#nan milk | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

teaspacebar · 3 months ago

Text

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit.

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?”

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again.

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head.

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain.

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago!

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth.

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!”

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register.

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.”

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!”

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron.

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal.

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.”

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!”

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous.

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns.

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick.

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor.

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?”

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #neurodivergent!reader #— moth writes

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sweetiebarnes · 1 year ago

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Bucky Barnes is Loud in Bed

Warnings: (degra)dation, da-d-dy kink, preg-nan-cy kink, lac-tation kink, basically pure filth

A/N: Basically I’ve been thinking about Bucky all day so here you go.

Bucky Barnes is loud.

Imagine how vocal Bucky is in the bedroom. He may not have always been this way. Back in the 40s, he’d let out a noise here and there. But ever since being freed as the Winter Soldier, Bucky can’t contain his noises.

HYDRA muffled his voice for so long that now he loves to use it. The moans he lets out could only be described as pornographic. The things he says in the bedroom would never have been allowed in the past.

No, Bucky loves the way you clench around him whenever he degrades. Once he called you a cumslut and you clenched so hard you practically choked his cock in response.

God, he loves the way you get so desperate for him. He loves the way you will beg for him. He loves how you’re always dripping wet for him before he’s even touched you.

It’s all of these things that spur him on. It’s these little things that cause him to say things like, “Such a pretty little pussy for Daddy. She’s just begging to be fucked. Isn’t she?”

Bucky is the definition of feral. He goes after what he wants and when he needs it. Tony was so close to kicking him out of the compound until he decided to soundproof all the bedrooms.

When the topic of having a baby came up, he was the loudest he’d ever been. The thought of filling you to the brim almost drove him mad. He loved the thought of you round with his baby. The idea of your breath filling up with milk. That night he told you every little thing he’d do to you when you’re pregnant.

He may seem quiet around everyone else, but that brooding super soldier screams in pleasure because of you.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #Sebastian Stan

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to-the-stars8 · 4 months ago

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The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Night Time Routine

The Wayne kids were a hassle to get to bed, but, by the end of it, it was a sweet routine that you liked. By the time seven rolled around, you were getting the younger kids ready for bed, since their bedtime was at eight-thirty on a school night. You usually start with the youngest, Damian. Mr. Wayne was strict about his youngest son’s bedtime, insisting that you make sure you put him, along with all the other kids, to be bed right on time. You, the one actually dealing with the children for the majority of the time, were happy to comply. One sleeping child means your hands were a little less full.

“Which animal do you want tonight,” You asked as you tucked him into bed.

Damian looked at the pile of stuffed animals on the other side of the room, thinking very carefully about it. Confidently, he said, “The lion!”

“Mr. Lion it is,” You said as you plucked the lion from the pile. When Damian had his arms wrapped around it, you scooted in next to him with a book. “Now, do you want Horton Hears a Who, or…”

“Rainbow Fish,” Damian said definitively.

You nodded, not sure why you even asked. This was the start of the evening routine. Damian would make you read a few pages of his favorite book before falling asleep. Since he was a light sleeper, you slowly made your way out of the room to not wake him. Blowing him a kiss, you quietly shut the door behind you.

By nine, you had started towards Duke’s room. Usually, all he would want was to have his aquarium night light on and for you to check the closet and under his bed for any monsters. Simple, though a bit odd.

You propped yourself up on your knees and rested your chin on the edge of the bed. “No monsters under there. Not even the good kind.”

“There are no good monsters, Nan,” Duke said, turning on his side to look at you.

Nan, you loved the nickname they had given you. Initially, it had started as a way for Dick to poke fun, but the younger kids had picked it up. Eventually, it turned from a demeaning Nanny to a sweet Nan.

“Cookie Monster is a monster,” You pointed out with a smile. “And he’s good.”

The smile on the boy’s face made it so clear why Bruce so often called him sunshine. It was a bright, innocent smile that could even make the most brooding man, like his father, crack a grin.

Duke thought for a second, before saying, “He eats all the cookies, so that makes him bad.”

“Glad to see your definition of good and bad is defined so well,” You said as you stood. “Now, get some sleep.”

Blowing a raspberry against his cheek, you made sure he was covered up well before taking your leave. Though, you weren’t halfway out the door before he called you back.

“The bat,” Duke said, pointing at the wiffle bat leaning against the opposite wall. You nodded as you stepped over to grab it before putting it next to his bed. “For the monsters.”

“You’re a dangerous boy, Duke,” You said as you started to close the door. “See you tomorrow, Sunshine.”

The next kids that were to be put to bed were Tim and Jason.

Tim was a bit more tricky since he was always insistent that he could stay up later like any other big kid or adult. It eventually became this song and dance, where you would bribe him with some warm milk and a long negotiation about letting him stay up later. Per usual, Tim would fall for it (or would act like he did).

“I’m glad you finally came to your senses, Nan,” Tim said as he sat on the bed. Sometimes, you thought, that he had a big sense of pride for being so small. “I’m a big kid now, and it’s about time someone recognized that.”

“I don’t agree,” You said as you pulled back his covers.

“Well, I think you’re wrong,” He confidently stated as he laid back. As you pulled the covers up over him, you let him talk. He went into a long spiel about all the ways he was a big kid like Dickie. When he started to yawn and struggled to keep his eyes open, you brushed his hair out of his face.

“Even big kids like to sleep,” You said.

Tim was too tired to argue anymore, and, instead, rolled over. Pressing a kiss to the back of his head, you then turned toward the door to leave.

That’s when you would move onto Jason’s room. Upon entering, you found he was already in bed with a book in his hand. When he noticed you, he put the book aside and instantly scooted more under the covers. Bruce had always described Jason as a cuddle bug, and you were quick to find out why.

He was embarrassed by it, but Jason was the one child who would always sneak into Bruce’s bed. From what Mr. Wayne had told you, he’d come to him yearning for the familial love that he lost, finding it in hugs and love his brothers, sister, father, and now you could offer.

You lay down next to Jason, picking his book up and looking it over. “The Hobbit. I thought you were reading Alice in Wonderland?”

“I finished it earlier,” He said. A bit of suspicion rose in you since he had started Alice in Wonderland the night before, and made a mental note to check on him later in the night to make sure he wasn’t staying up late to read.

“And you’ll finish this one tomorrow, I’m sure, but you need to sleep to do that,” You said, pulling him to your side. Pressing a kiss into his bundle of curls, you gave him one last squeeze before moving to tuck him under his covers.

“Alright, you are as snug as a bug, buddy?”Jason smiled and nodded. You grinned. “Good, now, close your eyes and dream so wonderfully.”

“Night, Nan,” Jason called as you closed the door.

“Good night, Jay,” You said as closed the door.

Now, there were just two more kids to usher into bed. Cassandra was extremely easy to put to bed since she put herself there. She was good at following the schedule Bruce had put out for the kids, so much so that when you went to her room she was already half asleep. You stepped inside and made sure her covers were well tucked around her.

“Good night, sweetheart,” You said softly.

Her sleepy voice came through the quiet, “Good night.”

When you left Cassandra’s room for Dickie’s, you ran into him in the hallway already heading that way.

By the look of his bedhead and half-awake state, he must have fallen asleep on the couch before being pushed to his room by Alfred. “Guess I don’t need to tuck you in, huh,” You asked, stopping him as you fixed his hair. Dick didn’t answer directly, just yawning right into your face. You tried not to act amused, instead giving him a little hug before letting him walk away.

The day was finally over, and, with a long, tired sigh, you went to the TV room to unwind. Throwing yourself down onto the couch, you switched on some late-night show to drown yourself in some mind-numbing haze. At some point, you must have fallen asleep because the next thing you knew you were staring up at Mr. Wayne.

You had woken with a startle, sitting up straight and accidentally bumping your forehead against Mr. Wayne’s. Upon impact, you fell back onto the cushion. “Ow, fuck!”

“Damn,” Bruce mumbled, turning away to rub his forehead.

“What the hell, Mr. Wayne,” You said, sitting up. “Don’t you know not to scare someone awake? I’m starting to wonder if you were really raised in a barn.”

“I was just checking to see if you were sleeping,” He stated.

You shook your head and stood. “I was, though I didn’t mean to. What time is it?”

Bruce looked at the clock on the opposite of the wall. “A little after two. You should get to bed.”

You nodded, starting toward the door, before realizing that Mr. Wayne was up extremely late for someone who had to be working early the next morning. Stopping, you looked at him, “What’re you doing up so late?”

He seemed surprised that you asked. “Oh, uh, I was doing some paperwork. Got a bit caught up in it before I realized the time.”

You chose not to comment on it despite noting that his office wasn’t anywhere near the TV room. Instead, you only said, “You should get some sleep, Mr. Wayne. Only two people in the world willingly stay up this late.”

“Oh? Who?” He asked, amused.

“The President and Batman.”

When you turned to look at him, you noticed he was a little paler than usual and wondered if the truth was that he didn’t feel well. You stepped closer to him, going to feel his forehead to see if it was warm. Bruce seemed caught off guard and reached up to grab your wrist.

“You look sick,” You said.

“I can’t tell if you’re being rude, or if you really mean it,” He said.

“I mean it.”

Bruce stared down at you, eyes looking for something in yours before he pushed your wrist back toward you. “I’m fine, just tired.”

“Go to bed, Mr. Wayne, or do I need to tuck you in, too?” You said, a smile slowly crawling across your face.

He smirked, obviously amused, and shook his head. “I think I can handle it. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

When you left Mr. Wayne, you had a certain feeling in your stomach. There was something he wasn't telling you but brushed it off as a playboy hiding his playboy secrets.

Still, it bothered you a little not knowing.

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buffetlicious · 2 months ago

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In my previous post, I mentioned that we were going out to eat at the newly opened restaurant in Sun Plaza. This is the Nan Yang Dao (南洋岛) restaurant we patronized, and boy was it packed. We were given just one menu so I gave it to mum to let her choose what she wanted. And she picked the Penang Fried Kway Teow (槟城炒粿条) I wanted to eat so I chose something else. My mum had barely eaten it when one random woman asked if the dish was good. She told her that it was indeed yummy. Stir-fried with bean sprouts, plump prawns, slices of fish cake and Chinese sausage, the kway teow were more savoury than sweet and full of wok hei. The noodles were mildly spicy but nothing we can’t handle.

Originally, this Signature Trio Mini Noodles (招牌迷你烫面) consisting of three different mini sized bowls of noodles were intended for mum but she had chosen hers. From right to left, I started off with the Pork Ball Noodle Soup (吊片猪肉丸面汤). Tasted like our fish ball noodle but with two springy pork balls. The yellow noodles, bean sprouts and shredded cabbage is soaked in the flavourful and wholesome broth.

The next bowl, I tried is the Penang Prawn Noodle Soup (槟城虾面) but the prawn is nowhere to be found! Instead, I get slices of pork, fishcake, bean sprouts and a quarter of an egg. Luckily, the yellow noodles were swimming in umami filled broth cooked with the extracted oil from the prawns’ head and shell.

So, this is where the prawn jumped itself into. The Seafood Curry Mee (海鲜咖喱面) had only one seafood and that is the prawn. The other so-called seafood were mainly prawn rolls or other items made from fish or prawn paste. The spicy curry cooked with coconut milk is rich and flavourful which goes well with the yellow noodles. If you are the type who likes to try many different dishes at once, be sure to order this trio of mini noodles.

To finish the meal, I had the Bear Iced Coffee (小熊冰镇咖啡). Came in a small jug and topped with a cute little ice bear. I love the thick bitter yet not too sweet milk coffee. We were seated next to the glass cabinet filled with lovely and yummy looking Puff Pastry Egg Tarts (酥皮蛋挞). Many customers were seen buying but we had to give them a miss as we were just too full at that moment. But we will order it the next time we are here.

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milkypompon · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 | Scrawled Nothingness

pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader, implied Jake Lockley x Reader)

summary: Even after a year living with Steven and Jake in the headspace, Marc struggles to quiet the buzzing chatter. He finds himself frequenting Coffee for Two, a place where brewing roasts fill the air and the cookies are as sweet as the barista.

content: coffeeshops, fluff, flirting, angst (mentions of Marc's past)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: Thank you for all the love in the first chapter! I'm so happy summer's started, so I'll have more time to write out more chapters AND get to the fun and silly asks you sent me!! My inbox is always open for unhinged thoughts and requests. Enjoy!

Moon Knight Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Coffee Doodles Masterlist

< Previous || Next >

–

Marc shows up at Coffee for Two at 11:59 p.m. on the dot every Monday night.

Not a Monday morning when people showed up in slacks or pencil skirts for a shot of espresso. And certainly, not a Friday night when teenagers line up for a tooth-achingly sweet drink they found the recipe for online.

Besides, he likes his coffee black.

The closing shift was clockwork at this point after helping your Nan for years — prop the chairs snug against the table, wipe the floors, and cheekily bag up a couple of pastries for the next day’s breakfast.

Your eyes flick over at the clock nearly striking midnight, as you lean the broom against the edge of the countertop.

Marc should’ve been here by now, shoulders pulled back and head tilted down, ready to sweep the to-go cup and splash stick.

You remember that he typically parked a white limo… Maybe he chauffeured for a party, hence the break in the weekly conversation. If you could even call it that. It was more like an exchange of stolen glances and nods before parting again.

The logical part of you yearns to walk back to the apartment sooner than you planned and plop down face-first onto the couch. But a nagging twinge irked you to stay a little longer to see if he’d stroll in as usual.

You could already imagine his face if he saw the sign flipped to close, his bottom lip jutted out into a pout, and a crease between his brows.

You laugh to yourself at the image of Melodramatic Marc instead of Moody Marc then ultimately deciding to give in to the latter. Maybe you’d curse yourself out when you have to wake up in a couple of hours to prepare the croissants for the next day, but you wanted to take your chances right now.

Rounding the corner of the counters, you duck your head under the cabinets and look for the roast you wanted him to try and the materials you need for a pour-over.

You place the paper filter onto the dripper then unfurl the bag of coffee beans and toss just the right amount into the grinder. The crushing hum and toasted smell of the grounds was a welcome change after a day of listening to grating ice and spurting whipped cream. With a kettle in hand and the setup complete, you gently trickle the water into circles, watching the grounds set in and coffee drip down the other end.

You grab a white cup, soon covered with drawings of stars and sparkles, reminiscent of the few you could see from the window. The moon outshined them all, full and on display without a cloud in sight.

You pour the coffee into the well-dressed it (scrawled with Marc’s name in the annoyingly very pink Sharpie) and notch the lid.

Checking the time again, you realize it’s well past midnight.

Maybe it’s time to go home, but you didn’t have the heart to toss the drink away. You take a sip, the liquid barely touches your tongue before you hiss at the bitterness.

How does Marc drink this?

No sugar, no milk.

You drizzle in a couple of pumps and squirts of your preferred add-ons, vowing to yourself to never take it purely the way he does. Drink and purse in one hand, you turn the sign to “closed” and twist the lock with the other.

Hermano, just check if the place for your coffee fix is open. It won’t hurt, Jake rolls his eyes.

Marc mutters, “No, we don’t need another pitstop after the shit Khonshu just dragged us through.”

Maybe they’ll still have those biscuits I like to eat with the tea! Steven's heart flutters at the thought of eating a couple of the raspberry linzer heart cookies.

He concedes. “Fine, but the moment I see the closed sign we’re going straight home. I didn’t ask to be in charge of snack runs, ya know?”

A unison of hurrahs echoes in his headspace, he can’t help but smile. In the whirlwind of events of carrying himself in a country that reminded him of crumbled relationships and even faultier progressions of moving on, the desire to find a place where he belonged was something he hated to admit.

Marc was good at playing the part of blending in for missions. Tugging on a disarming smirk to draw out intel from loose-lipped drunkards at the bar came naturally. As easily as turning on the charm while bargaining at the market for the first edition books Steven claimed was what he’d been searching for his whole life (Oh my days, I need those for my collection!). Or, yet another pair of leather gloves for Jake (Those are fingerless and the straps look cool).

But stripped of bells and whistles created by answering to every whim of humans and gods alike, Marc was just… him.

Steven had his apartment filled with knickknacks and collectibles.

Jake had his car housing his armaments and gadgets.

What did he have?

Marc frowns at the thought as he leaps across the rooftops, the moonlight catching the arc of the cape.

A cot in the storage unit and a fuck ton of baggage that couldn’t fit in his duffel bag.

But maybe Coffee for Two could be his.

As he leaps down behind the shop, his ceremonial suit unravels, tucking in on itself to reveal his black shirt and jeans. Surely, it’d be closed by now, but he still wanted to check.

Marc turns the corner and sees a sign written in big, loopy letters.

closed let's have "coffee for two" tomorrow

He sighs. “Told ya, who in their right mind would’ve kept open for one customer.”

A gust of wind ruffles his hair, Khonshu’s presence stronger than usual.

“Alright I get it, you damn bird! I get that we have another mission–”

A post-it flutters onto his shoe. He bends over and holds it under the streetlamp.

If you’re Marc, keep reading. if you’re not Marc, why are you still reading this?

I think you can keep reading.

“Jake, shut up.”

I drank your black coffee. Don’t know how you drink this. It tastes like battery acid.

Steven laughs out the last two words. Think this sweet ol’ message made up for you looking so miffed, mate! She’s right about it though. I oughtta steep her a good cuppa.

“Hey, it keeps us awake! Your hot leaf juice makes our piss smell like flowers and does nothing else.”

Marc carefully tucks the paper into his jacket pocket.

–

A week after Marc’s absence, he walks in and you greet him with a tired smile as if there was no time lost in between.

“Black?”

He cocks his head up and grins. “Yes, miss.”

That’s new, you note.

“Got any of those uh, berry cookie thingies?” He makes two “Cs” with his hands and connects them, forming a crudely shaped heart.

Your eyebrow quirks up and the air is quiet with stillness before laughter bubbles up in your chest, pointing to what he was referring to. “Oh! The Linzer cookies!”

Marc flashes his teeth. “Mhm, a couple of those with the coffee.”

“I’m a little surprised you liked them. Did the sweetness grow on you?”

“Not for me, actually.”

“Did you want a second drink to pair with it?”

He replies cooly, “Nah, nothing like that. Just, for my brother.”

You give a noncommittal hum and turn your back to him, looking for a box to place the cookies in.

Marc chuckles, the corner of his lips curling. “Woah, don’t come pouncing at me all at once.”

“I just meant to mention that we have a promotion of buy two get the second drink half off for your partner.” You smile to yourself, the view obscured from him. “That’s why it’s called Coffee for Two after all.”

“Mm, right.”

Quietness blankets the pair as you assemble his orders.

He couldn’t recall the last time his headspace wasn’t buzzing with chatter without gut-wrenching aid, a bandaid haphazardly stuck on. Drowning out the noise wasn’t necessarily the problem, it was finding a way to keep a constant peace of mind. At the very least, keep it at bay. The past year was saturated with blackouts and memory gaps, the swirling gold whiskey dipped him into a hazy state. It wasn’t his favorite way to keep the quiet, but it did the job.

Every twist of the cap dragged him back to what was soon to come.

Every whiff of the liquid reminded him how her hot breath, seething with disdain, warmed his cheek.

And the heat he felt after chugging it was reminiscent of how she would hit the other, turning his head to the side.

The soft shifting of the pen on paper brought him back.

“See? Told you I give good service.” You slide the decorated coffee cup and a box of cookies in front of him with a smile.

Marc thumbs over his name, a little surprised you spelled it with a "c" instead of a "k", along with the twisting designs. “Nuh-uh. Think you forgot something again.”

“I worked hard on that masterpiece!” You frown, feigning annoyance. “You should be asking for my autograph.”

“I should be asking for your number.”

You don’t reply for a beat. “Well, are you going to?”

He smirks, pausing to mimic your surprise before saying, “Can you write down your number?”

You nibble your bottom lip, failing to hide your giddiness.

He reaches over to pluck the alarmingly pink Sharpie from the pot and hands it to you. “Think that godawful marker was made from toxic waste. Nothing in the natural world could create that color.”

You scrawl your number on it, careful not to spill the coffee. “Well that ‘godawful marker’ gave you an opportunity to claim that promo.”

“Can I use it now?”

“Not until you call me.”

Marc chuckles and picks up his order. “Well, I’ll be sure to do that.”

“See you when I see you. Monday at midnight again?”

“Or sooner.” His eyes flit over to your hand, knuckles white from the grip on your apron.

“Uh, not sooner. I’m closing for the week. There’s a couple of things I need to sort out… for the shop.”

Marc nods, not bothering to push the matter further. “I have a funny feeling you waited for me to come before you closed.”

You smile, the tension eases from your body.

–

Marc wakes up from the early sun rays filtering between the cracks of the curtain. He grumbles, Jake always forgets to pull it close before going to bed. He knew that if he stood up to fix it, his body would betray him and lose the cottony sleep he felt. With a groan, he flops over to his side, but before his eyes flutter close he catches an unfamiliar cup standing on his nightstand.

He doesn’t remember buying it yesterday and god forbid anybody forces Steven to drink anything quote battery acid unquote.

He picks it up, he notices the drawings… and a set of numbers.

So, it must be–

Marc flings the blanket off of him and stalks to the fish tank.

“Jake! I know you’re there!”

Gus peers at him curiously and releases little bubbles.

“I’m gonna slash your tires if you don’t come out!”

Jake stares back at him and raises his hands in surrender. Ay, you and I both know you wouldn’t do that. My driving gigs are one of the few ways we stay afloat these days.

Marc buries his fingers in his unruly curls. “It was mine!”

What was yours?

“Going to that place!”

I don’t get it–

“Of course you wouldn’t!” Marc bristles. “Couldn’t I just have this one thing without one of you weaseling your dick into my life?”

Hermano, look, I was just trying to help. We thought it was about time you make a friend... or something.

"And you didn't bother asking me first?"

“Oh and remind if I'm remembering this wrong, the last time you set up Steven was when you asked out his coworker to the steakhouse! He’s a vegetarian for god’s sake!”

Don’t get your panties in a twist.

Can we all just calm the “ef” out? Steven appears on the kettle’s reflection. Take a time-out or whatever you Americans say.

Marc fights the urge to raise his voice again in an attempt to dispel the ringing in his ears. If the pair tried to explain the situation, they’d be in for another scolding.

He opens his mouth before they can. “We can’t do this right now.”

Don’t speak for all of us, pendejo.

He fists the cup, it crumbles in on itself and tosses it into the bin.

I'd love to hear your thoughts and my inbox is always open for requests or if you want to chat!

Taglist: Open (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!)

@rachelsnows @basicalyrandom @cleothegoldfish @batsycline69 @lonelyisamyw-0love

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #marc spector #marc spector fluff #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight angst #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #steven grant x you #moon knight fic

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neithoftheveil · 13 days ago

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Ko-Fi donation ficlet #8:

Mu Qing is finally showing.

Together in bed, Feng Xin strokes the bare, taut curve of his lower belly while Mu Qing reads a trashy novel; it’s a secret pastime of his, which Feng Xin discovered when their rivalry turned to friendship and their friendship to something more. Mu Qing has a whole stash of these novels hidden away in his palace. Collects them from every realm. Sordid love stories. Adventure tales. Concubine dramas. Even tall tales of Feng Xin’s exploits, ridiculous and smutty. Those stories have only recently started centering Mu Qing, his husband of three decades.

We have ninety-seven children in this one, Mu Qing told him last week with an amused smirk, then touched his stomach. If there are ninety-seven children in here, we’re never having sex again.

At the memory, Feng Xin chuckles.

“Hm?” Mu Qing hums.

“Nothing.” He kisses Mu Qing’s belly—so many emotions coursing through him: the excitement of the last few weeks, joy now that there’s actual visible proof his child is in here, but also… He lays his head on Mu Qing’s stomach. “Do any of your books say if I’m gonna be a good father?”

“My books think your dick stretches to your ankle. I wouldn’t trust anything they say.”

“Do you think I’ll be a good father?”

Feng Xin imagines it: not being a parent, but this nameless, faceless child of his—a child with a heart and fingers and some mix of both their features—imagines him or her being torn from Mu Qing’s body, murdered, Feng Xin oblivious, useless. It’s his track record.

“We wouldn’t be having a child if I didn’t think you’d be a good parent.”

“But—”

That novel swats him in the head. “You don’t get to have cold feet. You don’t get to change your mind on me—”

“I’m not! I’m not! I swear I’m not,” Feng Xin says, and pushes the book out of the way. There’s color high on Mu Qing’s cheekbones. “Just… Aren’t you worried at all? That you might be bad at this? Or that something could happen?”

“That’s not what I spend my time thinking about.”

“Oh? Then what do you spend your time thinking about?”

Mu Qing’s gaze drifts away, and his blush deepens. “…W-Walking into the room to you cradling our daughter. You humming off-key. When she’s older: her on your shoulders, all the time, everywhere, spoiled. You two at the drill ground with two wooden swords. You trying to convince her a bow is better than a saber.”

“She’d be proficient in both.”

“Better at the saber, though.” Mu Qing’s gaze slides back. His dark eyes are scared but resolute. “This wasn’t an accident. I chose her. I chose you.”

Feng Xin stares at him, then kisses the gentle curve of his belly—their child. “I chose the both of you, too.” He kisses Mu Qing’s belly again and again. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Make it up to me.”

“How?”

“Let me choose her milk name.” Before Feng Xin can speak, Mu Qing says, “Nan Feng.”

“You’re going to choose the most pretentious name in all Three Realms,” Feng Xin grouses.

“I will not—”

“If you choose her milk name, then I’m naming her.”

“The hell you are!”

#mpreg #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #mu qing #feng xin #fengqing #neithwrites #kofi ficlet

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heyidkyay · 9 months ago

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Fourteen

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: First bit is a lil messy! BUT it's just a way of moving through time whilst letting you know what's going on. Apologising anyway, tried to make it as simple as possible! Idk how I’m really feeling about this series atm ngl, hopefully I’ll find some more inspiration soon x

> Just a reminder! We left the last update with Mouse and her mum talking about Matty:) You can look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

Mirror

14:04, 26 Dec 2023

For Christmas Denise Welch reunites with..

LOOSE Women star Denise Welch had a fun-filled Christmas this year with her two sons and...

*picture: family gathering featuring Matty Healy in red beanie*

comments:

@/user1 Glasses and beanie combo>>> @/user2 He was wearing that yesterday too @/user3 I wish my family was chill enough to take a xmas pic😭

[HOMESCREEN] 11:12

Facetime now Matty:)!! Incoming Call

Messages 4m Finnleyyy So will I be seeing my best mate this nye??

Instagram 11m Trumanblack mentioned you in a private story

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc Matty spotted out in Manchester! *picture: long trench and red beanie*

Ugh! @/user1 Matty on new years! *with old friends // red beanie tucked into a jacket pocket* > Loveme @/user2 The beanie is spotted again.. >> Saidhello @/user3 @/user2 Been all over his ig stories too 👀 friends? @/user4 I'm sort of obsessed w it and the fact it's stirring up so many questions💀 ppl, @/user5 it's so nice to see him actually happy!! lemmebepartoftheband @/user6 WAITING ON THE NEXT ALBUMMMM

Instagram

Trumanblack Story today

The Sun

23:47, 31 Dec 2023

MATTY HEALY SPOTTED OUT FOR NEW YEARS CELEBRATIONS AFTER 'SUPPOSED' SOBRIETY

The 1975 frontman was seen out in London this evening with friends and other members of the band celebrating a...

*picture: Matty Healy all dressed up and sporting a red beanie*

comments:

@/user1 shit like this ruins people @/user2 That hat again! Was it a Christmas present? @/user3 another celeb trying at sobriety, another bullshit article @/user4 Where in London even was this?

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc Band's interview with Variety today, click here for the video! Will be updating later on today:) *boys all pictured: George/shades, Matty/beanie&longtee, Ross/hairdown, Adam/leatherjacket*

[HOMESCREEN] 13:52

Messages 3m Matty:)!! Just wrapping up now, should be able to call in 10 x

Youtube 9m Recommended: The 1975 - Talks of tour? | VM Radio Uk

Instagram 21m Trumanblack just added to his story

AdelineWells sent you a direct message

23 New Notifications click to open

TWITTER: Partoftheband @/user1 Talks of tour??? Are they trying to kill me? Gotabf @/user2 The beanie!! It's back!! Milk @/user3 You reckon he's washed it? People! @/user4 He wears so much designer shit, why's he wearing a hat that looks like it was knitted by my nan??

With January, came sleet and heavy rain. Forcing us all indoors and making quick regrets over arduous New Year’s resolutions.

I had half a dozen interviews lined up in the first month alone, which was a promising start to the year but also incredibly nerve wracking. I’d spent the majority of the wavering days between Christmas and the 31st fretting over each and every detail, beyond thankful that my mum had stuck around a little longer after the festivities to help keep Teddy preoccupied.

Adi, thankfully, was stuck in the exact same boat, which meant that we could both bear the burden together. Leading to a whole lot of time being spent on the phone, making plans, or down at the studio, where Teddy could roam free. We were moving up in the world, as Matty now liked to claim, and so that meant more of our time being taken up by mundane tasks such as asking Hozier’s PA what kind of drink he preferred and avoiding a couple of Podcaster's sudden opinions on us.

Still, we were forever grateful.

Though it wasn’t just the radio show getting shafted with a shit ton of toil either, it appeared that work had Finn headed off to the States for a few gallery openings, and Matty pulled in all sorts of directions whilst the band sorted out their upcoming album.

I hadn’t heard a word of it, although the singer kept on endlessly chattering away about how much he loved the songs they were now producing, suddenly leased with a newfound life. Which always left me feeling happy, even if I did have to wait alongside the rest of the world to listen in. It was nice knowing that he was enjoying it all once more. Seeing as, music made Matty and Matty made music. And all that.

So anyway, what I’d been getting at there was that the last few weeks had been all too trying. Enough so that Matty and I had hardly seen hide nor hair of each other, and our Facetime calls had been fair and few. Which was something that didn’t just sadden me, but Teddy too it seemed, who’d come to quite like the musician and all of his odd quirks.

That fact in itself had almost sent me running, in truth.

And maybe that was silly of me, but Teddy was my everything and it killed me to see him upset over someone he barely even knew. But then again, I supposed he did know Matty in a way. Whenever Matty called, Teddy was there to tell the man about his day, whenever Matty texted he never failed to ask after Teds, whenever he sent pictures and videos of the studio and whatever else he was doing they were usually for Teddy to see.

I didn’t think Teddy had ever attached himself to a person so quickly. Which really did surprise me. Though oddly enough, what surprised me much more was the fact that Matty had just soldiered on and stuck with it, instead of running for the hills the first chance he’d gotten, like I’d expected.

Which was perhaps a bit of an unfair assumption on my part, but it was something I didn’t feel too guilty over- I’d made that clear to Matty the very first day the two of them had met after all.

Saying that though, I was left to eat my words as I watched that same man galavant his way around a London Zoo with a four year old plopped atop his shoulders. Doing so without complaint, and thoroughly enjoying it too.

“There! There, Matty! You see?” I heard Teddy call out in loud excitement as I trailed my way on after them, his little fingers holding onto the red beanie Matty now often favoured. Something I relentlessly teased him about but which left me feeling all warm every time I saw it.

“Oh yeah! I do now. Wow monster, how’d you even spot him over there?” Matty replied, feigning obvious awe and grinning madly when Teddy leaned over the top of his head to poke his face into view.

“I eat carrots.”

I snorted at the simple answer Teddy gave and Matty, forever charmed by my toddler’s antics, nodded around a low chuckle of his own. “I’ll make sure to buy a couple on my way home then.”

Stepping closer, I found it strange to be in a zoo so lifeless. Which probably sounded even more peculiar, but then again, it hadn’t been my idea to go ahead and rent the entire place out just so that we could have a nose around at all the wildlife without Matty getting mobbed. What a diva, hey?

“I still can’t believe you did all this.” I murmured to him once Matty had set Teddy back down on the ground, leaving my son to run on over towards one of the caged fences, calling out to the languid lions that laid beyond it.

“It’s sick.”

That had been Matty’s only defence since having arrived and me figuring this all out, it was as endearing as it was bewildering.

“It’s mental is what it is, you idiot.”

He glanced over at me, hands tucked up in his pockets, a smug grin now painted on his face. I crossed my arms over my chest, refusing to be charmed by him and his inane antics.

“Admit it, you’re loving this. Not having to worry about losing the kid and actually being able to get a look in at this lot.” Matty argued, and if he were anyone else he’d be swaying back and forth in utter delight- Wilmslow’s very own Willy Wonka- but all he did was simply look back at Teddy with a prideful grin, who was now currently trying to lure a lioness in closer.

Thing is, he wasn’t wrong. And Matty was enough of a git to know it too.

I didn’t grant him a reply though and instead wandered over to drag my son away from the ever nearing lion. “Did you see, mama? She likes me!”

I had to grin and bite back my sudden hysteria, although Matty snorted from his place now back beside us. “I did see, lovely! How about we go look at the snakes though now, hey?” And with that, Teddy was eager to part from us (and thankfully the lion) , sprinting ahead in the direction of a lizard sign that stood not too far away, leaving Matty and I to trail behind.

“Where all the animals are locked behind glass, yeah?” Matty piped up after and I narrowed my eyes at him in return, refraining from giving him a right good shove.

“Shut it.”

He merely cackled and looped an arm around my shoulders.

–

“They should just get back together. I mean- the money alone!”

I chuckled quietly to myself, moving about the tiny kitchenette at the studio and rolling my eyes at the man propped up between a Guinness World Records book we had and the sugar tin.

“I’m not saying that they shouldn’t! I’m just saying that they won’t.” I argued back, still rifling my way through a drawer in search of a sharp enough knife. “Those are two completely different things.”

“So what?” Matty scoffed, his displeasure with the whole debate managing to seep its way through the phone. “Fucking pair of pillocks, can’t even imagine how the world would react, the industry alone!”

I smiled, all too familiar with the daily rants of one Matthew Healy. This particular tirade of his had been spurred on by a comment I’d made on today’s show, it seemed he’d been listening in.

“Oo, is there a brew going for me?”

I glanced behind me just in time to spot Adi making her way into the studio, a large duffle bag for tomorrow's shoot thrown over her left shoulder.

“Who else?” I quipped back, grinning victoriously when I finally found the trusty blade I’d brought over from mine so many years ago now that laid between a wooden spoon and a jar opener.

“What are you even doing?” She asked me next, having already tossed the bag down onto the sofa and made her way over. She waved when she spotted Matty’s familiar face upon opening the fridge, used to his presence cropping up here and there by now, “Alright, Healy? Thought you had big meetings today.”

“We do. I’m currently hiding out in a bin.”

Adi paused to blink at the absurd reply and then shrugged, not seeing the point in questioning it any further. “And you?” She prompted me, plucking a pint of milk from the fridge and slamming it closed.

“So full of questions today, high inquisitor.” I sang, already moving to slice into the whole watermelon I’d brought on my way in, having right fancied it when I’d passed by the fruit & veg stall up on the high street. “And what do you think, Ads? Exactly what it looks like.”

“Yeah, but why?”

I just shook my head in answer and Adi seemed to take that for what it was, a blatant dismissal. Matty though, ever so sweet, must’ve felt a bit bad because I heard him pipe up again, “She’s gone and brought a whole watermelon. Paid five quid for the thing, you believe that?”

“Five quid! Did he ask if he could spit in your face too?” Adi all but exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers as she looked over at me.

“Yes, five quid.” I stressed, having already heard enough of it from Matty, who didn’t have a leg to stand on here. “Now leave off, or I won't share.” I wielded the knife between the pair of them jokingly and Adi relented easily enough, already moving to skim a piece I’d just cut from off the counter. I cast a shrewd glance towards my phone, “And besides you can’t talk, Mr. Millionaire.”

Matty snorted.

“Is it really that much?” Adi wondered out loud, sweeping over to get a better glimpse at my screen and the man hidden within it.

I rolled my eyes and smirked, already figuring that she’d try her luck with just that thought alone.

“Piss off, Wells.” Matty laughed, amused by the ever so sweet smile Adi had suddenly conjured up for him and the way she was now batting her lashes, “How the fuck did we go from watermelon to my networth anyway?”

“Extortion.”

“Nepotism.”

I stopped slicing to taste test a chunk of watermelon and heard Matty heave a heavy sigh.

Adi, though, just moved to ask, “Did you threaten the fruit & veg man then?”

“Fucking should’ve.” I muttered, but couldn't quite bring myself to regret the wasted fiver then, not when the fruit was almost heavenly.

“Can you stop eating? I’m in a crisis you know, and fucking starving.” I heard Matty complain, his voice practically petulant.

“Actually, you’re in a bin.” I corrected, taking another chunk, “So don’t be a drama queen. If you’re hungry, order a Deliveroo or fuck off home.”

Matty was almost pouting when I slid on over to join Adi by the phone, a plate overwhelmed with watermelon now towering between us. His frown deepened. “You’re proper evil, you know that?”

I simply grinned, “You love it.”

Only Adi noticed the faint hue that bloomed across the singer’s cheeks then. Seeing as I was already rambling away once again, talking about the weekend get-together we’d planned now we all had some time to spare.

“You’re still coming, right?” I then asked Adi, who was now smirking for some reason. I raised a brow.

She merely hummed around her next slice and dipped her head at me, “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, babe.”

Matty’s eyes narrowed at that but I deemed it better to ignore whatever the two of them had going on, I found life to be much simpler that way.

–

It was almost gone nine and still no sign of her.

She had texted almost half an hour ago now, saying she was headed out, but Matty still kept his phone in hand, spinning it this way and that, just in case she tried messaging again.

“You’re driving me mad with that, man.” George suddenly announced, drawing Matty’s attention back to the table at the overcrowded club they’d picked out. “Stop it.” He added, swatting at Matty’s forearm when he’d barely acknowledged him the first time round.

Matty’s brow pinched but he let the mobile go with a clatter to the tabletop, “Happy?”

George exaggerated his smile in the same sense Matty just had whilst he clasped his hands in mock prayer before him, “Incredibly.” Then he relaxed back in his chair once more, face softening as Matty’s eyes shot out across the floor for the umpteenth time, “God, you’re really fucking strung up on this one.”

“Eh?” Matty immediately asked him, his head spinning back around to spare a glance at his mate.

“Just,” George began with a slow shrug, his chin dipped against his chest now in the way that he’d leaned back making his eyes appear all the more solemn. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so invested, is all.”

“Invested, fuck’s that meant to mean?”

Goerge just huffed. “I don’t know, Matty. Just, you’re not usually the type to get so caught up on a girl you’re chasing.”

“I’m not chasing her. We’re mates.” Matty hastily defended and could feel the way his face had instantly scrunched up with the force of it.

He was gifted a short snort in return, “Yeah man, sure, and I can fly a shitting plane.” At Matty’s ever darkening expression, George sighed once more and moved to prop himself up on his knees, “Look yeah? I didn’t mean nothing by it, only curious. It’s weird seeing you all moody and pent up about somebody. Been a while.”

It had been a while since he’d last seen someone properly, but that didn’t suddenly mean that he and Mouse currently had anything going on. He’d been too focused on staying clean, working on the album, and trying to forget the last year and a half had ever happened. And Mouse… well, she had a kid and didn’t seem the type to take to anyone so easily. They were mates. Just, mates.

Matty must’ve been quiet a little too long though because when George spoke again his voice had softened, as had his face. It almost looked pitiful now, enough that Matty wanted to force him away from his line of sight. But he didn’t, only glanced back out towards the floor.

“Matty, mate. I really didn’t mean to piss you off, you know that. I’m just saying it how I see it.” Matty rolled his eyes but George only continued to talk, “It’s obvious that you like her, man. Whether it’s just as friends or something more. But do me a favour and just have a long think about it, yeah? She’s nice and all, but I don’t wanna see you hurt.”

Matty bit back the scoff that lodged itself in his throat, “If anything, G, it’d be me hurting her. Wouldn’t be that unexpected though, would it?”

George’s hand came to grasp his shoulder at that and with a firm but gentle grip he forced Matty to better face him, he leaned in so his voice would carry over the music, his forehead now furrowed. “You’re not a bad person, man. Not everyone’s expecting you to fuck up all the time.”

Didn’t that feel like a fucking lie.

The hand pressed further and George shook Matty a tad, wanting him to comprehend his words. Take them in. “You’re doing good, mate. Really good. And we’re proud, alright? We are. All I’m saying is, have a think about what you want. Make sure you’re happier for it, make sure… that you can deal with everything that comes along with it. Understand?”

Matty’s mouth felt a little dry as he stared up into George’s eyes, seeing the genuine care held within them. Almost immediately Matty felt his walls crumble down around him and he struggled to find the right words to respond with. They were proud. So instead, he just nodded and George’s hand clapped the back of his neck with a winning grin.

“Good. Now, go get her, yeah?”

Matty frowned at the words but before he could think to question it the table was moving to welcome in a couple of newcomers and he turned in his seat to meet the eyes of a smiling Squeaks.

“Hey you.”

“You made it!”

She grinned back at him, beamed actually, and Matty felt his eyes flicker down to her lips for a second, then down further to the lovely little dress she’d decided on. He hastily stood up to greet her, wrapping her up in a hug- something that had come more and more naturally to them in the last few weeks- and rocked slightly. “Get all dressed up for me, did you?”

Mouse pulled away with a laugh, her head thrown back a tad before her glistening eyes set themselves back on him, she squeezed his arm, “You wish.”

He did wish. But he didn’t voice that passing thought out loud, filing it away to stress about later, and instead shuffled nearer to whisper, “You do look gorgeous though.”

The skin by her ear prickled with goosebumps and Matty pulled away before he could get too caught up in what that might have meant. He graced her with a slow smile, “Drinks?”

She let go of a breath, then smiled brightly back at him with a dip of her chin, “Drinks.”

–

“I haven't heard a word of it!” I said, pushing my drink down onto the table. I was currently on my fifth of the night, but the guys were forever getting new rounds in and so I knew it wouldn’t take me long before I was handed another.

“You said you didn’t like our stuff!” Matty immediately answered back, his voice a tad bit higher now.

I gaped at the claim, “I did not!”

“Yes, you fuckin’ did!”

The rest of the table was watching on in ever growing amusement, Ross’s eyes were dancing back and forth between Matty and I, whilst Adi wore a grin that could probably help power Blackpool Tower.

“I said I loved your earlier work. I didn’t say I hated the newer stuff!” I rebuked, desperately trying to think back to that first show I’d mentioned Matty in. Had I really said that?

Matty went to speak but Hann cut in before he could, “You two are mental. All I asked was whether she’d heard anything we’d been working on.”

George snorted, managing to drag his eyes away from his fiance to smirk at the pair of us. “Remember she claimed the band looked spent.”

Matty jumped to point in George’s direction, pleased, whilst my eyes widened, “I wouldn’t!”

“You did, love.” George laughed, looking more amused than hurt which was the only thing keeping me from being physically sick. “It’s alright, no harm done.”

I fish-mouthed, but even with that having been said, Matty was still grinning victoriously. “Fucking told you.”

Wrinkling my nose, I turned to neck the rest of my drink. “Yeah, well. I do love your songs, alright?”

Matty’s brows upturned, as if he was about to deny the claim and accuse me of lying, but Adi cut in, “No it’s true, she's been listening to your shit nonstop since you two met. Like it’s grating at this point.”

“Harsh.” Ross dragged out and Adi gave him a coy smile when she went to pat his chest, “You try listening to his gob on repeat and then we’ll talk, yeah?” She retorted easily, dipping her head towards Matty, whose face scrunched up unhappily.

“Careful, Wells. Starting to sound like you might not like me.”

Adi flashed him a toothy smile, “Who claimed I ever did?”

I was quick to reach out and grab Matty’s wrist when he frowned, ready to open his mouth once more. The motion seemed to grab most, if not all, of his attention because he wavered in his stance before letting himself be pulled over.

“He’s fragile, Ads.” I chuckled to her, hand cradling the back of Matty’s head when he leaned in to press his face against my shoulder. “All the big rockstars have delicate egos.”

Adi snorted and I watched as she let Ross drape an arm over her shoulders, her hand finding his.

“Not fucking fragile.” Matty said, but the heat of it was lost in the mumble against my skin, I laughed.

“Sure, babe.” I murmured fondly, smiling when I felt the curve of his grin against my neck. I started to run my hand through his hair almost unconsciously, letting the alcohol dim the anxious worries that would typically cloud my mind. “You’re a real man.”

“A real fuckin’ man.”

I rolled my eyes with a shake of my head that must've disrupted Matty’s newfound peace because he pulled away slightly, hands falling to rest on my hips, keeping us close.

“You’re proper nice, you know?” He mumbled in contradiction to our previous argument, his head falling forward to press his forehead to mine. His eyes appeared so much darker in this light, the little space between us had me holding my breath. “So nice.”

Instantly I was reminded of one of the first conversations I’d had with Adi about Matty, he’d been nice then too. “Thanks.” I chuckled before swallowing, eyes trailing between his before I voiced the thought. “You’re nice too.”

He smiled, one of those lazy ones where his eyelids drooped and the skin around his mouth wrinkled. His stare dropped ever so slightly and my mouth parted on instinct.

Matty licked at his lower lip, teeth grazing it ever so slightly. “I’m glad I met you.”

My heart stuttered in my chest, squeezing in on itself so tightly that I thought it might just give out, before it finally let go. “I don’t think I’ve ever been told that before.”

Matty tilted his head at me causing the tip of his nose to brush against mine, I struggled to remember to keep breathing. “I’m glad I met you, Squeaks.” He repeated with an air of finality, either unaware or uncaring for the reaction it drew from me as he raised a hand to drag his thumb across my jaw.

I looked up into his eyes, unblinking. Aware that I’d never felt quite like anything this before.

“I’m glad I met you too.”

–

Metro News

Feb 2024 06:21

SETTLING DOWN? | ‘75 SINGER CAUGHT IN CLUB WITH SINGLE MUM

Last night it seems our local heartthrob was back out on the town again after a few weeks of silence, only this time he wasn't alone! Read more...

[HOMESCREEN] 07:59

Facetime now Finnleyyy Incoming Call

Messages 7m Adi x Babe wake up, shits going down over on twitter!! Also (very much related) did you shag Healy last night???

Twitter 11m You now have 378 notifications

TWITTER: ‘75 updates @/75updateacc The Band spotted out in London last night with the MouseOnAMic girls! *picture: a story from Adelinewells instagram//blurred group photo*

backofmyvan @/user1 Is this real?? *picture: blurred Matty and Mouse in a dark club* Funnyface @/user2 Is that the radio host? she has a kid?? Saidhello! @/user3 I woke up to chaos. On another note, how are my matty girlies doing today?

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ayyy-imma-ninja · 11 months ago

Note

Ok, it’s probably a silly theory but hear me out.

What if Y/N is actually Nan reincarnated? Nan was a witch so it wouldn’t surprise me if she could just reincarnate if she so chose to.

For one, Y/N basically inherited their great great great grandmother’s (Nan) green thumb. Sure it could just be a coincidence or genetics, but it could also be explained by Y/N and Nan being one in the same. Also the milk and honey. Yes, it could be explained by Nan just passing on the recipe to her children, but it’s also possible that Y/N can make the milk and honey exactly like Nan did because they are Nan.

Perhaps Nan, overhearing Sun and Moon’s constant cries for help and advice from the afterlife, chose to come back to them as her own descendant to help and offer guidance. Y/N most likely wouldn’t remember their past life (cause that’s typically forgotten as children grow older) but it’s not impossible for Y/N to possibly have moments of déjà vu.

Besides, Juniper (Nan and Earth’s cat familiar) sorta came back, why not Nan coming back in a different life?

Hmmm~ Not a bad theory :3c

I shall not confirm nor deny anything. I have things planned in the distant future, but you will have to wait and see what unfolds until then :3

#answered ask #fairy au #dca fairy au #fairy au theories #nan #the witch #gardener y/n #the gardener

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annaelizabethhenry1 · 28 days ago

Text

Echoes from the Past - Chapter 2

Summary: River visits his grandfather post season 4 at the care home. The visits conjure memories of River’s childhood and teen years as he grapples with his grandfather’s declining mental health and how once he’s gone he’ll have no one left. Warning – spoilers for all four seasons.

A big thank you to my coven and our endless discussions about this fic and scenarios for Little River and the tough discussions around dementia. Writing may seem like a solitary endeavor, but its always a group effort - hugs and kisses to Alex @cillmequick and Dot @coffeeflavored <3

CHAPTER ONE

Chapter Two

As it was a long bank holiday weekend, River decided he’d stay at his grandfather’s house to make visiting him daily for the next few days simpler. The light was going down rapidly along the garden’s treeline and River hurried inside, clutching his bag of curry take-away. He flipped on the lights in the study and the kitchen. He also switched on the heating as it was freezing in the house. He missed the days when he would visit and the house was lit, warm with the fireplace crackling. Now the house was just an empty shell of its former self. It sat cold and dark, no life stirring from within it.

As the radiators banged and hissed to life, River took out the curry, pulled a fork from a drawer and was about to sit down at the empty kitchen table and sighed. “God, how pathetic,” he muttered. Was this going to be his existence going forward, sad take away meals alone in a drafty house? He never realized how much he enjoyed his grandfather’s company until it had been taken from him. He took for granted the camaraderie they shared over the years.

River walked back to the study with his curry and sat down in his usual chair as he couldn’t bring himself to sit in grandad’s as it would always be his even after he was gone. Mind you the chair River sat in used to belong to his Nan, but after she passed grandad told him it was his spot from now on which made it different.

It was so quiet in the country compared to his noisy flat in London where there were always sirens, cars rushing by and people shouting. Just like when he first arrived here when he was almost seven, the silence made him feel lonely and isolated, like you’d survived some dystopian horror and only you were left. The silence hadn’t scared him for ages, but now it suddenly did because before even with the silence there was the chatter of his grandfather to fill the void and that was now missing.

River thought back to one of his first nights in the house. When everything seemed new and rather frightening. He’d never lived outside of London before nor had he ever stayed somewhere so fancy. It reminded him of how people on the telly lived.

On the third night with his grandparents, River lay awake in his bed in what his grandparents called the guest room, but there was talk of making it more comfortable for him. He wondered if that meant it would his room. He’d never had his own room before – usually he slept on a pull-out sofa or in a sleeping bag. He couldn’t fathom having a whole room that was just for him. Grabbing his bunny, he shuffled from under the cosy comforter and went to the window to look out.

River could not understand his grandparents yet. He always made a point to figure out how his mum’s latest boyfriend worked. What would upset them, what would make them happy or at least indifferent to him. With Nan especially, nothing seemed to trouble her.

River whispered to Mr. Hoppinheimer, “I don’t get how they haven’t yelled at me yet. It’s been three whole days…I thought for sure when I spilled the milk today Nan would yell, but she didn’t.”

His grandparents were obviously older, but did this mean they yelled less or was it something else? An owl hooted in the tree near his window and River jumped. “What was that? A monster?”

The wind tossed the branches outside and one was close enough to scrap the house, scaring River further. He clutched his bunny while another sound echoed in the night sky and River shuddered as tears ran down his cheek.

River’s door creaked opened and light from the hallway poured in as his grandfather appeared, smiling. River quickly wiped the tears away, his mum hated it when he cried.

“River are you all right, lad?”

He shook his head no because he was scared and confused. River worried what his grandfather would do next. Best case he’d ignore him, worst he’d yell.

“Well we can’t have that,” David said coming into the room and turning a little lamp on that cast a soft glow about the room.

His grandfather sat down at the edge of the bed closest to River, “Come sit next to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

River looked at this grandfather who smiled and patted the spot next to him. River hesitated, but went over and sat down. Grandad wrapped an arm around him, “Are you scared?”

“Yes, but I promised mum I wouldn’t be any trouble…”

“Oh, River my boy being scared isn’t causing trouble. You don’t have to worry anymore because I’m here to protect you, so is your Nan. We want you to be happy and we can’t do that if you don’t tell us how you feel, all right?”

Grandad pulled River closer and kissed the top of his head.

River didn’t know what to do. He felt so different. Like for the first time someone didn’t mind him being there. It was almost like they were happy he was here with them, especially his Nan.

“It’s so quiet here…but when I hear things…they scare me,” As if on cue the owl hooted. “Like that!” River snuggled into his grandfather’s sweater hoping he wouldn’t mind.

“Oh, that’s an owl. Tomorrow we’ll go out and investigate the garden and I’ll show you where the owls live and maybe if we’re lucky enough we’ll see an owl in the daylight as they usually hunt at night.”

“What’s investigate mean?”

“Explore. There’s so much to see around here. I can take you down the road to where the neighbours keep their horses. You’d like to see that, right?”

River brightened up. Someone wanted to do something especially for him. He didn’t understand it but he was glad his mum left him here. Mind you, he didn’t trust it yet, but this felt so different than what he was used to.

“I like it here even if it’s scary at night.”

“It won’t be scary for long. You’ll get used to the different sounds. But you can always come to us if you’re scared. You don’t have to stay here afraid.”

“Won’t you be cross if I wake you?” River asked afraid he pushed too far.

“Cross? No, never.”

Grandad soothed River, tucked him back in, bunny and all and shut the light, but left the door open so he wouldn’t feel alone.

River thought wistfully on that moment, it was the first time he felt truly safe and loved. He knew recapturing that now was impossible given his grandfather’s condition. It also made him wonder if his grandfather was afraid when he was lucid, that he knew he was slipping away and couldn’t do anything about it. What could River do to soothe him? He had to find a way to comfort him after everything he had done for him. River knew his grandfather was flawed – more than ever now after finding out who his father was and what lay behind it. But still he owed him and deep down he knew his grandad had done his best for River all those years ago.

River started as his mobile rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw Catherine’s name appearing on the screen. He thought it odd she’d call this late. He hoped everything was all right. “Hi Catherine. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, hi River, yes. Just wanted to check in with you. I knew you said you were visiting David this weekend. I wondered if you had gone down.”

“Yeah, I did. He wasn’t so good today…he wanted to go home and then later he didn’t know who I was…”

“Oh, River…I’m so sorry. Hopefully tomorrow will be a better day. Why don’t you try bringing some photos over with you? Remember the article I sent you mentioned that often helps them as their minds often live in the past, so seeing photos of you when you’re younger might bring him around,” Catherine urged from the other end of the line.

“Right. I forgot about that. I’ll go find some when I finish my curry.”

“Take away again, honestly,” Catherine huffed.

River chuckled. “It’s not like I’m in the mood to cook.”

“My offer still stands.”

“I know. I’ll see how tomorrow goes,” River said.

Catherine Standish had offered to come by for the day and visit David as he was familiar with her from their “adventure” together after River left David with her when they perused by both the Park and an assassin.

After River finished his curry and tidied the kitchen, he went upstairs to his grandparents’ room. The door creaked as it opened, turning the light on the room came to life. He looked around, everything was tidy. The bed made, the curtains closed, the furniture recently polished. He wished he could take credit for it, but right after he left his grandfather at the care home, Catherine came by to help organize things with River, which included a weekend of tidying-up the house as it was long overdue for some sprucing up.

River opened the closet door, staring at the sparse contents as half of it was in the care home with his grandfather and the other space belonged to his Nan who’s clothes had been donated long ago. A box caught his eye on an upper shelf. It looked like a hat box that would’ve belong to his grandmother. Reaching up he removed it and was surprised by its weight. Placing it down on the bed, River opened the lid, “Oh, wow…” It contained cards, drawings and other ephemera River had made growing up. He had no idea his grandparents had saved these. They were bundled neatly unlike his own memory box.

As he shifted the piles and removed them to the bed, he saw the weathered rocks he decorated for the garden when he seven or eight. Then there was the ‘Best Grandad’ pin River bought for him one Father’s Day. He held it for a moment remembering trying to pin it on his grandad’s sweater with his little fingers and being pricked by it. River smiled. Digging further he found a child sized watch with the face scratched.

“He kept this?” River muttered feeling his face flush as he looked up at the ceiling blinking back tears. The battered watch held a special memory for River, it was the catalyst in his bonding early on with his grandad.

River had been with his grandparents almost a month when they presented him with a very cool digital watch that had a special little button that made it light up in the dark. He’d only taken it off to have baths since he received it, but one Sunday evening he realized it was missing from his wrist. He was seized by panic - his grandparents would be so disappointed in him if he already lost the watch.

While he was still trying to understand his grandparents, River knew this was definitely the type of thing that would lead to yelling – it had to. He lost far less precious things when he was with his mum and she got so cross, calling him careless. It was no wonder that she left him here. Now where would he go if his grandparents got tired of him losing things or being clumsy? But with no father, who would take him in next? River remembered watching Oliver on the telly a while ago and thought how horrible it would be to live on the streets being a thief. Would Fagan be nice to him? River doubted it as no one seemed to like him. He’d not be able to keep Mr. Hoppinheimer or his new bear Benjamin who had a very smart bowtie.

“Wait! Maybe it’s in the bathroom!” River darted across the hallway into the loo.

River looked on the floor, under the rugs, by the sink, and under the towels that were neatly stacked. It wasn’t anywhere. He was so crestfallen and slumped to sit on the cold, tile floor, scared to tell them he lost the watch. Near tears, River tried to take a breath, but could feel his chest tighten as he was near hyperventilating. He breathed in and out harder. He had to think, where had he gone today? The kitchen, dining room and study – oh the garden!

Earlier before dinner he and his grandad went into the garden to check on the pots to see if anything sprouted up yet. Grandad even gave him gloves to put on that were too big for him. Maybe the watch fell off then.

Darting back across the hallway, River went into his room to put his shoes on and then realized how would he get out of the house without explaining to his grandparents why he was going outside? The house was very creaky, but he already knew which steps made the most noise as he liked playing a game where he avoided them hopping around.

Tip-toeing in the hall and down the stairs avoiding the creaky spots, River edged around the wall and poked his head into the study and spied his grandparents involved in their books while the fire crackled. Seeing they were occupied, he made a dash to the kitchen. River peered out the kitchen door noticing the light was fading fast. He went into what his Nan called the jumble drawer where random things like screwdrivers, tape measures and a small torch were kept. He slid it from the drawer noiselessly as possible. The doorhandle was an odd lever River hadn’t completely remembered how to use and it squeaked a little when he turned it the wrong way. His heart pounded as he froze. All he heard was ticking from the clock in the entry hall and a tiny throat clearing from his grandad. River sighed. He pulled the door open just enough for him to get out. He immediately dove out of sigh against the chilly stone wall.

“Whew, okay that was close,” River mumbled as he turned the torch on and began his search around the clay pots.

Just as he looked between the last batch of flower pots with the torch he heard the kitchen door squeak shut. “NO!” River whispered turning quickly and arcing the torch beam into one of the windows. He hastily turned it off less to draw attention to the garden. River went on his hands and knees in the damp grass to hide when he noticed his missing watch in a tuft of high grass around one of the larger planters.

River wrapped the watch around his wrist and proceeded to crawl back to the house to stay out of sight till he reached the back door. Slowly, he got up and peered through the metal and glass panes. The kitchen was dark, so no one was there. River turned the lever but met resistance. “It’s locked,” River whispered in a panic. Now what? He pushed on the door to see if it was stuck, but it didn’t budge. “Wait…the key under the yellow pot.” Nan told him about it in case he ever got locked out in the garden. He retrieved the key and ever so slowly turned it, hearing the click he breathed a sigh of relief and quickly returned the key under the pot and slinked back into the dark kitchen.

Just as he was about to make a dash to the stairs light flooded the room as his grandfather appeared from the pantry area, “River whatever have you been doing out in the garden in the dark?”

Grandad walked towards him and took the torch from a stunned River’s hand. “Well?”

This was it, he was done for, off to an orphanage for him or worse. “I…I…umm…”

“David is everything all right, who are you talking to?” Nan shouted from the study.

“River, he came down for a glass of water,” Grandad coolly replied.

River was surprised his grandfather lied given he caught him sneaking around.

“River love, do you want a snack?”

“No, Nan, I’m not hungry, thanks!” River shouted back.

“So, what were you up to?”

River felt like he could trust being honest since his grandad just lied for him. “I lost my watch, Grandad. I went into the garden thinking it was there and it was,” River held up his wrist.

“Why didn’t you just ask? We would’ve looked with you, River.”

“Mum always said I was careless and I didn’t want you to be cross,” River said looking up at his grandad with those sad blue eyes.

“My boy, we all lose stuff, wait till you’re my age, I misplace things all the time!”

Impulsively, River hugged his grandad around the waist, tight, which took David by surprise and he wrapped his arms around his grandson. “I have to say I’m impressed as I didn’t realize you left the house. I came to put my mug in the sink and noticed the door was open a little and closed it. Only when I saw the light did I realize you were outside. Always remember if you hear noise when sneaking about with a torch to turn it off immediately and then hide.”

River pulled away and looked up curiously at his grandfather, “What? You didn’t mind I did that then?”

“Well, best not tell your grandmother, she wouldn’t approve, but I see you’ve got potential,” he replied with a warm smile.

“What’s potential?”

“Ah, in this case it means,” Grandad leaned in and whispered, “I think you could be a good spy one day.”

“Wow,” River managed.

“That’s between us, remember,” his grandad winked.

River tried to wink back but only achieved an awkward form a blinking which made his grandad chuckle.

The memory in retrospect was even more bittersweet than River liked to admit. The irony of him ending up in Slough House, being the biggest disappointment anyone could ever be to a grandfather who had been first desk. Maybe it was a good thing Grandad couldn’t remember things anymore, it saved him the embarrassment.

**************************

David Cartwright shambled through the hallway that led back to his room. All the chatter from the dining room became too much for him. He was used to his home and the quiet, not constant yammering. Turning the knob to his room he heard his name called and twisted to find the small lady who always seemed happy coming at him.

“Did you not want to play bingo?”

“Bingo’s for old people,” he responded turning back to his room and pushing the door open.

Orla chuckled. “Yes, of course and you’re clearly too young for that kind of thing. Would you like to play chess or checkers with me?”

David plunked down in the leather chair. “I hate all the noise, so no thank you.”

A lightbulb went off, he hated the dining room and rec room because it was too much for him. “We could play in here where it’s quiet. And maybe you’d like cup of tea, too?”

“Maybe…I used to play with River. I taught him to play chess. He never got very good at it, always was an impulsive player. Where is my boy?”

“He was here earlier at lunch, Mr. Cartwright.”

“I don’t remember. He hates me anyway. He only comes because of Rose.”

Orla was beginning to see the picture more clearly now. Not only was it just the dementia at play, but a family rift or misunderstanding. There wasn’t much time to repair this either given how quickly the dementia seemed to be progressing. “No, I spoke to him earlier, we had tea and cake together. He cares about you very much, I can tell. I think it’s hard for him to deal with his feelings. Let me get that chess set and come back, okay?”

“Yes, whatever,” David mumbled.

Orla returned a short while later with a boxed chess set and Sylvie bearing a small tea tray. The two women set everything up near where David sat.

Finally sitting down across from David, Orla began to put the chess pieces on the board. “I’ve had a long day, it’s nice to sit down quietly here to be honest, I can see why you wanted to as well.” She knew that many dementia and Alzheimer’s patients became frazzled from too much stimulation depending on what stage their condition was in, but she did wonder about David as he seemed so sharp sometimes. She’d have to chat with River further about his thoughts as he was the best judge.

“Yes, well I’d rather be in my own quiet home.”

“Where would you be right now if you were home?”

“My study with my books and some whiskey.”

“Avid reader?”

“Yes.”

“I love Dickens. My favourite is the Pickwick Papers.”

“That’s a terrible choice. Why not Bleak House or at least David Copperfield?

Orla smiled and continued to place the chess pieces down. “I like to be different. It’s his only truly humorous work and I do so love to laugh.”

David cracked a shadow of a smile. “I see you know how to set the board up. Let’s see how well you play.”

“I’ wager you’ll route me in no time,” Orla said with a cheeky wink.

Orla knew she was far from a chess champion, but David Cartwright despite his age and mental health was still quite the chess player as within the hour she had been corned into checkmate.

“Checkmate!” David said triumphantly.

“Ooo! Damn!” Orla said. “Sorry…”

“No, you’re within your right to swear. You weren’t paying attention to your bishop earlier hence you’re in this mess now. I always told River not underestimate the power of your bishops. Not that he ever listened either.”

“You love River very much, don’t you?”

“Of course, he’s my boy.”

Orla sat quiet for moment. She wanted to say that his grandson was his son in every way that truly mattered and I’m sure River felt he same way. She decided to push a little. “Yes, I can tell. You’re very proud of him I’m sure. Though I do wonder why you think he doesn’t care for you.”

David’s face changed, Orla saw it immediately. She lost him. Damn!

“Yes, well he left me here to die,” David said gruffly, pushing the little card table with the chess set towards Orla.

“He did that to keep you safe. I know it’s not easy to admit, but sometimes we need help.”

“Help? This is what you call this hotel hospital environment? We’ve all been left here to die because someone who loved us just can’t be bothered.” He crossed his arms and turned his face away.

Orla did hate to admit that she had seen many people left at care homes who had no visitors and it always broke her heart. But this wasn’t the case for David Cartwright. His grandson cared a great deal. “May I call you David?” he shrugged in response. “David, your grandson is a busy man with a career and no doubt a personal life and he just can’t quit his job and stay with you as you do really need constant support to ensure you don’t get hurt.”

“I’d rather die than be here.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. Maybe when River comes by tomorrow it’ll make you feel better about all of this. I’ll get Sylvie to help you to bed if you’re ready. Maybe you can watch some telly or I can get you a book from the library.”

“Just leave me alone!” He said much louder than he intended.

“Okay, have a goodnight and I’ll see you tomorrow,” Orla said with a sad smile and tiny wave.

Two steps forward and one step back she thought. Tomorrow was indeed another day and she’d make the most of it.

#jack lowden #river cartwright #slow horses #river cartwright x oc #slow horses fanfiction #david cartwright #slow horses season 4 #anna elizabeth writes

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