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carmenized-onions · 5 months

Text

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

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

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hiddenzev · 18 days

Text

Second Confession: Part 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the confession

Chapter Warnings - Angst, One-sided love, Unrequited Love, Idiots in Love, (let me know if i missed anything)

WC: 5.4K

series masterlist , AO3

A/N: Sorry for the late update, something terrible happened during the week which put me out of the writing momentum I was in. Love all the comments that you guys left and I appreciate it a lot. Hope yall love this chapter as well because I don't know how to feel about it really because my imagination just runs wild sometimes and it kinda went off the rails here. Thank you! <3

You slam the door to your house shut and went up to your bedroom. You throw yourself on the bed and bury your face in the pillow, crying your eyes out. His words are replaying in your head.

“Without them, you’re just another person in Jackson that I don’t give a fuck about”

“We’re in the apocalypse and you’re out here telling me about your little crush on me”

“I thought you’re better than this”

You didn’t expect for it to be this painful. You were up all night tossing and turning in your bed, replaying the whole scene in your head. Not only that, you don’t know how to face him after this. It’s going to be real awkward from here on out. The depressing night ended with you falling asleep for only 2 hours after all that crying.

Awkward tension filled the breakfast table the next day. Only sound of chewing and the utensils hitting the plates can be heard. It’s obvious that you had a rough night. You woke up with swollen eyes and dried tears all over your face. You were so emotionally wrecked and you were conflicted whether to show up for breakfast or not. However, your pride does not allow you to miss the breakfast and allow Joel to think that he got the best of you. You did not expect to yearn for sunglasses so much in the apocalypse.

Ellie had been glancing at you since you sat down at the table. You had your hair covering half of your face to hide your red swollen eyes. She looks over to Tommy and Maria to see whether they will say anything about it but they are clearly giving you some space and time if you needed to talk about it yourself. Ellie couldn’t handle it anymore as expected from her impatience.

“Have you been crying?” She genuinely asks you.

You know she meant well and she didn’t know what happened last night but you just wished that she would not bring it up at the table. You see a glimpse of Joel out of the corner of your eyes turning his head slowly to look at you. You tried to hide more of your face by staring down at your food.

“No. Just had an allergic reaction this morning, It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You said in a calm tone to hide your embarrassment.

“Oh, I didn’t know you have an allergy,” she asks curiously.

“Yeah I have a dust allergy, it’s minor, really, that’s why I didn’t bother telling anyone about it,” you do actually have the allergy but you just lied to cover up the real reason you have those eyes during breakfast.

Everyone just quietly finish their breakfast after that before parting ways for their own respective duties. You can tell from their concerned faces that they wanted to talk more with you but they let it go for now. Luckily for you, you didn’t have to face Joel for any of the duties that day. You take that opportunity to distract yourself with your duties to ensure that your thoughts are more rational and that you are not high on emotions like before.

For the next couple of days, you focus on doing the things you like so that your thoughts don’t stray away to Joel. You catch up on reading again which you have stopped for a few weeks prior due to your overwhelming thoughts of Joel. You busied yourself with more chores and did extra hours of shift duties. Certain things in your house reminds you of him like your wood carvings and your collection of items that you saved for him. You put those away out of your sight to help you out.

You try to tune out the sound of the guitar when he’s playing it which strangely, he’s been playing it every night recently and for much longer than usual. It makes you fall asleep peacefully with thoughts of him before you close your eyes and even after you wake up in the morning. It’s difficult to just stop thinking about someone that you were so obsessed about for a long time but you hope it will go away gradually as time passes by.

Eventually, everyone in the circle (basically just Tommy, Ellie and Maria) knew about what happened. They knew something was up when your eyes don’t light up as it used to when Joel is mentioned. Also, you can’t lie for shit. You were awkward and stuttering when they ask you about Joel.

You told them everything that happened that night as best as you could remember. Your good heart tried to defend some of what Joel said that you thought were true and they scolded you for it saying you must have lost your mind. Yes, he could be nicer to you but you can’t deny that you took that risk knowing he’s going to be mean. But whatever. You can’t change what happened. Needless to say, they were so mad at Joel for how he had rejected you. They don’t blame him for not reciprocating your feelings but they were hoping he could be gentle about it. You don’t know if they confronted him after that and you couldn’t care less at that time.

The day that you are dreading has come to haunt you. It’s patrol day with the person that broke your heart. You wake up earlier than your usual patrol day to ready yourself to spend almost half of the day with Joel since that painful conversation. You remind yourself to stay strong and just focus on the important tasks that you need to do. You don’t want to be weak in front of him and give him the upper hand.

The time comes for you to make your way to the ranch. You lock your door and as usual, has to walk down the street, passing by Joel’s house. What you didn’t expect is to see him getting out of the house as you pass by. He would have already been at the ranch by now normally. You are slightly annoyed and panicking knowing he’s going to be walking behind you this morning. You don’t like that he’s going to be eyeing you and you don’t want to know what he’s thinking about.

Usually the quiet streets in the early morning is very serene to you but now it's torturing to be able to hear his footsteps faintly behind you. You walk slightly faster than usual to quickly end this misery. Thankfully, you reach the ranch with no complications. You quickly busy yourself with checking your horse and make sure everything is set and ready to go. You barely look at Joel to see what he is up to until the both of you make your way to the gates.

He's leading the way as always and he looks back at you to see if you're ready to go. You stare at him with a cold look in your eyes before giving him a stiff nod reluctantly. His eyes linger on your face before he turns to ride out of the gates.

The tension is the same as the first patrol with him or maybe even higher. The other patrols after the first, were full of you rambling and cracking jokes to fill the silence with him giving you an annoyed look. Different than those days, you do not bother to ease the tension.

The landscape is bathing in the warm glow of the rising sun. The rich scent of nature surrounding the both of you hits you strongly. Unlike the relationship between you and Joel, the sounds of nature are peaceful and has a harmonious symphony.

Joel who is leading the way, steals some glances at you time to time. You try not to be affected by it.

“We’ll stop by the cabin soon.” He states in his husky voice without looking back at you.

You do not reply to what he said knowing there’s no use of it. After a short travel, the cabin comes to sight in a distance. Both of you get off of the horses and check the surroundings before tying the horses to a nearby, sturdy tree. You follow Joel to get in the cabin. Both of you check everything that is needed to be checked before agreeing to have a short break.

You sit at one end of the sofa while Joel sits at the other end. You take out the lunch and drink that you packed from your bag. You fill up your stomach as you lean back on the sofa. Joel eats his sandwich in silence with his arms on his knees. Halfway through your meal, he speaks unexpectedly surprising you.

“Did you have a good sleep?” He asks while chewing on his food.

You turned your head to look at him, not believing what you just heard. He don’t make small talk at all, not once to you, so you are wondering why he’s acting like this all of a sudden.

“Yeah.” You replied him with a questioning tone, not used to him asking you something personal.

He keeps his eyes on the sandwich he’s holding and nods his head after hearing what you said. You take this chance to see whether he will answer you.

“How about you?” You mumble in a low voice, not sure how he would respond.

“Not bad.” He murmurs, still eating his food.

You stare at him for a moment, taking in this rare moment of him being somewhat calm with you. With his patchy salt and pepper beard, a nose that you believe to be specifically sculpted by God, curls that makes you want to tangle your hands in, it makes the walls that you built for the past couple of days to crumble down just by looking at him. It’s so unfair that you still have a soft spot for him in your heart and you’re afraid that any little thing that he do will make you forgive him.

You finishes your meal and lean your head back on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. You hear the sound of him storing his food back into his bag before you feel him move slightly through the sofa. In the meantime, you just study the ceiling while everything else just fades in the background. You find the room is silent after getting out of the trance that you were in.

You look to your side to see Joel is staring at you. Has he been staring at you the whole time? Your eyes connect for a few seconds before he look down at his hands. Your heart stupidly starts to beat faster knowing he was staring at you intently. Your body betrays you by blushing a little from his gaze.

He licks his lips nervously while looking everywhere else but you. You sit up feeling the nervousness that he is portraying. You look at him waiting as he seems to want to say something.

“Umm…about what you said the other night…” he fiddles with his hands nervously.

He is having trouble to say what he wants and keeps glancing around. You try to save him the trouble by speaking up, wanting to get over this awkward conversation.

“It’s fine. Just forget about it. If it makes you uncomfortable, let’s just pretend that never happened.” You suggests while looking out the window, away from Joel’s side. It hurts a little for you to say that but you think it’s better this way.

You stands up to dust off your pants before picking up your bag to get out of the cabin and continue your shift duty.

“Let’s go.” You said coldly, making your way out to the horses.

Joel just observes you from a distance with pressed lips and doesn’t say anything to object what you have just said. He ponders for awhile before joining you. You carry on the patrol with much more focus and not bring up any personal topic to him.

Needless to say, the patrol ended with no complications and you did so much better than you expected. At least, you don’t think you made yourself look like a fool still wanting him. Thankfully, he didn’t talk about it after that as well.

After the patrol, Joel is at Tipsy Bison, sitting alone at a booth in the corner. He observes everyone in the bar just having a good time. There are a few couples in there swaying along to the music at the opposite end of the bar. The way they look at each other with so much love in their eyes makes Joel feel envious of them. He does not think that anyone would look at him that way in the apocalypse. He does not think that he deserves it after everything that he’s been through.

That is why when you confessed to him that night, he was taken aback and pushed you away because he doesn’t believe that you knew him enough to truly like him for who he is. He also doesn’t think of you more than an acquaintance of Tommy and Ellie. To hear your confession, altered his brain completely. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be feeling.

As he is thinking about you, Tommy comes into the bar and looks for Joel. He makes his way to him after spotting him in his usual corner. Tommy slides into the booth on the opposite side of Joel.

“She’s not coming. Said she wants to be alone for tonight.” Tommy sighs heavily, leaning back while scrutinizing Joel.

Joel just gives a short grunt in reply while munching on some nuts on the table. Tommy hesitantly brings up what’s happening between you and him and leans forward on the table.

“Are you really gonna keep this up with her?” Tommy asks Joel, eyebrows scrunching.

“Keep what up?” Joel looks up at Tommy with a huge frown on his face.

“Well you know, being an asshole,” Tommy added.

“You think I’m supposed to accept her or something?” Joel staring at Tommy with questioning look on his face.

Tommy just shrugs casually.

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t have feelings for her at all and you, of all people should know that I’m not looking for anything in this fucked up world.” Joel gives his reason to Tommy. He’s tired of explaining himself to his brother.

“I get it but you could have let her down gently instead of being rude to her.” Tommy countered with a dull look at his face.

He’s angry to see you heartbroken by his cold hearted brother. He cherish you a lot as a friend and wants the best for you. He can’t help it that you fell for his brother that doesn’t see love as the way you do.

Joel has nothing to say to that. He agrees that he was mean to you. He was not thinking straight at that time and was overwhelmed with so much feelings that he don’t understand. He did reflected on his words and actions after that and it was bothering him still.

“She was not even expecting anything from you but to just listen to what she had to say,” Tommy continues to explain your intention.

“What good does that do to me?” Joel answers with irritation.

Tommy shakes his head slowly before talking again.

“She genuinely cares about you, brother.” He said with a low voice, his eyes not wavering while looking at Joel.

“All of us sees how she looks and acts around you. I bet that you have your own suspicions as well because only a damn fool wouldn’t see it. You don’t want to lose someone that really cares about you in the apocalypse. Especially not her. Maybe she could help you feel a little joy in this, like you said, fucked up world. If you need some proof, just look at me and Maria.” Tommy tries to convince him.

Joel breaks eye contact with Tommy and sips his drink before looking at everyone in the bar. Most of the people here are smiling and laughing even when they know the situation that they are in.

“I know some people that are interested in her. They’ve been asking me about her for awhile.” Tommy picks up a few nuts in his hands before throwing it in the air and catching it with his mouth.

Joel shifts his eyes back to Tommy after hearing that. His eyes slightly widen than before with a certain glint in his eyes prompting Tommy to explain more.

“She’s been on her own for a long time and I know she’s been feeling lonely. It might do her some good if I introduce her to someone that she could make a new friend with.” Tommy continues to talk while snacking on the nuts.

“If you really want her, i suggest you get your act together and do something about it before it’s too late. What’s the point of living if you’re not really living it,” Tommy raises his eyebrows at Joel.

Joel clenches his jaw thinking about you looking at another man like how you used to look at him. He doesn’t know why his anger is rising just thinking about it.

Tommy stands up to the side of the table before placing his hand on Joel’s shoulder, squeezing it a little.

“I better get going to my wife. I’ll see you around.” He winks at Joel before going.

Joel’s eyes follow Tommy until he is out of sight. He sits there for a moment thinking about what Tommy said before making his way back home.

On the way back home, his head is filled with the thoughts of you. How he first met you, the way you blush when he's near you, how you look at him with sparkles in you eyes, basically everything about you.

However, the patrol earlier with you was different. You were giving him the cold shoulder and didn't act as you usually were. You did not yap about what you like or don't like, not even the weather, like you usually does. It bothers him that he kind of want to hear your cheery voice instead of your deafening silence.

As he is busy in his own thoughts, he didn't realise that he's reaching his house. In a distance, he could see that your bedroom is emitting soft and warm light. He stops right at his house, looking at the direction of your house. For the first time, he wonders what you are up to.

He turns to walk into his house and the memories of what happened that night came rushing back again. Ever since that night, he's reminded of what happened every time he passes by it.

After dropping your gift on the ground and shutting the door on you that night, he hovered behind the door, processing what just happened. He moved to the window near the door and took a peek behind the curtains. He saw that you were staring at your gift right below you with your fists clenched by your sides. While he was feeling bad, seeing you crushed like that, he didn't expect to see you throw the gift at his door angrily before stomping off. It's the first time he saw you that angry.

He opened his door after making sure that you are already in your house. He took your gift inside and sat on his sofa to open it. It's his first time opening a gift from someone after the outbreak except when Ellie gave him one couple months ago.

He opened the small package slowly and froze seeing the contents in it. He took the beautiful horse chess piece and brought it up close to his face to observe it. There were your initials in small letters at the bottom of the piece, indicating that you carved it yourself. He was mesmerised and lost in the details of the piece before remembering the other contents in the package. He placed the chess piece on the small coffee table in front of him carefully.

He took out the small guitar pick that says 'I pick you' on it. He scoffed with a small smile on his face thinking this was corny but cute. He knows Ellie would find this funny because of her lame jokes. He realised that you must have heard him play his guitar at nights. He didn't know that you could listen from that far away.

Lastly, he opened the letter that you wrote for him.

'Dear Joel,

Firstly, I'm sorry to take you by surprise and I feel like the only way I can tell you how I truly feel about you is by writing this. Joel, you caught my eyes ever since you came in here and no one else really matters as much as you matters to me (except for Ellie, Tommy and Maria of course).

It's getting tough for me to keep these feelings hidden away from you so that is why I want to get it out of my chest. I know that your grumpy ass might think it's silly but my feelings are real, Joel. My heart beats faster just by thinking about you and you don't even want to know how it's like to be near you. There's not a single day which I don't think of you. I see you in my head before I go to sleep at night and after I wake up in the morning.

You may think it is selfish of me to be doing this, yes, I don't deny that. I'd rather be selfish than regretting not telling you the truth. I'm not expecting you to return the same feelings for me. I'm not asking you to be my lover or whatsoever. I just want us to be friends. It's fine if you don't want to. We'll just be who we are to each other before this.

By the way, I'm giving you a chess piece which I made specially for you. I've heard from Ellie that you got a little chess project that you're working on. It's not much but it did felt pretty good to carve it. I might just start carving as a hobby, as a matter of fact. Also, you probably would already guess why I'm giving you the guitar pick. I've heard you play the guitar sometimes and I do love listening to you play. Picked that one out just for you. Thought you might find it funny. I know Ellie does for sure.

Anyway, those are just my tokens of appreciation for you. Thank you for not making me feel lonely and boring in here. I truly do like you even if you don't believe it.

Cheers,

Your Neighbour'

Joel sighed heavily while leaning back against the sofa. He thought about you putting the effort to write this letter, you being thoughtful of getting him a guitar pick and especially about you taking the time to carve a chess piece specially for him, knowing it is something that he loves doing.

He went to sleep that night with so much guilt of being rude to you earlier. He wished to take back the mean things he said towards you. He doesn't know what to do to make it better. He needs to apologise but his harden self doesn't know how to.

Tonight is game night. The last night of every month, Tommy would gather all of us to have a game night at his house. Everyone is seated in the living room facing each other. You are sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace and Ellie is sitting to your right. Maria is sitting on a sofa chair to your left. Tommy and Joel sits opposite of you on the sofa.

You were playing charades for a few rounds with the group split into two, boys versus girls. Maybe because they are brothers, they were sweeping the rounds with ease. It’s annoying to see Tommy with a smug look as he is winning every round with Joel. He even taunted the girls just to rile them up. Joel on the other hand, looks so nonchalant as usual even when he’s playing and doesn’t even react much when he won.

“Let’s play a new game! I played it with my friends recently and it was kinda fun,” Ellie suggested with an excited look on her face.

“What game?” Tommy moves forward slightly to the edge of the sofa, interested to know about the new game.

“It’s called ‘Never have I ever’.” Ellie introduces the game and explains the rule to everyone.

Once everyone understands how to play, Ellie starts first. Each and everyone of you have a turn stating what you all had never done. One round passes and it’s back to Ellie. You had two of your fingers folded already from previous attacks.

“Never have I ever experience living before the outbreak.” she grins mischievously.

Everyone except Ellie groan and complain about what she had just said.

“That’s sooo cheap,” You narrow your eyes at her while shaking your head slowly.

“What? I had to. I want to the be the last one standing.” She reasons her way out before telling Joel to go next.

“Never have I ever worn high heels.” He said as he looks at you and Maria.

You and Maria folded a finger each, cursing quietly under your breath. Tommy went next causing Joel to fold a finger. Maria has a go for one of Tommy’s.

It is soon your turn and you take a jab at the boys by saying, “Never have I ever have a male sibling.” you cannot contain the small smile on your face after saying that.

You don’t dare to look at Joel so you just keep your gaze on his fingers to see him folding one of it. Tommy curses you and you chuckle softly.

The game continues and mostly everyone have five fingers left except for Ellie who is left with seven. She’s being so ruthless in this game. You cannot expect what she will say each round. Everyone is trying to protect her innocence while she has no filter on and just runs her mouth without thinking twice.

Some of the things she said in the game were, ‘not having a relationship before’ (very mild), ‘never experience sex before’ (okay, chill. Everyone was stunned hearing that from a 15 year old mouth) and in the previous round, ‘never seen her parents before’ (the room totally went silent).

It’s back to her again and the next thing that she said, caught you off guard.

“Never have I ever done any wood carvings.” you glance at her to see that she’s already smirking at you. How did this little shit know about this?

Your eyes can’t help but shifts to Joel and sees that he’s already putting one finger down, leaving him with only three left. He briefly looks at you before looking down at the floor in the middle of the circle. You hesitantly put a finger down and that is obviously not missed by the other two people in the room.

“Oh, you did?” Maria turns her body to you, indicating that you should explain more about it.

“Yeah, I started like a couple months ago,” you give her a short reply and hoping they would move on from this.

“Why didn’t you tell us? You know this man over here does them a lot,” Tommy gives a good grip on Joel’s shoulder and shakes him slightly, “Maybe the both of you could spend some time carving together.”

You and Joel make eye contact for a brief moment. All you can think about is that one chess piece that you made for him. You wonder if he keeps it or he had thrown it away after that night.

Ellie reminds Joel that it’s his turn next but Joel suddenly says that he doesn’t want to play this game anymore and that he wants to go home soon as he is tired. You think that his mood is ruined thinking of the chess piece that you made specially for him. Sadness filled your heart again thinking that he doesn't like it.

Tommy eases up the tension by asking if anyone needs more drinks.

"Me." Ellie said and gets up to squeeze in between Joel and Tommy.

Tommy stands with a groan to get the drinks from the kitchen. Your butt starts to hurt sitting on the hard floor as well so you move to sit on the only available chair beside Joel. Tommy comes back holding drinks on both hands. He hands one over to Ellie before sitting on the arm rest on Maria’s sofa chair. He leans towards Maria and put his arm over her shoulders. They gently smile at each other making you feel slightly jealous of the love that they have.

Tommy turns to you looking as if he just remembered something.

“Hey, you know Emile, right?” He asks.

“Yeah. Always see him in the library. Why?” you asks, not knowing where this is going.

“He’s been asking about you, wondering how you’ve been,” he added.

“Oh, it’s probably because I didn’t visit the library for awhile now.” you shrug your shoulders.

“Guess he misses you, huh” he smirks with one eyebrow raised.

“Nah, what are you talking about? Stop it.” You chuckles softly finding this is ridiculous. Shaking your head, you slump back on the sofa, sighing.

Emile is one of the librarians in the community. He’s been here for almost half a year and he’s been really nice to you. He’s tall, has short and curly dirty blonde hair, striking blue eyes and quite a gentleman. He’s popular among the ladies for being a sweetheart. He will strike up conversations with you every time you go to the library to browse some books or spend some time reading alone there. You can tell he is into books and love to learn about new things even though he’s clumsy at times.

He’s younger than you by a couple of years and you only view him like a little brother all this time. He’s giving a golden retriever energy and it does make you smile sometimes. He reminds you of the feeling of warmth when hanging out with your close friends before the outbreak.

You were sure that he don’t have feelings for you in a romantic way. Maybe you are wrong. You were too busy focusing on Joel to notice anyone else in the vicinity.

“Maybe he likes you,” Ellie chirps in,

“No fucking way,” you dismisses that idea right away.

“What if he does?” Tommy asks you seriously.

“I don’t know?”

“What do you think of him?” Maria asks with a soft smile on her face.

God, you wish you could disappear right there and then. You do not look at Joel’s direction but you can see at the corner of your eyes, his fingers are gripping the arm rest on his side really hard.

“He’s a nice lad. Real sweet,” you say hesitatingly, knowing they might tease you with whatever you will say, “always ask me if I’m doing good every time I see him in the library.”

You glance to your side a little bit and spots Joel’s fingers are scratching the arm rest mindlessly. He’s tapping his foot restlessly and something about that makes you want to comfort him.

You’re tired of the pressure they’re putting on you here and especially with Joel in the presence. However, you think maybe you could use this opportunity to see how he would react. Why is he restless? Is he jealous? Or is he just so repulsed by you?

“Maybe I should visit the library tomorrow and see him.” You casually say that, pretending you are happy with the idea of seeing Emile.

Everyone especially Tommy and Ellie are cheering and howling except for the grumpy old man beside you. He soaks in the moment for a few seconds before getting up of his seat.

“I’m going home.” He says to everyone with a strangled voice.

He storms past right in front of you and you can feel the anger seeping through his body without even touching him. In that moment, you take in his earthy and musky scent as he strides pass you. You almost run after him to check if he’s okay. It’s driving you insane that he still have you wrapped around his little finger and you cannot do anything about it.

Is he angry that you’re going to see Emile tomorrow?

Why would he be angry if he rejected you?

next part

Thank you so much for reading this chapter. I will update the next one within two weeks!! Pinky promise <3

Taglist: @greenwitchfromthewoods @rebeccawinters @cuteanimalmama @rodriguez31 @orcasoul @ashleyfilm

#joel miller #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel the last of us #joel x reader #the last of us fic

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chaosandmarigolds · 2 months

Text

“Coco having a thing for older men doesn’t make your quirky it means you have-“

shut up and let me tell you on how amazing of a husband John Price is

now in my head you can either A: be high school sweet hearts

which would entail-

John picking you up in his dad’s 79’ thunderbird for school every morning, never letting you open the door and always having a thermos of coffee, tea, for you

— a habit he kept through 40 or so years of marriage, picks you up for a date night in whatever car he has, never lets you touch a car door

John who takes you to the theater on Friday nights not only because he has a buddy that can get you in for free but also because he works all Saturday and Sunday- but he never forgets to make time for you

—- another habit he tries to keep, Friday nights are date nights, even if they happen once a month he makes it a point to do them

John who stared at you with wide, terrified eyes when he told you he was joining the army. It had been the middle of the night, your father got so scared by the dog barking he had grabbed the gun and almost shot the poor boy-

“When…how long?”

“Not sure.”

“You said…you said you were going to go to Oxford with me. Mean to lie, isn’t it?”

“I wish I could, love. I do.”

John who had written you letters just about every day, so about once a week you would get a total of 50,000 words to read, which he would also receive in neat cursive writing.

And the other option is the…somewhat problematic one, age-gap. Which is a fine line and I do take it seriously, so hypocritically reader is early-mid twenties (22-27) and he’s early fifties late forties

John, who hated himself when he would look at you longer than ten seconds after you finished your report- you worked hard for your role, your were admirable- and too sweet for your own good

“Sir? We’re getting dinner would you care to join?” “I’m fine here.” ”oh…well, I’ll bring you something back, yeah? Any allergies?”

John who assigned extra men to any mission you would go on because he refused to let you see any wound in the field

John would rather die than admit his feelings because you should go Johnny, or Kyle or even Simon before you would even dare try for him

John who would let the entire world burn for one touch of yours

it was pathetic, really and he knew this, utterly obsessed and it was disgusting to even himself. Yet he couldn’t help it. He was yours, even if you didn’t know it.

(ok ok my yap sesh is over :) )

#john price #captain john price #cod john price #john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price #captain johnathan price #john price cod #john price x you #cod mw2 #cod x reader

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cloveroctobers · 6 months

Text

SHOW YOU WHY — EVAN “BUCK” BUCKLEY x READER x 118: [Spring Prompts]

A/N: I’m excited to see what the rest of season 7 brings us! This piece can fit for both Buck (since there’s some hints of a crush between reader + Buck—if you squint!) and the rest of the 118. I’m just thrilled to see them all back on screen so I wanted to include everyone in this.

WARNINGS: gave the gender-neutral reader some background & mentions of a tough upbringing + use of curse words!!!

PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE & I’m using: 3. “Welcome to ~allergies~” + 20. “IT’S SPRINGTIME MUTHA-FUCKERS.”

<- read my previous flop of a spring prompt here.

𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼ 𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼ 𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼ 𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼

Anywhere but here you wanted to be.

You could have gotten out of this too, just like the mayor’s ball back in December but you personally didn’t want to receive an ear-full of a voicemail from your aunt yet again. So you dealt with it (being here on time-except you actually weren’t in your aunt’s eyes) putting in the work to also give “orders” rather than instructions to the workers while she had other hired workers tend to her full attire.

She won a honorary award just last month so she planned on parading that around her birthday party. It wasn’t the smartest move having it right at the entry way of the home, sitting on the center piece of a circular oak table that her great-grandfather built, with party goers but since the spring weather decided to stick in California, your aunt was more than willing to have this gathering out back but not without having most of her guests walk through the front doors first.

The main reason to have this party was for the attendees to constantly compliment the view of the vineyard out back. You already knew your aunt’s (by marriage) game, having the honor of being raised by her from the time you were thirteen. You just wished you could close your eyes, squeeze them really tight to the point that they hurt, and this would be over.

Thankfully an hour into the party, your uncle shows up, rushing in from his work trip out in Finland—don’t ask—brushing his lips against your hairline and giving you a tight side hug before he’s whisked off by his high energy wife of twenty years. That gave you enough time to sneak away from the boring and prying conversations, the set up of trying to date one of the attendees, and hide for a little bit before your cover was blown and you were thrown back into the party of socializing.

Another forty-five minutes pass and you’re getting a text that has you jumping to your feet, swaying a bit before you excuse yourself back into the mediterranean home to greet the guests you’ve been waiting for.

Yanking the door open you yell, “IT’s SPRING TIME MUTHA-FUCKERS! Welcome to my family’s place and I’m so glad you guys could make it.”

Chimney smirks around the chewing of his gum, “can’t say I’ve been greeted like that ever but I’m not complaining! as long as I get to have whatever it is you’ve had.”

You tilt your head to the side at the spikey haired man, “Chim! How many times do I have to tell ya? I’m not a drinker…I’m just spreading all things…spring?”

“I can tell with that outfit.”

A elbow goes to his gut from Maddie while Hen scoffs with a shake of her head at her best friend, who’s now rubbing his torso.

You’re waving the group all in, hugging Athena as she says, “your family has a mighty big house.”

“Yeah, I was just about to say what did they do again?” Eddie is next in embracing you after almost doing a full spin in the entry way, staring up at the high ceilings.

Buck is last to pull you into a hug, lightly rocking you both from side to side while you hold his back, “Can’t believe you grew up here.”

You shrug, “It’s just a house of an Architect and a mayor.”

“You must have had crazy parties here,” Buck is grinning wildly while Eddie is rolling his eyes at him.

“Of course Evan would be the one to think about the parties,” Maddie stares over at her younger brother who’s shameless about his daydreams of what that may have looked like.

You lifted your shoulders, “anyways! Make yourselves comfy but stay away from the Rueger’s—they’re swingers and may try to encourage you into joining their underground society club. A good portion of the people here are uppity but there’s a sprinkle of good ones that you won’t want to kick up the ass.”

“Oh! Say no more, I know exactly who I’m talking to.” Athena shoots a look to Bobby who’s pleading with his eyes to his wife, to just enjoy the party and not interrogate but Athena wouldn’t be Athena if she didn’t go investigate.

Bobby squeezes your shoulder on his way by but keeps his eyes on Athena’s retreating form, “Its good to see you and thanks for the invitation. I’m going to do my best and make sure things don’t erupt into chaos.”

You nod your head, expecting this but let out a sigh although there’s a smile on your lips. Hen takes a step closer to you as you’re now humming, swaying your hands about as if they were floating on water. “Uh, you sure you’re alright? You seem…a little off?”

“What do you mean?” You question, hands moving to float above Hen’s shoulders, almost as if you’re not aware you’re doing this.

This gains the other’s attention as the low haired woman peeks from left to right while you’re making a wave with your hands. “Stop that and hold still.”

“Why? The air never does.”

Which earns a chuckle from Chimney while Hen grips your shoulders, scanning your face and finally focuses on the end of your brow to the lid of your eye.

“Hen, what’s up?” Buck quizzes, eyes steady on you two.

Hen shushes him while she keeps her eyes on you, “how many fingers am I holding up?”

You blink then smile, “two caterpillars,” you speak so matter of factly, ready to spin away from the conversation but Hen is pulling you back by the shoulders.

“Hen—

Chimney tries this time and Maddie is furrowing her brows also confused.

“I think they’re having an allergic reaction.” Hen concludes before directing the rest of her words to you, “your eye area is swelling up and if you didn’t take anything, I’d say you’re also a little disoriented? Maybe even experiencing some brain fog?”

You shrug, “must have been the sea bass or was it trout? that Eitan guy tried to share with me. Whatever, let’s have some fun now that my friends are here.”

You’re dancing now, although it feels like your brain is spinning in slow-motion, yet the outside music is pretty faint.

Buck has his eyes in slits, “who the hell is Eitan?”

“And why was he feeding you?” Eddie added, he didn’t hear any updates about your dating life either and he was sure if it was true, Buck would have been the first to tell him instead.

Maddie stares at the two ridiculous men, “they didn’t say the guy was feeding them.”

Chimney leans towards Hen as her face still holds concern, fingertips lightly pressing on the lymph nodes in your neck which you laugh at the sensation, “Want me to search the house to see what I can find? You don’t think they’re going to stop breathing any time soon do you?”

The way Buck and Eddie snap their attention to the dark haired man’s words; burning their eyes into his frame, makes Chimney realize that it doesn’t hurt to turn down his bluntness some but Hen thinks nothing of it.

“How!” Maddie hisses his name from behind, while Chim holds his hands up to show he has no ill-intent, you were his friend too.

Hen starts, “I don’t think they consumed enough to get to that point but—

“Hey, aren’t you allergic to all things seafood anyway? Why would that jackass give that to you?” Buck interrupts with a cross of his arms, becoming irritated.

Eddie also states, “and why would your tío and tía have that here? Surely they know your health history.”

Maddie also can’t help but to ask in a much more compassionate approach, “How exactly did this happen?”

“I got caught up in the love story Eitan’s ninety year old grandmother was telling me on the right about the love letters she received from her husband in the navy. Eitan’s calling my name from the left to try this and next thing I know, I’m eating fish.” You notify, hoping that answered this test.

Buck scrunches up his nose, “who does this guy think he is? Just spoon feeding you without even knowing your likes, dislikes, and what you can’t have!”

Eddie asserts in agreement as Buck begins to pace now, “I’m sorry but your relatives screwed up.”

“The Tramp too.” Chimney jokes.

You tilt your head to the side while Hen glares and Maddie raises her eyebrows, wanting the man to expand on that.

“Hello! Lady and the tramp anyone? This Eitan guy is obviously the tramp—not your aunt.” Chimney sheepishly smiles, “whew, tough crowd!”

Hen is back to massaging your neck in search of any inflammation while you rant, “Well as auntie Katrina says: you can’t please everyone and sometimes you have to do what you have to do to get to the top. She probably just forgot with all the things on her mind? she was the main one trying to push a love connection between Eitan and I. Also you guys should have seen her earlier. She was all over the place and had to have me take over.” You pull away, coughing into your sleeve, struggling a bit to clear your throat.

The five glance at each other.

You were part of the 118, first somewhat reserved and a little shy rather than closed off but similar to Bobby in a sense when you first joined. It took time to get you to open up, even to Buck who was friendly with everyone. You transferred to the station six months after Buck so he had no issue taking you underneath his wing even if you were complete opposites. It was safe to say that majority of the crew didn’t care for your aunt, simply from the way she spoke to you, and hearing how you tried to sweep the way she treated you growing up away. It was evident verbal abuse but you felt like you owed her something since she stepped in as a mother figure to raise you after the tragedy of losing your own mother.

Part of you knew you shouldn’t feel guilty and that she was the adult who married your biological uncle who was always away—working and that it should have been a given. However when people make you feel like they’re doing you a favor instead of simply caring about you, you just may start to question everything.

Unfortunately, you were the second guesser because of that but not when it came to the field. You became a different person out on the job, quickly thinking and analyzing everything before sprinting into action and that was something the 118 admired.

Maddie and Eddie both share a nod before she speaks, “okay…Eddie and I are going to have a chat with this Eitan guy.”

Buck approved of that although he wouldn’t have minded having a word with Eitan himself, especially if they were all thinking the same thing. Once his eyes flicked back to you after the pair left the room, he noticed the change in your skin gradually and that didn’t sit well with him. So yeah, maybe it was best he stayed behind.

Hen asks you, “Do you have your EpiPen?”

You’re zoning out a bit, eyes disconnecting some but you’re nodding your head as if you’re listening.

So Hen took that as a negative.

“Chim, check the bathrooms for Prednisone or any type of corticosteroid? Even Peppermint oil. If not, try the kitchen for pineapple or even ice just in case.” Hen informs while Chim dips his head before heading off.

Hen smiles as she gently guides you to the stairs which are to the right of the front door, “here, let’s have you sit.”

“But I want to dance!”

“We can do that later,” Buck expresses while following you two, “we just want to make sure you’re okay first and that there’s no funny business going on here.”

Pressing your cheek into your balled up fist you say, “fine…I’ll tell you guys what going on. I’ll come clean.”

Hen and Buck meet each other’s eyes before they peer down at you. Sitting up straight, you exhale and begin to flap your arms like wings, “welcome to…allergies.”

Buck honestly found this a little cute although he didn’t appreciate the increase in size of your brow and eye now but at least you were in good spirits. Even if it seemed like the rest of the 118 were speculating something much more than a simple case of allergies.

“I’m going to move things further along and find the kitchen. Buck, Call out to me if anything changes.” Hen decides before making her exit.

He calls out to her, “You got it.” Then he’s turning back to stand in front of you while you beam up at him, “what’s going on in that field full of daisies of a mind of yours?”

“It’s actually Lillie’s but,” you clear the scratch of your throat again, “I don’t know, I felt kinda anxious being back here but knew I would be okay once you were the first to agree on showing up.”

Buck furrows his brow at the last bit of the sentence, “did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Well…you’ve been busy with Natalia.” You’re blinking your inflamed eye to see if it was tingly or sticky, “Didn’t want to intrude on your quality time.”

“You wouldn’t be, you’re actually one of my best friends and it’s always cool for us to hang out whenever,” Buck replies, “by the way that relationship is over with…and you’ve got that same look on your face as Eddie.”

You actually imagined yourself to look like that one Ryan Gosling gif but only because you were the last to know.

You breathe out a laugh afterwards, “Sheesh! I’m not going to say finally or I told you so because she was super pretty and helped you pick out a couch which was nice and…are you okay?”

Buck chuckles at your mind still wandering all over the place in conversations, “the couch and I are just fine! Thanks for asking.”

You hum, resting your head against the wall.

“So what’s this Eitan guy like?” Buck suddenly probes.

You blink, “think: tall dark and handsome.”

Buck blurts out with a furrow of his brows, “Sasquatch?”

“…if that’s what you’re into.” Laughter bubbles in your voice at the expression on Buck’s face now.

He holds his hands out, “I’m not even going to entertain that.”

“Aw but it’ll be fun.”

Buck plops down beside you, almost taking up a good portion of the uncomfortable steps. He brushes his shoulder against yours and you meet each other’s gaze.

“I’ve missed you, you know?”

Those words right there almost wiped all weird feelings you were having before and after you ate that food. You were never one to think that anyone noticed if you were around or not so hearing Buck say this to you, made you feel warm inside—better even. Somewhat.

“You taking off for a while made sense,” Buck starts with an exhale, “but I didn’t think that time away included spending it with your aunt Kat.”

Buck didn’t hide his dislike of the older woman but out of the respect he had for you, he kept his feelings to himself yet that didn’t mean he didn’t go off about her to Eddie or Maddie when she clearly upset you.

“…Majority of it didn’t.” You answer.

“Where did you go?”

You pointed as if you were mapping it out in the air, “Chicago, then Texas, and back here.”

“…Do I need to know how that was?” he’s pressing his elbows into his knees, getting comfortable right beside you.

He’s told you all about his adventures across the globe, mostly unwarranted but you didn’t mind. You had a sheltered life while your aunt and uncle went all over to see the world thanks to their professions, so you didn’t get out much until you decided to head to the first state you had the deepest connection to. Where your late mother and uncle were born and raised and ultimately where your mother’s life ended.

“All you need to know is that it brought me back home, to the rest of you.”

“Can’t say I don’t like the sound of that.”

You loop an arm with Buck’s and rest your head on his shoulder, “look at us sitting here being nice to each other with our matching marks.”

“I’m always nice and I think mine is cooler.” He says referring to his own strawberry birthmark.

You nuzzle your face against his navy sweater, “You stating your claim on yours being better really defeats the purpose of you being nice.”

“Well, I mean no harm buuut yours is temporary and reminds me of hippo skin.” He’s leaning away, eyes lowered to get a good look at your face up close.

“…Now I see why you and Natalia broke up.”

If chimney was back, you were sure he’d give you some points for roasting Buck back.

“Ouch.” Buck laughs, resting his cheek against your head.

You echo his laugh, “sorry.”

“Don’t be. I can take a joke and Isn’t this season supposed to be about new beginnings or growth or whatever?” Buck was always interested to see the layers of you.

You gasp, “I thought it was the season of allergies.”

Evan hums, “Is that the story you’re sticking with?”

Before you could reply to that Eddie cuts in, “the story actually checks out…you did in fact ingest some sea bass from the nerdy but surprising good looking Eitan. The fish was a little on the salty side so I see why you only had a small piece.”

“A small piece that was enough to have their face looking like hippo skin!” Buck held his hand out underneath your chin to showcase.

Eddie scrunched up his face after taking a look at yours while you slapped the dark blond on his chest, “why would you choose to compare their allergic reaction to that of all things?”

“Why would you give your critiques of a dish you probably don’t even know how to cook?” Buck fired back.

Before they started to bicker, Maddie claps her hands to silence the two men-children and then turns to you with a soft smile, “Eitan also wanted to come over here and apologize but I told him it would best to just wait it out for awhile.”

“Thanks Maddie.” You smile back at the brunette, preferring to be around your friends instead.

“That’s the smartest thing he’s done today.” Buck huffs while Maddie sends him a warning look, to basically knock it off.

Eventually Hen and Chim make their way back but only Hen has items in her hands.

Chim holds his hands out as he exasperates, “you would think people who have a house filled with eight bathrooms would have basic medicine in their cabinets…it’s odd that the only thing I could find was Omeprazole. And Not even a damn Advil!”

“Okay let’s not turn this into the ID channel guys, I’m alive and well—

“Well…” almost everyone chorus’ in making you equally send them an incredulous look.

Hen is the one to not have chimed in but chooses to squats in front of you, “Eat this and keep this pressed to your face for at least five to seven minutes.”

“Thank you, Hen.”

“No problem,” she smiles before standing up and looking at the rest, “now go mingle everyone instead of being up in their face, I’m sure they’ll be in good hands with Buck—maybe.”

“Hey!”

Hen winks at him before she walks off with Maddie and Chimney who starts talking about the appetizers he noticed by the patio door.

“Marisol’s calling,” Eddie looks down at his phone, “I trust that I can leave two alone for a few minutes.”

Buck shrugs nonchalantly, “That depends—

“Of course you can.” You side eye the man beside you underneath the ice pack.

Eddie snickers before disappearing behind the sliding doors to a room across from the stairs.

Buck’s breathing beside you makes you more calm until he deeply exhales, clearing his throat while you chew on a pineapple as he turns his body to you.

“So why come back?” His island water eyes holds your stare, lightly pushing since you still had time to get the inflammation to go down.

So what better way to wait it out by talking?

Swallowing the fruit you boldly respond, “you would think I took a year off instead of two weeks but…I’d miss you too much. Is that a good enough answer for you Buckley?”

Evan grins as he bumps his shoulder with yours again, “yeah it is! I just wanted to hear you say it.”

You noticed the change of tone in his voice beside you and fought the urge to shudder at it. So you scoff and push yourself off the steps, plate of pineapple long forgotten as you balanced yourself upright while Buck’s got his hands out to catch you if you fall.

The feeling was always mutual, lifting each other up and going through the motions together as a team.

“Since you’re so full of yourself, let’s battle it out on the dance floor.”

Buck frowns as he glances down at his wrist, “I think you still have another three minutes and thirty-nine seconds left to go…and they’re playing jazz.”

“What’s wrong with that? Would you rather hear The White Stripes or Backstreet Boys…I could make a request if you like?” You teased while Buck pushes himself to his feet.

He blows out a breath, “I tell you one time that Maddie and I had a jam session to that boy band on my sixteenth birthday road-trip to cheer me up and you won’t let it go.”

“I’m not shaming you.” You raise a hand in surrender, “I’m no hater and the band had hits. I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, what you did, as long as you love me—it’s all good.”

Buck rolls his head around, “you’re so clever and you don’t have to worry about that so! Let’s just start off with you finishing the rest of those pineapples and I’ll try one of those appetizers before you show me some moves but I don’t think they have anything on mine.”

“Please! I’ll be very shocked to see you do more than a two-step since you also hate karaoke.”

“I don’t hate it.” Buck picks up the plate for you, “I just prefer not to see my sister and Chimney eat their microphones singing while staring into each others eyes.”

“They’re in love Buck, leave them alone!”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy they found each other. I am their number one fan but that’s still my sister and I don’t need to see more than needed on their love life.” He shudders.

You hook your arm with Buck’s as you begin to walk through the home towards the kitchen, “yeah I guess I get that, yet there’s something so special about seeing people in love! It always shows me why there’s still the urge to keep going, just like us running into fires. Not to just simply put it out but to have a sense of unity when that’s not always common.”

Buck is intently listening and whole heartedly agrees as the both of you settle into the kitchen. He enjoys having conversations with you and you enjoy keeping him company, although he came all this way for you.

Showing up for each other was never foreign but it was times like these, swollen eyed and slightly loopy while the game of politics were being played out in the vineyard, wide grins and random conversations were held inside between the two of you—later joined by the rest of the team—showed that you were surrounded by exactly who you needed to be with.

𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼ 𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼ 𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼ 𓇼☾☼𓇼☾☼

Continue with my spring anthology prompts here.

#911 abc #evan buckley #evan buck buckley #911 x reader #911 s7 #911 season 7 #howard chimney han #howard han #chimney han #maddie buckley #maddie han #athena nash #athena grant #athena grant nash #eddie diaz #bobby nash #henrietta wilson #spring prompts #queued

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x-atlas-x · 9 months

Text

Yugi could remember the last time he’d felt this heartbroken. He remembered sitting outside with tears streaming down his cheeks. He remembered clutching his knees to his chest, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed.

He admired the full moon and glittering stars above him through his blurry vision. He vowed to never let himself feel this way, but it had happened again. It happened twice, and he was beyond furious with himself.

How could he be so stupid?

He heard footsteps behind him. He quickly wiped his tears and covered the sound of his sniffles with a cough muffled into his sleeve.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not bawling your eyes out.”

“I’m not,” He grumbled. “It’s just allergies.”

“I’ve been standing here for the past five minutes. I know you’ve been crying this whole time.”

Yugi rolled his eyes at Atem’s inability to respect his privacy. He peered over at him when his roommate sat down beside him.

“You really suck. You shouldn’t watch someone while they’re having a pity party,” Yugi huffed. “It’s strictly private business.”

“To be fair, I came out here to tell you that the shower’s available for you—you know, like you asked,” Atem’s cocky smirk didn’t make him feel any better. “It’s not my fault I accidentally stumbled out here while you’re weeping all over the place.”

Yugi sighed, “Yeah, well, you should’ve walked away as soon as you realized it.”

“Maybe,” Atem shrugged. “I suppose it’s a good thing you’re not doing this in the shower. You would definitely run out of hot water—though, that would’ve been amusing to hear…”

“You just love to watch me suffer,” Yugi mumbled, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Only when it’s harmless,” Atem frowned. “I’m sorry about what happened. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yugi muttered. “It happened regardless of whether or not I deserved it.”

“Your boy—I mean, ex—was a prick.”

“He didn’t act that way when we first started dating.”

“They never do,” Atem hummed, “but they have to start showing their true colors at some point.”

“After a year and a half of being together?” Yugi winced when he felt another rush of tears flooding his eyes. “God, I thought I fucking knew him so well, but—“

“You didn’t,” Atem finished. “He’s notorious for that. He woos people, butters them up, then dumps them out of the blue. He always makes them feel like they’re the problem, when they’re not. You’re not the problem, Yugi. He is.”

“I guess…” Yugi trailed off. “I hate feeling like this. I wish it didn’t hurt so much.”

“I know,” Atem wrapped an arm around Yugi’s shoulders and pulled him into his side. “It’ll be okay, though. You’ll move on, and you’ll get over him at some point. He’s not worth dwelling over.”

Yugi nodded and swallowed around the lump in his throat. He laid his head on Atem’s shoulder, then timidly asked, “Will you stay with me?”

“I will. If it gets any colder, though, I’m dragging your ass inside. My hair’s wet, and I’m not risking getting hypothermia.”

Yugi playfully scoffed, “It’s not that cold out here.”

“You’re not the one with wet hair.”

“Good point.”

They lost track of how much time they spent out there. At some point, Atem tugged Yugi to his feet and led him inside, complaining about his hair still being damp. They bid each other a good night, then disappeared into their respective rooms to get some sleep.

And if Yugi wandered into Atem’s room in the middle of the night, then that was nobody else’s business but his own.

#yugioh #ygo #yugi mutou #atem #puzzleshipping #blindshipping #my writing

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kyojurismo · 1 year

Note

i don’t know how to do emergency requests. this is my first time asking for anything. if you’re not up for it, you don’t have to. could you maybe do a rengoku or tengen x reader with eczema? i have it really bad right now because of allergy season and it’s making me insecure.

again you don’t have to, thank you!

🩰

# kyojuro rengoku & tengen uzui

tags : gn!reader, eczema, r is insecure, crying (bc i’m dramatic i guess), general fluff !!

a/n : hello again ! i hope it comforted you a bit and make you feel better, i tried to focus on the comforting part because i feared i would say something that was um incorrect? well, yeah… anyway, i’m sending you a big hug <3

KYOJURO RENGOKU

let’s say that kyojuro at first thought it was some kind of curse (like oyakata-sama yknow) and that there was some strange ritual to make it go away

but then you explained to him, even though it made you feel a bit uncomfortable, scared of the possible judging stare you would end up receiving from him

but he did not!

we’re talking about kyojuro after all

he would help get you whatever kind of medication is needed, offering to go buy them himself <3

he knew how hard it is for you to walk around when it is even more evident

but he’s here to support you and shower you in love

he would kiss your forehead, reminding you that you’re beautiful nonetheless

he didn’t care, really. he just felt bad noticing that it made you uncomfortable and insecure

if he could, he would make it all disappear in a second

“i don’t feel like going out today, i’m sorry,” you whispered once, trying to cover yourself. “no problem at all, little flame! i totally understand!” he would smile at you, showing that it didn’t bothered him at all

you were grateful for kyojuro

because he wasn’t grossed out or anything, he hugged you and touched you with ease

he simply didn’t care

he loved you too much to let something like this get between you two

he thought that it was simply part of you, y’know? that’s you too, and he’s totally okay with it. he loved you for who you are, not for your appearance

kyojuro made sure to cuddle you 24/7 so you know that it’s not a problem for him, he really really really wished you could feel better about it <3

TENGEN UZUI

our boy tengen,

somehow thought the same as kyojuro in the beginning

he tried not to touch you that much because he thought it would hurt or make you uncomfortable

but after some time he became more touchy, that way you knew he didn’t found you gross

literally pleaded shinobu to find a cure, but oh well

“at least find something to make them feel better!”

he wouldn’t force you to go out if you didn’t feel like it

but would make sure to be your giant teddy bear, hugging and kissing and reminding how much he loved you

man he would be so lovely

“you’re so beautiful today, i wonder how i got so lucky to be with you,” like 🥹

stop right now, tengen would fight whoever starts messing with you

i’m not kidding, whether be it with words or with his hands, he wouldn’t let anything slide

you literally cry because he’s too much

well, you probably cried because you thought he deserved someone with perfect skin too

but he did his best to demonstrate that he wanted you and that he didn’t care about it

hugging you 24/7 because man is clingy af and can’t let you go

i don’t make the rules

reblogs & comments are super appreciated! thank you for taking your time reading it, i hope you enjoyed it. have a good day / night <3

#📂 — writing !!#kyojuro rengoku x reader #kyojuro rengoku x you #kyojuro rengoku x y/n #tengen uzui x reader #tengen uzui x you #tengen uzui x y/n #kny kyojuro #kny tengen #kyojuro rengoku one shot #kyojuro rengoku fanfic #tengen uzui one shot #tengen uzui fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic

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trevorendeavors · 1 year

Text

So. That Florida Bathroom Bill, huh?

TW: bathroom bills, transphobia, internalized transphobia.

I ain’t beating around the bush. I will be using strong language here. If that ain’t your cup of tea or if you’re just here for my usual brand of gay fanart and fic, it’s okay to scroll past this post. Really. I won’t judge. This is one doozy of a vent.

For the people in my DMs asking me if I’m okay (as a trans person in Florida considering recent bathroom bill bullshit) I’m just… sitting here with an exasperated sigh.

It’s funny that the first time I hear of this is from a DM from someone on the other side of the world. I’ve been deliberately avoiding lgbt Florida news for some time because the more I think about it, the harder it is to be civil in transphobic conversations.

Last night I was deadnamed in front of a few people, and today at my graduation I’ll likely be deadnamed in front of a whole convention center. That’s what I get for not changing my name legally, huh. Oh well. Didn’t wanna go through all the paperwork just yet (in case I go for a different name) so I’m stuck with the one I’m sure I don’t want.

So again, I try not to think about it.

But yeah. It sucks.

Honestly? The bathroom bill doesn’t change much for me. It’s still the same shit as always.

The one time I went into the men’s restroom, I freaked out a cis guy so badly (poor dude was genuinely scared of ME accusing HIM of something bad) that I never did that again.

As for women’s restrooms (the one I most frequently use) that’s a whole other deal. Most days, I don’t pass. I’ll just go out and say that. I have a high voice, boobs, and a bit of hips. Some days I dress really feminine too, so it only makes sense. No one here is going to buy “see I LOOK like a woman but no see I’m secretly a ‘man but not quite’ inside but I wear makeup as a kind of exaggerated cosplay of a gender I am NOT, y’see?”

I don’t want to have a nuanced discussion of gender in the bathroom. Most people 30+ in age don’t even know what non-binary is and barely get the concept of trans. As much as I love being and educator and advocate, after a long road trip I want to piss and get on with my life. Also cis men have told me the horror stories of male bathrooms (how do you get shit ON the ceiling????) and then I’m thankful to have been “born a woman” or whatever.

Most days I don’t think about it too hard. But on my more dysphoric days or when on the blessed days I do genuinely pass more masc - when I go into the bathroom looking like this:

I genuinely don’t know which bathroom to use.

It’s embarrassing. Especially when there’s no family restroom available. And when I go to the women’s restroom, I sometimes get these looks. Brief, surreptitious glances they think I don’t notice. To ease tensions, I lift my pitch and give a compliment. I even puff out my (binded) breasts slightly as if to say, “Yes, I have tits and a pussy, does that soothe your cisnormative and petty fears that I would assault you?”

Jesus, some days I wish I could say that quote outright. But I can’t, and I know it’s not fair to them. They’re scared, I get it. I remind them of a traumatic experience. Sometimes, certain people who have nothing to do a trauma invoke fears of it unintentionally by raising their voices or saying something off or even existing. But that’s MY responsibility to fucking deal with that. Other people can’t help existing.

By and large, people with transphobic tendencies here are usually nice. Beyond, nice even. They’ll help you host a spontaneous ice cream party. They’ll buy you allergy meds when you’re choking. They’ll take you in after your mother kicked you out. Like I said, genuinely sweet and kind people.

Which makes it harder when they accuse trans people of transitioning to skirt military drafts, to cheat at sports, to deal with mommy issues. When they equate gays to sex crimes (yes, the ones you’re thinking of). When they refuse to call you your full name. When they call you a baby who refuses to clean her pooped diapers.

I try to be nice. But by god, is my patience waning…

By. Fucking. god.

I’m tired of the way it’s affected me. Making me feel worth less than cis folks, like my feelings matter less. Even worse, I hate how it makes me jealous and spiteful towards younger trans folks in better situations. Younger trans folk I don’t understand. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not an excuse to mistreat them the way I was mistreated. And I’m genuinely glad that they’re living a better life. I have to work on these thoughts, it’s my responsibility. It would be nice, though, to live in a world where I could devote more energy to celebrating our collective existence instead of surviving it.

That being said, I’m grateful for the people here and in person who have stuck by my guns. The people who check in on my when shit gets worse in terms of politics.

What helps most?

What really helps is when people get mad WITH me. For so long I was told my anger was something to be stowed away, to be quietly extinguished with calm words or relieved by some masturbatory exercise of civil discourse. You know. Where you get off to talking civilly but don’t actually get anywhere and you still have to live in a world that was just as transphobic as before. I just want people to be pissed WITH me. To share in my anger and frustration. To join me as I slam the desk, flip the table, and cry to the heavens,

This fucking sucks

Right now this matters to me even more than action. These check ins, sharing in my anger - it helps, it really does. Makes me feel less alone in the world.

#Trevor screams #Trevor talks #Godspeed if you got through this absolute motherfucker of a vent #tw: vent #tw: transphobia #TW: internalized transphobia #TW: some suggestive language towards the end #Florida #Florida bathroom bill #trans bathrooms #ron desantis

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waterfallofspace · 1 year

Text

Another one for @onetrickponi's lovely ask

The second idea I had for this request! from ~this list~ In celebration of you starting B/uddy D/addies, here is a little R/ei content! (Featuring K/azuki, he's the other buddy after all!) Bit of a shorter one, so hopefully you can forgive two fics for the one request (and two tags haha sorry <3) There isn't anything spoiler-wise in this, just basic knowledge of the characters, though maybe a touch of implication you'll understand after watching more of it! 1.6k words, prompt #17, story under cut! 17. "What did you do to your nose to piss it off like this?" (References to swearing, and mild violence, in case anyone doesn't like those!)

~~~~~~~

“hahh’gnnt-! eh’knngt-!uhhh”

“Bless you.”

“hihh- dntsh’uh-! ah’gnxt-!”

“And again.”

“knndt-ingxt-hh’enDGT’uhh-!”

“Christ, Rei.”

Kazuki lifts his eyes from the meal he’s preparing to stare at the figure on the couch. Each burst has Rei ducking into his chest, controller never leaving his hands. Despite the onslaught, he’s maintaining a solid lead in the race he’s playing. ‘It would be impressive if it wasn’t so concerning.’

“htxxgt-! ingdt’uh-!”

“Are you gonna live?”

“I’m f- huhh’knGDT’guhh-! fine.”

Rolling his eyes pointedly, Kazuki lets a huff fall from his throat. Rei responds by attempting to rub his nose on his shoulder without looking away from the screen. ‘Honestly a little pathetic… Man, I wish I had my phone on me. This would look great as my new wallpaper.’

“Maybe I’d believe you if-”

“hh’dznxt’huhh-!”

“-You could get through the word fine-”

“aH’INdxxt’uhh-!”

“-without sneezing. Or let me get through it for that matter.”

“That’s not a g- ih’gnxxt’huhh-! good system.”

“Jeez, you sound awful.”

“Thanks.”

The silence resumes its place over the room, Kazuki trying to focus on his steak as the strangled noises from Rei carry on. ‘At this rate he’s gonna pass out. I’ve never heard him go at it this much… sure, he has a few allergies, maybe the odd sneeze here or there, but nothing like this…’

Kazuki yelps as the smell of smoke pulls him from his thoughts. He turns the stove off with a hiss, pouring the steak onto a plate. Over on the couch, Rei turns his gaze towards the noise.

“You knxgt’uhh-! burnt it.”

“Yeah I know! I was a little distracted by your-”

“eh’dngt-! knnxxt’huh-!”

“Exactly. This is your fault, you hear me! You’re eating the burnt one!”

“No I’m not. heh’dnNT’uhh-!”

“You- Fine! But I’m not eating it either!”

“Okay.”

“I really hate you sometimes, have I mentioned that?”

“eh’gznGT-! Yes.”

Rei faces back towards the game, muttering to himself as the character on screen takes a sharp turn. Kazuki feels his eyebrow twitch, his mouth hanging open at the outright disregard for his food.

‘I work all day to make a nice meal, but does he appreciate it? No! No he does not! I’ll give him the burnt one- not like he was gonna compliment my food anyways… but maybe he’ll just not eat it… then it goes to waste… what a-’

“------- Kazuki?”

“Huh?”

Pulling his attention back into the room, Kazuki attempts to decode the nonsense Rei just threw his direction in his mind. ‘Something something my name… Uh… Something about food maybe… Damn I wasn’t listening.’ His hands idly continue plating the food as he tries to recall the words.

“hh’knGT’uh-!”

“Bless you.”

“You didn’t hear me.”

It’s not a question, more of a statement. Feeling a heat rise into his face, Kazuki considers lying to save his pride. ‘As if there’s any left to save anyways…’ Curiosity wins in the end, and he brings a hand to the back of his neck, offering a sheepish smile.

“No, I didn’t. Can you repeat it?”

“I asked if- hh’enDT-! eh’dxNGT’shoo-! heh’knTISH’iew-!”

Rei brings a hand to his face as the third one breaks through, both wincing at the loss of control. He pinches his nose, Kazuki flinching again at the harsh nature of the action. With a small shudder, Rei attempts to speak again, keeping his fingers gripping his nose. ‘That’s gotta be painful-’

“I asked if the food was ready.”

“Uh… Y- yeah…”

“Okay.”

Kazuki finds himself setting the table, mind still focused on the way Rei’s nose is shivering behind his hand. ‘He should just let it out… but it’s not really my place to tell him that. I know it’s a ‘thing’ with him.’ Still, as Rei sits down and Kazuki notices the water lingering in his eyes, it’s too much for him to ignore.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Doihhng what? nnGt-! knxt-!”

“Doing that. Stopping them like that.”

“Oh. Habit, I suppose.”

“It can’t be good for you. It’s giving me a headache, and I’m not even the one sneezing!”

“I’m not- ihh’gnt-! hH’gNxxt-! in pain.”

“Oh really? Because the way you just winced says you’re lying.”

There’s no answer, but Rei does drop his hand, starting to cut his steak into smaller pieces. ‘Not admittance, but maybe as close as I’m gonna get with him. I’ll accept it.’ Starting to eat his own, Kazuki groans as the burnt taste invades his mouth. Across from him Rei ducks into his shoulder with a smile that gets Kazuki’s blood boiling.

“And what’s so funny?! This is your fault after all. You should be thanking me for giving you the good one! Even though I know you’re not gonna appreciate all the effort that it took.”

“ih’tischhiew-! heh’kieshh’tiew-!”

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t think this means we’re through! Just because I still have manners, unlike some people, doesn’t mean I’m forgiving you for ruining my beautiful creation.”

“Okay. hh’keshh’tiew-!”

“I gotta ask… what’s up with that?”

Rei gives him a measured look, raising his napkin to scrub at his nose. ‘Mental note: wash that one separately.’ Opening his mouth, likely with the intention to reply, Rei suddenly freezes, bringing his wrist up and flinching delicately in it with another round.

“eh’tishhiew-! heh’kieshh’tiew-! ashhh’iew-!”

“Seriously Rei, what did you do to your nose to piss it off like this?”

“I don’t- ah’tishhiew-! heHh-! ih’keschh’tiew-! know.”

“What?! How do you not know?”

“I haven’t done- huh’teAZSHH’kiew-! Oh-”

“Bless you.”

“-Haven’t done anything different today.”

As Rei pauses to scrub at his face, with his hands this time, Kazuki feels his mind start to race through the day. ‘I woke up early, Rei was still asleep in the tub. I made breakfast, everything was fine. He woke up, he was fine, we ate. He played games, I did laundry, then he chang-’ A realization dawns in Kazuki’s eyes as they widen and begin to scan Rei. In return he pauses the attack on his sinuses to meet the stare being thrown his way.

“What..?”

“I uh… I think this might be my fault…”

“How? hh’keZZShh’tiew-! knnt’shiew-! ihh’nnGT’iew-!”

“Bless you. W- well, I bought this new detergent, it was on sale ‘buy one get two free’, I couldn’t pass up that offer!”

“Okay?”

“And so I used it for the first time today… including when I washed your clothes, like the hoodie you put on about halfway through the day.”

“Oh. hH’DNtzshh’kiew-!”

“Bless you- I’m sorry, if I knew you were so allergic I never would have-”

“I’m not.”

Kazuki feels his eye start to twitch again. He tries to form words, but only succeeds in gaping in Rei’s direction, mouth opening and shutting silently. ‘He’s… is he actually… It wouldn’t be wrong to punch him, would it? Maybe just knock him on the back of the head? He’s a tough assassin, he could take it, right?’ Instead of following through, Kazuki finds himself simply staring at Rei until the other man starts to shift nervously under his gaze.

“You’re making me uncomfortable. eh’kZSHhh’tiew-!”

“What. The hell. Do you mean. ‘You’re not’.”

“I’m not allergic.”

“You’re messing with me, right? Hilarious, Rei.”

“It’s not a joke. I d- heh’knNGt-! don’t have allergies.”

Standing slowly, Kazuki makes his way around the table, a smile void of any emotion starting to form across his face. Rei watches vaguely as he resumes picking at his food, until a slap to the back of his head brings his focus squarely onto Kazuki.

“Ow. What wa-”

“What the shit do you mean you ‘don’t have allergies’? Have you heard yourself? You think this is just how normal people sneeze? It’s not!”

“I’ve never been allergic hH’KEShhh’tiew-! to anything before.”

“Are- Do you not remember the time we had that job where you had to wait in the garden? By the time we’d got the information we needed you could barely open your eyes they were so swollen.”

A faint blush starts to show across Rei’s face as he attempts to hide behind his hair, bringing his hands up again to scrub at his rapidly pinkening nose. Deciding not to wait for the inevitable denial, Kazuki stands and heads to the kitchen. Rummaging through a drawer he grabs the allergy meds, making another mental note to return the detergent and rewash Rei’s clothes.

Returning to the table he hands Rei the pills, chuckling at the confused look he’s met with. ‘For a trained assassin who’s practically a master at his craft, man he can be dumb when it comes to… well… anything else.’ He grabs a glass of water, popping out a couple from the blister pack and grabbing Rei’s hand, placing them in it.

“You swallow those.”

“Why?”

“They will help with the allergies that you refuse to acknowledge.”

“I don-”

“Predictable as ever, Rei. I don’t care if you admit it or not, I’m not eager for you to disrupt the rest of the day with that constant-”

“heH’TISHhh’kiew-!”

“Exactly. You also need to change out of that hoodie. You’re literally just soaking in your ‘non allergen’. Though, the sneezes have slowed down a bit. Maybe that’s from not suppressing them into oblivion constantly!”

“Maybe.”

“You sure are a man of few words, aren’t you?”

Rei simply grunts in response, swallowing the pills with a grimace ‘Such a child-’ before pulling off the hoodie and tossing it on the floor ‘Are you serious?!’ and curling back up on the couch. Kazuki lets out a deep sigh, grabbing the hoodie and throwing it into the laundry room before starting to clean up the plates.

“hH’kesschh’tiew-!”

“Bless you, Rei.”

“Th- thanks…”

The response shakes Kazuki to his core, a dramatic tear starting to form in his eye. ‘He thanked me… I’m so proud! Still can’t clean up after himself… but I’ll fix that too.’ Casting his gaze back over to Rei, Kazuki allows himself to pause and for a moment, just a moment, feel content.

I’ll fix him. And maybe doing that… maybe that’ll fix me too.

#waterfallasks #waterfallwrites #two outta two- time to actually do tasks i need to work on hahaha~#thank you again for the request!! hope you dont mind double fics #this just summoned two different ideas in my head so i decided to act on them!!#its been awhile since ive written them so hopefully its still acceptable #you might just get me to rewatch this show hahaha~#b/uddy d/addies #r/ei and k/azuki

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the-bar-sinister · 5 months

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The Mechanics of Emotion (17440 words) by thesavagesabretooth

catch up here

Simon had spent the past year living like it was going to be his last year on earth– because it was. But now he is still alive, and there are questions unasked that demand answers. Just what is his relationship with the detective going to be going forward? And what complications of his own does Bobby Fulbright have up his sleeve?

Not to mention that there are two more members of the Phantom Organization who've been captured that Simon now needs to prosecute, and Athena must defend. Love and chaos in LA. In justice we trust– but who understands the mechanics of emotion?

December 27, 10:35 am

Simon and Athena had been poking around the so-called "Blackquill Manor" for the last half an hour.

The house was a bit of a mess– mostly from the various unused rooms having accumulated dust and cobwebs, save for the staple rooms of the ‘kitchen, living room, and bedroom’...as well as a room it seemed Aura set up as a home lab, complete with various robotics half completed on a worktable that looked like it’d seen it’s fair share of experiments pass it’s surface.

Athena had had a sneezing fit when she tried entering one of the bedrooms. Simon’s parents bedroom…and gotten a noseful of dust and negligence. She’d been surprised when Simon’s old room had been neat as a pin, and even MORE surprised when Aura’s room wasn’t a mad scientist’s rats nest, and more… elegantly comfortable.

It was clear that while it would make a pretty good living space for Simon– it’d be a bit of an ordeal to get it as clean as it should be.

“I guess she tended to get so wrapped up in her work that she kept forgetting to come home, or ah…to dust the rooms she didn’t think about.”

"Yes, it seems you were right to be dubious about my father's bed," Simon drawled as they made their way back to the living room.

“Yeahhhhh.” Athena grimaced as she sagged. “Don’t even wanna think about how many spiders may be in that thing.”

"Disgusting. The worst of it is that Aura will likely get cross with me if I decide to clean it up."

“You really think so?” Athena’s eyes widened. “Huh…I mean…yeah actually knowing Aura you’re probably not wrong about that. She’d either laugh at it triggering my allergies if I helped, or get pissed with you messing with it…”

She tugged at her hair. “but your room’s really clean, at least.”

"So I noticed." Simon crossed his arms, and glanced away. "My sister has clearly been taking care of it in my absence."

“She was hoping that she could save you before your execution.” Athena mused, thinking back over Aura’s furious defiance of fate. The desperation that led her to force a retrial no matter who may get hurt.

She couldn’t say she wouldn’t have gone that far herself if she’d somehow failed to become a lawyer in time.

"Well, I suppose she got her wish– devil's bargain that it was. I hope she's enjoying the fruits of her labor." Simon's smile twitched, and Athena could feel his apprehension. It was clear that the thoughts of his sister were difficult for him.

Athena reached out to put her hand on his arm.

“I don’t know…I.. I can’t bring myself to visit just yet. But Simon, if you’re not ready to talk about her, or if there’s something you’re worried about..”

He leaned a little into her touch, and sighed. "There's plenty that I'm worried about, I'm afraid, Athena. We both know it wouldn't do any good for me to try to hide that from you. I visited her this morning and I… said very little about the last week."

Athena felt a ping of nerves as she murmured “...Halblicht?”

She could imagine Aura’s reaction upon finding out, not only that the man who killed Athena’s mother was still alive, but was in some sort of ambiguous relationship with her brother…and that Simon had been lying about him for days.

It wasn’t only that– Athena had no idea if Aura even forgave her.

No, every detail of the past week was a time bomb waiting to go off in Aura Blackquill’s already tumultuous and volatile heart.

"Halblicht," Simon agreed with a leaden tone. "I can't imagine explaining it to her. Saying it to her face."

Simon's anxiety and sadness warred together in an emotion she didn't often feel from Simon– shame.

Athena’s own emotions were complicated– unsure and nervous about her own future, but she knew one thing.

“You don’t have to feel ashamed , Simon. ” She squeezed his arm. “I don’t know if she’ll understand. Probably not right away. But you don’t have to feel ashamed of your feelings about him. Aura…I care about her too…but her wounds of the heart aren’t healed and it means she’s prone to lashing out. That’s not a reflection on your feelings.”

Simon put his hand on her arm, and she could feel the tension running through him. "Whatever you say, and however right or wrong you may be– I still feel that shame. I don't know what might be able to abate it. But I will bear it for now, because well– "

Athena felt the pulse of joy from Simon's heart that could only be one thing. Love.

“Because you love him, Simon…” Athena gave him an outward smile. “I can tell.”

Her internal emotions had dulled to the low and quiet hum she was well used to, the bare flickers of personal anxiety and joy for Simon, and something unfamiliar and flickering

It’s no surprise he loves them. They’re charming, fascinating, kind even after everything, and provided comfort and affection during the worst time in Simon’s life. Even with the heartbreak and confusion, love bloomed easy enough. She quashed her anxieties, her selfish worries of ‘will I still fit’ in favor of nursing the quiet hum of joy to the surface and her smile.

“We’ll figure out what to do about Aura. I– I’ll do what I can.”

"Thank you, Athnea, I ah…" he trailed off and squeezed her hand. "I feel somewhat unworthy of your endless kindness."

Athena’s smile didn’t leave as she squeezed his hand tightly.

“Simon, come on. You know you’re not unworthy. You’ve got seven years of missed kindness to catch back up on, right?” She looked up at him “and I care about you, you know? I really do want you to be happy. No matter what.”

"I appreciate that, Athena. I–" he glanced away, though his hand didn't leave hers. "Why don't we find out if my sister has any bloody coffee in the kitchen, shall we? Instead of standing around in the living room like a pair of awkward lumps."

Athena squeezed his hand and started to drag him towards the kitchen. “Alright, alright…but if she doesn’t, I’ll buy us coffee on Mr. Wright’s dime as SOON as we leave, yeah?”

"Please do," he scowled, following her toward his old family kitchen. "But, it's not about the coffee in this case. It's about…"

His anxiety flashed bright in her mind.

Athena twitched, a physical reaction to a strong emotion that reverberated through her as she pushed the kitchen door open and stepped inside.

“...” she let him continue.

"About us, Athena. If you'd hear me out. Finish the conversation we were having in the car."

He didn't look at her, instead glancing around at the kitchen that must once have been familiar to him.

Athena took a deep, shaky breath , before she flashed her biggest smile.

“I’m ready to get back to that, yeah. I’ll hear you out. Do you need me to help you look around, or…or should I have a seat?”

"Why don't you help me if you don't mind? It's not as if I know my way around the kitchen any more,"

The kitchen was pin-neat, but absolutely filled with gadgets of all sorts…many of which looked like they’d never been used. Some kind of modified mixer sat quietly beside a spice cabinet fitted with a gauge displaying a temperature reading and some interface on one end of the countertop…and an absolutely ornate kitchen scale still bearing traces of flour from the last time it’d been used.

Athena wandered, trying to open the spice cabinet first before it beeped at her and she startled back .“Hah!?”

Immediately, Simon was there behind her to steady her before she could fall over. "Careful there. Or you're going to make a nasty mess on my sister's kitchen floor."

Athena’s heart beat quickly as she leaned back against him “but it yelled at me, Simon!”

She couldn’t help the indignant whine in her voice.

"And? I yell at you all the time!" He huffed, but she felt his amusement and could tell that behind her he was grinning that sly grin of his. He righted her on her feet and then released her. "Another funny surprise from my sister it seems."

Athena huffed. “I’m going to shake her when she’s out of prison. Shake her VERY MUCH for this.”

She had turned pink, and was brushing herself off when she looked up at it again. “Looks like you have to select what kind of spices you want…and it must unlock them? Is this thing temperature and air controlled?”

Simon observed the strange and elaborate cabinet configuration. "It would seem so. A nefarious barrier between ourselves and our goal."

“She really is kind of a cad, isn’t she?” Athena huffed. “At least it’s only a button press away.”

She reached up and cycled before she found something reading ‘coffees and tea’ and hit the green enter button.

Off to her left, one of the cabinet lights flicked green and clicked open with a hiss of air pressure.

Simon bustled over toward the lighted cabinets. "Ah, here we are, I suppose? And one of these gadgets ought to make coffee. Shame she doesn't have something simpler."

“I think she thinks it’s organized in her own mind! And it’s probably alright for keeping food fresh for longer, too…” She shook her head. “You’re a samurai with a sister who’s a technology obsessed sci-fi antagonist.”

"How miserably anime," he drawled. He got down the coffee, and went hunting for something resembling a coffee maker.

“You say that as if you hate anime, Simon.” Athena smiled at him as she trotted on his heels. “...and I know for a fact you’re kind of a huge nerd for it. I still gotta get you and Halblicht to sit down with me for …for..ah..”

She trailed off “Macross, Love across the universe…”

Next to the mixer there was a glass pitcher and some kind of gadget sat on top of it, perhaps her own take on an automatic coffee machine– with a twist. It didn’t look like it was going to explode if they used it.

Simon snorted as he looked over the gadgets poking at them with thinly veiled disdain.

"Get me some water, Athena," he harumphed. "I think this is the right machine. As for anime, I prefer live action dramas. But I'll admit I was intrigued by the one you were trying to show us."

He measured out coffee grounds, putting them in the filter and giving it a dubious look as he put it into place.

Athena was all but stopped as she went to go grab the water, when she noticed a switch on the machine. “Simon, it looks like it’s connected to the sink system.”

She leaned over and pushed the switch down.

A small arm popped up a moment later, and began to swirl around the pot at a slow and steady interval as hot water poured from somewhere below the machine and into the grounds.

It was some sort of automatic pour over machine.

“You were intrigued though, huh? It’s one of my favorites, you know.”

Simon stared at the machine in disbelief and betrayal. He shook his head and focused on Athena instead.

"One of your favorites, hmm? Well, I'll have to tolerate sitting through it for certain then."

Athena laughed, leaning on the counter as the machine went about its work .

“Geeze Simon, you must be a riot at parties. But if you’ll deign to sit through it…I think you’ll have fun."

Simon smirked and tapped his temple. "I wouldn't know, I haven't been to a party in a long time."

He watched as the machine squirted steaming coffee into a pair of mugs.

“We’ll have to hold one for you special then.” Athena walked over and dropped herself into one of the chairs.

Simon picked up the full mugs, and plopped gracelessly down into the chair right next to her. He handed her a cup of coffee.

"Are you trying to torment me, then?"

Athena grabbed the coffee with an impish wink. “Maybe a little bit. I’m allowed to have my fun after you kept me busy for 7 years trying to save your butt.”

"I suppose I can concede that– but I won't let you harass me uncontested. Consider yourself warned." He smirked over his coffee and took a long sip. "Hmm. Adequate."

“I’ve been warned , Mr. Blackquill.’ Athena took a sip of it as well. It, honestly was pretty good, but– she supposed Simon must have had some rigid standards when it came to coffee. “It’s pretty good?”

"It's acceptable. A bitter brew to accompany a bitter conversation, I suppose." He took another sip and looked over at her. "Would you like to start, or shall I?"

“Bitter conversation…” Athena’s smile faltered. “You should start, Simon. I’m likely to get tripped up trying to manage emotions and …and get nowhere fast.”

"Alright then, so be it." He took a deep breath, and turned toward her more fully, coffee in his hands. "Athena– for seven long years I lived among scoundrels and the condemned, as a man likewise condemned. As a scoundrel. Such was my company. The dregs of society. The ruffians and outcasts. Such things leave their mark– and I was not so noble a man to begin with."

His dark eyes stayed trained on her, watching her. His torrid emotions had become almost placid– not quiet, but harmonious. Inscrutable.

Athena nodded slowly. “...it’s only natural it’d leave a mark, Simon.”

She folded her hands around the coffee mug to stare him down. “Even if you didn’t commit the crime, socially speaking you were as much a criminal as the rest…”

"So I was. And so I am. I have known many kinds of scoundrels these last seven years. Walked among them. Learned their ways. Been changed by them. I strive to be a good man, Athena, but I am a ruffian."

Athena’s brow furrowed slightly as she listened. It was true, of course, he’d been learning from ‘scoundrels and ruffians’ as he put it for 7 years. Made friends with them, including some who’d stepped back into the people around her’s lives as their sentences abated…

It was only natural that it’d change him from the man she’d known growing up, into the man she faced in court….but… “...can I ask you something, Simon?”

"You may," he said evenly. "Though I have more to say."

He gestured for her to speak.

“No…” Athena held her hand up. “Go on. This can wait till I hear the rest.”

Are you trying to convince me that you’re somehow not ‘noble’ enough for me?

He took a breath. "Very well. Athena– you deserve a good man. You deserve a prince who will ride into the sunset with you on a white horse. You deserve a man who will devote his whole heart to you, and to no one else. But I am not that man. I am a ruffian. And I know the ways of ruffians."

I knew it. Her shoulders sagged, just the slightest as he continued and her eyes flicked down towards the table. He��s trying to convince me he’s not good enough. That I’m looking for…deserve…a prince to come riding to my rescue like we joked about that night. But I’m not like most people. My heart can’t…won’t…feel the same things they do in the same ways…and I don’t care if the rules of society say a pure and devoted prince is what I should somehow want. He’d changed since the UR-1 Incident…but did I ever make him think it was a bad thing outside his imprisonment? Between that…Europe’s scene…and the Wunder Bar and the Wright Anything Agency…why would I ever judge him for any of that?

His dark gaze swept over her as he spoke.

"I don't know if you want a ruffian, when you could have a prince. And I don't know what the hell my dear detective twins want. But if you want a ruffian, Athena, and if they're… amenable to such a thing… we could perhaps come to a rough arrangement. The three– four of us. It's no noble romance that you deserve. But that's all I have to offer you."

Athena startled as he continued, her mouth open to object before he’d continued. Her gaze softened, and she turned a surprised pink.

“....I don’t think I deserve a noble romance, Simon.” she said in a quiet and even voice, omitting any of her usual projection. She rubbed her arm, and gave him a small but genuine smile.

“And not because of self esteem. I was the one who came on the white horse, but I’m not a prince. I’m unusual– I’m difficult to understand, and I see things in ways most people don’t. I’m not …I’m not looking for a prince , or a noble romance. I’m looking for someone who cares about me, and I care for them back.” She turned a slight pink despite her subdued emotional state. “....and I did find that cramped bed in Cauli strangely comfortable.”

He lifted his chin, looking her over, and he reached out his free hand and touched her arm. "You said as much in the car. I wasn't sure if I was reading too much into your intentions when you said it, but– it's why I felt like I could say what I just did."

Athena’s eyes hesitantly met with his, and she placed her hand against his fingers with a quiet smile.

“I’m glad you could say it…and I mean it when I say I’m willing to try it, Simon. Coming to some kind of ‘rough arrangement’ if they’re amenable, I mean. I can’t promise I’ll be smooth or that I won’t falter here and there, I’m still learning a lot about how to process these sorts of feelings , but…”

Simon's fingers curled around her arm gently as she put her hand on his. "I don't think that I'm far ahead of you, admittedly."

She nodded, and leaned over the table. “We’re both learning, Mr. Halblicht is sure to be too– it’s likely to be messy, but I’m willing to try. You know my feelings for you, and I can assure you that..that I want this, if we’re all amenable to it.”

"The heart wants what the heart wants, I suppose," he said, looking off into the distance. He slipped his arm around her. "This is going to be messy, Athena, if it goes forward. We're likely going to hurt each other in unexpected ways. But I suppose I'm a selfish man in my way."

Athena leaned into his arm and nodded slowly.

“The heart wants what the heart wants. And I’m– I’m a little selfish myself. I don’t want to give up those moments of joy I started to find in Cauli, with you or with them.” She smiled wanly. “I’ll wade through any mess, or hurt, if it means a future where we can be a part of each other's lives. If we’re all amenable...”

"I'm supposed to meet up with Halblicht in a couple of hours or so," Simon murmured thoughtfully. "I suppose it will be a good idea to get the conversation out of the way."

Athena took a deep breath, and looped both her arms around him in a sudden gesture, leaning under his arm with a small smile

“It’s probably for the best. Like ripping a bandaid off. Can’t know how to move forward if we’re still in limbo, right?”

"No. And I've been in limbo for too long, Athena. Seven years too long. Do forgive me if it means that I rush forward."

Athena leaned up and kissed his cheek “I think we’ve all spent too long in limbo, Simon. I’m…I’m not exactly keen on waiting around cautiously either. So I’d say you’re more than forgiven already!”

"Thank you, Athena. And I'm sorry too, for all the ways in the future that I will surely hurt you, and let you down. I'm a humble man– I know it will happen."

Athena chuckled softly.

“It might. But life isn’t a fairy tale or a noble stage play. All that’s just part of life.” She poked his chest. “I’m sure to let you down , or even hurt you, sometimes too.”

Simon laughed incredulously. "I'm almost looking forward to it. A relationship, perhaps, is like a struggle in the courtroom. But– let's not get ahead of ourselves. We still have to take our case to Bobby and Robert."

Athena winked at him.

“We know a lot about struggling in the courtroom, Mr. Blackquill.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully “...if we gotta take our case to them…should we prepare evidence?”

Simon gave her a dubious look and raised an eyebrow. "I'm curious just what you'll suggest we prepare."

“Well…if the things I’ve gleaned from the sorts of shows and comics Mr. Wright owns are true– a powerpoint or slideshow is traditional.”

Simon stared at her with increasing dumbfounded condescension. "Go on."

Athena shrunk down in her chair, and finally drank a sip of her cooling coffee.

“you…put…together a slideshow…of…uhm..” she murmured “pictures and pros and cons…” She took a longer sip of the coffee with a flush “OH! M ixtapes! Mixtapes are even more traditional! Mr. Wright even endorsed that one!”

"A mix tape. A slide-show. And what, pray tell Cykes-dono, do you suggest we include here? Go on. Give me an example of what the content of this would be."

Athena gave him an awkward smile, shrugging her shoulders with a grin “A song that makes you think of the three of us? To uh…really sell it as a polypossibility?”

Simon put his hand to his face, and dragged it down his cheek, staring at her in utter horror. "... yes I think Bobby would love that."

#cykesquill #phantomquill #blackbright #cykesbright #phantomcykes #phantomcykesquillbright #athena cykes #simon blackquill #bobby fulbright #ace attorney #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #poly ship #archive of our own #fic: the mechanics of emotion

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kpopsickies · 1 year

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A Jay Chang sickfic

Sickie: Jay Chang

Caretaker: Beomhan

(are they dating? No. Do they kinda act like it? Yes. Read as you wish)

Jay p.o.v

It truly was the week from hell. It was bad enough with Boys Planet but only five days after I woke up feeling absolutely awful. I had been living with Beomhan since Boys Planet ended and it was nice to have someone I was comfortable around, especially when I realized I was 100% getting sick. I climbed out of bed and moved towards the kitchen, wondering if Beomhan was awake yet. I was happy to see my best friend dancing around the kitchen listening to girls generation. “Look who finally got out of bed“ he said with a smile when he saw me. “morning Han“ I said, noticing how rough my voice sounded. “you okay dude? You don’t sound very good“

“Im fine, just woke up“ I explained, Beomhan gave me a skeptical look, “You sure“ I nodded, despite the fact that I felt absolutely horrible. I didn't want to cause any issues for him. Especially after how supportive he had been while I was on boys planet. “Jay, don’t lie to me, I know something is wrong“

“I’m seriously fine dude“ I protested with a smile that I hoped wasn't as forced as I felt it was. He didn't quite look like he believed me. "Jay-"

"Han, don't go soft on me. We've never been the sappy type of friends." I shoved his shoulder, he rolled his eyes, "so sorry for caring about my best friend" he said sarcastically. "Beomhan I'm fine"

"Yeah, well you also said you were fine the day you found out you weren't debuting, but then I found you crying under the bed. So I have a hard time believing you" I punched his arm in revenge for bringing that up, "asshole" he laughed a bit, I found myself laughing too. The laugh turned into a cough. Which caused Beomhan to look at me with concern. "You good?"

"Yeah, swallowed wrong" I coughed a bit more. "Okay, here" he handed me some water. I thanked him and took the water, drinking it quickly, trying to drown the coughing fit growing in my chest. When I finished I opened my eyes to see Beomhan staring very closely at me, "what the hell dude?!" I stepped backwards. "You're pale"

"Perhaps because I haven't been outside for a while"

"Jay, you and I both know that you're not normally pale or even fair skinned."

"Han I'm- HIAkShu! AhKTSsHu! KITSshu!-"

"Bless you"

"Thanks. But really, I'm fine"

"Sick or allergies?"

"Neither! I'm fine Han"

"Liar" he said, he shoved my shoulder, I stumbled backwards, not expecting it. He grabbed my arm, "woah dude, you should sit down before you pass out"

"Huh? I'm fine"

"Oh my God Jay, I know you don't like it but you need to let me help you. And don't try and tell me we're not cheesy friends or that kinda thing. You're my best friend and I will take care of you" I was a bit shocked by how he spoke, it was an unusual way for him to speak. "Sorry dude" he looked a bit embarrassed. "Nah, you're good. I'm just not u-hh- hIAtCSShuu! AhKTSsHu kTCHSHhhu! Ugh"

"Bless you"

"Thanks. But I'm just not used to you being like this."

"I mean.. I missed you why you were away at Boys Planet."

"So…"

"I'm scared of losing you asshole!" He said, he shoved my shoulder. I laughed, which turned into a pretty painful cough. "Breathe dude" he patted my back, I smiled, "you care about me" I playfully batted my eyelashes at him. He rolled my eyes, "shut up dude" I laughed, which once again turned into a semi-painful cough. Beomhan looked concerned and patted my back. “Will you admit you’re sick now?” He said nudging my shoulder. “fine. I have a cold”

“finally!” I rolled my eyes and leaned away from him, his loud excited voice echoed in my head and accentuated my headache. “So, I don’t exactly know what to tell you. I’m not used to this kind of thing. But maybe you should take some medicine. I think all we have is tylenol though.”

“That’s fine dude. Thank you” He smiled, looking a bit embarrassed. “Yeah I know I’m amazing” I laughed. He smiled, he went over to a cupboard and took a bottle of tylenol out, “Here” I took the bottle from him and took two out. He handed me a cup, “here, I heated up water for coffee, but I thought tea might be better since your sick”

“The last thing you need is coffee” I said with an eye roll. He punched my arm, I laughed and swallowed the pills. “Thanks” I said, somewhat awkwardly. He shrugged, “just ya know, being friends” we both avoided eye contact.

#mont #beomhan #jay chang #boys planet #snz #sickfic #kpop sick

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oysters-aint-for-me · 11 months

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just stupid venting about mental illness etc.

ugh i don’t feel great and i thought it was allergies because i woke up with a bloody nose and a really itchy face and i’ve had a tickle in my throat but i told my dad about it and he was like “oh you’re probably getting what i had” which was some sort of bad cold/flu-like thing (not The flu but similar symptoms) and of course he says it all offhand because he’s not mentally ill and being sick isn’t a big deal to him. but now i’m really upset because the last two times i’ve been sick i have had the WORST sore throat, like, i was in tears, and i don’t want to go through that again, and now i’m dreading when it’ll hit hard, like watching a truck headed my way but i can’t move. AND this weekend is my birthday and it is the first time i’ve been like sort of okay with my birthday in several years. so of COURSE i would be sick this year meaning i won’t do anything for my birthday which ironically is all i have wanted for my birthday for the past 6 years EXCEPT THIS YEAR! but you know what, it doesn’t mean even matter, because everyone else already made plans to do other shit on my birthday so it already felt like people were trying to squeeze it into their busy normal healthy lives until i just gave up and decided what i was going to be doing by myself (LOTR marathon) and if other people want to show up they can. so yeah, that means it’ll just be me and my mom and my dad because no one else can fit me in. idk it’s like. the past several birthdays i have been forced to celebrate them even though i EXTREMELY didn’t want to, like, at all, i have been so profoundly uncomfortable every year, but i made myself go through with it with a smile because people want to be nice to you on your birthday and they get weird if you’re weird about it because then it’s like “uh oh now we have to comfort the mentally ill birthday person awkwaaard” and anyway i already didn’t care and so i just let them do whatever they wanted because at least it made them happy, you know? liek whatever, just go limp and go along with it. but this year i felt like i could actually try a little, and so i tried. and it didn’t even make a fucking difference. now, i know that getting sick right before my birthday isn’t like, some sort of narrative metaphor about how i’m doomed to unhappiness or part of some scheme where the universe is conspiring against me specifically. i know that. i know germs are random and that people are busy and that no one probably really paid enough attention (and i can’t fault them for that, it’s not like i made it easy) to realize how uninvolved and unhappy i have been in my past several birthdays so why would they think this one is particularly special. people don’t know what they don’t know and i can’t expect them to read my mind. i know that. but i wish i didn’t. i wish could give myself permission to feel irrationally angry or to blame something or someone else other than myself. i wish i could cite this information and then go wide with it and conclude that this is yet more evidence that i shouldn’t try to “get better.” but i know all of that is illogical and i know that other people would use cognitive behavioral logic against it if i told them and i know that they would be RIGHT. and i also know that none of that would change how i feel. and no, i don’t know 100% for sure that it wouldn’t help, that’s not logical either, but i do have a lifetime of experience so i can make a p good guess. but whatever, anyway i’m gonna be sick on my birthday anyway and i’ll be miserable just like i have been the last 6 years. so fuck me, i guess! ugh sorry anyway if you read this far thank you for “listening” 💜 i don’t feel better but it did make some time go by so eh you win some you lose some

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wish-incorrect-quotes · 4 months

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Fairy Godmother Practice: Chapter 6

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 7

On an afternoon when she found herself with nothing else she needed to do, Asha decided it would be a good idea to head to the castle’s courtyard and get in a bit of target practice. Because as it turned out, magic sometimes liked to go swirling all over the place if you weren’t careful with it. And as much as it could be beautiful to see the sky filled with trails of magic flowing through the air, she figured she should also know how to keep it a bit more contained, in case she needed to use it in crowded areas. So after borrowing a few pots and pans from the kitchens and scattering them around a few random places on the stone floors, she was working on aiming from far away and making sure her powers hit only the thing she was aiming at.

As focused as she was on her makeshift training range, she hadn’t noticed another person walking through the area, until her wand sent a blast of magic that collided against Safi’s shoulder and burst into a cloud of sparkles with a soft poof.

He sneezed, and a few of the eggs in his basket went tumbling out.

“I got it!” Asha called out. With a hurried flick of her wand, her magic rushed to catch the eggs before they could hit the ground.

Safi gave an appreciative smile as the eggs floated gently back into the basket, with not even a sign of a crack. “Nice catch! Sorry if I interrupted your practice.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. That was even better training for keeping on my toes.” She assured him. “Anyway, it’s my fault for not spotting you there. You alright?”

He nodded, but sniffed a few times and swiped a sleeve against his nose. “I’m fine. I guess it’s just that magic dust is still dust.”

He let out another sneeze, and Asha reached out to help him brush off the few remaining sparkles clinging to his scarf.

“I’ll try and watch where I’m aiming more carefully.” She promised.

Even if she hadn’t gotten the hang of everything yet, Safi was glad they had Asha instead of the old system. Even before they fully understood all the problems it caused, he'd been getting pretty worried about it He still wasn’t sure exactly what he would have done if there hadn't been a change before his eighteenth birthday arrived.

“Hey, um… since you’re learning about the whole fairy godmother thing, do you think you could tell me something about wishes?” He decided to ask.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well, I was thinking that everyone must have more than just one thing they want, right? So I was wondering… do you know if you get to pick what’s your wish and what’s just another thing that might be nice?”

Asha was quiet for a few moments, apparently thinking it over carefully.

“That’s a good question.” She said, her brow furrowed with thought. “I guess I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think it’s something you really choose. I think it’s just something your heart kinda knows, even if your head tries to tell you something else.”

Safi's shoulders slumped, and he didn’t look very reassured by the answer. “Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just… I don’t think my wish was gonna be what it should have been.”

Her expression furrowed even further. “Safi, no one gets to tell you what your wish should be. It’s about what matters to you.”

“I know, but…”

He trailed off, and didn’t seem to know how to finish the thought.

“I think everyone figured you’d want to wish away all your allergies.” Asha mentioned.

“Yeah, that would’ve been a good wish.” He replied, though there wasn’t much enthusiasm behind his voice.

“… that wasn’t what you really wanted to wish for, was it?”

Safi shrugged. Honestly, he didn’t mind it all that much if he had a sensitive nose. Or at least, he didn’t mind it nearly enough to put it before other things he could wish for. Though he still felt like maybe it should be his wish. Then he wouldn’t get in the way, or be a bother other people had to worry about.

“Do you want to tell me what your wish really is?” Asha asked. “Maybe it’s something I could help with.”

“Actually, you kinda already did.”

“Really? What was it?”

He glanced away with a small, embarrassed laugh. “It was silly.”

“I don’t think any wish is silly.” Asha insisted. “If it made you happier than anything else, you’re allowed to think it’s important, no matter what it is.”

“Well, alright… I wanted to hug a chicken.” He admitted, slightly reluctant at first, but he was quickly growing more excited to talk about it. “I mean, I could already hug them before, but I meant more like a really big hug. They’re just so soft and fluffy!”

To his relief, Asha smiled but didn’t burst out laughing at him.

“I’m glad you got your wish, then. Guess that makes it one of the first ones I helped out with.”

“Yeah, I guess so!” He cheerfully agreed. “But I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do now. I guess I pick a new one to work on? Though I’m not really sure what yet.”

Suddenly, an idea popped into Asha’s head. She might not be able to tell Safi what wish to pursue next (knowing him, it wouldn't surprise her if it was going to be another one involving chickens), but she could still provide a bit of help along the way.

“Hold your breath.” She instructed.

“What are you-”

Caught off guard, Safi had just enough time to clamp a hand over his nose before Asha sent a swirl of magic his way. He felt a light weight form against his shoulder, and when the twinkling lights faded and he could trust himself to breathe the air again, he found himself wearing a small knapsack. It appeared to be filled with something, and he opened it up to find it stuffed to the brim with clean tissues.

“That ought to get you started while you figure out the next wish.” Asha explained.

Judging from how pleased he looked, maybe what he had needed most at the moment was to know that his friends already liked him the way he was.

#disney wish #wish 2023 #wish asha #wish safi #wish fanfiction

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discodeviant · 2 years

Text

HARRINGROVE WEEK, DAY 1: Nineteen | Teen | 2k

Gift Wrapped: Two Tickets to a Baseball Game

Flavor Combos: Spring Break & Roommates

Specific Dialogue: “Did you keep the receipt?”

I want to preface this by saying that none of my fics for this will follow a coherent timeline lol, so his 30th birthday (spoiler teehee) isn't him turning 30 in this fic's universe etc etc. Please enjoy 💖 !!

Read on AO3 @harringroveweek

“Hey.”

It was a week before spring break. Billy lay on his side of the room, on his bed with a book on his chest, window shut tight to save him an awful allergy attack. He didn’t tell Steve that his birthday was in three weeks; that was something Steve learned by chance (or berating it out of his sister when she visited for Christmas, but the details didn’t matter). He also didn’t tell Steve that he’d been keeping close tabs on the Indiana Imps game since it was announced in October, but there was a day when he left the radio on in the shower, Steve returned a little earlier than expected, and, well…

Steve watched the expectant, if confused, eyebrow lift behind Billy’s book, and trailed over a t-shirt, to shorts, to bare feet before he found sky-grey looking at him too. “Hey,” Billy said, and suddenly the monologue all but melted out of Steve’s memory entirely. “You gonna close the door or what?”

“Oh—“ Steve stepped forward and pushed it closed with his back, still hiding his hands as his face and neck pricked with heat. “Uh, so… you’re… still going on that spring break thing, right?” It was a trip organized by the debate team, which Billy had been a member of since the new semester.

“Planning on it, yeah. Why, you gonna miss me?” He chuckled and focused back on his book, folding his legs under the covers.

Steve rolled his eyes. Flatly, he said, “Yes, because I am in such agony thinking about being away from you for a week.” Billy laughed so hard that he snorted, and Steve wished it wasn’t a lie. He wished that getting stuck with Billy Hargrove in August meant arguing so much that one of them forced the other to move out, but they’d actually gotten along. High school was over, they both ended up at Purdue because rich parents and scholarships were useful sometimes, and they were friends, much to Steve’s dismay. He’d wanted more since Halloween of senior year, but more never came.

“Shut up, man. Yes, I’m going. Why?”

“How early do you have to be up?”

“Uh… I don’t know. Seven, eight?” Finally, he looked up, laid the book on his chest, and gave Steve his full attention. “I will do my best to let you have your beauty sleep. Is that all?” Steve shook his head; Billy frowned. “Then what?” he asked, and the answer came as two slips of paper in Steve’s hand that he couldn’t read. “What’s that?”

“… Happy birthday?”

Billy’s shoulders shrunk into the pillows. “It’s not my birthday.”

Steve shrugged. “Close enough. Do you wanna go to the game or not, because I can just—“

“What—what game?” Billy asked, and he was up on his feet in an instant, grabbing the paper from Steve’s hand to see that they were two tickets for the Imps game on the twelfth. “What the fuck, Harrington? Where’d you—did you just get these now?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you for real? How did you even—… how much were they?”

“Why’s that matter?”

“I’ll pay you back!”

“No, you’re not paying me back, dumbass. It’s your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“Early gift.”

“Did you keep the receipt?”

“No, I didn’t keep the receipt! What’s the matter with you?”

“Steve—“

“Billy.”

Both of their hands were in a stale mate, each holding the tickets while one trembled a little more than the other. Steve looked down into Billy’s eyes, unable to decipher sadness from disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious. Jesus. Have you never gotten a damn birthday present?”

“Not—“ Steve regretted the question as soon as Billy’s shoulders slumped down with a huff and rolling eyes. “Not, like, fuckin’ expensive ones.”

Steve let go then, letting Billy gloss over them in full. “Well… I thought it’d be fun. I don’t know.”

“Shit, these seats are insane too.”

“I’d hope so,” he said, and Billy looked up for a moment before wrapping him in a hug that he’d have leaned into forever if it wasn’t so awkward when it was over.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem, man.”

Game night came and went in a flash, mostly because Steve stopped following baseball in middle school, and because his focus was on Billy the whole time. Billy, who stared blank-faced on the way home; who didn’t say a word when the game was over; who stiffened and stuttered and reddened like a beet when the stadium focused the camera on the girl next to him. Straight Barbie-blonde hair, shimmering lip gloss, the focus of the Imps’ kiss cam before it panned over to Billy laughing smugly at the attention.

Steve didn’t know what came over him, whether it was jealousy or the prodding worry that it was now or never, but the impulsion that used to get him in so much trouble won yet again. He pulled Billy towards himself by the sleeve, put a hand on the back of California curls, and yanked him in for a kiss—because if Billy Hargrove was going to kiss anybody at a damn Imps game, it wasn’t gonna be some hussy he’d never seen in his life. It wasn’t gonna be a stranger.

What got Steve more than the wild screaming around them at the stadium, more than the announcer laughing along, more than his own courage then, was that Billy kissed him back. It was short and hard, full of adrenaline and beer and overpriced hot dogs and grape soda, but he did. Steve melted at the other tongue suddenly in his mouth like it was testing the waters before retreating again. Like it wasn’t sure, like Steve would bite it off and swallow it with Billy’s pride.

It was nearing one in the morning when they made it back to their dorm, and Steve kicked his shoes off before Billy asked, “Why—why’d you do that?”

“Hm? Do what?” Oblivious as always, Steve bent down to straighten his shoes against the wall the way Billy liked to keep them. “Better?”

“No, I—the—the camera, I mean, you didn’t—don’t—“ Billy inhaled, sharp and hard through his nose, then recollected himself. “That was just for the camera, right?”

Steve froze and looked back with panic. “Right,” he said, too fast, too loud. “Yeah, it—yeah.” Too humored.

“Mm.”

And he dressed down some more, changing his sweater out for a tank top, jeans for shorts, new socks to sleep in because he was a freak, supposedly. Billy, though, he stayed by the door, stiff as a board, hands in his pockets and staring at the floor. Steve recognized the way he chewed his lip the same way he’d chew on the butt of a cigarette. Waiting, grinding, thinking.

Steve then said, “Kind of,” and Billy looked up. “I mean, I don’t know.”

“I—Steve…”

“Should I not have?”

“No, it’s—“ Billy whispered now. “Not that.”

Steve’s heart was in his throat, trying to tumble out and hide at the same time because it wanted Billy just as much as Steve did, and he might have held his breath a little too long. “Then what?”

Billy turned around to put his stuff down, pieces of memorabilia that Steve also insisted on buying for him. “Nothing, never mind.” But Steve was right back next to him, tugging the sleeve of the jacket he wore because Indiana spring was still too cold at night. Billy faced him, still not making eye contact. Steve wished he would, but the momentary focus was enough. He didn’t want Billy to run away—not now, not ever, and certainly not because he backed out too soon. “Steve—“

“It was for me, okay?” he said at last. Soft, gentle, lacking most of the confidence that he had just a few hours before. Now what remained was the memory that Billy didn’t jerk away. Billy didn’t get angry or yell or hit him or spit the taste of his mouth back out onto his shoe. He may have in high school if Steve pulled the same stunt. But not then, not two weeks before his nineteenth birthday, not when he’d been fine, when he’d been away. Not when Steve made him feel safe. “It was for me.”

Steve crowded him between the door and the desk without realizing how close he’d gotten. Both hands rested on Billy’s lapels, fiddled with the buttons down his chest. He continued: “Look, man, I just—I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time.” He whispered a burning breath between their noses, black cherry slushy still on his tongue. “I just—you know, the camera, and it was on you and that chick, and—“

“Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Harrington,” Billy said, a weak smile on his lips that made Steve smile wider.

“Well, maybe I am the jealous type, Hargrove.” They both laughed small huffs that brought them even closer, and Billy met Steve’s eyes. There went his guard in pieces on the floor, the last shell of King Steve having all but disintegrated. “Can I do it right this time?” His finger dragged along Billy’s jaw, down to his chin, a thumb just a breath away from an anticipating lip. He’d have missed Billy’s nod if he blinked, but his eyes were wide open until they closed again when he leaned in.

Their kiss this time was gradual and careful, treading a sheet of ice that may have been thicker than he thought it could be. Billy slacked underneath him, a hand finding the hem of his shirt, barely touching his side before it pressed a little harder. Now he could savor Billy for everything he was. Strong and divine but soft in places he couldn’t control—his hands, his lips, his heart that Steve felt against his own and knew he’d never stop craving.

His toes pressed against Billy’s boots, unafraid of being stepped on because Billy was careful too. Though pliant, he remained strong in the grip on the back of Steve’s shirt. They shared smoky fruit and spearmint, deep sea cologne and sandalwood. Foreheads pressed against one another after a long minute, maybe two, and Billy sighed; they were both out of breath already.

Steve ran his fingers through Billy’s hair as they fell onto each other’s shoulders and embraced against the door. “Get comfy and come lay down with me.”

Billy asked, “Do you mean lay down or lay down?” and Steve laughed, then shrugged.

“Whatever you want.”

Smiling—“Yeah, alright”—Billy brushed his nose against Steve’s again, asking for another kiss, and Steve gave him just that. Shorter this time but just as sweet, and it was so cold when he let go, but it would be warm again.

So they both got ready for bed; Billy dressed down to briefs and a t-shirt, then took the other half of Steve’s twin. They kissed once and kissed some more, deeper with every breath and rut against each other. Two handjobs later—one drawn out until Billy had to beg—and it was three o’clock. Steve massaged his head, falling asleep in the comfort of Billy’s arms and fingers drawing scribbles on his back. Billy yawned into Steve’s neck, naked against his thigh and toeing those damn socks. “You’re still weird for that.”

“Shut up, my toes get cold.”

“But your dick doesn’t?”

“Mm, not with you to warm it up,” Steve said, shifting so his weight was on Billy.

Billy laughed. “Shut up.” Kissed him again, languid and worn out from the hours of excitement.

With another scratch to Billy’s scalp, Steve said, “Come on, go to sleep. You still gotta be up early.”

He groaned. “For what.”

“Your debate trip, dickhead.”

“Fuck debate,” Billy said, pulling his arms up to hold Steve around his shoulders. “And fuck you if you think I’m going anywhere.”

“Why, would you miss me?”

“You know what, fuck you anyway.”

“Save that for tomorrow.”

“If only you’d be so lucky.”

“I think I’ve got a pretty good chance.”

“Mm…” Billy yawned. “Maybe.” Steve kissed him again, and before they fell asleep: “Thanks for taking me to the game.”

“I’m glad you had a good time.”

“Me too,” he said, wiggling under Steve’s weight until they settled more comfortably. Steve kissed his neck and shoulder and forehead and cheek, then lips one last time before laying down on his chest.

“Goodnight, Billy.”

“Night, Stevie.”

#harringroveweek #harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #one shot #fanfic #.discowrites #ao3

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heliads · 2 years

Note

Tom!Peter x male reader. Peter gets sick and reader tries to juggle taking care of people and New York in peters absence as well as his standard superhero stuff

idk if you wanted reader to be a superhero also but i think it's so much more fun if reader is ordinary. enjoy!

masterlist

If anything were to take down New York City’s favorite hero, you didn’t think it was going to be something as simple as a respiratory infection. You’ve seen Peter Parker walk off bullets, fall from high places, and the occasional near-death bludgeoning, but this, a cough and a fever, is too much for him to ignore.

Technically, you suppose you shouldn’t be laughing. It’s, just, well, it’s really funny to see Peter, your impossibly untouchable Peter, barely able to move an inch because he’s so sick. After all the times Peter has made fun of you for suffering from allergies or not being able to easily recover from any injury like he can, this feels like karma. His pitifully thin voice doesn’t do him any favors, either. Love is expressed in its finest form by only referring to your boyfriend as a sick little Victorian era orphan about to die of consumption.

Yeah, Peter’s having a great time, to be sure. In your defense, you definitely are trying your best to take care of him. Peter’s bedridden in his room, occasionally shifting in the mounds of blankets that he alternates between tucking up to his chin and throwing off at a moment’s notice. May Parker is out for the moment, staying late to work again, but you’re here and that’s what matters.

Peter squeezes your hand feebly. “Y/N, if I don’t make it, I want you to have my stuff.”

You snort. “You’re going to be fine, Peter. This is just a bad cold.”

Peter closes his eyes dazedly. “I might die. If you’re going to be rude, though, I’ll rewrite my will so Ned gets my chemistry notes.”

You poke him in the shoulder, causing Peter to open his eyes blearily. “I take it all back. I’ll arrange the finest of burial services if it means I get your study guides. Quantum mechanics never makes half so much sense as when you’re explaining it to me.”

Peter eyes you balefully. “I wish I knew for sure that you loved me for me instead of for my chemistry knowledge. Tell a dying man sweet lies, would you?”

“I do love you besides chemistry,” you laugh, “or I wouldn’t have been here for hours on a weekend to sit by your side and listen to you sniffle endlessly.”

Peter smiles through the happy daze of having been constantly on DayQuil and NyQuil for the last forty hours at least. “You have been here. It was great. We watched The Great British Baking Show.”

You nod solemnly. “Bread week was brutal. No more brutal than that fever, though.”

Peter coughs weakly. “We should do this again sometime. Not the plague part, obviously, but the hanging out.”

You grimace. “Is this a sign that we don’t spend enough time together, that you’d wish for something like this on your deathbed?”

Peter flops a tired arm over his eyes. “I’m doing my best, alright? We’re busy people, and I get that, but I like spending time with you. Not when my head is going to split in half, though.”

You stand up to close the blinds, then flick off the lights. “You’re looking a little rough, Pete. How about you get some sleep? May told me that she’s planning on getting back in just a couple minutes. In fact,” you pause, listening to the jangle of keys in locks down the hall, “I think she’s here now. Yeah, get some rest.”

Peter reaches out a tired arm to you. “I don’t want to sleep. It’s the middle of the day.”

You roll your eyes but take the outstretched hand anyway. “You always want to sleep. Besides, look at yourself. You’re a few moments from unconsciousness. Just close your eyes for a few minutes, alright?”

Peter mumbles something under his breath about how that’s totally ridiculous and he’s wide awake, but does as told. You stay with him until you hear soft, phlegm-filled snores start to ricochet around the room, then gently pull your hand from Peter’s and slip out of the room.

May’s setting her bags down in the living room, and she smiles at you when she sees you approach. “How’s our contagion victim?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “He’s doing alright. Just fell asleep, actually.”

May nods. “Good, he needs it. You’re so sweet for watching him, Y/N. Peter couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. He’s always said it, and he’s right.”

You shrug, although you can feel your spine proudly straighten just a little bit when you hear May talk about how much Peter talks about you. “He makes it easy to love him.”

“Yes,” May says wistfully, “he does. Peter’s a good kid. Heaven knows he tries hard enough to make it work.”

“And he does,” you promise, “mostly because he’s got you in his corner. I’m going to head out, but please text me if you need anything. I’ll be over in a minute if necessary.”

May shakes her head, flapping her hand towards the door. “No, flee the infection zone while you can. You kids always have homework to do, don’t you? I don’t want you falling behind just because Peter’s sick.”

You laugh. “I’ll see you soon, May.”

She returns the farewell, and soon enough the door is shutting behind you as you head down the hall. May is right, there is homework you need to do, but there’s another task calling your name before you can even so much as think about calculus problem sets or chemistry notes to take. See, Peter is special not just because he’s the love of your life or a STEM whiz, he’s Spider-Man. Spider-Man can’t take breaks, even if the boy behind the mask feels like he’s on death’s door.

Truth be told, you think that’s what Peter is most worried about. You could see it written all over his face, how terrified he is to not be out patrolling the last few days. Peter has himself convinced that if he leaves the streets of New York alone for even a few rounds of twenty four hours, all the crime in the world will come crawling to his doorstep. If Spider-Man isn’t seen helping people, the thugs and criminals and carjackers will start thinking that it’s alright to come out again, and Peter can’t have that.

Neither can you. So, instead of taking the elevator down to street level, you press the button to go all the way up to the top. There’s a secret stuffed into your backpack, a red and blue suit that you’ve borrowed from your boyfriend. Peter clued you in to his secret identity a long time ago, so you’ve been able to help him with modifications to his Spider-Man suit for the last few iterations of the classic uniform.

This also means that you’re well versed in using it, especially the web shooters. If Peter Parker can’t take up the mantle of the friendly neighborhood hero, that just means someone else will have to step in for the time being, and you’re more than alright with doing just that if it means that burden disappears from your boyfriend’s shoulders while he’s so sick.

After all, it only feels right that someone should share in that grave responsibility. Spider-Man may be the city, but sometimes that means the city gets to be Spider-Man as well. The boy protects the streets, and the streets protect the boy. This is just you doing your part to thank the hero who risks his life for you every single night without fail.

You tug the mask over your face. You don’t know how Peter is able to casually don the suit every night– once you get it on, it feels claustrophobic, clinging to your every muscle and bone yet heavier than you’d thought it would be. Does it not drag him down with every step, reminding him how fragile he is to be a boy leaping from rooftops? Is this job not far too much for him to ever complete?

It must be done, however, so you do what Peter does and grin and bear it. You fire a few test shots of webbing from the gadgets at your wrists, but everything works as you remember. You’re not completely out of your mind– no backflips off of skyscrapers for you, no sir, but you can at least make the various goons and criminals think that Spider-Man wouldn’t take a day off for the world. Continue the ruse, that’s all you have to do.

You find your first job soon enough. An old lady is walking home late at night and someone runs by, liberating her of her purse when she’s distracted in pushing the pedestrian button at a crosswalk. You carefully swing down to that street and chase after the thief, firing a web at his feet to trip him up. Surprised, the thief rears around and throws a punch at you.

You’re not as fast as Peter and the punch lands. It’s a flailing hit and doesn’t have that much of an impact, but fiery lines of hurt still erupt across your shoulder. You grab the purse from the thief and race back to the old lady before much more fighting can happen. She thanks you quite happily. You’re glad to keep up Peter’s legacy of protecting those in need, but man, you are not that good at taking a hit. When you manage to make it back up to the roof, it’s much slower than before, and the ache of the blow doesn’t fade for quite some time.

It makes you wince to think about what Peter’s nights must be like. Sure, Peter has learned to fight since he first started out as Spider-Man, but he’s still just a kid, and there’s only so much you can do. Is this what Peter does every night, protecting the city at the risk of slowly killing himself through bruise after bruise? It makes you want to take up the mantle every single night, even if you’re worse at the job, just to ensure that Peter stays that much safer.

Thus the night continues in much of the same fashion. Thankfully, tonight seems to be a fairly quiet night, and you don’t see much action. This is good, as you’re barely able to do anything. You are just a student, not trained in combat and certainly not used to having to tackle criminals at a moment’s notice.

Peter has told you his usual Spider-Man schedule before, so you call it quits when the hours slip from late night to early morning. You’re called in at last by Peter texting you, asking if you’re in bed. He just wants a phone call, but you’re close to his apartment so you decide to just swing by anyway. Hey, Peter always does it to you, right? You always thought it would be fun to try it for yourself.

Unlike Peter, you’re not able to climb up the side of his apartment building to crawl inside his window, but the elevator does well enough for you. You change back into your regular street clothes before daring to step inside the building, but apparently that still isn’t enough to convince Peter that you’ve been up to normal person activities tonight, even if he’s in a haze due to his sickness.

You’ve barely taken a few steps into his room before Peter’s squinting at you. “Are you alright?” He asks, voice hoarse.

You shrug a bit too quickly. “Of course I am. Why would you ask that?”

In truth, you’re not entirely okay. You took a fair amount of hits tonight in your efforts to keep up the guard as Spider-Man, and they’re already starting to make themselves known. You’re limping a little, but you had tried to hide it when you came into Peter’s space. As usual, he sees through your best attempts to pretend you’re fine.

Peter reaches over to flick on his desk lamp and instantly sucks in a breath.

You wince. “That bad, huh?”

Peter stares at you, horror clouding his eyes. “Y/N, what happened? You’re covered in bruises.”

You can see the self judgements appearing in Peter’s mind, a thousand ways to blame himself for what happened. You hold up a hand hurriedly, trying to stave away Peter’s guilt before it swallows him completely.

“This isn’t your fault, Peter. Trust me, I made this choice. I know you were stressed about not being able to be Spider-Man these last few nights because you were sick, so I wanted to make sure somebody could do it for you. I might not be the best at fighting, obviously, but it worked. The city still thinks you’re fine. It’s alright.”

Peter stares at you for a few seconds longer, then breaks into the most wonderful smile you’ve ever seen. “You did that for me? You went out on patrol for me?”

You grin. “Of course I did, Peter. I don’t want you to be focusing on anything but your own recovery. I’m not half the crime fighter you are, but it did the job.”

Peter holds out an arm to you, and you crawl into his bed, letting Peter pull you into a hug.

Face tucked against the top of your head, Peter speaks. “I don’t know about that. I think you’re my hero.”

You laugh. “As if. You’re the superhero, Peter. You always have been.”

Peter shrugs, the movement making you shift with him. “Every hero needs a hero. You can be mine.”

The two of you continue in that way for a while, both quiet, both happy, and then Peter continues. “I think we both need a good night’s rest, though. Stay the night?”

“Of course,” you whisper back, and you can feel Peter smile against the top of your head.

He has one last thought before the two of you drift off to sleep: “You’re definitely going to be sick after this, though. Like, there’s no way you’re not getting my germs now.”

“Oh, I am,” you laugh, “no doubt about that. It just means I’m going to make you take care of me after this.”

“I have no problem with that,” Peter murmurs.

It’s easy to let your eyes close after that, to let unconsciousness pull you under and paint you a dream-world in which you have a boy who loves you unconditionally. It is the very world in which you exist right now.

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