#not the best tasting thing so shes going to train for a chef

[screamn-robo-drawin]

I am a necromancer first and chef second.

[writers-hes]

Sydney Saw it First (c. berzatto x reader)

You’re Carmy’s friend from Noma and he asks tou to mentor Marcus before he heads to Copenhagen to stage. Sydney thinks you’re both fools in love and she’s determined to fix it. (fluff, sydney being the best wingman, inspired by the scene in new girl when nick points his shoes to jess, two fools in love)

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It was hard for anyone to read if the Carmen Berzatto cared.

Some days, he was loving but most days he was tenacious. It’s not like he meant it. It was just how he was wired; how he reacts to things. The crew learned that the hard way, when he exploded on Marcus, when he screamed at Sydney…when the stress gets to him, it really gets to him.

He’s imposed penance on himself for his actions, secluding himself from the world…being unreachable. If there was one thing in the world that he craved and that he was afraid of, it was love. So he secludes himself until he feels alone. Relationships were unnatural to him.

But it came naturally with you.

You were training to become a pastry chef at Noma when Carmy was there. You met each other at the halls, shared friends that it was inevitable for you two to become friends. He was your first taste tester when you first made croissants. He helped you make your own sourdough starter for the sourdough cookies that you were experimenting on. You were the first person whom he cooked his mom’s picatta. You were his sous chef, helping him prep the vegetables on important dates. When news arrived detailing Mikey’s death, you were the first person he called. 

You two were great. You were great.

If anyone deserved praise, Carmy thought that it was you.

He didn’t know why but when he saw that Marcus was really interested in pastry, he called you; asked you to come and teach a really, really eager student that was going to stage in Copenhagen soon. Sydney also suggested that sweets are needed in a restaurant. You didn’t hesitate to board the plane upon his request. If anything, you were glad that he was finally asking you for a favor. It only meant that he was still—if not more—comfortable with you. 

You arrived in Chicago all smiles, and greetings. It was Richie and Carmy who picked you up from the airport and Richi was floored. How did his cousin even manage to tolerate you? He didn’t hate you immediately, of course. In any case, Carmy told you about his little girl; you decided to bring her a little gift. 

“I didn’t know what to get you but Carmy said that you have a daughter so I got this instead,” you said, extending a toy. “My niece has the same one…so, I figured…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie nodded. He muttered a small ‘thanks’ before helping you with you luggage. 

The night before, Carmy instructed everyone during family to behave. 

“Look, there will be no funny business, alright? My friend is flying in tomorrow to oversee Marcus and act as his mentor while we fix the Bear. No taking her knife away, no screaming, no fighting, no fucking anything, alright, chefs?” he asked. When he was met with silence, “Alright, Chefs?”

A couple of ‘heards’ were thrown. 

“Who is this friend, anyway, Jeff?” Tina asked. “You didn’t tell us to behave when Sydney over here first came,”

“Someone from Copenhagen. She, uh—“

“She?” Sweeps asked, his eyebrows raised in anticipation. “You got a girl, chef?”

“No,” he replied. “She studied in Copenhagen as a pastry chef, okay? No big deal—“ he proceeds to mention your name and how you’re just really super cool. “No big deal—“

“Wait, Chef, that’s a big deal!” Marcus said. “Oh, you know her recipes are all over my station, right?” he asked. “Sydney—“

“I went to the place she worked at in New York after I graduated. Everything’s just so…good. Amazing,” she recalled. “So, yes, it’s a big deal,”

“Yeah, whatever. Just promise me to behave, alright?” Carmy asked. “She’ll have to make do with what we currently have but I’ll try to stock up and set up the station before she arrives tomorrow.” 

-

You arrived at the Beef—er, the Bear a day after your arrival in Chicago. You were able to find a place that was near the city center for a good deal. You were here indefinitely, still trying to figure out if you wanted to run your own bakery or just work with others for the rest of your life. Seeing Carmy take the leap was insipiring. 

“Hello, chefs, I’m Y/N,” you said, a friendly smile gracing your features. Carmy was right beside you, watching everyone. “I’m a pastry chef and I graduated with Carmy in Copenhagen. I’m here to mentor Marcus but of course, if you have any questions regarding anything, you can ask me. I know how to cook too…and uh, I’ll be taking care of family tonight,”

Carmy jerks from his relaxed position. 

“You sure?” he asks softly. “I can take care of family, if you’re too tired.”

“Yeah. It’s like initiation,” you nod, looking at him and then looking back at the new faces in front of you again. “Do you have any questions…”

Sydney raises her hand. 

“Um, I’m sorry if this comes across rude but why are you here?” she asked.

“Oh, well, I’m not really tied down to anything right now. When Carmy called me, asking if I could come here, I decided to go. I’m here in Chicago indefinitely and I’ve been receiving invitations to cook, teach a class, whatever. I might accept some of those,” you said. Sydned nodded. Damn, Noma’s chefs were being chased from left and right. She was in the presence of two. 

“Do you have a little notebook?” Tina asked, making Sydney scofd. “With recipes?”

“Um, no,” you shook your head. “I keep all my notes in my head and then write it afterwards,” Tina liked you already. 

“What do you think about Carmen Berzatto—“

“Anyway, that’s all, Chefs! Marcus, come to the office with me, chef,” Carmy said, breaking up the huddle, and making you laugh. He discreetly pulls down your shirt, a sign that you should follow him too to the office. When you were both out of earshot, Sydney asked no one in particular.

“That girl and Chef? There’s something,”

That afternoon, during family, Sydney watched the two of you like a hawk. Confirming her suspicions when Carmy stayed for family and sat beside you.

-

Sydney notices it for the second time. You were going over the Noma “picture book” with Marcus, telling him how some of the desserts came about.

“What’s this?” Marcus asked, pointing at a photo of the dessert that put you on the map. 

“That’s a dish of candied hallabong peel, with a prosecco peach sorbet, on a bed of meringue, topped with candied cherries. I got it because some of my friends went to Jeju sometime and brought back this orange hybrid. I think….I think we can recreate it but it wouldn’t be the same without the orange.”

“What about the flesh and the juice?”

“I turned it into like an orange-chocolate cake with chocolate mousse,”

Carmy was just passing by but he decided to watch you interact with his employees instead. 

“Anyways, where’s your chocolate cake? Let’s taste it and compare it from the last one. Also, I can send you my recipe for sourdough doughnuts. Just give me your email,” you said, looking up briefly to find Carmy already looking at you. It made him feel good to see you incorporate yourself so well in the kitchen. Well, it’s not like the Bear is open but his staff went to you for some tips and advice. They were all undergoing some sort of training to make everything more elevated. “Hey, Carm. Do you need anything?” 

“Hey-hey,” he coughed, ashamed for being caught. “Nothing. Uh—“

“Chef, did you ever try Y/N’s stuff?” Marcus asked. He’d really, really, really want to taste something that you made someday. They were all delicate and so detailed. It’s probably why you got multiple awards at such a young age.

“I did. She used to bring big Tupperware containers of things they made in the kitchen,” 

“He finished them all,” you told Marcus. “Wouldn’t spare me a bite,”

“I don’t know, bug,” he teased. “I vividly remember you begging me to do it because you were so sick of fucking croissants.”

“You’re so annoying,” you huffed, a playful smile on your face. “Go on now. Marcus and I have stuff to do and you’re distracting us.”

“In my own restaurant,” Carmy mutters, shaking his head. Sydney’s eyes immediately directed to Tina. Did you see? Did you hear the word ‘Bug’?. Tina only shrugged. 

-

Sugar dropped in to check on the improvements being done at the Bear  when she saw you and Carmen at the back, talking. She had to double take what she saw because it was quite…odd to see him talk to you with the same twinkle he used to have. She has never seen him like this. He was genuinely laughing at some of the things that you were saying, a shared plate of leftover chocolate cake between the two of you. 

“Who’s the girl outside?” Sugar asked, looking at Richie and Sydney for answers. 

“Some fancy pastry chef Carmy met in Copenhagen,” Richie replied. “It’s a whole bet now, you know? They’re always out in their own world ever since she got here,”

“Everyone puts in 10 to predict what’s going to happen,” Tina said. “You’re betting?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sugar says, giving a bill to Tina. “I bet…I bet they’ll fall in love right before she leaves Chicago. Like, on the way to the airport. Carmy’s going to tell her that he loves her and she stays,”

Laughter echoes in the room. 

“This is not some fucking movie, cousin,” Richie said. “Obviously, Carmy’s not gonna do shit about it.”

“I think…she’ll call him over and they’ll share a moment,” Marcus said. “He’s always at her place, did you know that?”

Meanwhile, unaware of the ongoing bet, Carmy looks at you.

“What do you think about Chicago?” he asked, a cigarette hanging idly on his fingers. 

“It’s nice…chilly,” you said. “But it’s nice. I’ve been offered jobs here, you know?”

“Hm?” he asked. “Are you planning to take them?”

“I’m…thinking about them. They’re all the same but like, I want my own bakery, you know? My own place.” you said. “It’s going to be a lot of work if I do that and I don’t necessarily have the staff to do all that.” you said. 

“If you want…you can come stay with us if you’re not sure,” he offers. “Like a pastry chef. Actually, I’ll have to ask Sugar and Sydney if it’s alright with them but you can stay here,”

“Bear, I don’t want to impose—“

Sydney was walking outside to throw the trash but she stopped her trackes when she heard you talk. 

“I want you here,” Carmy said with conviction. “But if you don’t-don’t like it here in Chicago, I wouldn’t mind either, you know? It’s just that…I want you here and-and fuck, I don’t know. I guess working with you made it so much more fun again, you know? Like us in Copenhagen. I mean, we’re always a team and-and it’s nice to have you here with me. Sugar and spice? Sweet and spicy or whatever the fuck they called us back then,” he chuckled, inhaling his cigarette to calm himself down. “We can make it work,”

“Yeah, yeah. You go talk about it to Nat and Syd,” you said, taking a swig of your water. “And then we’ll talk. Cool?”

“Cool,” he shrugged. Sydney leaves and goes back to where the commotion was. 

“I change my scenario,” she said. 

“You can’t do that, Sydney,” Richie said. “It’s a bet! You have to pay again,”

Sydney breathed, what was ten more, right? Fuck. 

“Fuck, sure, okay. Whatever,” she said, giving Richie the bill. “She’ll stay here. She’ll realize the there’s nothing waiting for her back home and she’ll stay here,”

“Where did you get this?” Fak asked. “Quite—oh my God. Sydney, did you fucking cheat?” 

“No, I didn’t fucking cheat!” she defended, it was a lie. “Can’t you see the two of them? Always in their own world? How would Carmy let her go?”

“Jeffrey has a point,” Tina shrugged. “But if she loses, just know that you lost twice, Jeff,”

“I know,” 

-

You, Sydney, and Carm all went to his apartment. It was where the two of them made a menu while you acted as a consultant and a taste tester. Their palates were fucked and they didn’t know what to do or what to cook anymore. So they asked you. But you weren’t there today. You and Marcus were in your apartment, making up stuff for dessert. The Beef has officially closed down and is a rubbled mess. There was no space and Carmy just wanted to be there with you.

“Can I ask you something and you can tell me to fuck off?” Sydney asked while she watched Carmy plate the hamachi crudo. 

“Hm?”

“Do you…have feelings for Y/N?” she asked, looking at Carmy. He blushed, his ears turning red for being caught.

“Is it obvious?”

“To everyone but her,” she shrugged.

“Fuck, really? I thought I was being discreet,”

“Oh, you can stay here! You’re so good and so smart and so pretty,” Sydney gushed, mocking Carmen.

“Fuck off,” he laughs. “I…I do,”

“Yeah?”

“I just…just…she’s uh, so amazing, and like, I’ve been feeling these feelings since…since Copenhagen,” he mumbles, finishing the garnish with an oil. 

“Damn. You never made a move?” she asked, getting forks. She gives one to Carmen and they both taste the crudo. It was amazing. “That’s good,”

“It is. Good job, Syd,” Carmy replied.

“It was her who told me to try adding jalapeno slices,” Syd said. 

“You can’t do that,” Carmy warned her. Why did she want to get you two together so bad? “But I haven’t done anything. I mean, like, she was dating these guys and they’re so cool that-that it was never really my turn,” he remembered.

“But you’re the best chef in the world! That trumps that,” she encouraged. “None of them worked out?”

“No,” Carmy shook his head. “She’d always end things and I don’t want that for myself. She told me none of them worked out…wasn’t what she was, uh, looking for?”

“Oh,” Sydney nodded. “Well, if you’re feeling brave enough…”

“I haven’t been having…fun,” Carmy acknowledges. “With the Beef and the Bear until she got here, you know? Made me feel like I was young in Copenhagen again,”

“Another question. You can say fuck off if you want,” Sydney says and watches as Carmy bites a smile. “The last one. Is that why you asked her to stay? It’s just that I heard you the other day and…”

“Fuck off,” he laughs but Sydney noticed how everything about him conveyed everything that she needed to know. 

-

“This is a quenelle,” you told Marcus. You, Marcus, Carm, and Sydney were at your apartment. It was bigger than Carmy’s and your oven didn’t have jeans in them. “This took me at least a hundred tries,” you chuckled. “You just…away, back, and then hands…” You demonstrated, making a quenelle of a yuzu mousse.

“Damn, Chef. How’d you do that?” Marcus asked, trying it for himself. He failed, his quenelle being a little bit smaller than yours. 

“I had a friend named Luca. He didn’t let me out of the kitchen until I made a perfect one,” you recalled. “Carmy was there and he was laughing at me. He could do it in like three tries and I remember hating him,”

“You hate me?” he asked, leaning on the countertop. He didn’t like to hear about Luca. He only wanted you to talk about the two of you.

“Hey, Bear. Try this?” you asked, spooning him the raspberry curd. Carmy opens his mouth and you walk over, feeding him the pinkish liquid and then watching his face. “It goes with a black sesame shell. Do you like it?”

He notices your close proximity and flushes.

“Y-yeah,” he coughed, looking away. “Really good. Uh, very good,”

“No notes?” you asked and he swore he could kiss you right there because you were so beautiful.

“No notes,”

“Thanks, Chef,” you said. Sydney whistles as you help Marcus master his quenelle. Carmy looks at her and she teases him with a mockery of what he just said.

Carmy and Marcus left after cleaning up. You and Sydney decided to have a girl’s night. You were both sitting on the couch, mud masks on your faces when she turned to you fully.

“You know, he likes you right?”

“Who?” you asked, trying to fit a handful of chips.

“Carmy,” you heard and you choked on the bits of chips in your mouth. 

“Fuck!” you choked. “Sydney!” You were coughing while Sydney handed you a glass of vodka cranberry. You gulp it down. “You—can’t say shit like that!”

“What?” she laughed. “Look, I’m not kidding! Whenever he talks to you, his feet are pointed at you. I’ve read enough fucking books and body language shit to know that he’s interested,”

“I don’t think so,” you said. “That’s bullshit,”

“It’s not though,” she shrugged. “He asked you to stay for a reason,”

“He needs a pastry chef,” you shrugged. “Besides, he and I are friends, Sydney. I’ve been trying to get him jealous all my time in Copenhagen but he never…he never got the signal,”

“Oh,” Sydney nods. Two idiots in love. “Have you ever tried telling him?”

“Of course not! He’s always on about how he doesn’t have the energy to love or date. I tried the jealousy thing before but it never worked. Trust me, there’s nothing.”

-

Carmy arrives at your doorstep the next morning, bright and early. Sydney had already left, telling you something about stopping by at her dad’s apartment to get stuff. You were going to the Bear with him to help Sydney choose plates for the restaurant. 

“Good morning,” he greets. Two cups of take-out coffee in his hands. “I got us some coffee while we walk on the way,”

“Thank you,” You took the cup from his hands and clutched your jacket tighter. It was so, so, so cold. “Didn’t know it was going to be this chilly today,”

“You wanna wear my jacket?”

“You’ll be cold,”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said, already taking off the jacket to the best of his one-handed ability. He was only wearing a gray sweater underneath. “I have something. See?” He doesn’t take no for an answer, taking your coffee and your bag from you so you could wear the colorful jacket.

“Thanks, Bear,” you said, smiling at him. The sight of you in his clothes does something to him and he couldn’t help except give you a slight nod before forging on in the chilly Chicago weather. 

You both entered the Beef giggling amongst yourselves when the usual buzzing stopped.

“Remember when Luca—“

You halted, finding the silence odd. You looked around to see everyone looking at you.

“What’s wrong? Is something wrong?” Carmy asked, removing his hand from the small of your back. “Syd—“

“Love the sweater,” Richie teases. You look down and feel the warmth on your cheeks. 

“It was cold and he asked me to wear it,” you shrugged, leaving Carmen to deal with the staff out front. You were signalling Sydney for help but she only looked away. Traitor. “Um—“

“Y/N, if you could please help me out here,” Carmy called you. 

“Your boyfriend’s calling,”

“He’s not!” you huffed before walking over. “What is it?”

“I need you to time me, is that okay?” he asked. He nodded towards the stopwatch and you complied. “Thank you. I just need to check or like, map out the kitchen you know?”

“Of course,” you replied. 

“Do you need help getting on—“

“It’s okay it’s just an old thing,” you replied.

“Yo, cousin! If you’re done eye fucking, Sugar needs you.” Richie calls.

“We’re not eye-eye fucking!” you complained. “What the fuck?” You stood up from your corner before you could even work and accidentally looked down. If a man is interested his feet will—

You move to the side and Carmy follows. And then to the side again. 

“Y/N–“

“Stay there,” you asked, walking around him and him turning around. “Carm!”

“What?” he asked, grasping your shoulders. He looks down to his shoes. “Are my shoes dirty?”

“No, it’s just—“ you tried again but Carm still followed. “Sydney told me about like, how when a guy is, uh,”

“Cousin!”

“Fuck, okay. Let’s talk about it later okay? Once everyone’s out?” he asked, looking at you. “Can we do that?” His jacket felt softer on you than it ever did on him.

“Yea-yeah,” you nodded. “I’ll go help Sydney,”

The afternoon passed by and you were alone at The Bear. You waited for Carmen to finish up at the dining area like you promised. Your heart was beating so fast, maybe a thousand miles an hour. What Sydney said has been on your mind and what if it wasn’t true and you get embarrassed? Fuck, could you even handle that?

You sighed, burying your head between your hands when Carmy walks over to you. 

“What’s up?” he asked. “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod. “Can you stay there and just, I don’t know, be Carmy?” you asked, standing up to test the theory again. He just stands there, dumbfounded. You circle around him and he follows. You were looking on the ground. 

“Fuck, what the fuck?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with my shoes? I know they’re old and not—“

“Carmen, shh,”

“What?” he asked, grasping your shoulders for the second time that day to steady you. “What’s wrong?”

“Fuck, I don’t—“

“What’s wrong?”

“Sydney told me that there’s like, this body language thing and like, uh, says that when a guy is interested his shoes are always pointing at you and well, she told me to look at yours,” you rambled, looking away in embarrassment. “Look, if this will be weird between the two of us, I mean—“

“Why would it matter?” he asked, hands inching closer to your neck. He was nervous but maybe this is the opening that he’s been waiting for for years. When you didn’t reply, he asked again. “Why would it matter?”

“Because…because I’ve been trying to make you jealous for years in Copenhagen and it never worked,” you whispered. You were embarrassed. It felt like you were in high school telling your crush that you liked him. “I know you don’t see me that way,” you replied, trying to look for the right words. Carmy lets you finish. He wanted to hear you. “And it’s fine. If this is stupid, let’s forget that this ever happened. Okay? God, I’m so fucking embarrassed right now,” 

“Hey, hey,” he cooes, his thumb tucked the hair back and then caressed your cheek. “Whoever said that I wasn’t jealous? I had to leave all the time because I was so fucking jealous. Those guys were cool. Don’t-don’t be embarrassed, okay? I like hearing that-you, uh, like me,”

“Carmy…don’t lie to me, okay? You don’t have to pretend—hm,” 

Carmy had just kissed you. Carmen Berzatto just kissed you. You were clutching on his shirt so tightly, afraid that if he lets go, he’ll be gone. But he doesn’t. He just trails his hands down to your back, touching skin to skin until you’re one. 

“I’ve been waiting years to do that,” Carmy rasps, breathing heavily. 

“Yeah? Then, do it again,” you whispered, smirking slightly at how he seemed to blush hard. Before you could tease him though, he tucks your hair back again, bringing your lips closer to his.

He did.

A/N: Thank you for giving my recent fics so much love and for being so motivating. Your kind words really make my day and I hope that you love this too. Don’t forget to reblog and comment! Thanks again!

TAGLIST: @kpopgirlbtssvt

[st4rbwrry]

━━━ 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒. a.h

warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, murder mystery, aki is a chef, oral [ f + m.], sneaking away, marijuana use, praise, fingering + finger sucking, aki's tongue is pierced, sexual acts happen quick, mentions of depression, brief mention of emotional/physical abuse, reader is desperate for help/attention, parental neglect, grooming, minors aren’t allowed.

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; another old piece of mine i never fully finished and now posting yrs later!

“okay, i'm out!" aki is shouting as he tosses his white chef coat over his shoulder, book bag on the other, the cool breeze of spring blowing through his raven hair the minute he opened the tall glass door that led to the front of the restaurant. his friend, also a coworker, is busy, in the mix of gathering dirty dishes and clearing trash bins but still sends him a farewell, a quick, 'see ya tomorrow. good job today!' till he's off to his bus stop. he was thankful he got out early, just before five in the afternoon meaning the sun hadn't set yet.

he sighs, extremely worn out, in dire need of a steamy hot shower and a greasy pizza while laying in the comfort of, finally, his own apartment he worked entirely too hard to gain. the commute to his place in brooklyn, new york became rather annoying due to rush hour traffic at this time. having to take the bus then switch to the 'n' train, hopping off and walking fifteen minutes until he finally reaches his destination. his second goal was to afford a vehicle to save him money instead of wasting it on expensive monthly metro cards.

aki's lived here his entire life, growing up in the bronx, not much different. he loved new york, but not their uppity expenses. the fact that he's paying nearly two grand for a 600 square-foot apartment with no in-unit laundry nor a gym at that, was nonsensical. did he want to reside here forever? yes. he'd feel homesick if he ever were to leave. having the opportunity to travel seemed like a much better alternative, that way he'd still have his home but be anywhere in the world doing what he loved, and that was cooking. aki hayakawa was twenty-six years old, earning his master's in culinary arts at the culinary institute of america, also known as the C.I.A.

his ultimate dream was to open his restaurant, which he would name after his tragically deceased mother. a terrible accident in which he dreads the memory of. falling endlessly into a black hole, hearing nothing but the sound of his own fear, the breaking of his bones when it interacted with brick interior, the feeling of his heart thumping excessively against his chest as he continued to drop deeper like a rock that was chucked down an empty well. this emotion he knew all too well; failure. when he lost his mother, it felt as if the world crumbled beneath him, malicious dark vines slithering up to grab him by his ankles and pull him down a bottomless pit of nothingness.

he tasted the agony, the anger, the sadness, and even the hate from the fact that she was gone and never coming back. countless tantrums, anxiety attacks, and depression summed up the apathy of it all. it took him six years to realize that drowning in pain would never help him gain the strength that he knew she wanted him to have. by letting her witness the pain he was going through from above, he was hurting not only her . . but himself. so to overcome the tragedy, he kept himself busy with cooking. going to school, earning his degree, and the current job he had with his best friend since middle school.

school was probably the greatest thing he'd ever done to reinvent who he was as a person. cooking is a delicate yet challenging obstacle to undertake, yet, it's so therapeutic to him. the nature of it all, being able to witness what he can do for many people, bring laughter and happiness—it's a beautiful thing. when aki was small, he and his mother would give back to people all the time. whether they were donating clothes to the homeless, or feeding small pigeons pieces of bread on a sunny day as they flew to the gray pavement, awaiting a feast. they always cared about others. they would experiment a lot, going to food markets just to come home and whip up a good meal which they would then donate to the less fortunate. that's when he learned how humble he felt to give back to those in need.

he wanted to show his mother his achievements, to push himself and become a world-renowned chef, just like gordon ramsey—without the aggression. he wanted his name plastered on articles for his extraordinary talent, talked about on tv, in fact, given his own cooking show on foodnetwork. aki grew up watching that channel, an obsessive enticement his mother could never break the young boy from. he was making recipes at the age of twelve, and learned how to cook at eight. eggs were the first thing, usually everyone's first, then as time progressed, he grew from simple pasta dishes to revitalizing gourmet meats, and anything french. just recently he schooled himself on how to create wine. every day he learned something new, and that was the beauty of culinary.

"hayakawa! come here!" star yells as soon as she sees the tall man emerge through the front door, ready to start his morning shift, raspy voice laced with slight panic, instantly making the man run to her out of worry.

"what's wrong?" he furrows his brows.

"look who just fucking walked in," she grabs his bicep, pulling him closer to the front counter. aki curiously follows where her finger points, seeing a slim man with black curly hair dressed properly in a white and black suit. silver and sapphire rolex on his wrist, his pale green eyes scanning through the lens of his glasses at the menu while he sips his water. expensive.

"i have no idea who that is," aki blinks, making star gasp.

"he's alexander bodari, one of my favorite authors of all time. remember the novel i told you i was reading, about this girl who was kept in this lunatics basement and almost murdered?"

aki's eyebrows raise. "the book dylan bought you for your birthday, right?"

"yeah! that's him. oh my fucking god, i'm so nervous, whew," star begins to fan herself, nearly having a breakdown. aki grabs her shoulder and chuckles.

"chill out, star. you don't have to serve him if you don't want to."

"of course i do! i just. . . can't," she frowns.

"you can, you've done it many times before. this isn't the first celebrity we've come across."

star sighs, nodding. "you're right, i can do it."

"good girl," aki smiles, patting the top of her head. star catches his wrist and scowls.

"fuck off."

"aki," another voice calls to him, this time it's the head chef, also known as his boss. aki greets him with a small, 'good morning, chef' before waiting for his response.

"i'm guessing you know that alexander bodari is here," lane says, arms crossed over his broad chest. aki nods. "i want you to cook for him."

aki and star share a glance of shock.

"uh, why me. where's dylan?"

"he's not feeling well so i gave him the day off. you're the only one here that's near his level, and he's a higher-up man, so i want you to cook for him. star will cater to his needs. we're kinda short-staffed today, and i trust you two will handle it properly."

"yes, chef," they say in unison.

star was only a waiter, working here for four years while aki earned his position two years into her time. the last thing the woman could do was cook, ironic since she worked in a restaurant with very talented people. lane would've asked her in a heartbeat if she was as skilled as aki. aki was known for making dishes at the top of his head, so if anyone asked for a special, he was the one to ask. before they began to serve anyone inside, aki gave star a small prep talk before sending her out. eventually, she got through with taking his order without stuttering or sweating. when she walked back into the kitchen, actually shoved the doors open with a joker smile on her face, aki cocks his head at her.

"you—"

"he wants your special!" she screams, doing a goofy dance, and skipping in her spot.

aki's face drops. "are you deadass?"

"yes! when he was looking at the menu, he saw your four courses on the back and chose your mom's stew! fucking a, man!"

aki is still frozen, weakly giving star their signature handshake, smile slowly easing onto his face. "my mom's stew? seriously?"

"yeah. chop chop, get to it."

aki was persistent. no one's ever ordered his mother's stew, which made this day very special for him. even if the dish was only on the menu for a month, it still meant a lot to him. he made sure there were no distractions, taking a tender chuck roast and cutting them into cubes, seasoning them well while throwing in worcester sauce, balsamic vinegar, garlic cloves, bay leaves, and beef broth. making a slurry with flour and water to thicken the stew. adding onions and potatoes. it was a simple yet fulfilling dish he looked forward to every sunday.

"deep breaths," star whispered as she carried the steaming tray of stew plated professionally on a porcelain oval-shaped bowl. in a way, it felt like she was telling not only herself but him. it's a rarity that people order his courses, and serving this to an author, a bestseller, a man worth millions, made him giddy. he was cheesing like an idiot, pushing star out the double doors to the dining area.

although as soon as she walked out, that's when doubt clouded his gut. did he put too many seasonings? is the meat tender enough? what if he doesn't like it? will he write about it on his author blog? god, he hoped the potatoes weren't hard. he had only tasted the broth, it tasted just like his mother's. what if. . .

"aki," star walks back in, an even wider grin on her a-symmetrical face this time. he blinks, realizing that he's been standing here for three minutes now. "he wants to see the chef."

he's dumbfounded. "me?"

"no, lane. yes, you!" she's squealing like a girl, and sometimes he forgets she is one, even underneath her blunt features and boyish sense of style.

he's clearing his throat now, strolling mindlessly towards alexander bodari's table, greeting himself and waiting for his constructive criticism.

"you're aki hayakawa?" the man questioned, lifting his glasses back onto his face.

"yes, sir."

"i just have to say," alexander chuckles, softly clapping his hands. "this may be one of the best stews i've ever had."

the tenseness in aki's shoulders relaxes, and he's sighing with relief, alexander noticing and laughing. "i'm really glad to hear that, sir."

"did you create this on your own?"

"it's actually my mother's recipe. it's my favorite. every time i make it, it reminds me of her."

"that's really ironic because this reminds me of the stew my mother used to make," he grins. "yours is the first that i haven't seen carrots in."

aki laughs. "my mom hated cooked carrots."

"mine did too," he fixes his collar. "is this your restaurant?"

"no, no. i'm just a cook here. i plan on opening my own soon. i already have my master's."

his brows raise. "wow, that's amazing. wow old are you?"

"twenty-six, sir."

"well, you're definitely going places," he compliments and aki feels even more satisfied. "say what, i'm having this pre-book release, about a hundred guests. i was wondering if you would like to cater the party. i'll pay you however much you want."

it's like the whole world collapsed on his chest. he'd never gotten an opportunity like this, especially this big. to cook for so many famous people at once was a blessing. he could really show off his skills if he took this offer . . . and did. after thanking him, exchanging contacts, and then handshakes, aki lets the man finish his meal before jogging back into the kitchen to scream about it to aki, lane, and the rest of the crew. alexander offered star to come along to serve, but unfortunately she couldn't, seeming as she'd be out of town for family matters that day.

alexander, of course, knowing she was a big fan signed a copy of his book she already had in her bag and letting her know she could help the next time he had an event. that made her happy enough. the two of them couldn't wait to finish their shifts today, taking the train to star's place and planning dishes all night, even cooking them to get them just right. alexander was hosting the party at his penthouse down soho. and aki had a week to prepare himself.

୨♡୧

cashmere sweaters, silk gowns, and jewelry that most likely cost more than his savings account roamed the lovely terrace of alexander bodari's home. every inch of it screamed filthy rich. rows of tables were set outside, the dark night sky making the moon shun brightly amongst the glass centerpieces filled with calla lilies and moss. white cloths, sterling silverware, and porcelain dinnerware. the terrace itself was elegant; freshly cut bushes trimmed as squares, a marble three-tiered italian water fountain placed in the middle. roses, dandelions, tall plants ranging from bamboo, snake plants, and pothos. alexander was very in touch with nature and his spirit. it's crazy he writes about the things he does.

speaking of, the book he was presenting that would be released in august was titled, 'to riven a magnolia.' he wouldn't quite reveal what it was about yet, wanting it to be a surprise, but did read an excerpt from the novel. aki only paid half attention, big words throwing him off plus he wanted to set the food table properly so guests could take what they wanted after his reading. aki didn't go all out since only seventy-two people were available to make it, and he didn't want any meals that would make anyone too full to converse, so he kept it simple yet exquisite. each guest received a slice of japanese fluffy cheesecake with a side of strawberry and mandarin orange tanghulu. beef wellington, and a six-sided cream garlic bread.

he received praise all night long. people gasping and thanking him for the food, giving him all sorts of compliments making the man blush like a child. at one point he held both sides of his face in his palms when a woman and her husband approached him to talk, way too shy, and the woman flirting with him didn't make it go away. eventually, her husband dragged her out of his sight. the night went on, classical music played as people sipped their champagne and talked about their wealth, their yoga classes, their thousand dollar dogs, golf, marketing . . . aki hopes he never becomes this way.

as he's pouring an elderly lady a glass as she rambles about baking, he notices a woman he's barely seen all night. he's disoriented, eyeing this girl leaning up against a vintage roman painting reaching the ceiling once the lady departs. brown eyes; the first captivating part of her body he captured. they appeared lonely, bored perhaps as they scanned through the crowd of people, soon landing on another pair, his own. the godly woman stared at him longingly. aki had no business nearly losing his shit under her gaze. wow. she was truly stunning.

one feature that stood out the most were the freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to the swell of her cheekbones. pretty. her black hair styled protectively in butterfly locs that grazed her collarbones, seeing the industrial piercing hiding behind a piece. her lashes were long, naturally extended. heart-shaped lips were full and pouty, the upper lip brown while the lower, salmon pigmented. an emerald satin mini dress loosely clung to her alluring brown skin. cowl neckline, ruched waist, and an open back partially revealing the red dragon tattoo painted on the side of her hip. black suede gucci heels strapped prettily around her ankles, showcasing her white painted toenails. a three layered gold necklace on her chest. this woman, you, were the rationale of celestial.

it was the moment you smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to the side while tapping your ombré acrylic nail amongst the glass of your champagne, calling to him while he thoughtlessly followed, that aki would realize he had made one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"you're pretty."

it's the first thing you say when he walks towards you, offering a piece of cheesecake with a cheeky smile. aki is taken aback, chuckling nervously, palms already clammy the minute he approached you.

"pretty?" he's perplexed.

"that's what i said," you say, taking the gold fork from his palm and cutting a slice to taste, widening your mouth while maintaining eye contact. the man swallows.

"uh, i've never gotten that before. thank you."

you're too busy eyeing him to say a thing. even if he dressed in simple black skinny jeans and same color tee, a silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt, sable combat boots, and a white apron around his waist . . he looked damn good. his eyes were blue, somewhat smoke gray, dark hair long and straight, the top half tucked into a small messy bun on the back of his head. a few loose strands swaying around his cheekbones. he was tall, shoulders broad, forearms and hands slightly veiny. you gazed at his hands holding the plate for you, wide and rough, fingers long.

"you don't seem to be enjoying the party," he says, knocking you out of your daydream.

you hum with displeasure. "he's a fake."

aki furrows his brows. "sorry?"

"alex, he's unoriginal. most of his novels are stolen by people he pays to keep quiet," you side-eye him while downing the last drop of your champagne, slowly licking your lips. his eyes flicker there for a split moment.

"how do you know?"

the question makes you quiet, tapping your glass. "think of it like this; everyone starts off as a cocoon. eventually as time goes by, we evolve into butterflies. the cocoon represents our innocence; the purity and unawareness of what's to come in life. once we sprout into butterflies, we become tarnished, facing the real world and learning to adapt to its cruelty. life can be beautiful, but it's always painful no matter how happy or dismal we are. it's our choice to fly in the direction we want for ourselves even when the harshness of life beats us down. butterflies only live for so long. we disintegrate after inhumane amounts of stress, loneliness, or tragic events that take a toll on us, removing the power of staying beautiful. we show beauty to the public but don't feel it when everything around us is falling apart. but we can't make life harder on ourselves by dwelling on what we can't have rather than pushing for what we can have."

aki is speechless, half-understanding what you meant. "are you saying alexander is a butterfly that can't fly?"

"he's more like a mosquito, latching onto those who want to sprout into a butterfly but sucks the nutrients from them for his pleasure. he's a fraud. he'll never be a butterfly because he simply can't."

"did he steal from you? is that why you resent him?"

"no," you bluntly state, although aki doesn't believe you.

he takes the fork from you, cutting you another slice before holding it towards your lips, waiting for you to bite. you looked like you needed it. the drowsiness in your eyes may have indicated that you were tipsy. you giggle, shaking your head before he feeds you, your big eyes captivating him more. "is there something you want?"

"you."

aki nearly chokes and he's not even the one eating, your bluntness throwing him in a spiral of emotions.

"am i beautiful to you?" you lean closer, aki swallowing, scanning his surroundings. most of everyone remained in the living area, the two of you far behind a wall near the glass door of the terrace. he could smell your scent better, a sweet smell of caramel. soft skin shimmering with glitter.

"very."

"so what's stopping you? you got a girlfriend or somethin'?"

"n-no, it's just. i barely know you."

"that's part of the thrill," he watches as your small wrist turns and your palm is flat outward. "come upstairs with me."

like any man would, his feet walked on their own, stupidly following behind you up the black marble staircase, hand in yours as his eyes watched your hips switch.

"what's your name?" that should've been the first thing you asked, idiot.

"[♡]."

"i'm aki."

"i know who you are."

that's right, alexander introduced him to everyone after his reading right before supper. things felt like they went too quickly. aki didn't know who he was at this moment, completely floating out of his body and letting you take over like a spell. he was entranced. one thing leads to another, you're locking the door to one of the four bedrooms here. aki's sitting on the bed while you walk around, talking to him more about anything. his age, his aspirations in life. nonsense, basically. until he notices something.

a room with an open bay window revealing the late-night city of new york, stars in the sky, skyscrapers high. the breeze is warm, the air making the fabric of your dress rise just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pink thong you wore. he's gulping, your legs shifting and a grin coming on your face as you see the tint of red blush across his cheeks. you're leaned against the window, toes pressing into your other foot, a gold anklet with the first letter of your name clasped on your skin. your shoes were off, and in between your two fingers sat a blunt, maybe about three inches now since you were too busy talking, letting it burn away.

once you flick it out the window, you fully turn to face him, sharp nails skidding up your thighs teasingly slow until the hem of your dress rises fully, and he's staring at the belly button piercing you have. your thick thighs, your curves, and your nipple when you moan and lift your arms to stretch and one of the straps falls down your shoulders.

"oops," you're pouting, and aki's had enough. he got it now. he understood why you wanted him to come up here. the liquor buzzing in your veins, and going straight to your clit like a drug. you wanted him the moment you saw him. you needed him, for more reasons than one.

aki was always one to put a woman's pleasure before his own. so when he saw you drop to your knees to crawl towards him, dainty hands trailing up his clothed thighs until you're undoing his belt and he's biting his lip. . . he was drawn in further. pulling him out of the confinement of his jeans, holding his pulsating dick in your hand, darting your tongue out, and pressing it flat to the aching head. he's squeezing his eyes shut when he's deep in your throat after a while, moaning around him and twisting your hand along as your mouth glides. his hand is in your hair, gathering some of it in his large fist while leaning back a bit to see those gorgeous eyes of yours stare into his, slightly watery. he liked that. he liked you.

"nnn, baby. like that," he's throwing his head back, jaw slacked as he tried to keep his voice down, not daring to let too much slip out regarding the guests below them. eyes back on you, he's watching as your hips gyrate in the air, desperately needing to be touched.

it's so foreign, this level of intimacy. it's been so long since he's had his dick buried deep in anything. sure, he masturbates like any other human being, but it's a rarity. he's so consumed in work that by the time he goes home he's knocked out in slumber, not even thinking about grabbing his fleshlight to fulfill his pleasure. the last time he had sex was at the beginning of his freshman year of college. it was some girl in his cutlery class who invited him over for late-night drinks, leading to more than just that. it was frequent until he realized he was failing courses because of the distraction and had to get back on track, so, he called it quits.

now he's pulling you up, feverishly pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, lips smacking, tongues bumping. you're keening when his thick fingers clasp around your throat as you straddle his waist, clinging to his shirt you eventually pull over his head. it's as if the both of you forgot that people were here and might hear you, but neither of you cared. aki's not even scolding you when you're moaning too loud the second he has you beneath him, your clothing still on, barely, and his jeans and briefs clinging to his ankles, your knees to your chest as his hot mouth latches around your puffy clit, back arching off the plush mattress.

the metal from his pierced tongue rushing against you as he holds the back of one of your thighs to keep them up, grunting and swallowing your arousal. you're whining so much it has his dick twitching, pulling on his hair not helping either. you're rocking your hips with urgency, legs twitching after he lifts his head to spit, collecting his saliva with two fingers before curling them into you, holding your stomach down while he shakes his fingers. that alone has you convulsing around him, tears in your eyes as you whimper his name and squirm helplessly, his lips kissing your inner thighs.

coming down from your high, aki's already propping himself behind you, turning you on your side while he laid on his, leveraging your head with his forearm underneath your neck, fingers in your mouth you suck while glaring at him. he curses, monotoned voice rasping, "don't do that."

"do what?" you hum, wrapping your lips around them again and moaning.

aki clenches his jaw, lifting your right leg to open you up before slipping inside, hearing you gasp as you adjust to the stretch. both of you groan in unison, turning your face to the side to kiss him while your nails clawed at his hip, then his ass as he rolls into you, too horny to be gentle and snapping his hips hard against your ass, grunting, "i heard you, girl," and drilling faster. your eyes scroll to the back of your head, aki swallowing the breath out of you as he sucks on your bottom lip and chokes you, the two of you whining in each other's mouth, muffling the noise although the skin interaction didn't cease.

he's brutal, a different person when in this form of bond. dropping your leg and reaching between to rub at your clit, heavy breaths on your neck as he hides his face there. you can easily smell the citrus scent of his shampoo, his scent overall a main attraction when he stepped toward you. . . like lavender. when he's nearing his climax, he gropes your chest, slurring, "be a good girl and cum all over me, baby. can i feel it this time?" and you nod, doing just as he says, his taunts and praises making your gut swim with butterflies.

you try not to scream as he licks and bites your neck sloppily, dazed. instead, you grab a pillow nearby and stuff part of it in your mouth, aki's face hovering over you as tears leak from your eyes and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. aki holds you close by your waist, taking a few more pumps before he furrows his brows and slowly pulls out, cumming on your flush skin with a hiss. by this time, his hair had fallen down his face completely, and even in your fucked out state, you reach up to rake through it with a lazy smile. aki chuckles, kissing your forehead before building the strength to find a cloth to clean you up. luckily, there's an en-suite bathroom, giving him access to warm water and toiletries.

fixing his posture in the mirror, he's rubbing his face and adjusting his clothes to appear as he did when he arrived; neat and professional. although what he just did wasn't so classy of him. he fucked some woman he barely knew at a millionaires home. work, he was working. not here for personal pleasure. he wanted to slap himself for being so easily enraptured. no one had to know about it. he only hoped not a soul downstairs heard what went on.

he's good to go, done scolding himself and turning off the bathroom light before stepping out. he finds you perched up, sipping a miniature bottle of crown royal you found in the bedside mini-fridge, sniffling your nose and blankly staring out the window. aki comes forward, gently grasping your thigh and gliding the wet cloth over your skin, the silence awkward.

"dandelions.”

aki's eyes slowly drift to your face, staring in confusion. "what?"

he notices how eerily slow tears built up in your eyes, gripping the bottle harder before exhaling. "dandelions," now you're finally looking at him, the coldness on your face making him anxious. "that's where his body is."

your voice is like vanilla. it's one thing about you that he grew infatuated with. it's one of the many reasons he was captured by you, brought to where he was now. standing at the bedside as he watched tears pool down your broken face. body? what body?  he grew cold, nervously eyeing you as you sniffled, standing to fix your hair, dress, and walking around the bed to slip back into your heels.

“wait," he goes to grab your arm when you try to walk out the door. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

the deadness in your eyes scares him even more, and he's panicking when you say, "alex."

“alexander?!" he shouts, dragging you away from the exit, hands on either side of your shoulders as he eyes you, his own wide. heart pumping drastically. "what did you do? where is he?"

"by the dandelions on the terrace," blunt, again. as if you aren't phased at all by his reaction. "follow me."

he's stunned, unable to fully process what you were telling him. he already assumed the worst when the term 'body' came to light. though his heart raced heavily in his chest, his feet blindly dragged in your direction. cautiously watching your every move in case he had to protect himself. fuck, he didn't have any weapon. then again, he's sure he could easily handle you, knock you out if he needed to. lock you in a closet and alert the hundreds of guest just below their feet. that's right, there are still people here. and if you mentioned alexander, how the fuck and when the fuck did you have the time to . . . kill him? 

"[♡]," he began to speak your name, but your head was in the clouds, ignoring anything that came out of his mouth as you cut into a passageway that led to a grand master bedroom, then facing the terrace you spoke of. he was nervous, your neck turning to eye him as you step onto the gravel, blankly staring down at something. he couldn't see from where he stood, matter of fact, he didn't want to see.

"he's here," you say. "he's here."

aki has no choice but to advance forward, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut from the upcoming scare of a human’s body. and not just any human, the alexander bodari. a flaccid arm sticks out from beside a bush, palm facing the sky, details of a struggle bruised into his hand as the skin in the area seemed peeled. aki’s heart drops the closer he gets, hand covering his mouth as he stares down at the lifeless body laying in a pool of blood. the aluminum wire draped around his neck stained with blood gave aki the answer he needed when it came to the cause. you strangled him to death. the question remains; who are you and how were you affiliated with alexander? most importantly, why’d you kill him?

“i don’t understand,” is all he can get out.

“the proof is in his first novel,” you utter, and he’s still confused. “the story about the woman who’s trapped in the psychopaths basement? it was about me.”

aki couldn’t grasp the thought of you being the woman from the novel star always talked about. that you had been the victim of his story. that it was a real life phenomena. that he met you, slept with you, and now you want him to, what . . . cover up a murder in a house filled with two hundred guests?

“he painted this image as if he was the most prestigious man on the planet. he made money off of real events. events that played out by torturing me, and using me to get his ‘creative juices flowing.’ he needed a test subject. he was a sick man who deserved to die,” tears pour down your face, the anger in your tone thick and pent up from years of pain and sorrow. “he was my father’s partner. my father despised me simply because of my resemblance of my mother and my rebellion against him. when he died from heart failure, in his will, he married me to alex.”

“that’s fucking. . . sick. i didn’t think that was possible in this day and age.”

you scoff with agreement. “yeah. he watched me grow from a preteen to making me his wife. sick bastard for sure.”

aki wants to vomit from this information. still unable to wrap his head around any of it. his hands sit on his hips as he stares up at the sky and blows a raspberry, try to keep his nerves together. you watch him with sadness, and maybe regret. you weren’t intentionally planning for this to happen. though part of you wanted someone to save you. to see the real you and rescue you from this torment.

“i know this is probably the last thing you expected to happen. i apologize for dragging you into this. i just didn’t know what else to do. i felt hopeless. and i refused to let his popularity run by making another fortune of a sick novel.”

“did he attack you?” he asks.

“he didn’t,” you clarify. “i think i just finally snapped. granted, tonight of all nights wasn’t the correct setting.”

aki makes a face that reads ‘fucking clearly’ as he rubs both palms down his face. he doesn’t know whether to run and call you insane or feel sympathy for a victim. but, murder is murder. and now, standing here with you, that’d make him an accomplice. as scary as that was, he couldn’t risk his future career. but he was stuck in a pickle. he wanted to help you.

“there are clear signs of struggle, so we have to make it look like an accident,” aki suggests, but immediately, you shake your head in disagreement.

“they won’t believe that. he’s one of the wealthiest men in new york. it’ll be a huge investigation.”

“then the only answer would be to tell the truth,” he finalized.

“the . . truth?”

aki nods, pulling you toward him and stepping away from the body, chills still going up his spin and goosebumps on his arms. “listen to me, you can tell the world exactly who you are and what he’s done to you. you have proof. transactions, marriage certificate, i’m sure there’s documents for days in his computer that can prove what he’s put you through. there’s evidence somewhere.”

“and if i tell the world, who’s to say they’ll believe me?”

“i believe you,” aki says. your eyes fill with hope, and thankfulness. “people will have their opinions, but we know the truth. do you have anyone else that can be your alibi?”

you think long and hard, until it hits you. “the maid. she’s been working for him ever since i moved in after my father died. she’s fed me, helped me heal wounds . . even get rid of his unborn child i lost after too much stress.”

“jesus christ,” he bows his head in disbelief. “where is she now?”

“luckily, the kitchen. the woman with the braided red hair. she promised me she’d always protect me. after his book succeeded he became nicer to me, gave me a ‘real’ marriage. she was like his mother, always scolding him when he raised his voice at me or wouldn’t let me live my life. it’s all so depressing.”

“okay. it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” aki comforts you as you begin to sob once again, cradling your head in his chest.

the night ends in the blink of an eye. aki takes you into another room and wraps a blanket around you as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the police. he finds the woman you spoke of, pulls her to the side and informs her of the tragedy above. she herself looks relieved. not at all shocked by what played out, as if she knew you’d go through with it. aki guesses he truly was a horrible man. and to think he would’ve worked for him in the future. the police arrive shortly after the woman goes to check on you, insuring that everything would be okay, and that she’d stick to the full story. the police instructs everyone the leave the premises, aki being questioned for a full hour, this home becoming a crime scene, and all of their faces full of black ink on the daily news the next morning.

aki will never forget the chilling smirk on your face as they removed alexander’s body from the terrace. it was . . haunting.

[pizzabox-box]

First, a little something I did of DMW Peppino and BMB Noise...

Blind Man's Bluff, Part 3

Faker kneaded his pizza dough and thought back on the day's events, blinking furiously. Ugh, it was hard to work when his eyes were still burning! He had barely even licked the Sound, so why had he thrown leemondayd in his face? He hadn't even tasted good - like that time he went looking for a snack Noisette said she'd had in her purse, only to find her blush compact instead. Yuck. Such an overreaction! Ow. Ow.

Faker rubbed his eyes and screeched in frustration. He had done everything he had been told to do! He had wound up doing the rest of the chase scene almost blind, crashing into things. Fortunately, the Sound had said they had nailed the shot on the first take, so they wouldn't have to do it again.

His train of thought was interrupted by the front door opening. Two pink and yellow blurs entered, and the other clones started trilling happily. "Hi, buddy!" a perky voice called out. Faker smiled as he recognized Noisette's voice. Noise looked around the dining area nervously, and jumped when a few clones started sniffing him, curious about the copious amount of cologne he was wearing. Noisette turned back and smiled. "It's ok, Theo, they won't hurt you!" she reassured him. Noise smiled sheepishly. "Uh, yeah. I knew that!" he stammered, though he was still visibly nervous.

Noisette set a box on the counter in front of Faker. She told him, "Theo felt pretty bad about what happened earlier, so we made cupcakes together to apologize! Well, I baked them, and Theo frosted them. But still!" Faker sniffed the baked goods. They were piled high with frosting, and smelled strongly of chocolate. Maybe a little too strong. Faker did something that could be best described as a sneeze. "Bless you!" Noisette giggled. Noise chuckled. "Yeah, I guess we both got too into the part. You really spooked me there! Really thought I was finished for a minute."

Noise pulled out a lighter and lit the candle on one of the cupcakes. "Happy Birthday," he remarked. Noisette laughed. "It's not his birthday, Theo!" "I'm trying, ok?!" Noise exclaimed, exasperated. Then he looked up at the clock, hung at an atrocious angle on the wall, and gasped. "Oh man, is that the time?" he asked, looking at his watch. "We're late for that meeting! We need to go!" He grabbed Noisette by the hand and started out the door. Noisette waved goodbye to her goopy friend. "Bye-bye, Peppino! Hope you enjoy the cupcakes!" And then they were gone. Faker pulled out one of the cupcakes that wasn't on fire. It looked good! That was nice of the Sound, he thought, as he shoved the entire thing in his mouth.

Doise got Noisette settled in the passenger seat, then hurriedly walked around to the driver's seat. It was time to leave. He was way too close to that chef's restaurant. He knew Noise way, way too well - apparently they had been rivals since before Noise and Noisette even met! As Doise fumbled with the keys, he became aware of a sniffing at his neck. "Hey, Noise, where have you been?" a voice asked. He jumped and spun around. Ugh, it was the gnome and his rat. Brick sniffed him again and hissed. Gustavo stroked his rat soothingly. "Easy, there, Brick, he won't try anything. Right?" Brrr, Doise did not like how the gnome was looking at him.

Noisette waved from the passenger seat. "Hi, Gustavo!" she chimed. Gustavo waved back. "Hey, Noisette! So, what have you two been up to recently? Haven't seen you around here in a while." Doise stammered as his mind raced. He needed an excuse! "W-well, we've been filming a movie for the past... how long has it been? Uh, full - full-time commitment, you know." He leaned against the car nonchalantly. They needed to leave. Now.

"Full-time, huh?" Doise looked behind himself, and screamed outright. There was the stocky Italian looming over him, tank top and hat a dangerous rose color against the green grass. Then he stopped and looked again, panting. No, no, this man's eyes were normal, no empty sockets. Under the outrageous pink, he wore a plain black shirt and pants. It wasn't Peddito after all. Doise growled. "Don't sneak up on me like that!" he shrieked.

Peppino looked Noise up and down. Something wasn't right. Noise looked him up and down in response. "And what's with the get-up? You look like someone slammed their thumb in the car door," he remarked, gesturing to Peppino's outfit. Peppino sighed. "I ruined my last normal top this morning's shift, and I have to wait for the washing machine to finish. This was the last thing in my closet." He glared at Gustavo as he said this, and the gnome looked pretty sheepish. That sounded like a can of worms for another day.

Instead, Peppino redirected his attention to the twitchy gremlin in front of him. He knew Noise's mannerisms well, and although he appeared normal to other people, it was small, almost imperceptible things that Peppino noticed immediately. He was constantly averting his eyes in a way no one else would notice. Noise was usually obnoxious with his eye contact (did he even blink?) Actually, those eyes...

Doise noticed Peppino leaning in, trying to get a better look at his eyes, and took several steps back. He had been fortunate up until now that no one had tried to look straight into his eyes, but until those red contacts came in, he had to be careful. "Hey, hey, hey, what are you doing? Your breath reeks, keep away," he exclaimed, putting a hand up to keep the chef from getting closer. This was another red flag for Peppino. Noise had zero sense of personal space. "Something's not - " he began.

A loud explosion and a flash of fire stopped the entire interaction. Noisette screamed, and everybody turned to watch Peppino's Pizza 2 go up in flames. "Oh, my gosh!" Gustavo exclaimed, watching the inferno rise. Doise whistled. "Honestly, kinda surprised it didn't happen sooner, huh, Peppino," he remarked, as he attempted to casually hide a smug grin. The clone had nearly ruined his makeup and given him away, and this was the penalty. He had no idea whether Faker had figured it out, but he was not taking chances.

"Is he ok?!" Noisette squeaked, worried. Doise slid into the driver's seat and put his arm around her. "Have you seen the guy? I'm sure he'll be fine! Back in business within the week," he reassured her as he started the car. "Wait - " Peppino began. "Sorry, pal, we gotta go! Appointment to keep!" And with a beep of the horn, they drove off.

Peppino turned towards Gustavo. "Gus, did you notice anything wrong with Noise?" he asked. Gustavo thought about it. "Not particularly, but that doesn't mean anything. Why?" Peppino didn't answer, instead turning to watch the burning building across the street. Several clones were fleeing the blaze, but no sign of their leader yet. Peppino mused to himself. Something was very wrong with his rival. He just couldn't place it.

Faker had already been freaked out by the explosion of painful, sour acid in his mouth when he devoured the cupcake, but when the bomb went off, spraying burning juice and pulp everywhere, he just about lost his mind. Everything burned, he was fully blind, he tried to scream, but his mouth was melting together, he had no idea where the door was anymore, he could hear the fire roaring and the othet clones abandoning ship. The roof started to cave in. A pile of burning rubble fell on top of him. He managed to ooze his way out, but it burned so much, it was way too hot - he could feel parts of his body stiffen up, and smelled something baking -

He felt two pairs of hands grab him by the arms and drag him out of the burning restaurant. One felt like Peppino, the other reminded him of Noise. They didn't smell like either of them, though - in fact, they didn't smell like anything at all, as if they weren't even there. He heard the pizzeria collapsing behind him in a cloud of ash and smoke. Someone rubbed him with some sort of powder, and he felt the acid on his skin fizzle like one of those bath bomb things. It was soothing. It tasted strange, but he'd eaten worse. Stung his already burning eyes, though.

Faker managed to pull himself together somewhat. It would be a long time before he was back to being himself, let alone speaking his version of a cohesive sentence, but he was stable again, not in as much danger of dropping dead. Peddito looked over at Noise. The banshee was trembling in rage. Peddito echoed the sentiment. Doise had definitely crossed a line - now, how to stop him without putting even more lives at risk? Peddito racked his brain for possible solutions. Doise was very good at his craft. He seemed to have all his bases covered!

Peddito sighed and turned to watch Noise start clawing at the ground in rage, screaming slurs that hadn't even been invented yet. What to do? Peddito wanted Doise dead even more than Noise did...

But he didn't want the blood of another innocent on his hands.

He felt like somehow, he was being watched. He turned around, and saw a flying purple TV camera pointed at the scene.

He somehow doubted the person on the other side would be much help. In fact, he had the sneaking suspicion that this would turn out to be another roadblock...

Previous part

OH BOY, what a rollercoaster! The tension rises!

I can't believe Doise tried to kill off Faker—well... actually, I can believe it. Thank gosh those two specters showed up! Once Fakey puts together that Doise is responsible for his restaurant going down, he’ll have another person going after his neck. And don’t even get me started on what’ll happen once he finds out about Noisette. His restaurant and Noisette are the two things he cares the most about.

Also, Pizzahead coming in next? That will be interesting! That pizza cares most about his entertainment. Looking forward to seeing where it goes next!

Thank you for another part! I seriously enjoy this series!

Also thank you for this art you send me some time ago!

he screwed up :(

[becsabillion4]

take it out on me (carmen berzatto x reader)

so this is my first time posting a fic of mine on tumblr since i was 14 and i'm slightly terrified by the formatting but i posted this on ao3 yesterday and someone told me to post here too (<3) so i hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoy the thought of getting pounded by carmy in the walk-in

pairing : carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary : Carmy is having a terrible service, and you're sure some time in the walk-in will help him cool off (although it gets hotter in there than you might think).

word count : 4,410

tags: SMUT, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie, choking, semi-public sex, ending with soft carmy which makes it all okay, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and also this is NOT an advert for safe sex, it is merely a fantasy i have been playing with since my own days as a waitress and carmy has helped me to realise it. also i'm obsessed and i know y'all degenerates won't send help so instead i ask that you send me asks so i can write more about this wonderful man

Disorienting. Overwhelming. Stressful, painful, unrelenting. Burning your hand hard enough for it to stick to the pan, hard enough that you know on the way to the sink it’s too late, that you’ll bear the scar of that mistake for the rest of your life. Knives slicing always so close to your skin, living on the point of pain, focus trained so hard on the blade you can’t even blink. Shouting, screaming, the place could be on fire, and you wouldn’t look up from the art you’re creating. Flames licking at your apron. Beautiful.

Kitchens are the prison and the heart of a chef, and the one at The Bear is currently the pride and the bane of your life. Plating up your one billionth focaccia of the evening as Marcus rushes by holding a tray of cannolis aloft, you try to tune out Sydney shouting instructions to the new servers, trying to drill something, anything, into their panicked, under-developed skulls. 

But none of this worries you. What worries you is the ominous, creeping silence from the station to your right, where you know Carmy is cooking up not only the best food you’ve ever tasted, but an internal storm that is going to be unleashed any, second, now-

“Chefs! Where the fuck is my garnish? Tina, are you dead? ‘Cos you need to wake the fuck back up.”

Tina is already by Carmy’s side with the garnish, but the damage is done. She doesn’t bristle at his words, but shoots you a worried look as she slides by, murmuring, “Sorry, Chefs. Behind.”

Since you started working at The Bear six months back, you’ve witnessed a rare few Carmy outbursts, and you know everyone feels the same way when they happen. It’s like the moment you miss a step on familiar stairs, stomach lurching and fear sweeping through your body. Carmy is this kitchen, and his boiling point is the moment things tend to spin out of control. 

And yet, Tina’s reaction is everyone’s; disappointment in herself, instant forgiveness because she knows Carmy is doing everything he can for this team. Last week, after you and Sydney spent the evening getting wasted on her couch, she’d confessed to you how hard Carmy took his notorious opening night failure, and how he’s been struggling to make up for it since then. And it’s been working; his kindness, patience, and passion for elevating those around him have always outshone the occasional harsh word during service.

But this service is just bad. It’s been bad since 5AM, when you got here to take in the delivery and found out that the grapes needed for the welcome broth had somehow been left off of the order. It’s been bad since Marcus ruined three batches of cannolis in a row, and when Sydney tried to touch his shoulder and ask him what was going on, he stormed out. Since Sydney snapped at Richie for singing Taylor Swift badly during family. The hundred little underlying frissons of tension that normally dissipate as soon as service rolls around have congealed today, like oil in balsamic vinegar, rubbing together but refusing to meld into the team you know everyone can be.

And you know Carmy can feel it. His anger is a physical thing beside you, like standing next to a hot pan with too much oil in it and just waiting for it to start spitting at you. Knowing you have to keep stirring it anyway.

“Four top, two steak, one bucatini, one fish,” Sydney rattles off, and everyone responds “Yes, Chef!” a little too loud.

“Can I get some hands for this focaccia,” you shout through the din, pushing the two boards forward, but nobody responds. “Hands, please, get these off my station before I eat ‘em!” you call, trying to bring some levity to the atmosphere before-

“Hands, fuckin’ hands, Chefs, FUCK!” Carmy explodes, appearing by your side so suddenly you almost jump. His hands hover over the foccacia boards like he wants to adjust something on them, fix something, but you know as well as he does that they’re perfect already.

And of course, this just makes things worse.

Carmy properly looks up for the first time, straightening out of the “chef about to have an aneurysm over plating this fish” posture and into his “everyone here is about to get fucked” pose. “These are good to go, why are we not? Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ. Go fuck yourselves-” one of the new waitresses approaches with trembling hands and Carmy pushes the boards at her, disgusted, almost taking them over the edge of the pass, “-all of you, what is the point of any of us being here if nothing is leaving the fucking kitchen!”

“Carm, it’s okay, they’re going out,” you can’t help cutting in, but you should know better than to try to soothe a wild animal. Carmy doesn’t say anything, turns back to plating up his fish, but his beautiful artist’s hands, which you often find yourself trying to draw in the margins of inventory checks, are shaking now. You’ve never seen him this bad. The whole kitchen waits on a knife edge. You glance up, watching the waitress leave with your focaccia, and have a brief but fervent desire to be her as the doors swing her out of this hellhole.

The fish is beautiful as Carmy puts the finishing touches to it. A server steps up to take it as other dishes for the same table coalesce at the front of stations, all elegant, all perfect, all more than worthy of the restaurant’s Michelin star.

Carmy is completely still. Staring. And you know it’s too late.

Plunging his fist down, he crushes the fish into sea-scented pulp. The shells of oysters, hand-selected, crack into broken-mirror shards; the sauce is peppered with shoddy scraps of lobster tail.

It’s still not enough for Carmy, as he picks up the plate and sends it spinning into the back wall, narrowly missing Sweeps’ head. “ Shit, ” Carmy mutters, turning back to his station and searching for more things to destroy. You watch him contemplate the knives, and you can’t stay out of it any longer.

“Carmy. Chef. Carmy,” you say as you reach out to grab his muscled arm, pulling him round to face you. You can feel the tension corded deep under his skin, see the sheen of sweat coating his tattoos. Normally, any skin contact with him sends your brain into overdrive, but you can’t afford to be anything but calm right now.

His eyes are wild, but you watch him steadily, and he watches you straight back. You’re not sure why, but the moment reminds you of how you felt on those rare occasions he invited you and Syd over to brainstorm new recipes in his cramped kitchen. Especially that time Sydney couldn’t make it, and you were midway through describing your idea for a yuzu-infused scallops course to him - “with maybe, like, a garnish of broccoli just absolutely smothered in hollandaise” - when he reached forward, tucked a scrap of hair behind your ear, and the very idea of food whisked straight out of your head - but you still felt hungry. And whilst he’d tried out your broccoli idea over and over again that night, you found yourself blushing every time he passed you a spoon to taste it. 

You never could get that dish right. Every time you thought about it, you couldn’t separate the flavours from the curious look in his eyes, the way he drank in your ideas, absorbed them before he responded, how his eyes tracked every thought that crossed your face.

Now here you are again, staring at that measured, thoughtful man turned savage, and you wonder if you have the guts to do what you’ve been thinking about doing for a while.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you murmur beneath the clatter of plates behind you, just for him. You don’t look away even when you hear something shatter. You move your hand from his arm, up over his shoulder, push your palm into the curve of his neck and hold it there. 

Then you wait, feel his shoulders jumping up and down with his rapid breathing. Wait until he leans into it a little, chasing your solidity, and it’s all the response you need.

“Come with me.” It’s not a question, but he nods anyway.

“Sydney, you got this?” You ask, never taking your eyes from Carmy’s face, worried that if you do, you’ll lose whatever grip you have on him right now.

“Yes, Chef,” she replies, and you feel her edge round the side of Carmy to put another fish on rapid fire. He catches her eye as she passes, and brings his hand up to his chest, rubbing it once in what has become the team’s official way to apologise during service. She responds in kind, and he lets you drag him off the station, past the others shooting him worried looks, straight into the walk-in.

You shut the door carefully, recalling the stories of Carmy’s previous imprisonment. It’s still securely closed, giving you both some calm and privacy to cool off.

Except cooling off is not really what you have in mind.

You turn to see Carmy slumped in the corner, curled in on himself and running his hands through his already-chaotic hair. He stands again suddenly, bracing his hands on the wall behind him as if to remind himself they exist.

“Carmy.”

“Yeah, shit. Sorry, I just need a second. It’s just, I didn’t sleep at all last night. I was thinking about doing something with ceviche, but I couldn’t figure out what fish would work best, and then that sorta spiralled into a panic attack which kept me up whisking eggs for something until three, and then-” You watch his eyes darting over the shelves around him as he talks, and you realise he’s taking stock of what’s there. Even during a full-blown meltdown, he cannot stop working, stop thinking. He starts pacing.

“Carmy,” you say again as you try to catch his eye. He’s staring at some spare T-bones like they’ll explain to him whatever dish he was whisking eggs for last night. Fuck it. You grab his chin, tilt it until he has to look at you.

“D’you know the best way to calm down?”

“Lock yourself in the walk-in for three hours?” He’s trying to relieve some tension, but you have other ideas on how to handle that.

“Sex, Carmy.”

There. You’re terrified that you finally acknowledged it, finally confessed to what you’ve been thinking about for months, but thank God it’s out in the open. You’ve been blushing at his compliments on your food for far too long, ignoring how good he looks in a white tee for even longer. And today has been such a shitshow it can’t possibly get any worse by admitting to this too.

You wait for Carmy to shut it down, laugh it off, maybe even fire you, but he just looks shellshocked. Then again, that is his default look.

“I, um…” He rubs a hand over his forehead, glances up at you almost shyly. “I mean, um. What?”

“Listen, you’re fucking up service. You’re distracted, tired, stressed beyond belief. I want to help you, and I won’t pretend it’s just out of the goodness of my own heart. I’ve been interested in you for a while, Carmy. You can take that or leave it or kick me out of this walk-in if you want, but I’m here. I want to help you work through things, through all this anger. And…I want you to know you can take it out on me. And maybe even feel better at the same time.”

Carmy is flushed, and you’re all out of words. You kind of wish he was still looking at the T-bones.

“We, uh, we can’t.” Carmy leans back on a freezer for support, crossing his arms in a pose you normally associate with him working something out in his head, deciding what a dish is missing or what it needs to take it up a notch. “I mean, not now. Not here, at least. And I don’t know, we work together. I’m your boss. It’s not a good idea.” He reaches a hand round to his back, starts massaging the strain away there. It’s an especially effective position as he doesn’t have to look at you as he does it, as he says, “Sorry.”

You shrug a little, smile. Try to pretend it doesn’t hurt. Keep it professional, or as professional as you can get in a kitchen. “Hey, it was worth a shot. Get some sleep, Chef.”

You turn to go, hoping that stirring and slicing and plating up will shake off the embarrassment currently burning through to your bones.

But you don’t live to regret the offer as Carmy grabs your arm, spins you and shoves you hard enough into the walk-in door that it rattles on its hinges.

“Hey, everything okay in there Chefs?” you hear Marcus call, and it’s a reality check you absolutely don’t want right now. Carmy doesn’t even seem to have heard him, trailing kisses down your neck, collarbone, shoulder as your body arches into the feeling. You’ve had one too many fantasies about this walk-in since you started, but the actual feeling doesn’t begin to touch the dream.

“Yeah, all good Chef!” You manage to reply, but you barely get the ‘Chef’ out before Carmy’s lips slide over yours, pushing, demanding entry as his body keeps you pressed up against the door. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place, is all you have time to think between kisses.

There is no room or time for playing around. Carmy needs this, and you intend to provide, but you’re damn sure getting everything you can out of it just in case it never happens again. One of your hands curls deep into his hair, pulling his head back as your teeth click together in the ferocity of the kiss. You swear you can taste blood, but neither one of you pulls back, the saltiness only urging you on. Your other hand is busy loosening his belt, and you tug it hard to pull the silver prong free of the leather, hard enough that his hips jerk forward into yours and you moan, long and low.

Gravity suddenly spins on its axis as Carmy lifts you, turns and drops you down onto the freezer Fak installed last week. And for once in your life, thank you, Fak. The movement seems to shake Carmy out of it for a second, and he pulls back, hesitates. A hand curves around your cheek, and you can feel an apology coming, see the reticence forming in his eyes. And honestly, fuck that.

You hook fingers through his belt loops, dragging him closer and then using them to tug his trousers down. You’re not gentle as you reach into his underwear, wrap a hand around his cock, and you can tell that’s what he needs as he hisses, his head drifting back.

Removing his hand from your cheek, you guide it slowly down to your neck. His head snaps up, and there’s a darkness, a need, that wasn’t there before as you move your hand slowly, torturously, down his length.

“Hey,” you whisper, reluctant to interrupt the low grunts spilling from him with each of your movements. “I’m not going to break.”

You squeeze his fingers around your throat a little tighter, and it’s this that has him surging forward, messy mouths pressing together again and everything condensing into a rippling, burning, rightness as the fingers of his other hand shove themselves between your legs.

He lingers there for a moment, breaths short and sharp in your ear as he breaks free from your kiss and whispers, “If we had more time, I would clean up the mess you’re making all over my freezer, Chef.”

“My apologies, Chef,” you pant, the sweetness of the apology marred slightly by your fingers tugging hard through his curls. Then you’re pushing up his white shirt at the back, reveling in the heat of him, the muscles straining under your touch. “What’s my punishment?”

Carmy hesitates, then withdraws his fingers from you slowly, and it feels like the calm before the storm. One hand is still pressed loosely around your neck as he brings the other up to your face, runs the edge of his still-wet fingers over your lips. Asking or demanding, you don’t know, but you’re happy to comply. His pupils are blown so wide you can barely see the blue behind them, and when you slide your mouth over his fingers, taste yourself on him, he closes them in momentary bliss. And it’s so beautiful to see that you can’t resist pulling him in to share.

A Michelin-star chef with one of the most sophisticated palates on the planet. A renowned food critic once wrote of him, “In my next life, I’d like to be just one of the taste buds in Carmen Berzatto’s mouth.” And here he is, savouring you, tongue searching out every corner of your mouth as if he wants to figure out each and every component of your taste. Add the recipe of you to his menu, and make it every night.

You’re both done waiting, and the clock is ticking. You can faintly hear Sydney calling orders through the wall, although she sounds steadier now. You don’t know whether anyone out there knows what you’re doing, but a rampaging elephant couldn’t stop Sydney when she’s on a roll.

Carmy pulls you closer to the freezer’s edge, jeans and underwear falling to his ankles and suddenly he is right there, and-

“Oh, fuck,” is all you can say as he pushes forward in one swift, animal movement. And oh, pain flickers down your spine as he slides almost free of you and thrusts back, relentless, and this is exactly what you signed up for.

“ Fuck ,” he echoes, hand sliding down your neck to settle over your racing heart. “Fuck, you…I don’t know how you do this to me,” he pants, and you try to keep your moaning down so you can hear as words spill from him, “When you come in with your hair down before a shift, when you - ah - when you borrow my knife and I see you using it all service, when you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. Shit. You drive me crazy on purpose, and you wanna know what the worst part is?”

You can’t breathe, let alone answer him.

“The worst part is I eat that shit up every time, ” he snarls, punctuating every word with a short, sharp thrust.

This is the animal you saw tonight, spitting curses, destroying his own food, all sharp edges and uncompromising will. Grunting as he bottoms out inside you, fingers clenched around your upper thigh hard enough to bruise, littering bites over your neck as if your colleagues aren’t an unlocked door away.

But the animal isn’t the end of Carmen Berzatto. There is more to him than the bear, and you intend to remind him of that before you’re through.

“Look around you,” you pant as he thrusts again, harder, sweeter, and you have to get this out before you tip over the edge. So you risk bringing the hand you were using to support yourself forward to turn his chin towards the walk-in’s walls, to beyond them, to the restaurant hard at work and the satisfied diners metres away who have no idea what’s going on in here, and fuck if that doesn’t make it all the more delicious. “Look what you made. Look who you are.” You watch his flushed face, hope he understands the praise, but you can’t hold on anymore to see your words land.

“You’re fuckin’ unbelievable, Carmy,” is all you manage to choke out as every muscle in your body lights up, tenses and releases in a flood so strong you wonder if you’ll ever surface, and if you even want to.

Carmy fucks forward into you twice more, and his head drops onto your shoulder as he groans, shudders, relaxes fully for what may be the first time in his life.

You stroke a hand over his head, pull him closer. You’re not quite sure when this stopped being a no-holds-barred quickie and became a quiet, intense embrace, but it feels right. All the desperation, the keyed-up energy, is gone from him. And if he never wants anything more than that, even though the idea is more than a little disappointing, you can take consolation from the fact that you at least managed to stop a raging Carmy in his tracks.

Although it is a little quiet.

“Carmy?” You ask, hesitant to break the silence. Thankfully, it still sounds like it’s all bustle outside. You wonder how long you’ve been in here, and try not to think about how you’re going to emerge with any shred of dignity intact.

Carmy pulls back, and you can’t define the look on his face, but it worries you. His eyes shine slightly, and his gaze skips across your face, down your body, not holding your stare.

“Are you okay?” You ask, praying this isn’t about to get really awkward really quick. The man’s still inside you, for Christ’s sake.

“Yeah. I, um, I should be asking you that.” Carmy’s hands skim down your sides, fingers pressing in randomly as if to check for bruises. He tilts his head to look under your chin, as if to check he hasn’t caused any permanent damage to your neck. “Jesus. Are you alright? I’m sorry, that was rough.”

“I’m totally fine.” You don’t know what to do to reassure him, so opt for two big thumbs up. “See? Voice working and everything.”

Carmy chuckles unevenly, takes a careful step back, and you try not to consider how empty you feel and how cold and slippery the freezer now is underneath you. You hop off, catching yourself on the side when you realise just how shaky your legs are. When you glance up at Carmy, he’s just staring at you, which is, frankly, unnerving.

“Do I look that bad?” you ask, pulling your hair out of what’s left of a ponytail to start again.

“No. No, I’m just…I’m just taking you in.” The raw honesty in his eyes pins you in place for a moment. But of course, Richie shouts “ Cousin!” before you can read into it too much.

There is a moment of panicked dressing and clean-up, a nod to each other to confirm you both look relatively sane and not totally fucked (even though you doubt it), and then a collective deep breath as you push open the door of the walk-in.

You don’t catch anyone’s eye for a second as you head to your station, Carmy’s presence like an open flame behind you.

“Corner. Corner. Behind, sorry Chefs,” you call as you slide back into place. Two quick glances calm you; one at the clock - seventeen minutes - and one at Sydney, who doesn’t look like she’s about to throw up and only has three tickets in front of her. You spare a final one for Fak in his position by the door, who you are positive would be grinning gleefully if he, or anyone else in the kitchen, knew what just went down in the walk-in.

“What do you need, Syd?” you ask, picking up the familiar back-and-forth of the kitchen again with some relief.

Carmy is quiet, focused, for the last half hour of service, but you can’t keep your mind clear. As soon as last orders are sent out, you slink to the back for a cigarette, hoping the smoke will at least wipe out your brain fog. It does the exact opposite. When you let me light your fuckin’ cigarette for you. You exhale, waving the smoke away as the words churn through your brain. I eat that shit up every time.

“Hey,” you hear, and you’re almost thankful to speak to the real him just to distract yourself from thinking about earlier.

“Hey.” You offer him a smoke, and he takes it, sinking onto the step next to you. The brush of his leg against yours is a lot more comforting than you expect it to be, relaxing a secretly worried part of you.

He takes a long drag, the kind of drag you only take when it’s been a shitshow of a day. “I just want to say I’m-”

“Sorry? It’s okay. It doesn’t have to happen again,” you finish for him. It hurts less that way.

“What? No.” He looks at you until you reluctantly meet his gaze. “Not for that. I’m not sorry about that.” He lets that hang there for a second, holds your eye. “But I’m sorry for losing my shit earlier. Nobody deserves to be around that, and…I want you to know I’m working on it. I wanna be…I wanna be good at this.” It’s a stilted apology as he thinks through every line, and it feels all the more sincere for it.

“That’s okay. I know. We all know.” You reach a hand out to touch his arm, and after a second, he lowers his head to rest on his knee, although his face is still turned towards you. You see his eyes flicker from your hand on his arm to your face.

“Although that wasn’t exactly how I expected that to go by the way,” he says after a moment.

You don’t try to pretend you don’t know what he’s referring to. “What, in the walk-in?”

“Oh, no, I’ve thought about it in the walk-in.” You ignore a pulse of feeling at his casual confession, at the idea that he’s thought about you. “I just didn’t imagine it so…heated, I guess.” Carmy raises his head again, traces a finger along your hand where it rests on his arm until you shiver. “Not that I didn’t enjoy it.”

You hesitate for a second before replying. Before extending the branch. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be other times, Chef.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to watch his thoughts flickering there, watch as the fog clears, the idea forms, and he says, “Yeah. Next time.”

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

wow guys thank you for reading i pray through the act of writing this that my jeremy allen white obsession will calm the fuck down, but i fear i've made it worse

if you'd like to keep up with me on ao3, you can find me here and please do send me any comments or feedback or prompt ideas, i would love to hear them <33 thank you!!

[tristarnova]

Pizza tower headcanons for both cooking and baking

Peppino: best cook of the entirety of the pizza tower crew, knows exactly what he needs to do, and knows how to spice things up, but not ruin them, as well as being the best pizza maker around, however, aside from making pizza dough and bread, he can’t bake for his life, which thanks to the noise, a rumor popped up that peppino being unable to bake deserts and his location is what caused him to go bankrupt.

Maurice: can’t cook to save his life, he is the guy how can burn water, and doesn’t know anything about seasoning, and hates peppino got his parent’s magic cooking touch, and can’t bake either, will burn the dough every single time, he does however know how to make various drinks.

Gustavo: is a great cook, not as good as peppino, aside from his pasta, which is even better than peppino’s, and is also a great baker himself, with sweets being his speciality, making Gustavo the most well rounded chef around.

Brick: can both cook and bake, but tends to eat the cheese, so peppino and Gustavo don’t like having brick in the kitchen, but if brick is in the kitchen and actually cooks or bakes without getting distracted and eating the chess, they turn out to always be masterpieces in both looks and taste, and the kitchen is always not a mess, everyone is surprised by how great of a chef brick is, especially Pizzahead and Gerome.

Mr stick: is okay, but has bad luck when trying to do such, he can cook, but he has a tendency to mess it up, and he can bake, but he’s very messy, so he mostly orders food, and only bakes or cooks when he can’t buy something, or to try and impress someone.

Pepperman: is an good cook, all their food is great in presentation, but their flavor and taste can be lacking, especially since pepperman likes to make them spicy, which makes his baking skills not that good, but he will make them look very good, that’s for sure.

Vigilante: is a great cook, all things form him come fresh form his farm with no preservatives, his chili is his speciality, he also is the best at grilling out of the group, he can also bake too, but he prefers to go simple with his baking, if it works, there is no need to fix it in his opinion.

Noise: can’t cook or bake to save their life, can not make a meal form scratch, but they can heat up a meal, gets bored way too easily so they can’t learn how to actually bake or cook, and plus also his maniac depression combined with his adhd is a bad combination.

Noisette: would be decent at cooking, if she didn’t try to spice everything up with unique flavors and additions, like peanut butter spaghetti, or chocolate corn on the cob, she is however amazing at baking though, she owns a bakery after all, and can make a great coffee.

Fake peppino: can’t really cook or bake, as they doesn’t have the experience, but with enough practice and training, learning form both peppino and noisette, has the potential to be the best cook and baker around out of the entire cast some day, and they are waiting patiently when that day approaches, when they reach the piont where “nothing compares”.

Pizzahead: pizzahead is the true unique cook out of the cast, he likes to make everything taste like it’s pizza equivalent, or taste like it is pizza, as a result, he can’t bake anything good aside from pizza with any topping, and his cooking can be all over the place, just depends on how much you like pizza.

John: John lost some experience of cooking and baking due to being stuck as a pillar and cloned, but he is still at least decent at cooking and baking, he was actually great at both before he was sealed away, but similar to noisette, he likes to combine things together in werid ways.

Gerome: the most average cook and baker overall, he knows the basics of cooking and baking, follows the recipes exactly, and that’s it, cause they work, and that’s all gerome really cares about, though, he can make a great sandwich, and is the only person in the pizza tower, how will always have their kitchen spotless and shining no matter what.

[ragzonacamrencruise]

What does Azula cook for Katara for their first dinner date? Do things go as planned?

my personal head canon is . . .

okay okay so hear meowt-

Azula, Toph, Sokka and Ty Lee get along splendidly like chums. Although Azula's reluctant, she can't help but follow around in their little group wreaking havoc wherever they go.

And because she's so adamant on being mean (but she actually is not, mind you), the other three in that little group like to play pranks on her to get back at her.

It couldn't have come to haunt her at a worser time than exactly when she's supposed to be cooking Katara dinner for their first dinner date.

Azula doesn't know, of course, when she proudly pours stewed sea prunes into Katara's bowl as they are seated at the private table next to the royal dining hall, garnishing it with a little fire flakes to innovate a culmination of two cultures, that she's actually tapping down generous amounts of chilli pepper used for brain stimulation.

"You really think this is a good idea?" Katara asks doubtfully as she peeps into the bowl with suspicion.

Azula crosses her arms over her chest. "Of course. The Royal Fire Academy for Girls taught me cooking during survival training and I make the best elephant-rat soup in the whole nation!" Her eyes shine with a tint of vile pride.

Katara looks at her worried. "But this isn't elephant-rat . . ."

"Oh, just eat the damn food I made for you!"

"Okay, okay!" Katara picks up her spoon, filling it with stew, before placing it inside her mouth.

Her eyes widen immediately, smoke almost exiting out of her ears. She gulps down the spoonful and the burn travels all the way to her butthole.

It feels like a volcano just threw up inside her.

"Oh my god!" She exclaims, eye brimming with unshed tears.

"What?" Azula looks at her with so much longing and expectation in her eyes that Katara feels stupid to even break the horrible news to her. "What is it?! Is it that good?!"

Azula pulls the bowl towards herself.

"No-" Katara chokes out, trying to reach the bowl; trying to prevent another tragedy, but the spoon is already in Azula's mouth and the stew is already getting sprayed to the floor from Azula's mouth in a quick shower.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Azula wipes her lips discordantly, letting the spoon fall from her grip as she notices the tiny container sitting on the table. She grabs it swiftly and empties some of it's contents to her palm and BAM!

It's that thought enducing, extremely hot, chilli pepper that she swore she won't try out again, no matter what monster forced her to.

And here's her date, trying to get some water in her mouth in a way that lets her heal her own burning tongue.

Azula scowls. She knows she put fire flakes in that container. She made sure to check literally today morning. She double-checked it, in fact. Unless somehow . . .

Unless . . .

Azula's eyes widen with unfathomable rage. "SOKKA YOU FILTHY PEASANT!!!" She yells before pushing her chair back, letting it fall down in a crash as she storms out to the dining hall, smoke coming out of her nostrils.

Katara can still hear Azula yelling, "SHOW YOURSELF AT ONCE YOU IMBECILE!!!" in the hallway as she giggles to herself, her mouth and palete completely neutral and soothing again from her healing water.

She picks up the other bowl placed for Azula, fills it only with stew, and takes a hesistant sip. Her eyes widen again but this time because of the exquisite taste rather than a volcanic eruption.

Azula wasn't lying when she said she's a great chef.

She tries not to moan out loud at the flavours filling her mouth that are normally missing back in her village. Azula's made sure she added spices that aren't inherently hot to the stew from the fire nation cuisine keeping the waterbender's low spice tolerance in mind, and it's unique in a way she's never experienced before. The firebender's put in such meticulous effort into the dish that Katara can't help but think about kissing her flush on the mouth when she next catches sight of her. She gulps the stew down, directly from the bowl before helping herself with another bowlful.

...

It's when she goes to visit Azula that night, that she finds two figures walking out, rubbing their hands and neck, groaning in pain. She knows exactly who they are just from the silhouette.

When light finally falls on them, she notices that her brother's straightout missing his ponytail and Toph's got a black-eye and a broken nose. They stop in front of her.

"I don't even wanna know." She says, raising her hands, before walking past them to Azula's chambers.

***

this prompt came out more chaotic than i expected it to be ngl- 💀

[neopetting]

Maybe five or six for the ship prompts!

5 - write about a casual kiss between your ship

The kitchen floods with light—his body with panic. Bob winces. Briefly, stupidly, he considers trying to shove the bread behind the toaster oven and making up a lie about the butter. I was… just… taking it out so it would be soft for breakfast. No, Lin, I do this all the time. Well, you’ve never woken up while I was doing it before!

He has a good five or six inches on his wife, but the steely look in her eye makes her shape fill the doorway. Arms crossed, she pads angrily over to him on her tiny, pointy, kicky, bare feet. Some merciful facet of his brain that isn’t currently terrified registers the way her hips move under her nightgown. He tries to swallow, but all his spit has disappeared. And his mouth is full of evidence.

Bob lowers the piece of bread in his hand and attempts to form words around the chunk still in his mouth. “I’m—”

“What? Sorry?” Linda reaches him, instantly all up in his face, her voice uncharacteristically hushed to account for their sleeping kids, yet somehow still deafening. “You’re sorry I caught’cha, Bobby?” She narrows her eyes, hissing out the next part so it sounds extra venomous. “With your mistress?”

He squints back at her, finally choking down his glorious, yeasty, perfectly-buttered bite of bread. Focusing on the taste puts some fight in him.

“…You know what? I’m not sorry.” Bob tenses his whole body to keep from chuckling as he watches her mouth fall open in exaggerated shock. “Yeah, that’s right. You kicked me awake, and then I couldn’t go back to sleep thinking about the bread all alone out here. It probably thought we didn’t love it enough to eat it right away.”

Linda is leaning on him now, squashing her torso against his arm with considerable force. Is she… trying to physically intimidate him? Or maybe she thinks she can seduce him into defeat by pressing her chest against his side, drumming up some cleavage. It wouldn’t be the first time. Plenty of Lin’s wiles begin with her just kind of… putting her boobs on him.

Bob surveys her coolly. “Also,” he says, tapping a finger against the loaf on the counter, “it’s not my mistress. It’s like… my child.” His voice rasps with sudden emotion. “This bread is our fourth child.”

One corner of Linda’s mouth lifts into a lopsided smile, but she stays incredulous. “Oh, so you were on daddy duty, huh? Came to check on our little bun-fresh-out-the-oven?” Delighting herself, her smile is the real deal now. “Didja hear it rye-ing over the baby monitor?”

He rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts, but can’t hide his amusement. “You know it’s not rye. It’s—”

“Garlic sourdough woven with rosemary-thyme whole wheat sourdough,” she chimes in, doing her best Dedicated Chef Bob impression—a deep, goofy voice that sounds nothing like him. She wraps an arm around her husband, breaching the waistband of his boxers to slide her palm against his soft, warm hip. Planting her chin on his shoulder, she stifles a yawn. “See? I listen. I’m a good flour mama.”

Bob hums, a floaty sensation ballooning in his chest as she parrots back to him the recipe he’d been mentioning all week. It’s not surprising, anymore, how Linda pays attention to the things that excite him. But it’s never stopped feeling good.

“You are,” he confirms. From the corner of his eye, he takes a second to study her. Lin’s glasses are sitting a bit crooked, probably from hastily throwing them on to catch him in the act. Her thick, wavy hair is mussed from sleep. She notices him sneaking a stare and trains her ridiculously dark brown eyes on his. Definitely not for the first time, Bob thinks about how her eye color perfectly matches just-ground espresso after it’s been tamped down tight, waiting to be brewed. Sometimes he struggles to maintain eye contact, even with someone he’s loved for fifteen years, but he holds her gaze. Waits a beat. “You’re one in glu-ten million.”

She blinks once. Twice. Then she’s snort-laughing much too loudly and giving his love handle an affectionate squeeze, making him yelp and twist toward her. “Look at youuu, bein’ all cutesy-wootsey!” Her free hand skitters up his chest and brushes over his mustache as she beams at him. “Must be the Thanksgiving Eve magic. You gonna kiss me under the wishbone tomorrow before you go full crazy-pants kitchen troll, or what?”

“Mmmaybe.” Bob smiles gently against her fingertips. “Tina will fight you for the wishbone, though. I guess I could… kiss you under some giblets? Uh, before I start the gravy.”

“Ooh, giblet kisses. Romantic,” Linda coos. Her hand slips out of his shorts and he feels her fingers patter against the underside of his butt cheek. She points her chin toward the bread, eyes bright. “Now gimme a piece!”

Grabbing the serrated knife, Bob can’t suppress a wobbly giggle. “It’s so good, Lin. Better than I thought I could get it. I think the test loaves really helped.”

Earlier in the week, he had baked each dough recipe into two smaller, individual loaves to get their proofs right. Then, cautiously happy with the results, he’d launched the main event—meticulously braiding the batches together, then reshaping them into a single round, bubbly, perfectly-marbled mass. He’d been consumed by bread stuff for days. At one point, Linda had resorted to wrestling the laptop away from him when he’d stayed up until 2 AM researching techniques to keep sourdough properly inflated. But it was worth it. The final loaf is crusty and deeply golden all along its surface, the lighter and darker dough shades contrasting beautifully. Specks of the chopped herbs mixed into its whole wheat portions are visible in the scores, which look like stalks of wheat. The bread is downright gorgeous. Every time Bob lays eyes on it, he wants to burst into tears.

“Aww, my little Bobby baker,” Linda says. She stares hungrily as the knife glides through the loaf with several satisfying crunches. “I feel kinda dirty, though.” Her nails tap against the countertop in anticipation. “You made a whole big show about nobody eating it ‘til tomorrow.”

Bob snorts. “That was just so Gene wouldn’t eat literally all of it. He’s as excited about it as I am.” He slathers Linda’s slice in the fancy farmer’s market butter he’d safeguarded to use exclusively with his bread, then presents it to her.

She reaches for it, eyes shining, but furrows her brow when he pulls it back slightly. Shifting closer, she goes for it again. Bob holds the piece out of range, eyebrows raised and wearing the faintest of smirks. Linda scrunches her nose at him, about to complain, before she tracks him looking at her lips and realization dawns. She laughs tenderly and balls a fist in his shirt, leaning up and in. He meets her halfway. The kiss is quick, but so sweet that both their eyelids flutter shut.

“Ooh, mm,” Linda exclaims. “You taste like butter.” She yanks firmly on his collar. “Give me the friggin’ bread.”

Bob offers it in earnest. Suddenly, he’s plagued with nerves.

She gingerly takes it from him, her bottom lip jutting out. “No toasting?”

He gives his head a curt shake. “Doesn’t even need it.” Why does he feel like he’s just asked her out and is desperately hanging on a response? Dumb, he thinks.

Linda sinks her teeth into the bread. Bob’s eyes feel way too big for his face as he watches her chew. Slowly, she brings a hand up to cover her mouth, then locks gazes with him. He worries he might accidentally pee a little.

Swallowing, Linda flashes him a megawatt grin. “Oh. Bob. Hon.” She touches his chest. “It’s really good.”

“Right?” Blinding triumph ricochets through him. “Thanks. I kind of can’t believe it came from me.” He picks up his own piece, raising it to his mouth, then pauses. “Is this what giving birth feels like?”

“Yeah, sure,” Linda says around her second bite. “Little more sweat and blood with a human baby, maybe. And you don’t eat it after. It’s been a while.”

Just as Bob’s lips reconnect with his slice, the unmistakable creak of a door opening slams into him. Linda freezes mid-chew.

Gene’s voice, cushioned by a heavy yawn, sidles out from down the hall. “Is that butter I smell…?”

Bob’s eyes bore into Linda’s. “How is he smelling the butter?” he asks frantically, barely above a whisper.

“He’s very talented!” she hisses back, jabbing a finger into his upper arm. “You made him! Get down, get on the floor. I’m going.”

Bob has only seconds to hide the bread and butter before Linda’s pushing him to his knees. “Oh, God. Lin—OW,” he grunts, belly hitting the linoleum. It’s not lost on him that none of this is necessary.

Linda spins on her heel and trots through the doorway, her tone sing-songy as she rushes to intercept their son. “Genie weenie beanie baby,” she calls, “you’re… dreamin’. Oooooohh, I’m the, uh… ghost of Thanksgiving future. You gotta go back to bed. Or the turkey’s gonna be dry.”

“Nooo,” Gene drawls after a sleepy moment. “You’re a mom-poster. Dad’s turkey would never be dry.”

Bob snickers to himself, huffing as he uses the counter to regain his footing. He pulls out his masterpiece and cuts a slice for Gene.

A/N: their love language is shitty puns <3

[nardos-primetime]

Some Happy Things for the Clone Turtles in my Draxum's Side of The Family AU because my one friend is always like "CAN YOU GIVE THEM ANY NICE THINGS EVER" Yes. Yes I can!

(Let's ignore that fact a lot of these end up ruined or bittersweet later on alright? Alright.)

Most of this is in the Big Mama Era of the AU! It's basically like... the middle section of the au, so a bunch of shit happens

Big Mama is a good mother to them sometimes. She often gives them praise and works to keep them safe when she initially gains ownership (for lack of a better word) of them. They start off almost always having guards with them and such. She's also the one that properly lets them tap into training in a much healthier way than Draxum ever did (especially since they were physically like TODDLERS when Drax was pushing them). They learn pretty fast because of how they were made and because most of the time, their training is when they choose.

She calls them turtily-dees instead of turtily-boos to differentiate (they love the nickname differenceit majes them feel better than the ogs).

The clones, (even Rage), like to put on little shows for guests when not working. Unlike the originals the clones can actually sing and perform, it's one of the only consistent ways Rage speaks verbally (though he is noticeably silent or just huming in some acts).

Mic is head chef! (Half honorary) He helps come up with new dishes in the kitchen and spends most of his time in the restaurant locations Mama owns. Along with this, beforehand Mama often (and still does) let them be the first taste testers for most meals, they had previously been starving, so this was a very nice change of pace.

The boys are friends with a good bunch of Mama's workers, and they mess around with them a lot. It's kind of like bring your kid to work day but basically every day for them. Sometimes, they even help the boys sneak out when they want to try and do regular kid stuff.

Such as- sneaking out to the arcade or just taking walks at night without worrying where they're going to sleep or hide for the day. Or where they're going to get food. Lee starts really admiring stars at this point, and his room and part of their little area connecting their rooms are decorated with stars after he mentions them to Mama (a pleasant surprise).

I must reiterate, the clones REALLY DO love each other. So finally being able to see each other even feel safe enough to actually have fun is a positive on its own.

They're really close friends with a bird yokai around their age. She often comes in because her dad has work with Big Mama. Sometimes, they even sneak her out to hang out, too!

Some of the workers like to give the boys little quests once they notice their bored, like telling Donno to deliver something to someone on another floor (even if it's not that important). The clones are still a little mentally stunted because they're clones that physically grew up too fast (Along with trauma messing with it), their mental only somewhat caught up, so these little games are really fun for them.

Rage picks up wood carving. That's it. Don't know why, but I thought it was nice. He's not great at it, but it's nice when he isn't doing anything.

The clones set up their own little meetings where they share what they've done/are doing for the day. It lets Lee be more of a fun leader for once, like "aaaaand Mic, what has our head chef cooked up for today!?" Really excitedly for the others to start rambling

Donno makes the other's weapons once he perfects making them. He actually modifies Rage's the most to handle a little more than the others.

They do have a little fun!

Sadly, Big Mama isn't the best the other half of the time. And the fun is what happens to keep them there until it's too late and they can't really leave. Or they're too scared to leave.

[ask-cult-creek]

A quick overview of the AU's!

During their time in the Tree, a group of trolls came together and formed a church worshipping the Bergens. They coped with their situation by believing that they were meant to be here. They were meant to be kept, cultivated, and eaten by the Bergens, because trolls are the only thing that makes them happy. Why would that be, if it wasn’t meant to happen?

Creek’s mother was a priestess in this cult, and raised him according to these beliefs. Maybe she didn’t really want him to die, or maybe she knew the other trolls would need a little help, but she taught him that it was his job to make sure that every last troll was eaten, and that he had to be the very last to die.

Desperate to feel like he was fulfilling his purpose, Creek turned to the one and only gray troll in the Tree, Branch. The boy was gray and mean and sad, and never sang or danced, and just acted so much more like a Bergen than a troll. So Creek decided he’d help Branch be happy until it was time for them to get eaten.

Since then, he’s become hopelessly devoted to Branch. He lets Branch drink his blood, giving him a taste of the happiness that he’d lost when his grandmother died. Creek is basically Branch’s medication and the only person not trying to ‘fix’ him, and so he is very possessive.

The Fanatic:

The escape happened late, when Creek and Branch were 9 and 10. Creek was reluctant to leave, because he couldn’t fulfill his destiny without any Bergens around, but Branch claimed him and convinced him to escape so they can be together.

He’s biding his time, doing his best not to let the village’s anti-Bergen propaganda get to him while he waits for the Feast.

The Spy:

Creek was separated from Branch during the escape, and as such didn’t go with him. He and the cult stayed behind.

In a devious flash of genius, the Chef plucked him from the Tree to keep. She’s kept him ‘safe’, breaking him down with Nangus(the torturer from tbgo)’s help. He doesn’t consider himself a person.

He’s being trained to one day be released and find the other trolls, so he can lead the Bergens back to them. Early on, when he was around eleven, he (not wanting Branch to die) and Chef (wanting infinite trolls) came up with an idea of keeping some trolls safe as breeding pairs.

She has been promising Branch to him ever since, keeping him motivated to fulfill his ‘purpose’. He sees himself as Branch’s 1st and Chef’s 2nd, but Branch isn’t here right now.

The King:

During Chef’s training, Creek snapped. He decided that even if he was meant to be theirs, and meant to die, he didn’t fucking want to. After years of pretending to be a perfect pet, Creek convinced Nangus to help him overthrow Chef, Gristle, and Bridget.

Creek, using a lot of drugs and placebo effect, has convinced the Bergens that he’s making them happy with little gummy pills. He uses this to control them, and anyone who tries to go against him gets sent right to Nangus, who doesn’t care what Creek does as long as he keeps getting people to punish and break.

Chef, Gristle, and Bridget remain alive down in the dungeons. For now.

Creek has had enough of being hurt and controlled, and now has a kingdom that worships him. It’s not enough, though. He wants Branch.

He’s searching for him, and when he finds him he’ll make sure that they stay together this time. Branch left and lost him before, but Creek will never let his mate go again.

And that’s it! I hope you guys will enjoy :3

[hummingbird-of-light]

Prompt: Hold On A Little Longer

(Second story for Angstember 2024 by @ivystoryweaver)

"Farie! When will the damn order be ready?"

When she heard the chef's loud voice, Nomira couldn't help but flinch. Her glasses almost slipped off her nose and with a quick flick of her wrist she pushed them back into place before she finished garnishing the next plate and quickly pushed it to the others.

"Ready, sir!"

Sweat trickled down Nomira's forehead. This workplace was simply awful. The boss was an unpleasant fellow who bullied his employees to no end. If she had known that she would end up in places like this, the young Tyriuk would never have embarked on this journey.

It had seemed like the opportunity of a lifetime. When Nomira had finally been employed in Miss Harkem's restaurant at the age of 16 and began her training as a master chef, she had been called a natural on her planet. Within two years, she had managed to work her way up in the kitchen and had become one of the best employees. But it wasn't enough for Nomira.

When she was offered the chance to go on a journey through the galaxy, shortly after her master's examination, to learn different cooking techniques on various planets and improve her skills even further, the young Nomira immediately accepted. She didn't just want to be as good as Miss Harkem. She wanted to be the best.

Part of her knew that it would have been enough. She could easily have been one of the best cooks on Tyriuk IV. But there was a deep hope in her that maybe – just maybe – she would find her brother on visits to different planets.

For several months after her brother's departure, Nomira had received messages from him. Messages in which he had tried to dissuade her from her dream. Messages in which he had tried to convince her of his ideas and ideals.

But she didn't want it. She didn't want to live a miserable life like him. She wanted to be rich and free and carefree. She wanted to give her parents everything they deserved. And for this very reason, she eventually broke off contact with Malui and decided to live her own life. And yet ... If only she could see him one more time ...

"Faster, you stupid weaklings! There are more orders!"

That voice. Nomira gritted her pointed teeth angrily.

She had worked in so many unpleasant places and experienced so many bad things, but the chef on Ragulo V was the pinnacle. A lanky, ugly guy with six arms who believed that no one was as good as him. No one could please him. He paid his staff poorly and fired good employees again and again.

Nomira would have loved to say something, to give him a piece of her mind, but she knew that would be the end of the program for her. And she wanted to see it through. For her family. And for herself. She wanted to be the best of the best.

Just a little longer. She just had to hold on a little longer. But that was easier said than done.

When the bastard of a chef turned to Nomira's sauce and tasted it, he immediately turned up his ugly snout and spit onto the ground.

"Ugh! That tastes awful! I thought you were good! I expect better!"

Pointed teeth rubbed together. If Nomira wasn't careful, she would suffer permanent damage from this constant grinding of teeth. She nodded silently, but continued with the garnishing of the plates assigned to her.

However, a hard blow with a spoon on her beautiful long fingers stopped her and she suppressed a pained noise.

"Then redo the sauce! My goodness, do I need to explain everything to you!"

Another nod. Nomira would follow the orders silently. Better jobs would follow. She was quite sure of that.

Shouting, beatings, insults – she would get through it all.

And one day, when she had her own restaurant and was the most famous Tyriuk woman on the entire planet, she would show everyone that no one had the right to treat her that way.

"Faster! Work, work, work!"

As the chef turned his back on Nomira, she couldn't help but tighten her grip on the knife which she picked up to cut a few herbs.

As soon as she owned her own restaurant, one species was quite sure to appear on the menu. Even it would only be for a day or two.

[nickeverdeen]

Hii! Can i request a match up with a guy from percy jackson, atla, hunger games, and outer banks? I have chest length black hair, brown eyes, dark skin, I'm short, and my pronouns are she/her. I'm funny, loyal, caring, shy at first but once you get to know me i never shut up, a little hot headed, reckless, and really stubborn. I'm an infp and a cancer

My love languages are quality time and acts of service, and I love reading, baking, studio ghibli, taking walks, rain and deep conversation! I do taekwondo and I'm a runner. I also LIVE for music. I can't go a day without listening to music.  I don't really know if you're taking matchups rn but it would mean the world to me if you do! Thank you<3

Your Percy Jackson match is…

Leo Valdez

Leo would constantly be sharing new music with you, always excited to see which songs you add to your shared playlists

He’d create little inventions to help you bake faster or make things easier, like a self-stirring spoon or a tiny flame generator to brown desserts

Though he loves to joke, he’d quietly open up to you in serious moments, knowing you’d listen deeply and never judge

Leo would train alongside you, admiring your taekwondo skills and even learning some moves, despite his… clumsy form

He admires your loyalty and can get surprisingly protective of you—he’s small but fierce if anyone messes with his favorite person

Leo loves that you “never shut up” once you’re comfortable, and together you’d have so many inside jokes only the two of you understand

He’d take you on strolls in Camp Half-Blood at night, talking about anything and everything under the stars

He might not love rain (fire hazard!), but he’d watch you dance around in it, admiring your carefree spirit

Leo would call you “Shorty” in the most endearing way, loving your height

He’d use his fire powers to create a cozy little reading nook, holding up a tiny flame just so you have enough light to read

Your Avatar The Last Airbender match is…

Sokka

Sokka would love hearing you talk—whether it’s sharing a funny story, deep thoughts, or a book recommendation, he’s all ears

Sokka isn’t the best chef, but he’d try his best to help you bake, even if he makes a mess in the process

He’d spar with you to practice taekwondo, learning a few moves to impress you (or, more likely, to make you laugh)

Sokka would enjoy long walks with you in the rain, laughing and getting soaked as you talk about everything under the cloudy sky

He’d totally appreciate your hot-headedness; it matches his own

You two would be an unstoppable, passionate team

He’s all about acts of service, so he’d do things like help carry your books, go out of his way to make your life easier, or bring you tea after a long day

You’re both incredibly stubborn, which makes for some very competitive games and silly arguments, always ending in laughter

Sokka would cherish those rare moments when he can talk about his dreams and worries, knowing you’ll understand deeply

He teases you often, but it’s always in a sweet way

Your Hunger Games match is…

Finnick Odair

Finnick would be endlessly protective, wanting to make sure you feel safe, even if he just holds your hand as you walk together

He’d love talking deeply with you on long walks, finding peace in your calm energy amidst the chaos of his world

Given your love for water, he’d take you swimming as a way to unwind and have some fun together

Finnick would tease you about your height in the sweetest way, calling you “short stuff” but making sure you know he finds it adorable

Finnick loves your music taste, and he’d often listen with you, maybe even singing along to make you laugh

Finnick would enjoy lying on the couch with you, reading books together or watching your favorite Studio Ghibli movies

He’d help you bake, occasionally sneaking bites and getting flour all over, just to see you laugh

Finnick would open up about his struggles and dreams, feeling comforted by your quiet understanding and warmth

Your Outer Banks match is…

Pope Heyward

Pope loves deep conversations, and you’d share late-night talks about dreams, worries, and everything in between

He’d enjoy taking long walks with you, especially on rainy days, sharing earbuds and listening to music together

Pope would take you to the beach for calm, peaceful dates where you’d read, talk, and relax

Pope would encourage your love for taekwondo and running, maybe even running beside you during your workouts

He’d tease you when you’re hot-headed, knowing it’s all in good fun and that he finds your fiery side endearing

Acts of service are Pope’s specialty; he’d show up with little gifts or snacks you love, just to brighten your day

Pope has a soft, caring side and wouldn’t hesitate to stand up for you if anyone crosses the line

Pope would exchange playlists with you, constantly adding new songs he thinks you’d love

Even though he might not be great at it, he’d help you in the kitchen, secretly thrilled just to spend that time with you

He’d always look out for you, listening to what you need and doing little things to make your life a bit easier and more joyful

Each of these characters would bring out a different side of your personality, creating a relationship filled with understanding, support, and shared passions. Let me know if any stand out!

[yellowkitkieran]

What the Heart Wants (Part 7)

Read part 6 here

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: Kieran is your best friend’s older brother. Your best friend’s fit older brother that you definitely haven’t had a crush on for years. Not at all. And he certainly doesn’t like you back, that would be absurd...

A/N: This is the final part. Thank you for the love on this series! I’ll be moving on to my Martin series, To Have and To Heal.

Did you get on your plane okay?

Yeah, thanks for checking in. I'll message you when I land okay? 

Sounds good, have a safe flight xx

Kieran waits another half hour for a reply, but he waits in vain. Your response doesn't come and he won't let himself read into it too much; you'd responded to his first message and that's more than he's gotten in what feels like years.

He misses you already. After insisting on covering the cost of a last minute ticket home (you missed your flight because of him after all), his apartment feels empty without you in it. Despite only occupying the space for a few hours, Kieran grew used to your presence rather quickly. 

All because of a kiss. Kieran closes his eyes, fingers flexing as he recalls how your body felt under his touch. He swears he can feel your weight on his thighs, feel the ghost of your fingers in his hair. And god, your sweetness still sits on his tongue. That one small taste was all it took to have him hooked. He wants- no, he needs more, or he might combust. 

What he needs now is a distraction, which is provided by his growling stomach. Ignoring the pain in his knee, Kieran hobbles over to the fridge to grab a container of some sort of pasta dish you whipped up for him. You're an amazing cook, often using whatever ingredients you could find in a sparse kitchen to create a dish so mouthwatering that everyone begs for seconds. This is no different; though it's nothing more than a homemade red sauce and some spiral pasta, it's one of the best meals Kieran has eaten all month. And that's including the chef-catered meals they serve at training, too. 

Kieran eats in silence aside from the rerun playing on the television. He's not sure what it is, some decade old American show that he struggles to relate to. At least it takes the edge off of his loneliness. 

The noodles in his mouth suddenly turn to ash. Is he really sitting here feeling sorry for himself? He should be training, or at least in physical therapy so his muscles don't bind up. It's too late in the day now; by the time he gets in everyone will have left. Besides, the effort required to get up, shower, get dressed and drag himself to the training grounds is a monumental mountain he isn't sure he has the energy for. 

Kieran sighs, tipping his head back. Why can't he just push through? Why does he feel so weighed down, like his soul has become a bunch of rocks in his shoes?

He has something- someone- to fight for now. And you know what? He refuses to fuck it up again. He wants to prove that he's serious about this. He isn't about to let you slip through his fingers a second time; he's determined to do this the right way. 

Tomorrow he'll go in, first thing. Bright and early, seven am. He'll do the therapy and create a recovery plan to follow. Whatever it takes to get himself back on the pitch so he can hear you cheer for him. Because you'll be at his return match. He will buy you a ticket right behind the bench, so he can hear you screaming for him to move his arse. 

For tonight, Kieran decides to focus on you. You said he had to earn your forgiveness, so that's exactly what he plans on doing. He grabs his phone, searching for a way to apologize that he knows will catch your attention.

**********

Bella is waiting on the balcony of your shared flat when you arrive home. You sigh, spotting her from the backseat of your uber as you pull up. "This should be fun," you mumble, catching the driver's eye in the rear view as she parks. 

"Good luck," she chirps, picking up on the fact that your friend is obviously pissed about something. 

"Thanks, I'll need it apparently." Luck won't help you if Bella is in a mood. You absently wonder who's upset her now, and how much work you'll need to do to calm her down. Hopefully this time she doesn't try and convince you to help her egg the offending boy's car or something equally foolish. 

You take your sweet, sweet time retrieving your things from the boot. You sigh when you pop it closed, holding your free hand up to your eyes to ward off the harsh sunlight as you try to determine what's got Bella's panties in a twist. "What is it now Bella?"

"Get up here. NOW!" 

You shake your head, mumbling to yourself. "Jesus, I've become her boyfriend haven't I? I'm walking into a firefight. Right well, goodbye cruel world, it was nice knowing you." If nothing else, you finally got to kiss Kieran. You catch yourself smiling as you head for the door. You fight to keep your happiness from being too obvious, not wanting to tip Bella off when she already looks set to punch someone. You'd rather it not be you she sets her sights on.

Climbing the steps to your second floor flat seems far more strenuous than normal. Probably because you know what's waiting for you at the top. After fumbling with your keys for a few seconds, you push the door open, letting it swing wide as you haul your things in. "Alright then, what did I do now? Did I accidentally steal your shirt?"

Bella is every inch a cross mum, her arms folded over her chest, foot tapping the hardwood. If you didn't know any better you would think she took lessons from Mrs. Tierney; they've got the same scolding facial expression apparently. 

Bella points to a bouquet of red roses arranged in a crystal vase in the center of the dining table. You tip your head, dropping your bags in the open doorway. 

"Uhh, someone sent you flowers? Why is that suddenly a bad thing?" You carefully brush your fingers over the petals, admiring the perfect blooms. These aren't drugstore roses; they're the expensive, 'I've fucked up and I'm begging you to forgive me' sort that men usually get from an upscale florist when they've done something unthinkable. 

"They aren't for me, they're for you." Bella shakes her head, sighing through her nose. "They're from Kieran."

You freeze, nose inches from the bouquet. A sharp inhale brings with it a lungful of sweet scented air. "They're from- who? Me? Why?"

"You tell me! Why is my brother sending you flowers?" Bella grabs your shoulders, forcing you upright so you're face to face. "Is that really why you went to London? What happened to Aaron? What's going on?"

It's not panic painted on her features but rather confusion, and maybe a touch of betrayal. For as long as you've been friends, you've obeyed the unspoken rule that her older brother is strictly off limits. You grew up knowing Kieran is untouchable, which never mattered because you had always been positive he would never look twice at you. 

Despite the mess of tangled wires in your head, a grin splits your cheeks. "Kieran… sent me flowers? He actually listened. Was there a note?" 

Bella nods. "But first tell me about Aaron. I thought you loved the lad?"

"Erm, I guess not?" You shift on your feet, unable to stop your cheeks from burning. You feel like you're at a confessional. "Right so- I was at the match right, and everything was going well. Then Kieran went down and- and I don't know? Something in me snapped. My chest hurt and all I could think about was how alone he'd be with this horrible injury. I guess I didn't want him to be alone? And… My old crush resurfaced."

"What do you-"

"I've had a crush on your brother since we were teenagers, Bel. Why do you think I barely dated? Didn't you notice I had a type, and that type was Kieran? I broke up with Aaron that night because I couldn't string him along, not when all I could think about was Kieran."

Bella shakes her head. "Right well… okay then. Clearly Kieran feels the same, because obviously you told him how you feel before you left."

You nod, smiling to yourself as you properly sniff the roses. "I told him he needed to earn my forgiveness for how he's been acting."

"At least he's on the right track. Oh- right, here's that note." Bella pulls a business card sized slip of cardstock from her pocket and hands it to you. She shakes her head with a tiny smirk when you smile, recognizing Kieran's sloppy handwriting straight away.

Bug,

Laying around doing nothing all day got me thinking… I should be grateful for the good things in life. Like football, obviously. 

"Brat," you mumble, absently picking up the vase and taking it towards your room. 

"Don't worry I'll close the door and bring your shite in so it doesn't get stolen!"

"Thank you!"

Football is great and all, but this injury changed my mind on a few things. I think I'm starting to realize how much you mean to me, so these flowers are my way of asking you to stick around until I can figure all this out.

Love, KT3

The first thing you do is set the vase on your nightstand, flipping the card around so it's unreadable and snapping a photo for your Instagram. Then you pull up your messages with Kieran, fingers flying over the screen.

You corny sap. Sending me flowers? Really? You can do better 🙄

Kieran's reply comes quicker than you expect. Yep! What else was I meant to do? I can't exactly get on a plane myself right now, I don't think the medical staff would like that 😅

I mean… I expected chocolate at a bare minimum. Maybe one of those fancy fruit bouquet things if you were feeling generous. But my favorite flowers? How dare you!

Ah, damn. Well I guess there goes the progress I made yesterday… oh well guess I'll have to find another way to impress you! 

Oh please don't send me photos of any part of your body unless it's to prove that your knee is miraculously healed. 

😳 nnnnnooooooo why would I ever do that? Kidding, kidding… I'll figure something out

You set your phone down, cheeks burning from your massive smile. It's hard to believe that less than two days ago, hearing Kieran's name would've sent you into a spiral of fiery rage. Now, you're beaming like an idiot, sniffing the flowers he sent you every few seconds because you simply can't get enough. 

Initially, when Kieran kissed you, you had no clue what to feel. Then you quickly realized that you didn't need to feel anything just then, because you'd felt so at home. Peaceful, like you'd been waiting for that kiss your entire life. Which you sort of had, minus the few months that you'd managed to convince yourself that Aaron was somehow better than Kieran. Which was a lie. A complete, utter lie that you can now admit to telling yourself.

The second lie you've sold yourself on? That you haven't forgiven Kieran. The second you laid eyes on him at his flat, you forgot why you'd been ignoring him. Your instincts screamed to comfort him and to prove to him that he wasn't fighting alone. He has you now, someone to lean on when his recovery seems endless and wasteful.

Bella may never forgive you, but you want Kieran. You've wanted him as your own since you were a teenager, it just seemed impossible that he'd want you too. His younger sister's best friend isn't a logical choice in your mind, especially now that he's a famous footballer.

But… somehow you've caught his eye. Apparently you've had his attention for nearly as long as he's held yours. The classic miscommunication trope has kept the two of you from realizing what you felt for one another was mutual and not some silly one sided crush. Now that you're both adults and can date whoever you want without consequences, what's stopping you? 

You snatch your phone off your bedside table, heart beating out of your chest. Are you really about to do this? Can you deal with the repercussions if he says no? 

Ah fuck it, he won't say no. Before you left, you recognized the sadness in his eyes as a reflection of your own. He won't say no because he wants this as much as you do.

Alright I forgive you. Wanna like, go on a date or something?

You wait. 

And wait.

And wait.

After twenty minutes, you're convinced you've scared him off. Despite your self-inflicted peptalk, nerves crawl over your skin like vines. You must have read him wrong, maybe he doesn't think the same way you do. Maybe he doesn't want anything serious. Hell, he can have any woman he wants on the face of the planet, why would he settle for you?

You nearly jump out of your skin when your phone chimes. It's a screenshot of a flight for next weekend from Edinburgh to London. You spend at least two minutes jumping for joy before you read his caption.

Pack your pajamas because we're about to have the cuddliest, cutest, softest first date ever. I'll see you next weekend, I'll be counting down the minutes. 

Okay, boyfriend. Is it too early to call you that? Actually I don't care, I've waited long enough!

Bug, I've never been called anything sweeter. Guess I have to put a little lock in my Instagram bio now. 

Maybe with the date too. Just so you look extra taken. 

Your wish is my command, girlfriend. Just curious though… what made you choose me over Aaron?

You don't have to see Kieran to know he's sporting the same dumb, lovestruck smile you are. You've come so far in such a short time; from hating each other's guts to being in a relationship in the span of only a few hours. 

The heart wants what the heart wants. 

[theowritesfiction]

How’s it going? I wanted to inquire about two things with the Azutara Kitchen nightmare au. The firs, is how does Azula approach cooking?

Is it more a meticulous and tedious task that’s she’s be trained to do and to be damned good at, but does not personally enjoy?

Or is Azula’s approach to cooking similar to her approach to fire-bending in canon? Where she is a prodigy that loves cooking so much, that it becomes a part of Azula’s identity. This love for cooking, is raised by Ozai’s praise in a sense. Yet, is not complete dependent on him. (At least that’s how I interpret Azula’s relationship to Fire-bending in canon).

If answering this question hits spoiler territory though, please don’t answer! But also please do. (Paradigm of fiction you love no?)

Second inquiry is about a recipe. I know that you have posted about playing Baldurs Gate III before. In a similar vein, what is your opinion about the Elder Scrolls series of games? And in relation to the Kitchen nightmare fic I found a recipe blogpost by Taste of Tamriel. The “Rumare-Slaughter fish pie” recipe. I saw this and thought of the fic, after all what better way for Azula to get to Katara’s or Yue’s hearts than by their stomachs? Azula has already captivated Katara, Yue, and Suki via aesthetics (and who can blame them?) getting to the water tribe girls by making a delicious fish pie might work. It could also make up for Azula’s… interesting flirtation skills.

Plus there is a certain allure (so to speak) in making a video game lore dish. At least I find it so. Not that I can cook worth a damn myself.

If you are curious, I have provided a link to the recipe below.

-745th voice of the people

Ps: Thanks for writing (another) awesome Azutara story. Your stories, @juniperhillpatient and other Azutara stories helps brighten the day, and lesson the pain from college class and homework. Along with the lessening the pending doom of dealing with real world!

https://www.tumblr.com/tastesoftamriel/176571528529/rumare-slaughterfish-pie-anyone-whos-been

Hey, it's going well, thank you - alternating between work, writing and playing some Baldur's Gate 3 mostly.

I'm obviously always happy to ramble about my writing, so thank you for your questions. :)

Azula's relationship with cooking is an interesting question to think about. Most modern AU's will have Azula being useless in the kitchen because she's very spoiled and privileged, and it makes sense that she has little idea about what goes on in the kitchen. But what if her father was a world famous chef?

The way I imagine this, at first cooking for Azula (and Zuko too) was something they identified as a way to get their father's approval. I don't see cooking as something that Azula just instantly loved and was great at. It's something that she has worked on tenaciously over the years, and in the process, she has learned to love it.

And some might say, wait, cooking just doesn't sound like something Azula would be into. Well, ignoring the obvious parallel with firebending of heat/flame being involved, I think Azula has that kind of personality where once she gets immersed in something, she wants to learn everything there is to learn and become the best ever at it. At the top level, cooking is a very involved skill of great intricacies and many amazing techniques to master. I just think it's a challenge that someone compulsively obsessive like Azula would enjoy.

Anyway, those are my thoughts about Azula's relationship with cooking.

Quick answer about the Elder Scrolls or Bethesda style games in general. I think they're great games, however, I have never been able to really get into the whole genre of open world RPG's. I often feel like narrative gets lost among all this freedom to explore. I prefer more sandbox-y RPG's with tighter narratives, even if exploration tends to get sacrificed in the process.

Anyway, as far as Azula cooking something for the other girls in the Kitchen Nightmares story, that's an excellent suggestion and I'm happy to tell you that I already have some plans for it - if perhaps not exactly Azula making a delicious sounding fish pie for the girls. We are definitely going to see Azula in the kitchen and cooking, perhaps not in the next chapter, but very soon.

I don't think it will occur to Azula to purposefully try to impress Katara, Yue and Suki with her cooking skills, but you should expect that to happen anyway once the other girls see how Azula works and get to enjoy the results of her work.

Anyway, I'm glad that my stories serve as a helpful distraction from the drudgery of everyday life. :) As a reader, I find that stories by our friend @juniperhillpatient really brighten my day and provide a wonderful distraction, so to know that my stories do something similar for my readers is very flattering, thank you!

[rex101111]

I was thinking that, despite how relatively popular she is, Shuten has only had one extra version of her, so I started thinking of what kind of Alter she’d get and what sort of event would bring it about...and I hit upon a really stupid one that made me laugh so I wanna share it.

Ruler Shuten. Yes, I’m serious. 

Now the whole point of a Ruler is that they are supposed to be outside the conflict and make sure that a grail war doesn’t go off the rails and everyone follows the rules, a “judge” in other words, right? So, I was thinking, what sort of war or contest or whatever could Shuten possibly be qualified to be a judge of?

And then it hit me, cooking contest!

It would be a really silly event, like Oniland, and likewise spurred by Ibaraki saying something that manages to hit Shuten’s usually well hidden soft side. This time the younger Oni complains about how the food they serve in Chaldea isn’t as good as they used to have back on Mt. Ooe, and how now she has to share instead of just having as much as she wants. It’s a selfish want on the surface but Shuten can see that underneath that its just Ibaraki feeling a bit nostalgic for the good ol’ days.

The event is of course a big and bombastic cooking contest, like Master Chef but with explosions and people stabbing each other. All the famous, and infamous, chef servants fight a heated battle to satisfy the taste of The Grand Judge...Shuten Douji???

Everyone points out how outlandish it is that Shuten somehow managed to manifest as a Ruler, the loudest complaints of course come from Raikou, who is miffed both because she has to deal with Shuten and because she tried to cook something for Kintoki and it turned out awful so she’s using this chance to improve her skills and having to have her cooking judged by Shuten is seriously ruffling her feathers something fierce.

R: “How the hell can you possibly be qualified to judge me, insect?”

S: “Do you know how much wine I’ve drank? The feasts I’ve consumed? By sheer volume alone my tongue has more experience than anyone here~”

R: “You ate people!”

S: “Exactly! Thank you for reminding me! Yes! I ate people! Young and Old! Rich and Poor! Man and Woman! My tastes are diverse and well balanced! Truly my qualifications run deep! So here I am before you, as Ruler, as judge.”

R: “I-! You-!”

S: “So be sure to try your best~~”

Cue Shuten vanishing in a flash of light and Raikou gnashing her teeth and so begins the event. Tamamo and Kiyohime and especially Tomoe continue to be utterly atrocious at cooking and are the first bosses, Benienma continues to suffer as she opts out of the contest because she knows it would be unfair so she tries to train everyone else and boy is she in for a rough time, Archer and Boudica forming a quiet but intense rivalry as they battle it out in the kitchen for the title of Mom Of Chaldea, just a lot of small scenes of servants having fun and cooking like those mini-scnes in Oniland.

Shuten would be the featured 5 star limited servant of course, dressed in a mix of flowing white robes and a chef’s outfit that, because this is FGO and this is Shuten, gets skimpier the more you ascend her. The one thing that doesn’t change is that in every ascension...she has a little white chef’s hat between her horns. It only changes in her final ascension where it becomes a BIG white chef’s hat between her horns.  

The ending would be something like Raikou finally cooking something that satisfies Shuten (and beating each other up because they couldn’t resist) and she then turns around...and gives it to Ibaraki, who marvels at how this is exactly like the stew or whatever they used to have “way back when”. 

Ibaraki turns to Raikou and thanks her loudly and the samurai can only stammer a quiet, “thank you” and out of instinct pulls out a handkerchief to wipe Ibaraki’s face. Shuten just watches this with a quiet smile.   

So yeah if we can get a Ruler that’s a Casino Manger/Playboy Bunny why not Chef Shuten? Why the hell not huh???

[richmond-on-three]

Sam/Simi - Date

Send me a pairing and a word for a fic <3

"I knew I'd find you out here" Sam chuckled, stepping out of the kitchen and into the small alleyway behind Ola's. Simi let out a breath, and Sam frowned, having not realised until he saw her breath that she had been vaping "I thought you had given it up"

"I said I tried to" Simi corrected, pocketing her vape in the hopes it would prevent Sam from lecturing her on making healthy choices again. She knew he meant well, but sometimes his care could be mistaken as condescending. Sam's frown deepened, and Simi sighed; it was baffling how he could say so much with such a simple expression "I'll try again Monday. Anyway, why were you looking for me? Those idiots start a fire in there?"

"No, they didn't; the staff here are quite capable, remember. It's why we hired them" Sam replied, leaning against the wall beside Simi. For a moment, they stood in silence, listening to the shouts from the kitchen and the low hum of the city, taking time to simply enjoy each other's company "I was just wondering if you had eaten anything yet"

“I have; my break started twenty minutes ago” Simi replied, aware she should head back inside and start preparing for the dinner rush to begin “If you want to eat with me, you have got to start coming around here a little earlier” 

“I try my best; training just seems to be running over a lot more lately” 

“Kent probably just wants you all fit enough to win the whole thing like the rest of us. I don’t want to keep working for a loser” Simi teased, smiling when Sam laughed loudly. Sam had found her teasing slightly offputting at one point, but as they got to know each other and found their way to a dynamic that many questions and few understood, he had grown to love it. Sam almost felt unsettled if he had come by the restaurant and wasn’t teased by the head chef. 

“You’re hilarious” 

“I try my best” 

“Then I wouldn’t quit my day job if I was you” Sam shook his head “I don’t think you’d make much as a comedian” 

“Fuck off; I’d make millions. I’d be more rich and famous than you, and I’d own twice as many restaurants” 

“And deal with twice as many mean head chefs” 

“If you think I’m mean, Sam, then I don’t know how you survive the trash talk involved in football” Simi noted, rolling her eyes as Sam stuck his tongue out at her. Silence fell over them again, but neither felt the need to fill it as the seconds passed, happy just to be in one another’s company until Simi spoke again “Apparently, we have a lot of two-tops tonight; Ola’s is becoming a popular date spot” 

“I think we’re getting a lot of the crowd from Taste of Athens while it’s under construction” Sam admitted, making a mental note to ask Nate or Jade if they had any idea when the restaurant would be reopening. He wanted to be prepared  for when his main competitor got back in the game “I like that people are bringing their dates here; it’s sweet” 

“When are you going to ask me on one?” Simi blurted, surprising even herself as the words fell from her mouth. She and Sam had been dancing around it for months, the something that existed between them, and she couldn’t do it anymore. Simi needed to know where she stood,

“On one what?” 

“On a date, Sam” Simi exhaled, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. Despite how smart Sam seemed, he was also really good at fulfilling the stupid football player stereotype at the most inconvenient of times “I mean, we both know we’re into each other…right?”

“I am your boss, Simi” Sam reminded her, hating the circumstances under which they had met. If he was just a boy and she was just a girl, Sam was confident he would have already proposed to Simi by now. She was exceptional, and Sam hated that he couldn’t tell her “It would be unethical, it would be complicated” 

“Then I quit” 

“You cannot quit” 

“Really? If I can’t quit, then-”

“I am not going to fire you either” Sam fixed her with a glare; her insistence that he should ask her out was only increasing the temptation. He wanted a life with Simi, and it seemed she wanted one with him as well, but for now, Sam knew they’d have to settle for sharing meals during her breaks and conversing when she would rather vape instead.

“When I am rich, famous and dealing with twice as many rude head chefs….” Simi began, her smile not reaching her eyes as she spoke. She liked Sam; she just liked her job a lot more. Simi almost hated him for understanding that; she wished he didn’t know her so well “Will you ask me out?”

“Yes” Sam nodded, tempted to remind her the only requirement for him to ask her out was that he was not her boss anymore. Living in a fantasy where they could actually be together was too fun to spoil with a reminder about their reality “Will you say yes?”

“Maybe…” Simi nodded, the teasing glint in her eyes informing Sam that nothing had changed between them “You’ll have to ask in a pretty spectacular way, though. I’ll have lots of people who’ll want to date me when they learn how funny I am”