freezing in place from the shock. "Whether through status or power," she adds.

You blink a few times before all the motion in your world resumes to greet you with the image of her staring you down from the other side of her desk, patient and waiting for your response. "Sorry?" You let the chair go to return alone to her, standing in the place where you always put it. "I don't, uh…follow? I'm sorry, I just— I'm not sure what you mean?"

She hesitates, momentarily glancing down before her age returns to you and your uncharacteristic expression riddled with worry. She must've made you upset again.

"You want to be in this relationship? With me, that is…" Arlecchino struggles to think of the words, saying them as soon as they appear in her mind. "Even though you know the kind of person I am, you still want that?"

She studies your face as carefully as she can, watching the way you react as you absorb everything you just heard and assumedly try to put a response together in your head. Arlecchino has noticed before how you take longer to speak than her sometimes, but it tends to make everything you say more thought out, though you may end it like you're unsure.

"Well, I mean…if I didn't, wouldn't I just—" you pause for only a second— "break up with you?" There's silence after you finish. She doesn't say or do anything. To Arlecchino, that strangely almost makes sense, but you must be far too bold to admit that to a Harbinger. "It's not that I want to! I'm a little--…well, I think I'm just a little bit confused where that's coming from."

"I was thinking about it." You frown when she admits that. "Some of the things you have seen of me are…" Is there even a word to encompass that? "unbecoming of a lover."

Is that the right way to phrase it?

Again, you pause, and the telltale signs of consideration cross your face. An intense focus that barely lasts, and Arlecchino waits through it all to allow you your chance to answer, intent on allowing you that much. A few seconds more, and your features relax, looking back at Arlecchino with a tender gaze. "There's not really one 'right way', is there?" Your question, though rhetorical, strikes a chord with the many impulsive responses that flood her mind, all of which she keeps to herself. "You just kind of...try your best. Things might work out, or maybe they don't— the point is that you mean well and put in the work."

"That's not enough," she argues, "you deserve better."

"I deserve what I want." Your rebuttal makes sense in theory, but what do you want? She struggles to make sense of that part, the answer muddled by all of her thoughts and lost in her doubts.

You could ask anything of her, and she would do it. Any material possession, every feeling, more love than you know what to do with in any form you desire—physical, emotional, intimate—and yet you never do. You accept her awkward hugs, that it takes her time to relax when you lay your head on her chest, the fact she sometimes snores, that her clothes may very well be covered in bloodstains when she comes home depending on uncontrollable circumstances.

You never ask for the things she has plenty of power to give you in return for those flaws.

She shakes her head, "but surely you want more."

"I don't."

"There is a lot wrong that you deserve compensation for."

Arlecchino clenches the pen in her hand tightly, feeling the slight distress of pressure around it. She can't articulate what, not in the way she understands it; flaws is too broad of a term to use. You would instantly know and understand what she meant in a perfect world, but the world is not so generous.

"Like what?" you question. You feel that it’s obvious that nothing Arlecchino will struggle to say will shake you. She opens her mouth, prepared to refute it, headstrong and frankly stubborn as ever, but nothing comes out.

There is silence for a moment, and no one rebuts what you say. Nobody can. The only other person in the room fights with herself to yield and give in to your unwavering loyalty. In your mind, she is everything you want. There is nothing else you can ask of her than to simply accept that you wish to remain with her if only she will allow you to through her own emotional turmoil.

"Are you listening to what I’m saying?" you ask, frown creeping back onto your face as it tugs the corner of your lips down, seemingly against your will, "I could see the worst parts of you and still think you are the most beautiful person I’ve met."

Another chord is struck, her heart beating so loud it thrums in her ears like suddenly becoming aware it’s been threatening to beat out of her chest the entire conversation. She breathes, shaky and caught up in her own surprise. Somehow, she didn’t expect you to be so sweet in your words or throw her off guard so abruptly. She finds it hard to believe them. Arlecchino’s worries haven’t disappeared, only dwindled. It helps, if not completely. There is a reprieve in listening to you.

You have seen the worst of her, every crease she hasn’t ironed out, her sometimes rotten personality, her stained clothes, the weapons she cleans in your home. You have seen her walk to greet you covered in blood and gore from a savage fight, kneel before you and hold your hand with the same hands she uses to kill vagrants and petty criminals, kiss your skin with those lips that spill the vilest of curses against her enemies.

Before she realises what she’s saying, she blurts out a question, "Do you really believe that?"

It is quiet, reminiscent of how gently you looked at her earlier as her voice barely breaks a whisper, and she can’t bring herself to break eye contact with you once she finds the courage to make it.

"I do."

You smile at her, hoping she will smile back. A faint smile graces Arlecchino’s lips, ever the handsome picture. Her sincerity is comforting after such a scare. You still worry, and perhaps you will never stop with the way her mind likes to trick her. How long had she thought you secretly looked at her with disgust this time? You fear you won’t have an answer again, though you desperately wish for one. As much as you notice her awkwardness, dismissing some of it and observing other parts with more scrutiny, it is hard to make her talk to you at times.

"Thank you." It is all Arlecchino can think to say in response as she forgets what else she was going to challenge you on. It will return eventually, and she will face it again, but for now, it settles. Arlecchino can reasonably bury her doubt for a time.

"Can we keep talking?" you ask.

"About anything," she confirms with a nod.

You turn away, walking across the room in pursuit of retrieving your chair from its designated spot by the wall. You pull it along, dragging it over the floor, and set it down across from her on the other side of the desk you’ve been talking across. Your seat welcomes you as it always does as you settle into place, now comfortably at eye level with her.

"In that case," you begin, taking the pen she holds and wriggling it from her hands. She relinquishes it without much of a fight, allowing you to place it off to the side out of the way. "I’m going to ask you how you are, and I would like you to answer me honestly."

"Anything for you, my love."

#♡ — anon visit.#✦ — scenarios.#✦ — fluff.#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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jiyansthesis · 1 year

Note

Hi, this is the first time I've asked anyone to write a smut fic or a smut headcanon with Keith and a very shy reader, I don't know if you do smut but if not you don't have to write. Or you can do about how Keith started the relationship with a very shy reader Note: english is not my first language, so sorry if i wrote something wrong

i do write smut!! plus your english is very good dw about it! i have two other fics on the way right now, but i'm gonna finish this one first because they're hcs and a lot more faster for me to write 😋 this is kinda hard cause i'm personally not very shy but i'll try my best! (think this turned out to be JUST nsfw hcs i swear)

this is afab reader!

idc if minors interact - nsfw under the cut

not proofread

SUPER brief hcs of how you got together (I WANT SMUT RN!!)

keith has always loved how shy you were, although he never said it out loud

you were almost always silent, behind everyone twiddling your thumbs or always finding something else in the room other than the people interesting

he found it endearing, although sometimes he knows he has to hold back his anger from you

every time he talked to you before you got together, you would blush uncontrollably and hesitate responding to him

so that's why it surprised him when you cornered him in a hallway, looking especially nervous

he saw a crumpled up note in your hands, and for the first time, you were holding eye contact with him

"i-uh, i like you a lot," you blurted out. you might be shy, but you were brave

immediately after that you shut your eyes, believing that he would reject you, or even worse, simply walk away

. . . but the kiss he gave you after was unmistakable.

nsfw hcs

you would always cover your face whenever it got too good, and keith would always pull you hands away, sometimes even pinning you wrists above your head with one hand

"i want to see you."

GRRABABARBKARBARK

definitely has the strength to overpower you, and if you love that you know what i mean

an example is if he's eating you out and you try closing your thighs around his face

he'd quickly wrap his hands around you legs, and spread them back open, no matter how hard you try to close them

or using his strength from training constantly to fuck you against a wall, if he's feeling particularly rough that day

definitely fucks you if he's stressed about a day in the training room (or stressed in general)

i don't make the rules

has THE best ways to ask for consent

"you want this?/tell me how you want it."

"you want me to make you feel good?"

OR HE'D JUST DESCRIBE WHAT HE'D DO TO YOU

fave position is probably the mating press cause he loves being able to go down and kiss you and see your face

or you riding him because he loves the way you lean onto him and eventually tire out

and when you do, his grip on your waist is harsh enough to cause bruises as he harshly thrusts into you

probably has a thing for restraining you

loves how shy you are when you come to him asking for sex

he'd usually drag it out to tease you even more before finally giving you some relief

fingering god i love to say it

you see the way he works his hands!!!

definitely whimpers here and there, especially when you're giving him a blow job

if you have enough hair, he'll personally make a makeshift ponytail for you

if not, he'll simply run his hand through your hair

praisepraisepraise all day

probably goes feral once he's close to cumming

would start babbling literally any dirty talk that comes to his mind

"you're doing so good for me."

"gonna cum for me, yeah?"

extra: DON'T GET ME STARTED ON HIM IN HEAT.

idc what anyone says he goes through it since he's half galra

the first time, he'd lock himself in his room and hope that it would eventually pass

but of course, as clueless as you were, you walked in and questionably gazed at all the stranded tissues on the floor

he'd try ushering you out, but after a moment to decide, you wanted to help him

definitely WAY more rough than usual

you'd come out with bruises everywhere and hickeys as far as the eye can see

a lot more vocal during this

he would love the way you would try to speak up but couldn't because it felt too good

you might be shy yourself, but whenever you got into the mood. . . you definitely weren't thinking straight

during heat he wouldn't even have the time to make you beg or tease you, he'd go all in immediately

definitely praises and degrades you a lot more

"being such a perfect little slut for me, hm?"

just know that after you guys finish, you're both too out of it to even speak or move, until eventually keith snaps out of it and helps you get cleaned up

sometimes you would get up first, wanting to return the favor

and he'd repay you with a lot of tired kisses until the two of you fall asleep

slightly hate this cause im so rusty at writing smut lol

#keith kogane x reader #x reader #keith voltron #voltron keith #keith kogane #keith x reader #voltron mtl #voltron x reader #voltron #keith x reader smut #keith kogane x reader smut #voltron x reader smut

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rxsilabeth--er · 2 months

Note

But being a criminal and getting trans!reg pregnant....like it's all planned.

Reader being obsessed with reg from the beginning from when he was just a trainee and committing crimes just so he could visit the scenes and watch reg. Killing people till he's darling boy is head of this case and being the one to bring him in. When he is, he chats up reg at a bar or sth, and poor reg is so clueless. Doesn't the guy he's riding and losing his mind over is the same person who is killing all those young victims he's investigating. By the time he figures it out, everything has gone to hell. And little reg is pregnant with the child of a serial killer. The worst part is that he knows. He can't tell anyone cause if his team finds out he got knocked by the psycho they're trying to catch, he'll lose the respect of the entire bureau. And Reg doesn't want to abort cause he's too stupidly in love with the man that gave him the child. However, he's shocked when he finds out the man made a small mistake in the last crime scene, but his team doesn't know it's killer and reg is a hundred percent sure the clue wasn't a mistake and was all planned out. And know he's interviewing his baby daddy in a small metal room who is highly aware of the tiny life growing inside of him and is too smug about it. With his new role as a potential witness to the case, he decides to offer his help with catching the murder and reg's boss agrees and is grateful to have the help of a local. Soo he grows to be liked by the whole group, and it's torture for reg. He keeps pulling reg into closets and bending him over the desk, promising to give him the little family he's always talked about on their dates, teasing him about how he has always been an over achiever and Regulus knows he could easily let himself hate him had their were not moments where the man was too domestic. Him walking into the office, wrapping his arms around his waist, rubbing his stomach. Talking about how their swert child will come out a genius. How he'll marry reg, whenever his ready. Always carrying with him water so reg is hydrated, doughnuts for the craving. Home-cooked meals, that reg can't help but mouth over. When reg is working too hard he'll walk into the office rub his back and little bump, telling him he shouldn't work too hard, it's bad for the baby, whispering little clues about the case In his ears. He'll buy him presents and make little baby jokes in front of everyone, making everyone confused. They'll ask if he's got a special someone at home and he's like yeah, we're expecting. He'll look reg right in the eye and go "smartest and prettiest little mama I've ever seen" and when it gets too hard for reg to cover the bump, he promises he'll quit but only if reg agrees to live with him.

Sorry, I may have gotten too obsessed 😅 I got this idea at what? 3:50 a.m and now it's 4:22. Had to get it all down immediately 😭

I'm drooling over this, it's such a piece of diamond!!! I NEED IT!! Oh my god, it's so cute yet so sexy!! Here take preggo! Reggie smut in exchange for the amazing gold's price!!| Warnings: dub-con? Slight manhandling, gun on head (reg's fine, dw), reader is kinda unhinged and insane, chocking, reg's pregnant, I have no idea, what came over me to write this...

Thank god, everyone in the office was actually gone out to eat, Regulus said he wasn't feeling and you brightly volunteered to stay behind to care of the Head Detective and the others agree, because you're a local who became VERY close with the group.

And Regulus knew why...Regulus's head felt like it was burning, crying on his knees, spewing insults, yelling, screaming and what not simply to argue with you over the fact that you're always at his office now and he doesn't like it...

You simply grinned down at him, you liked when he cried, it was cute, you know you should be angry at him, but maybe it was the fact that he was pregnant that suddenly made him so cute and made you want to make him cry more and mewl on your cock like that other night in the forest where you pounded in him on the forest floor beside his friend, Barty's house.

Softly you walked close to the kneeling boy, lifting his face softly and grabbing his face tightly, "You cry so damn much, it's fucking annoying how pretty you look." you softly hummed as Regulus's soft whimpering as you grab his arm and lift him up, pulling him up as you sat on his chair, the Head detective's chair.

You let him stand as he continued to scream at you for the next few minutes, maybe it was the pregnancy moodswings but after a few minutes of screaming, he stood there sobbing, pregnancy emotions always got out of hand, you guessed.

Softly he walked closer to you, sitting in your lap, crying in your neck as your hands stroked his thigh and sides, one hand travelling up to the top of his jacket, you softly pulled it off as he continued to cry, whine and sob on your lap, as one hand unbuttoned the buttons of his shirt softly, the other rubbing his thigh, the shirt still tucked in enough to hide his body well.

You snaked your hands inside his shirt, rubbing his stomach where you felt the smallest amount of movement, was it from Reg's breathing or the baby's notice of his father being around, you didn't know, you preferred the latter, knowing the man in your lap could never help his greediness he had over you, his obsession over you which he tried SO HARD to deny always made you grin and made you think how cute he'd like crying on your cock.

The other hand softly unbutton his trousers, your hands slipped inside his pants on his hips, holding his hips softly as you pet his hips a bit for him to lift his hips for you remove his trousers. Throwing them haphazardly, your fingers softly grazed his clothed cunt, already starting to wet and leak even through his panties, "Oh? Already wet...expected this from you honestly." you hummed softly, taking his hand on yours and guiding it to your trousers.

As he unbuttoned your pants, you simply pushed his panties aside and stroked his cunt and clit, but not touching him where he wants. Panting and whining, he simply pulled out your cock, whining as you simply sighed. "Pitiful.." you stared at him, but he's pregnant, might as well be sweet right?

So that's how he ended up riding you, wailing and moaning like it's nobody's business as his fingers were plunged in your mouth, plugging your mouth as you sucked and slobbered over his fingers like he did on your cock with a smirk seeing him go crazy and whiny simply from bouncing over you, one of your hands rubbing and squeezing his clit and the other rubbing his tummy which was seemingly growing to show your kid inside him...

Thrusting up into his cunt, the hand which was on his stomach moved up to softly pinch his nipples just as the ringtone of your phone rang through the office, as Regulus's cries resonated within the walls, just before you pulled his panties you tore off of him and shoved it in his mouth, taking the call, putting it on speaker and placing it on the table, while one of your hands held his wrists tightly, while the other moved to hold his throat.

Noticing his movements stopped, you leaned close to his tear-stricken face and asked, "What? Did I ask you to stop? Continue fucking riding." you said softly, you were sure if not for the panties stuck in his mouth and your hand on his throat he would whine loudly to show everyone what was happening.

"Hello?" Barty's voice came from the call, "Yeah? Hello Barty!!" You asked brightly, in contrary to how you were fucking Regulus on your dick. As Regulus continued to bounce on top you, "Yeah, uh, we're reaching the station back in like two to three minutes." Barty said as all blood ran from Regulus's face while you only smirked,

"Oh? Oh, please, do come early...I miss you all and if not me, then Reggie sure does, don't you?" you said smirking as Barty laughed over the phone, "I bet, aight, I'll tell Evan to drive faster, can't leave our besties alone, can we? See you!" he said before hanging up as you pulled Regulus's panties out his mouth, making him whine as you pressed down on his throat and rubbed his clit a bit harshly,

"Why-...Why would you..you-fuck! Why would you do that?!" he asked, trying to be angry, but his exterior flattered the moment you thrust inside of him, hearing him wail.

"Come on, hurry up, don't you want to cum? If not now, then you'll have to wait up until, I don't know....a few hours?" you said as he suddenly began speeding his movements up, as you relaxed in the chair, groaning as you kissed his chest and left hickeys, biting him as he simply whined and tried his best to ride you. Your hands no longer working on his body neither did you put in any effort, if he wanted it, he can have it all by himself especially after screaming at you,

"i'm still upset at you yelling at me, so I will relax, you use me and get yourself off." you said simply, hands simply on his stomach, stroking his swelling belly, letting him use you.

Regulus tried his best to replicate the feelings of you, pinching his nipples, squeezing his clit, plunging your fingers in his hole besides your cock if you felt more mean, or the way your cock touched parts of his body his long fingers couldn't even reach...

His wet finger rubbing his own clit, as he ride to bounce himself on top of you like you always force him to, the other hand on top of yours on his stomach, feeling your cock bulging in his stomach, it was hurting, but he simply couldn't reach his good points!

What the hell, you're supposed to care for him, your baby's momma, your pretty little baby and your gorgeous princess (as you called him in a degrading way).

It wasn't helping that you were pinching his nipples seemingly out of nowhere and reminding him, "Come on, don't want the whole sector to know you're a whore right? They're gonna be here any minute now." he said. His pleasure was teetering between too much and too little and it was driving him wild,

"Ah-fuck!...please! I-I'm..fuck..I'm sorry, it's not working!!" he whined, his tears dripped down his cheeks with drool also falling down his cheeks making you shake your head, "I'm sorry, baby. You're on your own." you said simply, groaning as he clamped down on your, throwing your head back, sadism making you feel happy and a smirk on your lips as he again began to move up and down, his thighs burning just as the sounds of other's car's parking was heard.

"Oh, looks like they're here, awwhhh, baby, hurry up, come on, cum." you said with fake pity as Regulus let out a loud whine, near scream,

"PLEASE! I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry...Please..it hurts and I-fuck! Can't do it, I need you, I need you!....in here..Please daddy? Don't wanna pleasure your little cumslut...am I not carrying your baby?" he softly, whined taking your hand and placing it on his dripping cunt softly throwing his head back, you groaned and rolled your eyes as you held his hips, the fucking cumslut was smart and fucking cute,

"Awhh, fine. But hear me slut, you're not cumming the whole night after this." he said as he nodded desperately, "Fine, yes, yes!!" he nodded as you looked over to see Barty, Evan, Pandora, James, Sirius, Remus, Lily and literally everyone in the group was entering the building.

You quickly pulled out and flipped him over, slamming back inside as you pounded him on the table, as you looked over the desk to see your gun that confiscated in a opened drawer, pulling it you softly placed it on his head, making Regulus tense up, as you continued to pound inside him, spanking his ass red and rubbing it softly between your warmed up palm of the other hand before it moved to bundle up in his hair to pull up his falling and lolling head as his whined,

"Awhh, what? Scared, baby? You should be. Fucking brat, you should be fucking grateful I don't pull the trigger for almost revealing my identity...But fuck, baby, I love you." you hummed moving fast, moving the fun down to nudge his clit with the cold metal as you pounded in him, pulling his hair, and biting his shoulders, you were dressed up but he wasn't except his opened shirt hanging from his shoulders.

Regulus's whines began to be more high-pitched and faster, "Uh..No, wait..it feels weird, sir! PLEASE! It-fuck, feels like I'm gonna pee...Please, no i'm-ngh!...I'm gonna cum." he whined, thrashing softly as you placed the gun back on the table and shoved fingers in his mouth, gagging him on them, as the other pinched and rubbed his clit roughly, you could hear the other's footsteps outside on the corridors...

"Fucking cum, I better not get caught. They're just outside the door, sweetheart." you hissed as Regulus whined and let out a soundless cream as he squirted over you dripping down as he clamped down on your cock, his head dizzy as he whined softly.

That pushed you over the edge as you quickly came inside him and pulled out, staring at his dripped ass as Regulus scrambled to get his articles of clothing, including the ripped up panties and ran to the bathroom, banging the door closed just as the door opened to them, "Hey!! We got food for you as well!!" Pandora said brightly holding up a bag as they all stare at you fixing your unbutton shirts with a sweet smile, back on your lips,

"Hi, welcome back!! Where were you all gone for?" you asked, fixing your pants behind the desk hiding you as you smiled brightly. "Oh, nowhere really." Mary said sighing as she pulled up a chair beside you as you sat on the Head Detective's desk, "Where is Regulus?" Dorcas asked, as you slightly panicked, "Oh, uh, he's in the bathroom." you said smiling nodding towards the bathroom in the office.

Everyone nodded as Pandora handed you the food bag, "Oh yeah, speaking of. Reminds me, you look unsuually happy, are you expecting someone at home?" James asked smiling, as you nodded with a boyish grin,

"Yep, i'm expecting a baby!" You said just as Regulus walked out wiping his face with a napkin, his clothes back on, " the prettiest and gorgeous mama I've ever seen.." you said softly smiling at Regulus who blushed and walked closer, shooing you to get your own chair...

You pulled one beside him, as everyone began leaving to go back to different things they had to work on, as you ate your food in silence with Regulus, pulling him back to sit in your lap on the Head Detective's chair, a hand on his tummy.

You didn't really notice it, but after the few months, he was honestly starting to show, if not for the fact that he wore a brown blazer over it that hid his stomach, but if he wasn't wearing it, it was blatantly obvious as you stared at his stomach.

Regulus noticing your gaze no tummy, he hid it under his arms, his insecurity skyrocketed since becoming pregnant, but despite being insane it would be wrong to lie since he was looking gorgeous than anything,

"Quit this job, I'll take care of you." you blurted out suddenly making Regulus glare at you, "You have a lot of fucking audacity." he said pulling you close by your collar, "I'm serious...I don't want you to be held responsible if I got caught being a killer, I want you and the baby to be safe, quit this. I have money, I'll take care of you." you said softly, rubbing his stomach with one of the rare, genuine smile you held making Regulus a bit surprised but sigh,

"I'll see...", "Thank sweet mama.. :)"

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amoremainslayer · 3 months

Note

HII its been a while nd im sososo sorry but ive been so busy lately and so stressed too T_T ANYWAY i cant stop thinking abt woong!!!!$@$@$ so can i ask for any kind of scenario abt him? It can b anything you want !!

- 🎀

YOUR SKIN ON MINE - K.JW

Pairings : Jiwoong x reader

Genre : fluff, established relationship, non idol fic.

Warnings : drunk woong

A/n : dw luv I've been so busy aswell😭 I have lots of unfinished things in my draft but today is Friday anyways so I'm gonna start working on them. Here's a small little jiwoong scenario based on my dream i had of him two days ago🤭

Not proofread!

You closed the door, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you looked at the older guy laying on the bed.

He had come home quite drunk after having a dinner and a few drinks with his colleagues . You brought him to bed first, quickly going into the kitchen to finish the tea you were cooking before finally joining him in your bedroom.

You sat on the white sheets, hand wandering up to brush a few strands of his face away. His eyes were closed while he enjoyed your touch "Why would you drink so much" You mumbled.

Jiwoong had a quite high tolerance, so for him to get this drunk he'd have to drink quite alot.

He just hummed, taking your hand and leading It to his cheek. The back of your hand got in contact with his skin, the warmth of your hand warming up his cold cheek "work has been stressing" he murmured, eyes still closed.

You let out a sigh, a slightly worried expression on your skin as you watched his sleepy face "Alright, go to sleep then. I'll make you some soup tomorrow" You said, intending to stand up but the tight grip on your hand left you hesitating.

"Don't go" he whispered, and something about the vulnerability and weakness laced within his voice left you staying with him instantly.

He led your hand to his lips, the back of your fingers coming in contact with his lips. He just let them rest there, silently giving you the love he was awake enough to give you.

A small smile appeared on your lips at the small act, letting your hand rest at his lips while your other hand stroked along his cheek.

You pulled the blanket from the end of the bed before laying beside jiwoong, nuzzling against his chest and covering you two with the blanket "All right, I'll stay with you then" you whispered before both of you fell asleep.

#amoremainslayer #zb1 x reader #zb1 imagines #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 fluff #kim jiwoong #zb1 jiwoong #jiwoong x reader #zerobaseone jiwoong #jiwoong fluff

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jiihu · 1 year

Note

BONJOUR, MAY I REQUEST A KARINA/READER FIC?possibly where reader and karina are not in a public relationship, and as a result, reader accuses karina of cheating bc of dispatch photos being leaked of her with another idol?? JUST LOTS OF ANGST, FIGHTING, JEALOUSY, EMOTIONS???? MESSY RELATIONSHIP TYPE BEAT. HAPPY ENDING PREFERRED, but feel free to end it however you’d like ! :) TYSM

﹅ 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲?; 𝗸𝗮𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗮

﹅ summary — pushing your own feelings aside, you keep your relationship with karina a secret for the sake of her career. although you trust her, you can't help your insecurity.

﹅ content — angst, cheating, arguing

﹅ word count — 1.5k (the next fic will be longer dw)

﹅ a/n — i got a request to write this one without caps (and it's 10x easier so thank you), so if you guys like it i can continue in the future! also, this wasn’t as angsty as i wanted because for some reason if i do angst + fluff, it’s hard for me to not do one or the other TT

“you know i love you, right?” jimin mumbled into your hair as you two sat on your couch, a cheesy k-drama being used as background noise. you craned your neck to look up at her, your eyebrows furrowing as you tried to decipher her unreadable expression.

"i'd hope so," you joked, laughter trailing off when you realized that she wasn't laughing with you. "jimin? what's wrong?"

she shook her head, plastering a smile on her face as she began watching the show that she wasn't paying any mind to a few moments ago. you brushed off her strange behavior, resting your head back on her forearm.

"by the way," jimin flinched, "where'd you want to eat tonight?" you watched her let out a puff of air, her shoulders relaxing once again.

"mm, you pick," she whispered. her hand reached between the two of you to retrieve your phone, before sliding it into your hands. you scrolled through the delivery app, absentmindedly clicking on restaurants you assumed would be appetizing. your scrolling was interrupted by jimin's phone ringing, which she jumped up to answer, almost pushing you off of the couch in the process.

you watched as she disappeared behind the wall, her hand coming up to cover the speaker to prevent any sound from leaking. you sat up, suspicion pricking at the back of your mind.

not even ten seconds later, jimin appears again, this time with her coat in hand. you sat up, your eyes searching jimin's. she stared back at you with a sympathetic expression.

"jagi, i'm so, so sorry." she crouched in front of you, her hands encasing your own. "they need me back at the dorms. i'll be home later tonight, but don't wait up. you need rest." she pressed a kiss to your lips, giving you another kiss on your forehead before standing up.

"don't forget to eat, i love you." she left after those words, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing in your mind. you picked up your phone once again, chewing on your lip while you tried to keep your mind from wandering. they need me back at the dorms.

you were interrupted by your phone ringing, your eyes focusing on the screen to read the name aeri. you felt your heart begin to race, fearing that something bad had happened to jimin; like a car accident or something worse.

"y/n! you and jimin wanna come with us to this new barbecue restaurant? everyone says it's good, and i've been dying to try it."

it felt like your entire world had just come to a halt. "jimin's not here. she said you guys needed her for something." you heard hushed whispers through the speakers, the sound of rustling following shortly after.

"uh, never mind! we just heard a knock at the door, so that must be her. bye, y/n!" you stared at the phone in a dazed-like state, the beeping sound of the phone call ending ringing in your ears. trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest, you continued to look for something to eat.

once you found somewhere to order from, you sat up from your position and moved to grab your wallet from the table before your phone buzzed. usually, you would ignore it. but something felt different this time.

you looked down at your phone, feeling your entire world come crashing down when you read the notification at the top of the screen.

[BREAKING NEWS]

AESPA's Karina was spotted leaving a restaurant with ITZY's Ryujin!

you opened your text messages between you and jimin, starting to type before you realized that you'd sent her about seven other messages, which she hadn't bothered to respond to.

you sat back in your previous spot on the couch, turning on an action-packed movie while tracking your food on the map to keep your mind off of karina. your eyes followed the delivery guy's icon as he got closer to your apartment. once you saw him reach your street, you slipped on your shoes and prepared to meet him outside.

before you could even unlock the door, you got a notification that alerted you that the food was delivered. you groaned, assuming that someone had stolen your food from downstairs. you opened the door and you were met with jimin with the bag of food in her hand, and flowers in the other.

"where were you?" jimin moved past you into the doorway, setting the food on the counter and finding a pot to put the flowers in.

"i was at the company with the girls. i told you that before i left, didn't i?"

"you did. but why is there a picture of you with ryujin on dispatch?" you watched jimin stop her movements, setting the flowers on the table before gesturing you over to show her your phone. you showed her the picture, and she shook her head, a smile spreading across her face.

"that's old, babe. different outfit."

"do you think i'm stupid, jimin? it might be blurry, but i can tell this is the same outfit you have on now. including the coat you took with you." jimin sighed, putting the flowers in the water and looking up at you.

"we went after i left the company. i just didn't want to tell you, because i knew you were going to overreact like this." you scoffed, stepping back and pointing at the door.

"get out."

"y/n, i didn't mean it like that-"

"get out!" you raised your voice at her, feeling tears brimming your eyes as you grabbed her by the arm, shoving her towards the door. you slammed the door behind her, pressing your forehead to the door after she walked off. you peeled yourself off of the door, a choked sob slipping past your lips as you made your way back to the bedroom.

while you sat on the bed, deep in thought, you looked back at the tweet again. you zoomed in on the picture, realizing that jimin had the same flowers in her hand that she brought to you. you sighed, falling back on the bed with your eyes closed.

"maybe i did overreact."

you nervously sat on the couch, your foot tapping on the ground while you thought about the crestfallen expression on jimin's face. you still felt the fabric of her long sleeve on your palm, like a reminder of how you treated jimin before she walked out of the house.

jimin had agreed to meet up with you again today, and even though it didn't seem that she was mad, you couldn't help but feel guilty because of your actions. trying not to get too lost in your thoughts, you tried to distract yourself by tidying things around the house.

you were cleaning up your nightstand when you found a folded-up note tucked under the lamp. you pulled it out, reading over it as you felt your heart swell. it was a note that jimin had written, who knows how long ago, basically pouring her heart out to you before practice.

while you were reading it over and over again, you heard a knock at your door and you perked up, fixing your clothes before rushing over to the door. you opened the door a bit and saw jimin standing awkwardly beside the door, another bouquet clutched in her fist.

"jimin, hi." you moved aside to give her room to enter, and she walked over to the pot and slid the flowers beside the previous ones. you two awkwardly faced each other before jimin pulled you into a tight hug, her head resting on your shoulder. she rubbed circles onto your back, her other arm resting on your shoulders.

"i'm sorry. i should've told you where i was going, and i shouldn't have said you were overreacting." you shook your head, your fingers playing with the hem of her shirt.

"it's fine, promise. i should've let you explain yourself." jimin pulled away from you, sitting down on the couch in a relaxed position before gesturing you over to sit in her lap. she grabbed the remote, trying to find something to watch while you looked up at her, nothing but love in your eyes. "you're not mad, right? we're good?" jimin smiled, pulling you closer to her side.

"we're good."

#fem reader #aespa karina #karina x reader #karina imagines #kpop imagines #girl group imagines #gg imagines #aespa x reader #aespa imagines #⸻ writes! 📄

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didoldacc · 1 year

Note

(english is not my first language, sorry)

soo, thinking about the demo of tinnitus, imagine them saying the lyrics right in your ear while having sex, the demo is all about sex, I-

I really love your post, love u😿

MDNI!

hehe dw it is not my native language either i just learned it from the internet too. and i am glad that you like my posts it means a lot and also sorry for the late reply the inspo didn't come so i waited 🕴 also studied for midterms(everyone is having their finals and we just started midterms wtf) so i hope it is worth the wait. and i choose taehyun to write the fic since tinnitus is just his song in the album imo. (you did not member specify so picked tyun and he just owns the song) AND THE DEMO HAD ME CHOKING IN SHOCK LIKE I- I MEAN I PREFER THE THE MISERY LYRICS BUT IMAGINE THEY SANG A SONG LIKE THAT- anyways here's the drabble love you too so much

warnings: basically lyrics of tinnitus demo version, dirty talk, slightly dom!taehyun, taehyun is wicked but soft, petnames(baby, pretty), reader having a tiny bit insecurity(not body related don't worry), no one is virgin but it's their first time, manhandling, cunnilingus, no essence of good writing (let me know if there is any that i've missed)

taehyun smiled to your pleas. you had no idea what you were asking for. you kept insisting that he let you listen the demo version of your favorite song. you knew it wasn't going to be innocent since you heard him saying that all the members were shirtless while recording. and the song had that vibe about it even with the sad lyrics they came up with.

taehyun knew better than letting his pretty girl down so he agreed. while he was opening his laptop, you patiently waited. you were so going to make fun of it for the rest of your life, you thought.

after bringing his laptop to the table, he gave you his headset. you gently took it from his hands and positioned the headset to your ears. he gave you a look that implied if he could start playing after you nodded, he started to play the song. it took you while to give a reaction to it and he couldn't wait to witness it. but you were trying your best to keep it cool. it was supposed to be a song about sex, you expected that. yet the whole song straight up felt like dirty talk rather than a song. you just gulped when the song finished. you avoided looking his face and gave a little laughter.

"so this is the demo, huh?" he nodded with disappointment. he was expecting more. his wishes of you being turned into red from embarrassment did not come true. but little did he know that you were struggling to keep your poker face.

you decided to end your stubbornness and blurted out the fact that you wished he had a recording of him singing the demo version and right there you had fallen into his trap. "well, maybe you can hear it in other ways, not necessarily singing." he said while grinning.

---------------------------------------------------

the next thing you know, your naked form was laying in his bed. him not letting go his risus just made you want to hide under the duvet. just when you were going to cover your face with your hands, he stopped you and instead kept your hands above your head.

he leaned towards your ear "baby can't you give it to me right now?" you low-key cringed but couldn't help but get aroused with the action. "pretty, i got no time to waste, give me answer." the minute you whined a yes, you felt his lips devouring yours.

"do what i say, if you want to learn more. is that okay?" you just nod and let him take control. "i wasted enough time with preparing you but you don't look ready for me yet. what a shame. but lucky for you you can sit on my face." your eyes went wider with his demand. you weren't sure about that since it was your first time with taehyun. it was not like neither of you lacked experience but you did not want your first time with him to be an experience where you chased your own pleasure. what if it would make him not want to do it again with you?

your concerns were nonsense in his eyes and he did not hesitate to let you know. he clawed a hold of your hips and positioned you where he wated. "i want you to keep repeating 'want it', is that clear?" you wasted no time to answer.

when he heard your yes, he started to give small kisses to your clit. every time you felt the sensation little whimpers left your mouth. "want it. i want it" you repeated which made taehyun pleased. his tongue knew exactly what to do to make you cry from pleasure. you were about to cum from slight stimulation yet he was going to let you. "just hang in there a little baby, we are not done." he said. but there was no way you could hold it any longer.

you shut your eyes from the pleasure and couldn't open it and put your hands to nearest surface to keep yourself stable. his making out with your pussy got rougher. and all you could do was to curse. "fuck, tae. please baby i can't anymore" you managed to say before your orgasm hit you. his grip on your tights got more stern. and when you came undone he lifted you up. he gave you a warm smile before getting up to kiss you.

"can you return the favor?"

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mera-k1 · 3 months

Note

Hii!! Can we get a first kiss hcs with TCW and/or AKYR, please? Whether its cute giggly ones or the slow and steady,,,🤲🌹

(((I actually sent an anon ask on this but i got a notif that something went wrong with it lol, but lmk if it actually slides into your inbox:0)))

Have a nice one!

it never did come into my inbox but dw!! hope you enjoy the fluff~ later note: GOT WAY TOO LONG... PUTTING AKYR IN A SEP POST!!

First Kiss

TCW x gn!reader

-fluff, idk u guys kiss 😱, not rlly in order so here's order i wrote in -> yohei, shiki, ryu, saimon

having to watch your boyfriend clean counters and sweep the floor wasn't the most exciting thing in the world. but.. he didn't look half bad while doing it. with the sleeves of his bartender 'uniform' rolled up and his focused expression, you couldn't help but admire him. well, okay.. you hadn't been dating that long but the crush you had on yohei was... you've had to for a little longer than you'd like to admit. so when he accepted your confession, you were extremely surprised that the cold-fronted man had actually accepted.

besides that, you really just had wanted to spend some time with him lately. after all, he'd been working so much! why not take some time off and spend some time with you? that's what you had proposed but-

"i needa finish cleaning, babe."

"oh.."

those were the only words that had been spoken since you had gotten here. letting out a dramatic sigh, you slumped down onto the bar counter that he had just finished cleaning. the damp, cool counter smelled of cleaning supplies and you wrinkled your nose at the sudden strong smell and lifted your head back up to wipe your now wet cheek.

"what're you sighing for?" he looked over after you had let out the dramatic sigh, cloth in hand as he wiped down the opposite end of the counter from you.

"i just wanna spend time with you!" you put your elbow onto the counter, leaning your face into your hand as you stared at him. yohei returned your sigh with one of his own as he shook his head.

"i told you i've-"

"i know what you told me!" you huffed out at him, a pout forming on your face as he walked over to you.

"tell you what," he started, looking at your pouty face. yeah... there was no way he could say no to you now. he was being a little mean, wasn't he? he briefly leaned down, planting a quick peck on your lips before walking back over to the previously abandoned cloth he had been using to clean. "we'll go out somewhere once--" you didn't hear the rest as your face turned pink as you suddenly shot up, shock evident on your face.

"y-you kissed me!" you covered your mouth, half from shock and the other half... you weren't really sure. "that was the first time you've ever kissed me!" he looked over at you, a faint pink color appearing on his cheeks.

"...mh. i- i guess i did."

okay so.. maybe it was a little bit awkward, eating lunch with your boyfriend. or well... new boyfriend. not like you've ever had one before but it felt awkward to sit by him during lunch uninvited. but... it's kind of an unspoken thing that you're allowed to do that, right? you had been friends beforehand but... this whole relationship thing was kinda hard... especially with your shy boyfriend.

"uh- uhm- th-thank you for eating with me, (name)..." shiki mumbled, shyly. his face growing pink with blush. you weren't sure if he was flustered by you unexpectedly sitting by him or if he had just remembered that you two were technically dating after that mess of a confession from you. god, you didn't even want to think about it right now...

"no problem!" you gave him a content smile which seemed to make his face go redder. even though it hadn't been long, you were happy that this sweetheart of a guy was your boyfriend. he might be timid but you still loved him!

"ah.. (name)?" he looked over at you, a hesitant expression on his face. it was almost impossible to tell what he was about to ask you with that expression. it almost looked like pity, but you knew it wasn't- but it also looked like shyness? but he was shy about a whole lot of things!

"what's up?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation casual and not think about the possible question.

"w- would you like to go somewhere after school?" he mumbled, looking down shyly. "ah-! with- with me! if that's okay..." he quickly added. as if it wasn't obvious enough! of course you would love to go on a little date with him!

"of course! why wouldn't it be okay, shiki?" you gave him a smile as he almost immediately brightened up too.

"really?!" you nodded happily in response, getting up from your spot on the bench beside him and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek before taking your bag and rushing off as the bell rang.

"i'll meet you outside your class after school, okay?!" you called as you jogged away, leaving him an embarrassed and blushing mess as he stared at you disappear in shock.

some days, you weren't sure if you should regret asking ryu out. deep down you knew you didn't regret it, of course, but times when ryu was running around the room in a dino onesie, pretending to be a dinosaur made you wonder what you had really gotten yourself into when you asked him out.

"ROARR!! i'm gonna get ya, (name)!!" he made a scary face as he ran over to where you were sitting with his arms outstretched, ready to grab you. you couldn't help but laugh at his childishness when he tackled you down onto the carpet. "iiii... got you!!!"

you both became a fit of giggles after ryu tackled you down, cuddling in closer to you as if being on the floor was a normal occurrence for the two of you. "okay, okay.. it's time to actually get up and ready, ryu." you patted his head as he childishly wrapped his arms around you and shook his head with a pout.

"not yet! just a little longer, 'kay? and then we will blast off, captain!!" he declared, suddenly an astronaut instead of a dinosaur now. you couldn't hold back the laughter that bubbled up inside of you.

"from dinosaur to astronaut? what a drastic switch!" you playfully teased him before he suddenly jumped up, pointing up towards the ceiling (which you assumed he was pointing towards the sky) and brought his finger back down to point at you on the floor.

"yes! we will be blasting off to the moon! astronaut ryu and (name) are making it to the moon!" he declared loudly as you got up from your spot on the ground and walked over to his excited face.

"i'm sure we will, ryu, but it's time to get ready, okay?" you smiled at him before he sighed, seemingly accepting the fact that he couldn't sit and have fun with you all day in his room.

"one thing before we blast off!" he gave a determined look, his hands on his hips. you raised your eyebrows at him as a silent 'go ahead'. "astronaut ryu needs a kiss before he gets ready!" you would have been flustered by his sudden request but seeing him so determined made you forget the blush that had burned onto your face when he said it. leaning in, you gave him a kiss on his smiling face before he cheered leaving you to look at him with a content smile on your face. yeah, he was definitely the one for you.

"you don't have to force yourself, love," the deep, comforting voice of saimon sounded beside you as you both sat on his bed. you wanted to take your relationship a little farther and sleep beside him instead of sleeping in another room whenever you visited him. "take your time."

"no, no it's alright. i trust you and stuff, but i'm just nervous..." you sighed, nerves getting the better of you as you fiddled with your hands in your lap. his hand lifted from its spot behind you and rubbed your back, gently nudging you closer to him.

"you don't have to rush anything, love. i'll wait for you to be ready." he assured you as he rubbed your back, leaning down to kiss your temple.

your hand reached up to touch his face gently, leaning up to reach his face as well now and kiss him. for real this time. although it was your first real kiss with him, it felt so natural and comfortable as his hand held yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles as you both held the kiss for what felt like minutes till you had to pull away for air.

"...sorry! i should have asked before doing that-" he had a soft smile on his face as you rambled on, flustered that you had done that without even asking him beforehand.

"it's alright, i enjoyed it just as much as you did. nothing to fret over, my love." god... this man would be the death of you without even trying..

#♡ fics ♡#paradox live x reader #paralive x reader #yohei kanbayashi x reader #naoakira saimon x reader #ryu natsume x reader #shiki ando x reader

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rustboxstarr · 8 months

Text

🎻You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me🎻

Pairings: Eddie Munson x UndiagnosedAutistic!PlusSize!ViolinPlayer!Orchestra!Harrington!Reader (Goddamn thats a lot)

Plot: When Dustins 15th birthday comes up Eddie is set out on a mission to get Steve to help. Unbeknownst to Eddie, Steve has a younger sister, a very strange, very mean sister. There's something about her, he needs to understand how she became to be so different from her brother, so he's set out on his next mission to get the answers to his questions.

Summary: Dustin receives his surprise party and Eddie is getting on you last nerve.

Chapter warnings: Swearing, use of Y/N, (Read series masterlist for storys warnings, tropes and Reader description, dw they're not major just a few)

Wordcount: 3.1k

A/N: I've decided to do short chapters, for some reason ? Whatever, more idk expens? Thats not the word..

Love yas!

Check out my other works! Series Masterlist

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When Monday came around Eddie chanced a glance at you. He’d spotted you, sat alone at a table near the exit to the busy cafeteria, picking at your food with headphones covering your ears -headphones disturbing the already messy hair atop your head- no doubt connected to a walkman that played classical music, he saw you, for the first time, properly. He was only a few feet away and finally he got to see your face. That frown was still there, resting over your features like a mask, a border for people not to cross, but you didn't look sad or upset in the slightest.

With your head down bobbing only slightly to the music he got the opportunity to look at you. If he didn’t know you he would never have guessed you played the violin, you definitely didn't look the part, just as he’d thought when he first heard about it. Slightly baggy jeans hugging your thick thighs, rolled up at the cuff to stop you from stepping on the hem with your red dirty Vans, a purple striped t-shirt that was pulled down to cover your round stomach. He’d never really thought about how someone with your hobbies would look or tend to dress, but as he saw you he felt like you were misplaced in your world of classical sonatas, and ancient methods of creating music, it felt naturally like you would be a very serious person, granted he didn't know you, you may very well be a serious person but he would have thought you dressed smart, proper as if always professional, with your back straight and stiff, not hunched over like you were now.

You had only seen him once, and you clearly hadn’t bothered to greet him in any way, as he thought back to the interaction you hadn’t even spared a glance his way, was it appropriate for him to go say hi? Would you even recognise him? As he pondered over his thoughts, back and forth, considering the possibility that it would be weird, or awkward you tasted a spoonful of the questionable goo on your plate and pulled a face. Just as Eddie decided he would go say hi, maybe ease you into feeling more welcome in the halls of highschool, you pushed your chair back from the table. Dirty vans firm on the linoleum as the chair scraped slightly beneath you. Eddie had barely gotten the chance to lift a finger before he saw you pick up your plate and walk off.

He felt slightly deflated at his missed opportunity, there was something about you that was intriguing, whether it was that constant unexplainable frown, your choice of clothing, the fact that you played the violin or was Steve Harringtons sister he didn't know, but there was something about you that made him want to understand why you were the way you were, but alas he missed his opportunity.

–

It was obvious you stayed out of everyone's way and kept to the standard of being invisible when he didn't see you again till Wednesday afternoon. He was currently making his way to fourth period, with time to spare he moasied down the hall to the other side of the building. He laid eyes on you again, rooting through what he assumed was your locker, similar clothing hung over your figure as a charcoal gray, distressed messenger bag clung to your shoulder.

This was his chance, his chance to introduce himself and get an insight to how you were as a person, so he took it. He stopped near you, sidestepping to avoid bashing into a group of cheerleaders he arrived at your locker. He wasn't sure what to do or say so he opted for standing next to you, awaiting your acknowledgement of him in your vicinity. Nervousness bubbled up in his throat as he stood awkwardly, waiting, and waiting. You, however, paid him no mind to him whatsoever, pulling out a textbook and slipping it into your bag. Finally, after what felt like forever, you closed your locker and stood up straight. You looked at him, he looked at you, you said nothing. He felt a sense of unease as you stared up at him, not budging in your set features depicting a frown.

“Hi” he shyly opened up the conversation. He had expected you to greet him back, but no such luck, all you did was raise your eyebrows at him, as if he'd said something extremely stupid. “Uh.. I’m Eddie” Steve was right, you were fucking unapproachable.

“I didn’t ask” your stare was unwavering, pinning him to the ground, despite him being 6 feet and 5 inches tall and you only at 5 feet 7 inches he felt intimidated, as if you had all the power, in a relationship that wasn't even there.

“Oh, ha ha” he chuckled nervously “Um” he wasn't sure how to answer that “Well uh, we briefly met at Steve’s, I was in his kitchen when you came home, on Friday”

“So?” still your piercing glare felt like it was staring into his soul. “Well I uh, Ijust wanted to say hi” he explained. “Listen man-” man? he had never once heard a girl refer to him that way in slang, granted, he only knew a few “- I’m really not interested in getting to know any of Steve's loser friends” you spoke.

“I’m not a friend of Steve’s” for some reason he felt slightly insulted that you would ever be under that impression, that, he, Eddie Munson who was the way he was, dressed the way he dressed and did the things he did would be friends with Steve “The Hair” Harrington. “Yeah, well makes no difference, I don't want to get to know you either way” before Eddie had even the slightest chance to respond to that, you spun around and walked off, down the corridor and out of sight.

Eddie had experience with people who didn't want to talk to him, he was hated by more people than not but they were boring, basic people, you were far from that, a freak if he were to go by this town's standards, and he didn't even do anything to you! He was perfectly polite, a little nervous, ok a lot nervous but still polite!

No wonder you didn't have friends if that's how you acted everytime someone even spoke a word to you.

Despite all this, being extremely annoyed at your rude way of speaking to him he was still fucking intrested in getting to know you! And he wouldn't let down, he had to befriend you and understand what can create such a strange person, he needed to understand.

–

Friday night September the 6th was the evening of Dustin's surprise party, which had been decided to be held at Steve's house, a fact that was in advantage for Eddie, he had hoped anyway. He hadn't expected to see you around them but he thought you might be nearby.

He sauntered in behind Mike and Lucas around 6 pm to set up for the people arriving 15 minutes before Dustin whose Mom was dropping him off for 7. Carrying bags of party supplies and various snacks which they all dumped in the living room. “So your sister around?” Eddie tried to ask casually, his arms crossed and leaning against the wall next to Steve, both watching Mike and Lucas begin to unpack all the items. Steve scoffed “Why you got the hots for her?” he joked dryly. “Having met her only once I can safely tell you, no I do not, however I am wanting to know so I know what to expect for the evening” he gave a wicked grin referring to your fight the previous Sunday.

Steve pulled an unamused face “If you must know Munson, she is not around at the moment to grace us with her presence.”

“Mm, where is she?” Eddie asked, his plan wouldn’t work if you weren't even around for him to try to talk to you. “Why do you care?” Steve stood straight, turning towards Eddie to assess his face. “I don't care.” he shrugged and walked over to help the boys. Even though all he was trying to do was become your friend he still felt as if telling Steve would be some sort of betrayal, even if he didn't like Steve they had gotten to speaking terms the past week.

The clock showed 7:15, they had surprised Dustin, all wished him a happy birthday and were now in the middle of snacking and chatting to everyone, hearing Dustin tell them all the things he had received for his birthday so far while simultaneously eyeing the table of gifts to his left. From his seat on the couch he saw you step in through the front door and toe your shoes off. Since you'd come home in the middle of it it felt obvious you would say a curt hello or even just look into the room where almost ten people sat but no such luck, you walked straight past the entrance to the living room and up the stairs, so quiet Eddie wondered if he had been the only one to notice your arrival.

“Ok, presents!” Steve smiled. He had been very clear with the fact that he didn't want to be around Eddie or plan Dustin's party but now that he was here and Dustin was grinning from ear to ear, over the moon that his friends hadn't forgotten his birthday and that they were all here now Steve couldn't help but beam like a proud mama hen.

Dustin ripped the delicate wrapping paper and squealed in delight with every single gift he opened. “Who’s this from?” he asked as he held up a box with no note or card in sight. “Oh yea, that one’s from Y/N” Steve smiled. You were an asshole, and refused to be anywhere near the party, yet you were still a softie, getting a gift for the kid who somehow had managed to get you to talk to him.

He had never heard of you before, he had never once heard Dustin mention you, you completely ignored everyone in school including Dustin, just as you had ignored the party and gone straight up to your room and yet, you had gotten him a gift. A gift which it seemed you hadn't even planned on taking credit for, or being around to say your welcome when Dustin thanked you, just as he had the others. Why were you giving him a gift? Did you even know him? You must have, people don’t give gifts to people they don't know, and seeing as it was you he felt sure you definitely wouldn't do that.

“HOLY SHIT!” Dustin almost screamed when he opened the box, he pulled something out of dark sparkly tissue paper to show the group. In his hand he held an extremely detailed figurine of Conan from the comic The Savage Sword of Conan, it must have cost you a shit tonne of money because it sure as hell wasn't some ordinary figurine you could buy for 20 bucks in the comic book shop. Yet you were not here to give him the gift??

Things became calmer after the giftopening, everyone got comfortable on the two couches, beanbags and arm chairs to watch Dustin's guilty pleasure The Goonies, all snacking on chips and candy, staring at the large screen. Robin, who Eddie barely knew, apparently felt comfortable enough to spread out on Steve's couch, resting her feet on Eddie's thighs while a bowl of popcorn rested on her abdomen. Eddie was quite frankly shocked at the action but was told by Steve that that was simply Robin, comfortable and friendly with everyone, so he paid her no mind as she got comfortable.

He felt enough time had passed that he had both mustered up the courage to kick his plan into action, but also excuse himself from the room with viable reasoning. He pushed off the couch, removing Robin’s legs and placing them on the plush leather he had recently occupied. “Where you going?” she whispered at the disturbance, “Take a piss” he explained as he stepped over Mikes gangly legs slouching off the laZboy. During his last visit to the Harrington house he had used the toilet, and knew exactly where to go. Walking past the kitchen he opened the door to the bathroom, and closed it. Not stepping inside, he had told Robin he was going to the bathroom, so she and anyone else who overheard had to be under the impression he was actually on the toilet.

He proceeded to tiptoe across the fluffy worn down carpet in his socked feet, stepping as lightly as he could as to not alert anyone of his whereabouts. He tread with extreme caution up the stairs, making careful work of not making any of the floorboards creak, as he got to the landing he realized he had no idea where he was going. He looked around, scanning the hallway, eyes breezing past bookshelves, family photos, lamps and a cute looking rocking chair, pushed up in a corner, a dim lamp shedding light on the green fabric. All doors were slightly ajar except for one, he took his chance. Treading down the oak wood floors to what must be your bedroom, before he arrived however a collection of pictures caught his attention. There were a rare few family photos, mostly from your’s and Steve's youth, some scenery and an awful lot of pictures of Steve. Steve holding his diploma, Steve looking disgruntled at the desk in Family Video, Steve mid air throwing a basketball into a hoop, Steve with a trofé, but not a single one of you. Had it not been for those family photos it would have looked as if you never existed, didn't live there, wasn't the daughter of Charles and Sharon Harrington. Before he had time to think about it though he was stood outside the closed door. White painted fir wood acting as a heavy metal wall with the anxiousness Eddie felt. He couldn't explain it, but sneaking around Steve's house to discreetly talk to you had him on edge. He took a deep breath, shook his shoulders out and clenched his hands. Thick finger wrapped around the doorknob and turned it, his hip pushing the heavy metal open.

You sat with your back to the headboard, slim headphones connected to a walkman that laid haphazardly on the comforter, threatening to fall off and thud onto the floor, various cassette tapes littered around it. A book in your hands, immersed in a world of fictional characters in riveting battle, feet planted firmly on the bed to keep your book resting on your knees. Black t-shirt draped over your torso, covering the waistband of a baggy pair of black sweatpants.

You looked up, annoyed, a look which quickly turned into confusion as you were met with the sight of your brother's stupid friend and not his own face. You quickly put your book aside, pulling your headphones off. Your music was very loud, Eddie wondered how you hadn't blasted your eardrums off as he heard the familiar melody of Hounddog playing softly through the room. “Who are you?” you frowned, scooting back on the bed to sit up straight. Eddie chuckled a scoff, really? “Uh I’m Eddie, we’ve met?” the statement came out as more of a question to rejog your memory. “Okeeey” you began, talking to Eddie as if he'd said something stupid only you knew was stupid “Why are you in my room?” you asked, seemingly annoyed with him.

Eddie took the chance to close the door behind him as he explained “Thought this was the bathroom”. He took a second to admire your room. Posters of Elvis Presley, Ray charles, Frank Sinatra, various composers and other musical artists hung on every square inch of you walls, a white desk pushed against your only window, littered with various pencils, papers and books, shelves holding a large amount of books as well as action figures and a collection of odd objects. As he continued looking around he noticed a black metal stand for music sheets, papers layered on the shelf, some close to falling over and floating to the gray carpet, a violin case, next to it multiple different violins hanging from stands on the wall.

“Yeah well the bathroom is down the hall, so leave please” you rolled your eyes. Eddie ignored your request, avoiding it with a “Cool room”, the frown permanently based on your face deepened “You like Elvis?” he smirked slightly, it was very obvious you did, his face stuck out like a sore thumb compared to all the other posters. “Get out” you stated, becoming very annoyed. No one, not a single living soul other than close family had been in your room, you never had anyone in your room, and you didn't want anyone in your room, so the fact that this guy had just waltzed in as if it was his god given right really pissed you off.

“Don’t worry, I just wanna’ know what it's like to be Steve Harrington’s sister” he widened his eyes at you when he said your brother's name before going back to being in awe of your room. “Fucking unbarable, now get the fuck out” you were getting mad now. Eddie chuckled “Yeah I can imagine”

“Okey” you pushed yourself off the soft mattress, feet thumping to the floor as you walked over to the man “that's enough” you put your hands on his shoulders and spun him around, forcing him to walk back to your door “Get out now” you pushed him through the doorframe and promptly shut the door in his face. Despite being kicked out, it was as if time stopped when your fingers grasped onto his shoulders. He didn't even get the chance to fight you on the matter, all he could think about was how you were touching him, how your soft violinist hands grasped onto him so tightly and ordered his body around. It was so extremely strange to think about as he stood awestruck with his face mere inches away from the wood of your door, that you had touched him. What was even stranger was the tingling feeling that seemed to spread from those same shoulders down to his chest, giving him a warming but harsh hug. He frowned at the feeling, that was new, and it was weird. He frowned and shook it off, he’d get you to talk to him eventually and made his way back down the stairs to finish the rest of the movie.

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