#yesterday i was fine. and then i woke up today and everything was wrong | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

carmenized-onions · 1 year ago

Text

Zero Pulse. | Oven Hotfix

logline; It's Friday.

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

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

portion; 12.5k Jesus Christ, new record.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir.”

“He any good?”

“No-sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re the one bein’ mean, Chip!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef.”

“Why, exactly? Chef?”

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

“Heard!”

“Not perfect?”

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

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

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

“Thank you, Chef.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Painting?”

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

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

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

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

“Waiting on twenty, Chefs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck is stage?”

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

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

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

“Tif’s getting remarried.”

“—Oh, holy shit.”

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

“You think she’ll invite you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you, Rich.”

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

“Yeah.”

“I was here.” Could’ve visited.

“I know.” No, I couldn’t.

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

“Richie, I’m sor—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“His, his old Executive— Chef.”

“Oh.”

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

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

“What?”

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

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

You call out, “Yo, Fak—” “Yes?”

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

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

“Tryin’ to figure that out.”

“Cause you’re a repairman.”

“Cause I’m a repairman, yeah.”

“You got a degree?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my fucking God.”

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

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

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

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

“A Michelin Guide Inspector.” Oh, fuck.

“Oh, fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then fix the oven.”

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

“I’m fucking good, Tony.”

“Don’t bark at me.”

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

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

“Will you let me?”

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

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

“The Miles Morales feels racially targeted.”

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

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

“Love ya, Squid.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You have backups in your fucking car?”

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, you think I can’t?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rich, let me take it.”

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

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

“You don’t know how to kiss ass.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Staging.” Carmen answers.

“That one.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, we are Italian owned, so.”

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

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

“Can I be honest with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I want him dead.”

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

“Heard.”

“They ordered like five fucking bottles of wine.”

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

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

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

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

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

“He says he wants to be surprised.”

“Like fucking Ratatouille?”

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

“I didn’t see it.”

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

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

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

“It’s bullet.” “It’s not.”

The wine pouring is nothing to write home about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would Carmen?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…Did you just think love?

Gotta table this, for now…

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

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

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

“Nat’s calling.”

“Let it go to voicemail.”

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

“She’s got mom brain.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I will.” You nod, and lie.

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

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

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

Carmen needs this.

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

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

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

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

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

Cherry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Chef!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Heard!”

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?”

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

“What’d he say?”

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

“Chef, pasta?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything alright, Sug?”

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

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

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

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

“She said you took care of it.”

“She told me you took care of it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’m with you Bear!!’

‘Just one more, Mikey’

‘love you’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same team, Chef.”

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

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

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

i know i know i know i know--

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

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

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

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

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

Next Part

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

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justastraymoa · 2 months ago

Text

Yet Unnamed

Chapter 15

Masterlist

Twice tumblr has lost my update on this with photos and edits ugh! Frustrating! That being said sorry for any errors!

Warnings for Yet Unnamed: Kidnapping, cuffs, injuries, drugging by injection, mentions of needles, lots of swearing, kissing, fluff, angst, idiots in love all around, scary situations.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take the day off?” Ayen asked over breakfast.

“You skipped yesterday afternoon. There is work that needs to be done. You and Lix are filming challenges today with Itsy. Chan, Lino, and Minnie have an interview. Hyune and Binnie have photoshoots for several ambassadorships. And Binnie has studio time and a YouTube video to film with me.” You tick off all the major things on todays to do list. “And I have editing to do, and my own photoshoot is being released today. We are busy.”

Ayen rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He pouted into his food.

You didn’t even mention that you would need to make some form of appearance at all these things to make sure everything was all good and running smoothly in the contract and agreements. You would be running non-stop; you couldn’t afford a day off. You couldn’t even afford to have breakfast, but after missing a week of meals you didn’t dare suggest skipping.

There was also a concert series coming up that needed a concept. Thinking of things that they hadn’t already done before was hard. You didn’t want to seem like you were just copying the ones who did this before you. You still needed to make a name for yourself, and you couldn’t afford to be compared to the old staff.

You started a list of what would need to be done in order to get the ball rolling on all of that. Starting with getting venues and announcing the whole thing.

You ended the day with Bin in the studio filming a little side video series you were sure STAY would love. A 3racha exclusive on the process of creating a song from start to finish. Well, most of the process. It would be simplified and compressed for entertainment over actual teaching. And each of them had certain things they wanted to keep from the video. Ways and things they did that were personal and private. And at the end of the miniseries, they would get to hear the song 3racha had been working on.

“You seem to be feeling better. Did last night help?” Bin asked after you had been working a bit. He was currently on a program on the computer, he had just gotten done vaguely explaining the program and how they use it to create music.

“It was nice to get everything out in the open and cuddle. I missed everyone while I was gone.” You replied, trying to keep up with what he was doing. He was so professional at this that he clicked through actions faster than you could comprehend.

He nodded, still working. “Yeah, it feels good to get it out. All this does get easier as you learn to navigate it. Chans right though. We are all here for you, and we all have our breaking points.”

You nod but freeze when his word register in your brain. “Chan told you about last night?” You couldn’t help but feel slightly betrayed and hurt. You hadn’t asked him not to tell anyone, but you had assumed he wouldn’t since he knew you were embarrassed and upset about the whole thing. You had thought he would keep it between you and him.

Bin seemed to sense you were upset and stopped working to turn to you and give you his complete attention. “A couple of us are light sleepers. We woke up when you guys were talking.” He explained. “But we don’t have secrets anyways. It’s almost impossible with how much we are together, but it’s also dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“If any secrets came out at the wrong time it could end badly. Especially if it catches us off guard. And it causes more hurt and fights in the end. Its just better to be open and not have any.”

“That’s easier said than done. People have secrets for a reason.”

Bin shrugged. “True, and im sure we have one or two small ones here and there. The point is, you can lean on us. Between the nine of us, there is nothing we can’t conquer.”

You slumped into your chair. “I do lean on you. A lot. Too much already.”

Bin just leaned over with a smile and kissed your hairline. “Just remember we love you no matter what.”

You both got back to working on the video, having had enough serious talk for the moment. You tried to ask questions you were curious about or that you didn’t quite understand when he explained it the first time. Keeping in mind what you thought STAY would be interested in as well. But you couldn’t help but be insanely curious for yourself.

Bin was infinitely patient, walking you through the answers and even letting you play on the system yourself. Creating - albeit a bad – 6 second snippet of sound in the process.

You laugh as he played the unpleasant sound back. “I should just stick to my videos and social media.”

Bin patted your head gently. “Yeah, you probably should.”

You gasp in feigned shock. “You are supposed to tell me it was good!”

“I would never like to you like that, Jagi.”

You stuck your tongue out playfully and laughed again as he shoved you gently with his shoulder.

“Let’s get home before the others send a search party.” He started saving his work and shutting everything down.

You started to do the same with your equipment. Ending the recording and packing up your notes on the session for when you edit the 3 hours of footage down to less than one hour that watchers will remain interested in the whole time. But that part was a job for tomorrow.

Bin folded your fingers together as you walked to the waiting car, playfully swinging your arms back and forth.

“Hey, its out of the intended order, but Lino can’t decide what to do for his date, so do you want to do our date tomorrow night?” He asked as you started the ride home.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you smiled widely. “Yes! Where are we going?” You shook your hands in excitement, taking Bins hand too since you were still holding it.

Bin breathed out a chuckle. “How about dinner first, then a trip to build a bear to make each other a bear.” He looked over at you to get your reaction.

There was no need for him to be nervous though. You would be okay with anything; however, this idea made you squeal and kick your feet. It was so sweet! “Oh my god its so perfect! I had to donate most of my stuffed animals when I moved here!”

He smiled widely at your reaction, relieved. “You are so cute.” You blush at the compliment, still not used to them. “This date will be different though.” He warned. “We won’t be able to hide our identities and continue to keep security around.

“So, drop security.” You shrug. Easy solution. You hadn’t even gotten a security team yet. And you hadn’t really gone anywhere alone, so usually the security team of whoever you were with took over that role for you as well. It was unfair for them, but anytime you got security assigned to you they only lasted a day or two before disappearing.

And you weren’t sure you really needed security anyways. It seemed excessive. The crowds outside the locations your soulmates went were usually well contained by that location’s security and not interested in you beyond shouting questions and the occasional diss.

“No, Y/n! It’s dangerous to go out without security! Especially for you!”

“Why especially for me?”

“Because – because there is so much negativity on you right now. And you haven’t learned how to navigate your fans safely yet.”

Your fans? “I don’t have fans, Binnie baby. And your fans are usually pretty respectable if not excitable.” You felt defensive of your fellow STAY members.

Bin shifted in his seat to face you fully. “You know there are crazier, unstable fans out there. Dangerous fans. And you’ve seen the comments on your stuff. We need to make sure you are safe!” He was almost pleading with you.

You suppose he had a point. Some of the stuff you came across was graphic and scary. But you thought it had died down some now that they had had a bit of time to get used to the idea of you. “Okay, Bin. We won’t ditch security.”

He relaxed some. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek. He was sweet. And he revealed an unintentional secret they had been keeping from you. They have been keeping tabs on the comments about you and were more worried then they let on.

That made you nervous. You had been gleefully telling yourself that there was nothing to worry about if your soul mates weren’t worried about it. Now that you knew they were actually worried, it changed a few realities for you.

“So, how nervous should I be, then?” You ask. You watched as Bin seemed to pause to think about his answer. “Remember what you said about keeping secrets. Unless keeping them from me doesn’t count?” Moral blackmail, but you didn't want to be kept in the dark.

“Of course you count!” His reply was immediate.

“I was only teasing. I realize you didn’t tell me how worried you were for my own sanity. Im not really upset.”

“We weren’t exactly keeping it from you. Just downplaying our concern a bit. Mostly because we want to protect you from everything.”

“That’s very sweet of you all, but hate and danger are a part of this life. And I need to learn to work with it just like anything else. Sheltering me will not help in this situation.” You explain gently.

Bin sighs in defeat, making you smile in triumph. “We are worried about some of the more threatening comments.” He reconfirmed. “And we cant be around to protect and watch over you all the time. It drives us crazy!”

“That’s what security is for. When they find a team that sticks with me, that is.”

Bin scratched at the back of his neck. “That’s our fault. Chan convinced JYP to let us pick your team so we could be sure they were good enough. And apparently finding a team for you that we all agree on is a lot harder than we originally thought.”

And suddenly, it made sense why the teams assigned to you only lasted a few days. “Bin.” You chided gently. “This is their job. Their livelihood. You can't just keep firing them.”

“Only you would be more concerned for them than your own safety.”

“You guys have a week to pick a team, or im taking over. And I know nothing about picking security.” You warned him. Then, just for good measure, you opened the group chat to tell the others, too.

You laughed and looked up as you slowed to a stop. You were home.

This time you hooked your arm in Bins as you walked, liking that it felt closer to a walking cuddle and that you could smell him from this close.

That night you crawled into bed with Lino – who didn’t say a word as he tucked your side of the blanket around you and kissed your shoulder before settling back down. As the only other one besides Bin to invite you into his bed you were excited to finally take advantage of it.

The next day you were so giddy for your date with Binnie that you actually knocked off work earlier because you just couldn’t concentrate anymore. Couldn’t sit still and watch the clock tick slower and slower. Instead, you busy yourself finding the perfect outfit to wear.

Bin took you to eat first. It was a steakhouse. “This place has the best fries.” He proclaimed as he pulled the chair out for me like a gentleman.

“That’s a big compliment coming from you.” You smiled. You had noticed he always tried fries at new places. They were his favorite food, so he says. Personally you don’t know how anyone can pick a favorite when there were so much good food out there to enjoy.

In the end you had to admit he may be right. They were some of the best fries you had ever had in recent memory.

Then at build a bear you each created a bear for the other. He kept trying to sneak a peak at the bear you were making for him, hiding behind the stuffing machine and shelves to get a look when you weren’t paying attention. You threw a toy hairbrush at him to chase him off.

You each customized your bears with recordings, clothing, and accessories. You laughed out loud as you found an accessory that looked like a little container of fries. It was perfect for this date. A nice little reminder of the delicious dinner you two had had together.

On the walk back to the car you carried the bear he made for you proudly, forgoing the cute little house box they usually gave you. Your bear had a cute little pink dress on, a pink bow hooked around one ear, and a cell phone accessory. You loved it.

You giggled, grinning stupidly as you wrapped one arm around Bins waist and cuddled the bear with the other. “She is so cute, Binnie! Thank you!” You reach up to kiss him under his jaw, loving the flustered little smile he got in response.

You were aware of the STAY crowd that had followed you the whole date and were wary of doing much more than that around them. However, you would not be gagged and scared by them either. This was your first date with Bin, and you were going to show him your appreciation. Respectably.

Beyond being aware of them, you didn’t really pay attention to the crowd and their yelling and waving. You were focused on your date, let security do their job.

And, just for Lino’s peace of mind you made sure to check in periodically through the group chat. Simply updating with a picture of the date and moving on, not even reading the responses.

The only incident all night happened just as you were about to get into the car to head home. And it really had nothing to do with you. A large number of STAY had somehow managed to push through security and rush Bin, shoving you aside in the process and forcing the two of you apart. You lost sight of Bin in the mob, and you were squeezed and shoved between all the STAYs trying to force themselves closer to him.

It was honestly scary, and you were afraid you would lose your footing and end up being trampled by all the fans around you not caring about casualties. So, you clung tight to your bear and focused on keeping your feet under you and head down. Security would get things under control soon.

The crowd had become deafening, screaming in your ears. You had no idea what they were screaming or who they were screaming at because it all blended together into a painful ringing. It didn’t matter anyways.

You weren’t sure how long you were being crushed by the mob before Bins voice cut through the screams and familiar arms brought you close, pulling you into the safety of a warm chest you were familiar with. You immediately clung on tightly.

“I got you, babe, don’t worry.” Bin spoke right in your ear, sounding stressed, but firm. You had no doubts. You nodded into his shirt, and he cupped the back of your head securely.

Between him and security, you two made it to the car and he got you inside quickly and secured the door. “You okay?” He asked a bit breathlessly.

You nodded and hummed in affirmation heart still racing, but unharmed.

He gripped your chin lightly and turned you to face him, inspecting your expressions. He looked worried, but it wasn’t you that he should be worried about. You just got caught in the crowd. He was the one who was mobbed.

“Are you okay?” You repeat his question back at him.

“I’m fine. This was an attack, Y/n! They ripped you away from me on purpose!”

You rolled your eyes. “Duh, Bin. But they didn’t try and hurt me.”

Bins eyes widened at your nonchalance. “They could have! Easily! What if they shoved you to the ground? They would have trampled you to death before I could get to you!”

You rub at his biceps comfortingly. “But they didn’t. I managed to stay on my feet until you got to me, like I knew you would. And security did their job and got us both safely to the car.”

Bin let out a relieved breath and plunked his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. You continue to rub comfortingly up and down his arms, reassuring him that you were unharmed and safe.

Despite the stress and fear from the minor mishap you still stopped Bin at the apartment door to give him a proper kiss. It was the only right way to end an amazing date, really. And this was an amazing date.

He was still flushed tomato red when you both walked through the front door, and you were smiling ear to ear.

This time it was Channie who met you at the door in a panic. “Are you both okay?”

Unbelievable. How did he know already? Did you miss a text? You didn’t even see Bin on his phone on the way home! He was mostly touchy and clingy, constantly checking to make sure you were still okay.

“Security informs me of all incidents.” Chan answered your exasperated, questioning look.

“We are fine. She barely blinked. I was more freaked out than she was.” Bin replied for us, rolling his eyes.

You shrugged. “I will not apologize for having complete and total trust in my soulmate.” Then you held up your bear. “Look at what Binnie made me on our date!” You waggled the bear side to side in front of Chan, smiling.

Chan rubbed the bears head with a fond smile. “Cute.”

You skipped into the living room. Everyone but Lino and Hannie were there already, sitting on various furniture with the TV playing some show you had never seen before.

“Hannie and Lino went on their own date.” Lix explained when you asked after them.

Nodding you curled up with Ayen on the overstuffed chair – stealing half his blanket. For his part, Ayen didn’t seem to mind, shifting to make room for you before going back to watching TikTok videos on his phone.

Bin and Chan were still in the doorway talking quietly. You assumed Bin was giving him more information about what happened earlier. But eventually they both joined you and Bin showed off his own bear while plopping on the couch next to Hyune, throwing an arm around him.

It seemed everyone was waiting for the other two to get home.

When you pulled out your phone to catch up on the replies to your updates and maybe play a game or two you were shocked to see more than just the photos of your date with Bin. Lino and Hannie were sending updates of their own.

They had gone to this cute little Sanrio café and got themed drinks and food. The photos of both were just too adorable and you couldn’t believe that either of them had the heart to ruin the artistry in order to eat and drink them. They looked like they were having a good time.

🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸🧸

A/N i know nothing about music production/creation. I made it up.

Yet Unnamed Taglist: @fackeraccount @velvetmoonlght @hyunjinstolemyheart @vampkittenb82 @happy-jj @estella-novella @demigoddreamon-blog @tiana-maxivar @ms-flowergirl @jennibahng @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @mimimiloomeelomi @simpforskz143148 @xxeiraxx @lil-bear08 @brbwritingfanfic @jisungs-iced-americano @zofia515 @missvanjii @malyxsoulpersonal @silentreadersthings @pixie0627 @ramadiiiisme

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bonzirelle · 2 months ago

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Cookie Thief

paring: guitarist!jisung x baker!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: pet names(babe & baby) and mentions of food.

summary: guitarist!jisung has to deal with the repercussions from baker!reader after sneaking a sweet treat after his late night gig.

dolle’s note: AHHH this is my first post on here ever…so lmk how i did..!

✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊

The familiar scent of icing and cake batter lingered in the air of your small bakery that you loved to call home. This bakery has been with you for a few years but you feel like it’s been forever with how many memories that’s been made there.

The late nights, nice customers, sweet smells and tastes. That’s what you call love. you’ve taken a special liking in baking since you were a little girl in the kitchen with your mother. It’s the feeling of warmth and comfort that makes you happy to make all of these delicious treats.

Everything was normal, it truly was. Until you saw the absence of a cookie on the tray. Your eye brows furrowed before counting the rows and columns to make sure you weren’t going crazy.

“I could’ve swore i made sixteen..” You mumbled while looking around to see any trace of anyone that could’ve broken in but everything around was normal.

The pink curtains were jumbled up on the window like you left them yesterday afternoon, all of the money was in the tip jar, even the little porcelain doll you sat in the window seal was still sat up. Now this was weird. You began to retrace your steps before you left the bakery.

You put the cover back on the cookies, put them back on the shelf walked to your apartment and fell right asleep. Jisung came back from his nightly gig, put his stuff down but didn’t come in the room until later. Woke up and then came here this morning. So then what happened?

Jisung. Jisung happened

“BABE!”

Seconds later he came downstairs from your apartment into the bakery downstairs.

“You called me? What’s wrong are you hurt?” He walked over to you with confusion and concern etched on his face.

“Did you eat my cookies?” You we’re getting straight to the point, no games.

“Well..no. I didn’t eat multiple cookies. I only had one.”

“That’s just as bad, ji!”

He could tell you were bothered by this. He knew how much you loved baking, maybe he should have just got something to eat on the way home.

A low sigh escaped his lips as he walked over to you behind the counter. “Okay…i did eat a cookie, and i apologize for that. I just didn’t think you would get so worked up about it.”

You wanted to be mad at him, you really wanted to. But it’s the way he grabbed your hand with such a gentle and loving smile on his face that made you believe that everything was alright in this world.

“I needed this batch for today. It was important, babe.”

You saw the way his eyes flicked over to the silver tin tray that sat next to the glass jar of baguettes on the cream white colored counter.

“It’s fine, i swear. Before you open up we can make a whole new batch with sixteen more.” He leaned down a bit to place a kiss on your cheek.

“Are you sure?” You questioned.

“Of course i am, baby. When haven’t i kept my promises?” Your silence told him all that you needed to know. “Exactly. Now c’mon, we can make some red velvet ones.”

The kitchen lights were soft, the air smelled like sugar, and he was already licking frosting off his finger like he wasn’t just caught. That’s love, right? Or something like it. You’ve been baking since you were a kid, standing on a stool next to your mom, and somehow it still feels just as magical. Maybe it’s the cupcakes. Or maybe it’s him. Probably both.

✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊˚ ✩°｡🧸𓏲⋆.🧺𖦹 ₊

#skz x reader #skz #han jisung #stray kids jisung #skz imagines #stray kids #skz stay #jisung x reader #bonzirelle #skz fanfic #skz fluff

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kyehwas · 5 months ago

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let you break my heart again ft. xu minghao

💔 -> or, minghao realizes what he did wrong and wants to try again || wc : 1k.

☆ song recs! : let you break my heart again - laufey ; cold love - the8 ; darl + ing - seventeen ; real man - beabadoobee ; try again - jaehyun, d.ear

You and your ex both remember the break-up day like it was yesterday. A year together, 365 plus days filled with laughter and tears, which were all gone. Your ex, Minghao didn't know why he really did it, why he broke up with you. He just woke up one day and lost feelings.

You spent a week crying in the arms of your friends. You loved Minghao, and even if you tell yourself you had gotten over him, a little piece of you still wants him.

"...after that I literally- y/n? you good?" Danielle asks, noticing your shift in demeanor. There, out of the corner of your eye, you see Minghao, your one and only ex, the love of your life, hanging out with his friends. “That bitch.”

“Dani, it's… it's fine,” You say, still staring at him. His gaze meets yours, and your eyes widen.

You sheepishly wave to him, which he hesitates before raising his hand back at you.

Your phone then buzzes. Minghao is on the phone, so you're guessing it was from him.

come over here.

“He's telling me to come over, I'll be back.” You run over to Minghao, and the friends he's with take this as a sign to leave.

“Hello, y/n.” Words you haven't heard in so long. It warms your heart, even if he doesn't like you anymore.

“Hi, Hao. How are you?” The conversations you've had all those years ago, forgotten about. From the early getting-to-know-each-other icebreaker talks to the late night deep conversations, you miss all of it.

“I'm good. You?” Minghao's heart skipped a beat. It's been so long since you've called him Hao.

“I've been good. Why do you still want to talk to me?” Such a mood killer, y/n. You know, but something inside you needed a conclusion.

“I need you.” Even Minghao wasn't expecting those words to exit his mouth.

“Huh? Hao, what do you mean?”

He exhales, already unsure if he wants to say what he has in mind. “I regret everything. It's been 6 months since we broke up, yet I can't stop thinking about you. I thought I lost feelings, but seeing you again today made me realize how much of an asshole I was to you. So please, y/n, give me another chance.”

After he finishes, he watches your expression shift, eyes softening and darting away from his figure. “I don't know. You already broke my heart once. I was sad for weeks, Hao. I don't know if I could do this again.”

“I'll do better. I won't hurt you like I did last time.”

You stop for a second to think. Minghao was looking at you with the same expression he had when he first confessed to you.

“Let's go get some coffee together, okay? We'll see what happens.”

“That drink looks disgustingly sweet. You're going to have a heart attack.” Minghao comments on the caramel frappuccino you ordered.

“You’re the one who ordered plain tea! Let me taste,” You took his cup and sipped the tea, scrunching your face up at the bitter taste.

In response to your reaction, Minghao took your drink and tried it, also making a disgusted face after swallowing. The two of you both laugh like you were still together.

“I missed you,” You mutter ashamedly.

“Yeah, I did too. I'm really sorry for breaking up with you. I-” Minghao stops mid sentence.

“You..?”

“I tried dating someone else for a bit. It didn't last. She said I was too hung up on my ex. I told her she was wrong, but I don't think she was.” Minghao holds your hand, his thumb tracing circles in the space behind your pointer.

“Oh, Minghao…” You pout, using your free hand to brush stray strands of hair out of his face. “Then, why did you do it?”

“I didn't think I was good enough,” He admits, barely audible for you to hear, “You deserved better than me, and I don't think I was ready then. It's different now. I've improved. Started meditating, taking better care of myself, you know.”

“You were always good for me, baby.” The whole café disappears as your lips approach his, bringing him in a soft kiss.

“Shit, I didn't mean to-” You apologize, running off before Minghao could say anything.

“Yeah, I fucked up bad!” You rant to Danielle, who's intently listening the entire time you recap your encounter.

“Did you see his face?” Danielle inquires, “Maybe he liked it?”

“I don't think so. He's going to hate me now. I thought we could restart, but, fuck!” You exclaim exactly as thunder hits the ground, making you jump. “This world hates me.”

The doorbell of yours and Danielle’s shared apartment rings, and Danielle glances over at you. “Want to go get it?” You shake your head, and Danielle goes to open the door. You hear incomprehensible chatter before Danielle goes back to your room to tell you: “Y/n, someone's waiting for you.”

You go to the door, where a very wet Minghao stands.

“Um-”

You can't get any words out before his hands are harshly gripping your cheeks and he's kissing you.

“Payback for leaving me in the café after you kissed me,” Minghao pants.

“Why? You're soaking wet, did you not bring an umbrella?” You fret, hands grabbing onto his damp button-up.

“Didn't have one. I needed to see you as soon as possible, my love. Let's start over.”

His forehead is pressed against yours, you could feel your heart beating out of its chest. “No, let's pick up from where we left off. I loved you then, I love you now, and I'll love you in the future.”

“Okay…” The two of you are quiet for a hot second, before Minghao asks, “Can I come in and dry myself?”

“Of course. You know where the bathroom is.” You let him in and close the door behind you. As he makes his way over to the bathroom, you watch with the same eyes you watched him with when he first came over, or when you had your first kiss with him.

Though you knew (or, at least hoped) he wouldn't repeat his mistake, you would let Xu Minghao break your heart again.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen #svt x reader #svt #xu minghao x reader #xu minghao #the8 x reader #the8 #hoshii writes #+1k club!

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ericshoney · 1 year ago

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Mini Matt in a bad mood ~ Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Mini Matt is having a bad morning, but the guys are there to help.

Warnings: usual swearing, teasing, name calling (in a joking way), platonic pet names, mentions of not sleeping, crying.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today you woke up in a terrible mood. Like usually if you didn't sleep well, you would just be slightly grumpy. But today you woke up pissed. You were going to sleep in Chris' room with him as your bed hasn't been comforting the last few weeks, but he was nothing but annoying to you throughout the day.

"Hey Mini Matt look at this!"

"Oh Mini Mattitude is showing!"

"Yo Y/N you act like such a brat sometimes."

Honestly you loved the nickname, you really did and you knew Chris loved to joke around and tease you, but he seemed to take it too far, plus he kept stealing your food and not letting you speak a word.

So you decided to sleep in your own room for once, resulting in a terrible nights sleep and back pain. You had been meaning to look for a new mattress but had been so busy you kept forgetting.

You trudged out your room and to the bathroom you share with Matt, taking a quick shower with no troubles, the hot water relaxing your muscles slightly. You brushed your teeth and got dressed before going back to your room to find your phone.

"Where the fuck is it." You mumbled, after a couple minutes of searching.

"Yo kid hurry the fuck up we're gonna film a car video!" Chris shouted as he barged into your room.

"I'm looking for my phone." You muttered, throwing your pillows around.

"It's on the floor, are you dumb." He said with a laugh.

You looked down and saw your phone right by the side of your bed on the floor. You sighed as you picked it up and turned to Chris.

"Woah, kid, what's with the bags under your eyes." He mentioned.

"Don't worry." You grumbled, pushing past him, still being petty about the day before.

You quietly went down to the car, not speaking to either Nick or Matt, who gave Chris a confused look upon seeing him.

"Don't ask me." He said, making the eldest two share a look.

The boys got in the car quietly, Matt driving to the car park you had planned on stopping at. Nick had already put some snacks and drinks in the car ready for the video.

As Matt drove, Nick tried to show you some TikTok's on his phone, but you just ignored him, feeling upset, tired and angry. You knew it wasn't his fault, but couldn't quite say out loud what was wrong. Nick sighed and looked at Matt through the mirror, knowing something was wrong.

"Hey, bub, what's wrong?" Matt called, looking at you.

"Nothing." You muttered, looking out the window.

"Someone's got their panties in a twist." Chris replied.

"Will you shut the fuck up!" You shouted, making the brothers share a look of shock.

The rest of the car ride was silent apart from the music. You soon arrived at the car park, the boys sharing a look.

"You know...if your not up for filming we can do it another day or something." Matt suggested softly.

"No we're here now, let's begin." You responded, sitting up in your seat.

"We really don't have too, if there's someth-" Nick tried to say but you cut him off.

"I fucking said it's fine! Now fucking start recording!" You shouted.

"Bub..." Chris started, but again you interrupted him.

"No! If you hadn't been such an ass yesterday I would be fine! I love being Mini Matt but you took it too far yesterday and with the name calling too! If you really think I'm such a brat maybe you shouldn't be friends with me!" You screamed at him, a few tears now leaving your eyes.

"Hey woah, sweetheart calm down." Nick said softly, rubbing your shoulder.

"I'm sorry." You apologised, covering your face as you cried into your hands.

"This is more than just a morning grump....your really upset." Chris said, feeling the guilt set in.

"What happened?" Matt questioned.

Chris sighed and went on how he did everything yesterday, not realising in the time how silly he was being, only until now where you broke, making him feel bad.

"I'm sorry, kid. It's my fault." Chris aplogised.

"No...I'm being over dramatic." You muttered, wiping your tears.

"No, stop right there." Nick said sternly.

"You can't help if something annoys you. We all get annoyed with each other and it's okay, it's normal. You also slept in your own bed, correct?" He continued.

"Correct." You said with a nod.

"And we all know you, much like Chris, struggle to sleep in your own bed, which is okay. And I also know that you mentioned your bed isn't comfy, correct?" He added.

"Correct." You said again.

"Why didn't you come to my room?" matt questioned.

"Felt upset and angry. I wanted to say what was wrong and sort it out before bed, but was feeling tired and stuff." You admitted.

"I'm really, really sorry Y/n." Chris said.

"It's okay, I forgive you." You said, giving him a small smile.

"Hug it out." Nick said.

"What?" You called.

"You heard him, hug it out." Matt said with a nod.

You looked at Chris who laughed slightly, the both of you got out of the car as Chris pulled you into a tight hug, lifting you off the ground. You smiled and let out a small laugh as you hugged him back.

"I'm really sorry again, bub." Chris said, looking down at you.

"I'm sorry I didn't say what was wrong." You replied.

You both smiled and shared another hug, making both Nick and Matt smile. You then got back into the car.

"Next time, talk to us, okay petal?" Matt said.

"I'll try." You responded with a nod.

The four of you then started to film a video, laughing and joking, having a fun time and you started to feel much better.

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yuikomorii · 1 year ago

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Happy Birthday, Ayato! ❤️

// Today is the golden boy’s birthday!! Sweet and spicy visual god, you are the reason of my unattainablly high standards… and also of my questionable financial decisions, lol.

This looks more like an Ayayui shrine than an individual Ayato one, but I couldn’t fit all the items in one pic, therefore I chose the ones that were the easiest to find in my room. :”)

Nevertheless… I did try to prepare a SCENARIO too! I used my nsfw edit as the cg, although I didn’t show everything. The romantic part is really cheesy and cringe, but if you’re into fluff, you will like that. 💕💕

~Operation: Ayato-kun’s birthday~

Yui: ( Haa… it feels as if there’s no ending to these anymore… )

( I woke up earlier today, hoping to finish all these exercises, yet I really can’t bring myself to understand how to solve them at all…! )

( My mind is completely in a whole different place right now. Today is Ayato-kun’s birthday after all. )

( Unfortunately, all the assignments kept me so busy this week that I wasn’t even able to bake a cake for him… )

( However, it’s still not too late for that, right? )

( Once I’m done with this page, I will definitely try my best to prepare it as soon as po—)

Reiji: Komori Yui, are you slacking again?

Yui: …!

R-Reiji-san!

( Oh no, he picked up my notebook! )

Reiji: Good grief, there are mistakes everywhere! Do I need to remind you that you are not permitted to bring disgrace upon the Sakamaki family as long as you reside under this mansion's roof?

Yui: Uuh… I-I’m really sorry, Reiji-san. I promise I’ll—

Reiji: Silence. I recently received your report card as well, and I must admit that I’m not pleased with your performance in the slightest. I was expecting such indifference from my brothers, but it’s rather disheartening for a human girl not to care about her education.

Yui: Y-You got it wrong! It’s not like I don’t care about school, but… simply put, the teachers have been giving us much too many tasks lately, and I find them quite difficult to solve, which stresses me out a little, to be honest.

Reiji: Hmph, excuses. I find it incomprehensible how such simple exercises cause you mental difficulties.

Nevertheless, I shall teach you then. Even if it requires the whole day to achieve that.

Yui: You will? Woah, thank you so much, Re— W-Wait, no! We can’t do that today!

Reiji: Pardon? Are you rejecting my offer to tutor you?

Yui: No, no! Not at all! It’s just that today is Ayato-kun’s birthday, and well… I would obviously want to celebrate it with him.

Reiji: Denied.

Yui: Eh—?

Reiji: You truly are a fool. Vampires show no interest in the day of their birth. Now, take a sit.

Yui: …

( I know Reiji-san is not in the wrong, but… I really do want to celebrate Ayato-kun’s birthday. That day may not be special to him but it’s so special to me. )

( Am I being selfish, I wonder…? )

*Timeskip*

Reiji: It appears that you’re finally able to understand how to solve this exercise. The next ones are similar to it, therefore there shouldn’t be any obstacles.

Yui: Yes, I see…

( I appreciate Reiji-san’s help, yet too many hours have passed by and baking a cake from scratch is not possible anymore… )

Place: Living room

Yui: ( Hmm… apparently I still have enough pocket money to buy a cake. I know a self-made one would have been more meaningful, but I really couldn’t… )

Kanato: Yui-san, are you spacing out?

Yui: Eh—? Ah, Kanato-kun, I didn’t see you there. I’m fine, but I’m a bit in a hurry, so… see y— Kya!

( He grabbed my wrist! )

Kanato: You’re going to buy a cake for my brother, aren’t you?

Yui: Uhh… well yes, I mean, it’s his birthday after all.

Kanato: My birthday was yesterday and I didn’t see you get any cake for me, nor for Laito. Teddy thinks you forgot about us. Tell me, Yui-san, is that true?

Yui: T-that’s not it!

Kanato: So you’re going to buy a cake for me as well after all? I might forgive you if you do that.

Yui: ( What did I get myself into…! I’m sure Kanato-kun will throw a tantrum if I say “no”. )

But… I don’t think I got enough money for two cakes.

Kanato: Please don’t worry about that, Yui-san, I know my ways. Or what, are you doubting me now?

Yui: …!

— shakes head —

Kanato: Good, now let’s go.

Place: Demon World Cake shop

Yui: Woah, I’ve never seen such big cakes before!

Kanato: Please don’t shout. Your looks already make you resemble a servant, you don’t have to act like one as well.

Yui: ( Hey, that’s mean! )

Cake shop owner: Welcome, how can I help you?

Yui: We’re searching for a birthday cake, but uhm… one a bit smaller than the ones displayed here, if possible.

Cake shop owner: Any flavor you got in mind?

Yui: ( Speaking of flavor, I don’t think Ayato-kun has ever told me anything about his favorite. He would probably say Takoyaki but a Takoyaki cake… that doesn’t feel right. )

I think he likes straw—

Kanato: Raspberry!

Cake shop owner: Wonderful! We just finished a raspberry cake a few minutes ago!

— brings cake —

Yui: ( It truly looks delicious…! Besides, it’s red as well, which is Ayato-kun’s favorite color, so I believe he would truly like this one! )

Kanato: Alright, we’ll take it!

Place: Mansion

Yui: Phew, I’m glad the cake didn’t get crushed on the way.

Kanato: It’s time to eat!

Yui: Wha—! No, Kanato-kun, you can’t!

Kanato: Excuse me, but who do you think you are? This is my cake, therefore I’m allowed to eat it whenever I want!

Yui: W-Well, don’t you want to wait for Ayato-kun too? This way, you two will be able to eat it together like bro—!!

(He pushed me in the cake!?)

Kanato-kun, why did you do this!?

Kanato: You ruined the cake!

Yui: Me!? But Kanato-kun was the one who pushed me there!

Kanato: Teddy says you’re annoying, and I agree. Now how will you fix your mistakes?

Yui: ( I can barely see anything…! )

Kanato: Fufu, look at her Teddy! She’s full of cake from head to toe! Now, let’s give it a taste che—

Yui: You can’t!

— moves cake away from him —

Kanato: I can!

— moves cake back —

Yui: No!

— moves cake away —

Kanato: Hmph, just give up already, will you!?

— pushes her away —

Yui: Wait, no—!!!

???: Oi, what the—!

— cake falls on them —

Kanato: Noooo, the cake!!!! Ngh, this is no fun anymore!

Yui: Uuh… Why is the floor so soft…?

Ayato: ‘Cause it’s not the floor, you idiot.

Yui: Ah! A-Ayato-kun!

Uhh… Happy birthday…~?

Ayato: Geez, c’mere, you’re an even bigger mess.

— picks her up —

Place: Bathroom

Yui: ( This is so embarrassing…! )

Ayato: Haa… You’re finally not covered in cake anymore.

Yui: I… I’m sorry…

Ayato: Huh? What are you apologizing for? I’m not mad that you dropped that cake on me.

Yui: That’s not the only thing I’m sorry about…

If it weren’t for my carelessness, you would have gotten a nice birthday, but now… you don’t even have a cake anymore.

( Ah, I’m feeling as if I’m about to cry right now… )

Ayato: Hey, c’mon that’s not worth the tears. I’m a vampire, remember? I don’t care about my birthday, so there’s no need to worry about such stuff.

Yui: Maybe you don’t care about it but… I do. I know that I’m about to sound selfish, but your birthday is very special to me. It represents the day you were born and I… I simply can’t imagine not celebrating it.

Ayato-kun is important to me, therefore that automatically makes his birthday important to me too.

Ayato: You klutz…

— hugs her —

Yui: W-Wha—! Ayato-kun…!

Ayato: Seriously, are all humans really that sentimental? Or does this only apply to cute girls like you?

Yui: …!

(He… he called me cute! )

— blushes —

Ayato: The day’s still not over, y’know? There’s still time to celebrate it if you’re really that obsessed with it.

Yui: …! So, are you really okay with that?

Ayato: Yeah? If I weren’t, I would have told you, idiot. On top of that, it’s not like I got anything better to do anyway.

Now tell me, Chichinashi, what exactly do you have in store for today?

Yui: Hm… uhm… nothing comes to my mind at the moment, but for now… I can’t say I mind spending time like this with Ayato-kun.

Ayato: Heh~? You suddenly don’t mind being in my arms while naked?

Yui: P-Phrasing it like that…!

Ayato: Well, if that’s the case, then… you wouldn’t mind if I sucked your blood either, right?

Yui: Go ahead.

Ayato: Hah? No talking back? Are you really that easy to convince today? Or, could it be that you finally admit enjoying the pleasure these fangs give you?

Yui: It’s not only about your fangs, Ayato-kun. I really like you as a whole.

I wasn’t even able to find a gift for you, therefore giving you my blood is the least I can do.

Ayato: Heh, I see… I don’t need your blood as a gift though.

Yui: You don’t…?

Ayato: Nope, ‘cause I already got the best gift ever.

Yui: Is that so?

( Did someone already give him something for his birthday? If that’s the case, then who could it be? )

( Ah… I guess I’m just overthinking, but now I’m really curious. )

Ayato: You really wanna know, don’t you? It’s already written on your face.

Are you getting jealous~?

Yui: T-That’s…—!

Ayato: Pfft, you really did get jealous, huh?

Yui: ( Ugh… he’s making fun of me now! )

Ayato: Anyway, there’s no need to. After all, the best gift I’ve ever gotten…

It’s you, Yui.

— Smooch —

The end

#diabolik lovers #ayato sakamaki #sakamaki ayato #Yui komori #komori yui #dialovers #admin #my edit #(I hope I wrote Reiji and Kanato well)#(they were fun to write at least)#my merch

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linkemon · 1 year ago

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Imponderabilia (Ciel Phantomhive x Reader)

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here. Consider supporting me on Ko-fi. You can also check out my commissions if you're interested.

Other oneshots can be found here.

ᴀ ᴛʏᴘɪᴄᴀʟ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʜᴀɴᴛᴏᴍʜɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴏʀ. ɢʀᴜᴍᴘʏ ᴄɪᴇʟ, ᴅᴇꜱꜱᴇʀᴛ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴅɪɴɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ɪʀʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱɪʙʟᴇ ᴇᴍᴘʟᴏʏᴇᴇꜱ. ᴀʟʟ ᴡᴀᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴘᴏᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀ…

ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ɪɴꜰᴏʀᴍᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: 1. ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴇɴɢʟɪꜱʜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ. ɪ ᴛʀʏ ᴍʏ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ᴀɴʏ ᴛɪᴘꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ.

— Good morning, my lord! — [Reader] opened the door.

The view was the same as almost every day. The young lord was sitting in a navy blue, plush armchair and looking through the morning newspaper. He didn't take his eyes off it. He knew she would come. She was punctual. The same couldn't be said about the rest of the residence's staff.

— How are we feeling in the morning?

— Fine — Ciel replied quietly.

For him, it was an extremely elaborate statement. If Sebastian asked him about it, he usually told him to mind his own business. And when the other inhabitants of the estate did this, he preferred not to say anything because they began to get so happy that they would not leave him in peace for the rest of the day.

The girl grabbed the porcelain teapot and started making tea. The amber liquid sparkled in the decorated cup. The girl placed the saucer on a small table.

Phantomhive waited a moment to hear the sound of the door closing but to his surprise he didn't hear it. He looked at the maid. She stood with her back to him, leaning over the silver tray. When she started to turn away, he hid his head behind the printed pages, pretending to be reading.

A plate appeared next to him. An elegant plate full of cookies.

— It's too early for dessert — he said.

— Nonsense! — [Reader] rolled her eyes. — Sebastian is the one who keeps saying things like that. However, I think there is nothing wrong with sweets before dinner. Occasionally.

Ciel looked at the dessert. The baked goods looked average. Crispy, with chocolate pieces. However, their scent tickled his nostrils pleasantly. He felt his mouth water at the thought of tasting them.

— Did you make them today? — The question hung in the air, even though he knew the answer.

— I got up a little earlier. The lord had a hard day yesterday so I thought it would cheer him up. — She smiled.

The boy felt strange for a moment. He knew how much she had to do every day. She woke up long before him to take care of his house. In addition, she also had to correct the mistakes of Baldroy, Mey-Lin and Finnian. Tanaka wasn't that harmful but then again he wasn't very helpful either. Sebastian could arrange everything but she didn't like asking him for help. They tended to stay out of each other's way. Especially since the demon has been getting other tasks lately. Someone finally had to investigate in the queen's name.

And yet the maid denied herself the sleep to make these cookies for him. He felt a tightness somewhere around his heart but he decided to dismiss the ridiculous thought. Nobody cared about him. She did it because it was her job.

— You can take them. — His words were cold. So contrasting to how he felt inside.

— The lord won't eat even one? — She raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head.

For a moment the room was filled with silence. She was interrupted by footsteps. Suddenly, the newspaper paragraph was replaced by a girl's hand and a plate.

— Let's play a game. — That caught his attention. He became even more angry with himself. She knew him that well. — Please, taste them, my lord. If you don't like it, I'll leave the residence. Otherwise, I'll bake them whenever I want and you will always have to eat them.

— How do you know I won't lie? — He reached for the cookie.

— I'll take the risk. — The corner of her mouth turned up.

Ciel took a bite. He expected something extraordinary. Sophisticated taste. Secret spice. Amazing texture. None of these things! They were normal. As average as they looked.

As he took another bite, he had an epiphany. He was tricked like a little child. It wasn't about confectionery skills at all. He lost because he expected to fight on a completely different front than the one on which it actually took place.

— They're virulent — he growled.

— I knew it'll be like this. — Her smugness seemed to light up the entire room. For a moment he thought that she looked really nice in the bright light. The glow reflected in her eyes, reminding him of the radiant sun just outside the window. What was he even thinking about?

— Really? — He gritted his teeth.

— You like me too much to throw me out — she said.

She hit the nail on the head.

He felt a blush rising to his pale cheeks. For the first time in a long time, he was lost for words. Ever since she started working here, she had done and said things that made his heart beat faster. She was annoying. At the same time, he didn't want her to stop. He was stuck in a vicious circle and somehow he was in no hurry to change the whole situation. Yet he could fire her at any time.

He couldn't stand her smug expression as she headed towards the exit. He hated losing.

— Play chess with me.

— Chess? — she asked.

— Yes. How many times do I have to repeat? — he sighed irritably.

He placed the pieces in the starting position. If she thought she could just leave after all this, she was sorely mistaken.

[Reader] sat down hesitantly in the chair in front of him. He was pleased to see her slight confusion. She didn't expect this.

The game was going his way. However, he had to admit that his opponent was quite a challenge. The girl thought logically much better than he expected. Once she even managed to trap him in a bad situation. It took him a few moves to realize the trap. However, he managed to recover and was on the way to victory.

Chess was much simpler than life. They had clear and explicit rules. They rewarded the better and punished the worse. Only those who deserved it felt the taste of defeat. Completely different than in reality. A place where nothing was black and white, only shades of gray. Just like their strange relationship.

He moved the knight.

— [Readerrr]! — The door to the room opened with a bang.

Mei-Lin ran through the doorway. Red hair flowed behind her as she crossed the distance between them. Her glasses fell off her nose. She hurriedly picked them up from the floor. Even the carpet couldn't save them. One glass cracked, creating an ugly spiderweb on the surface.

— Oh my, my, my!

— What is it this time? — You could hear the tiredness in [Reader's] voice. The head of the Phantomhive family had no doubt that she had been through this hundreds of times, just as he had before Sebastian showed up. — Garden? — She got a shake of her head. — Living room? — Same answer again. — So the kitchen… — [Reader] said. She didn't have to look at her co-worker to know she had nailed it. — It was very nice to play... — She was about to get up when the young master's hand gesture stopped her.

— We're not done yet — Ciel said.

— Ah, but... the kitchen! — Mei-Lin said.

— Find Sebastian. He will take care of it. — The lord moved his rook, thus indicating that he considered the conversation to be over.

— But I don't know where he is — the maid whined helplessly.

Phantomhive took a deep breath. Sometimes he really wondered why he kept all these people here. Maybe he should hire someone new? He exhaled slowly through his nose.

— You worked with him in the living room today, so start in the living room. And if it's not there, keep looking until you find it. Have I made myself clear?

— Y-yes, of course! — The woman ran out, stumbling.

Maybe he was doing something stupid. After all, the kitchen was on fire. He shook his head slightly. Everything in the mansion burned down at least once a week, so it didn't really matter. Besides, why did he have his one hell of butler?

Ciel looked around the board, studying his options. It was basically a formality now but he still waited for her next move. However, only soft snoring answered him. He looked up from the black and white board. [Reader] rested her head against the plush headrest of the chair. Closed eyes and a steadily rising chest could only mean one thing. She fell asleep. How did sleep overwhelm her so quickly? He had no idea. She must have been really tired. She had been helping him with his documents at night for the last week. However, he didn't think it would bother her so much.

He almost woke her up but then stopped himself. He brushed away a strand of hair that had escaped from her updo, then reached for the blanket lying on the backrest and covered the girl with it.

— Maybe I really like you too much...

He quietly moved towards the door and closed it.

#ciel phantomhive x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler x reader #oneshot x reader #ciel phantomhive #sebastian michaelis #mey rin

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stardustrebels · 5 months ago

Text

More of You- Chapter 5

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

WC: 1.7k

Rating: 18+ for eventual smut, MDNI

Series Masterlist | Blog Masterlist Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tags: No outbreak!AU. Coffee shop meet-cute with a slow-ish burn. Sickly sweet fluff with eventual smut. Joel Miller just deserves a good life, you know? Joel and reader have a teeny tiny age gap- Joel is 42, reader is mid 30s. Sarah is 19. No use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader. She has hair long enough to tie back and she wears skirts and dresses.

A/N: Joel Miller’s very bad no good morning pre-chapter 1. I just want to give this poor lonely saddie daddy a big hug. Of course, like a moth to a flame, the man’s drawn in by exemplary woodwork and the promise of good coffee. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Joel Miller saw you, it was a Monday.

The kind of Monday that he guessed was going to be shitty from the moment he opened his eyes. He woke up half an hour before his alarm went off and stared at the ceiling, cursing the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, like the day had already gone wrong.

The sun had barely risen, casting a faint orange glowing beam across the room through a gap in the curtains and straight in to his face. He groaned, slapping the top of his alarm before it even had a chance to sound.

Seconds after he stood up, he stubbed his toe on the edge of his bed frame, cursing under his breath before limping his way to the bathroom.

He got dressed and made it downstairs without further injury, sulking as he entered the kitchen, hoping to at least have a decent cup of coffee before leaving the house. He opened the cabinet and reached up to where the coffee tin usually sat. The coffee tin that wasn’t there. The coffee tin he’d forgotten to pick up a replacement for at the store yesterday.

He gripped the edge of the counter, letting out a frustrated sigh and hung his head momentarily in silent defeat.

It was the type of Monday that would make anyone want to climb back in to bed and try again tomorrow.

It also happened to be his birthday.

And despite everything else that had happened so far, that fact was hands down the worst thing about today.

Sarah had left for college two weeks ago, and this was the first birthday he’d spend without her since she was born.

The first time she called after he’d dropped her off, she said she would come back to spend his birthday with him. He’d insisted that she should be focusing on making friends and having fun, not worrying about her old man. After some back and forth, she’d relented, settling for sending him a picture of a hastily written I.O.U for ‘one amazing birthday celebration’ on a pink post-it note after they’d hung up.

In lieu of any coffee to drink, he leaned against the breakfast bar with a glass of orange juice and sifted through the small pile of birthday cards until he found the one with Sarah’s handwriting on it. The card had an obnoxiously large badge on the front- ‘it’s my birthday’ emblazoned on it in giant red letters. He huffed a laugh at it, shaking his head.

Inside, she’d written that she’d told her Uncle Tommy she wanted picture evidence that he had worn the badge to the office. He sent her a text, despite knowing she wouldn’t be awake for hours.

Thanks for the card, kiddo. And the badge. Not sure it’s clear enough though, could be bigger. Love you.

He placed the badge securely in his jacket pocket, ready to pin on his shirt when he got to the office. He figured if he didn’t, he’d never hear the end of it.

By the time he left the house that morning, Joel felt unusually lonely. He’d been doing fine the last couple of weeks, or at least that’s what he told himself.

The day after he dropped Sarah off, he’d realised just how quiet the house was without her. He had immediately thrown himself in to work, spending long days at the office, doing out-of-character site visits and offering to take Tommy’s client meetings. Anything to stay busy.

By the time he got home every night, he had just enough energy to heat up some dinner and fall in to bed. It felt like the old days, when Sarah was younger. The days where he would work every hour God sent just to keep a roof over their heads, making himself sick with stress. Except this time around he didn’t get to see her little smiley face every morning to remind him that it was all worth it.

Joel tried to ignore the little lump in his throat as he climbed in to his truck that morning, earlier than he would normally leave. The house felt emptier than it ever had.

The traffic on the way in to the city was a nightmare, and he had to park a couple of blocks further away from the office than he usually did because of road closures. By the time he found a spot and turned off his engine, he was utterly miserable, the idea of trudging to the office against crowds of other commuters did nothing to improve his mood. He grabbed his jacket and slammed the truck door shut, muttering to himself.

He groaned inwardly as he immediately hit the don’t walk signal at the first crosswalk. As he waited, the building on the corner next to him caught his eye. He took a moment to admire the dark wood and worn decorative trim around the windows. He squinted through the bright morning sunshine at the sign above the door. Harrison’s it read, in gold handwritten letters.

The crosswalk signal sounded, but he didn’t move. He glanced through the pane of glass in the wooden door. It was a coffee shop. He hesitated a moment, standing on the sidewalk as people brushed past him. The faint smell of fresh coffee wafted out as the door opened and closed in front of him. He glanced at his watch; he had meetings stacked like bricks and emails waiting to be answered, but he could spare a little time.

“Screw it, why not?” He muttered under his breath, pushing open the door. A bell chimed above him as he stepped inside.

The place was cosy; not too modern but not stuffy either, with dark wood floors and mismatched tables and chairs. Shelves filled with old books lined the walls, peppered with sepia-toned photographs and various pieces of historical- looking memorabilia. Eclectic but not overwhelming,

He ordered a black coffee at the counter, unable to return the barista’s cheery smile as he paid, and decided to settle in a seat near the window, thinking how nice it might be to just watch the world go by for a little while.

He stared down at his wrist, at the watch that Sarah had fixed for him all those years ago. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it meant the world to him. He missed her. Missed the sound of the music drifting from her room, the clatter of her hurried footsteps when she was late for school, the terrible movies she made him watch, even the endless chatter about her friends, classes, and the soccer team she was part of.

He knew that this was the way it had to be. She was nineteen now, finding her independence and figuring out who she was outside of their little family unit. That had always been the goal, hadn’t it? To raise her to stand on her own two feet. She needed space to grow, to succeed and stumble, and she needed to do it without him hovering. He knew that.

Still, it didn’t make it any easier.

The barista arrived with his coffee, pulling him from his thoughts. He muttered a thanks and took a sip, letting his eyes scan the other customers around him.

Then he saw you.

As soon as he laid eyes on you, it felt like everything around him exploded in technicolour and the world snapped in to sharp focus all at once. You were sitting a few tables away, staring at your computer screen, entirely engrossed in whatever was on it, oblivious to anything going on around you.

Joel’s heart was suddenly thrumming in his ears as loud as waves. Everything surrounding you seemed vivid, bathed in the yellow glow of the sunshine streaming in through the window.

A lock of hair slipped over your shoulder as you tilted your head, causing a gentle shadow to fall across your face. You tucked it back behind your ear with delicate fingers, focus unwavering. You were the the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He blinked, the thrumming in his ears was joined by an unfamiliar feeling swelling right under his sternum. His palms felt sweaty and goosebumps started to spread up his arms. He felt hot and cold. He needed air.

He downed his coffee, grimacing at the stinging heat against his tongue, grabbed his jacket in one hand and the empty coffee cup in the other to place back on the counter as he passed it, making every effort not to draw any attention to himself.

He pushed past a queue of people waiting for their coffees and out of the door, bell jingling behind him as he stepped back in to the morning air. He sucked in a deep breath. The feeling in his chest- the one that had hit him like a freight train - was still there.

He braced his hands on his hips, head tilting back to stare up at the pale blue sky. A little voice in the back of his mind pointed out it looked bluer than it had before.

“Get it together, Miller,” he muttered towards the heavens, willing his pulse to stop racing.

It wasn’t like him to get flustered. He wasn’t the kind of man who let his emotions run away from him. He’d just had a tough morning, that’s all. He mused that this might be brand new biological perk, unlocked with another year of his 40s.

He took another deep breath, willing the tightness in his chest to ease as he began to walk, eyes fixed on the concrete in front of him as he passed the windows.

By the time he made it to the office, he’d convinced himself that the strange feeling had been because of his bad morning and the sudden change in temperature from the coffee. A delayed reaction. A ‘funny turn’, as his Grammy used to say, nothing more.

He stopped outside the glass doors, frowning at his faint reflection in them. He reached in to his jacket pocket and took out the badge Sarah had sent him. He pinned it to his shirt and took a deep breath.

Weirdest damn birthday I’ve ever had he thought as he pulled open the door and walked inside.

Next Chapter

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x reader #joel tlou #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller au #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak!au #no use of y/n #no outbreak au

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enhafilthandfiction · 2 years ago

Note

Enhypen hyung line reaction to you walking around naked in the house to lighten their mood when they are mad

Hyungline's reaction to you walking around naked when they're mad

A/N : Hello anon, thanks for requesting! Sorry for the long title y'all, happy reading!!

Pairing : Bf!HyungLine X Fem!Reader

Warnings : Nudeness, kisses, grinding, tit groping, mentions of oral (f.rec), thigh riding, mentions of angry sex.

Word Count : 1,250 Words

Masterlist

» Lee Heeseung «

He was still frustrated with yesterday's recording session which didn't go so well. Apparently, his voice kept cracking and he couldn't hit the correct notes which is why he came home so upset, basically ignoring you and heading to bed early.

You knew he wasn't mad at you, just upset with himself, but the fact that he ignored you was annoying. Today he wasn't going to however.

He woke up grumpy, just like yesterday, groaning and sighing out in frustration as he thought of the day before. You weren't even in the bed, which upset him even more.

But as he gets up to go to the bathroom for his morning routine, he catches a glimpse of your naked form down the hallway. He stops in his tracks, watching as you enter the washroom, possibly doing the laundry.

He makes his way down the hallway, entering the washroom to see that he was right, finding you bent over, picking up clothes from the floor.

"Well what do we have here" he says, startling you a little, but you smirk, your plan going as planned. He places his hands on your hips, pulling your bare ass back to his clothed crotch, where you could already feel a bulge forming.

"Hi baby" you say, turning around to properly greet him, his eyes going wide as you flash him with your tits. He takes a second to respond, being too focused on your tits, hands coming up to grope them and message them in his hands.

"Uh- I-I'm doing fine, now" he adds, eyes still focused on your tits. "Yeah, now I'm definitely fine" he clarifies, before you giggle and get on your tiptoes, grasping his lips in a kiss. He kisses you back, his tongue pocking your lips already.

"Ew, go brush your teeth and come back" you say, breaking the kiss and continuing what you were doing. He rolls his eyes and makes his way to the bathroom, mumbling a "Be right back" and he was right back; In 2 minutes.

» Park Jay «

Today was just not it for him. Everything he was doing seemed to be wrong, even when he tried cooking something. All he tried to cook was some ramen, but he accidentally forgot it and it kinda over cooked, making the ramen soggy.

He had had enough, and you realised, but you didn't expect him to slam the pot on the counter, the banging noise alerting you. You wanted to calm him down a little, and you knew just what to do, undressing yourself and making your way over to him to distract him. How can he be mad at you?

The second he noticed your pretty naked figure walking around the kitchen counter and over to him, he felt his heart beating faster, but not because of how angry he was seconds ago.

You came behind him and wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing your face into his back. "Hi baby, everything okay?" you asked him with a soft tone, acting as if you weren't naked.

"Well, I messed up my ramen, but it's okay cause you're here" he assures, turning around to get a better view of your bare body. "Gosh you're just what I need Y/n" he admits, running his hands along your body.

"Yeah?" you ask him, giggling and watching as he nods.

"Who want to eat ramen when I can eat you anyways?" he says shamelessly picking you up with ease and taking you to the bedroom. You squirmed around in his hold, begging him to let you down.

He put you down on the bed and got between your legs, ready to distract himself from his though day.

» Sim Jake «

"I've told you like a hundredth times now, for fuck's sake!" You can hear Jake yell on the phone from the other room, and from what you can understand, he was having trouble with work again.

"No- Cancel that meeting and move it Monday instead" he orders, his patience being tested a little too much "Are you stupid? I literally asked you to do something-"

bla bla bla

You were tired of hearing him yell at his stupid assistant who couldn't do something right. You wanted to soothe him, but you were also pretty horny. The button up he was wearing was so hot, especially with the first few buttons open.

Your fantasies almost started to run before you got an idea. You took off your clothes until you were completely naked. Oh this was going to be a good distraction. You walk out of the room and make your way over to the main living room where Jake was in.

You walked around like you weren't naked, ignoring his gaze and pretending to check if the shelves had any dust. You could hear him sigh, turning around to face him and watching as he motions you over.

He places the phone down and mutes it. "Hold on give me a minute" he barely finishes his sentence before muting it and placing it on the coffee table, ignoring his assistant's annoying voice. "You're so pretty baby" he simply says, running his hands down from your shoulders to your ass, giving it a squeeze. "But I have to take this call, so be quiet"

You pout as he grabs the phone again, placing it to his ear before sitting down on the couch, beckoning you over. He makes you sit on his thigh, placing his free hand on your lower back, guiding you back and forth on his thigh whilst sharing glances with you and mouthing words. "You're doing so well baby, keep going"

His voice was much calmer when talking to his assistant, your presence distracting him when he gets to angry.

» Park Sunghoon «

You and Sunghoon had just had a rough fight just a few hours ago. You had complained to him that you were doing all the chores in the house and that he was breaking his promise of helping out. He on the other hand, claimed that he couldn't help with he house chores since he was too busy with work.

You both yelled at each other, accusing one another until he got mad and went outside for a walk. Once he was out, you couldn't stop thinking about him, you were still partly angry at him but also kinda horny for how riled up he got.

You decided to calm down his nerves a little, undressing yourself as you head to the kitchen to start dinner. He came back shortly, maybe after 15 minutes, only to find you fully naked, cooking dinner. "Oh, so this is your way of making up?" he asks, scoffing.

You shrug and continue what you were doing, paying him no mind, waiting for him to break. Which he did shortly. He made his way over to you, pressing his body up against you. "What do you want huh?" He asks you, almost starting to grind against you.

"I want you to do the dishes after dinner" you said with a forced smile.

"Fine, but you gotta let me fuck you first" before you could do anything, he pulls you out of the kitchen and throws you on the couch, getting undressed himself before climbing up behind you.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good you're gonna forget why we were arguing in the first place" and he did, taking his and your anger out by fucking you hard and fast, till all you could think about was him.

Hello, this was actually fun to write, proudly wrote it in one sitting!! I hope you enjoyed reading, have a good day/night and remember that ily <333

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vqrtualheartss · 2 years ago

Text

42!Miles x Black!Fem!Y/N ― “They sleepin' on you” part two

ᴅ☆ᴇ'ꜱ ꜱᴀʏ|

Y'all didn't expect this huh (My bad for the 5- week wait pookiess― promise I love y'all) Anyways, part one Obviously there will be a part three in two weeks or less

The teased rain from the night before had eased up, a few sheer droplets appearing here and there, and the cold breeze making her aware of her exposed hair. Immediately after getting her body into comfort, (y/n) furrowed her brows in remembrance of her dream. It was of her and Miles going out and giggling, just like the day before ―just what she did not need―. Bringing her phone over her face, the reflection made her suck her teeth and staple a mental note to book a hair appointment today. As if her missing bonnet wasn't already the most out-of-place thing she needed, something on her phone sent her into a deeper confusion.

11:37 AM ― Oh damn? No, not that, that

Hi Miss Mysterious sleeping already?

It was easy to figure whom the person was, having known who was to call her by that name.

Yes I was 'sleeping already'. It was almost 2 in the morning nigga

I planted my phone face down with absolutely no expectancy of a reply. I mean, why would I expect one? After a quiet 3 minutes my phone pinged with a notification.

Woke up on the wrong side of the bed? miles trust and believe that i don't need you making me miserable right now ouch that hurt ... all that progress yesterday for nun?

I squinted my eyes, subconsciously tapping on the side of my phone still opened on Miles' thread. He did go through all that trial and tribulation. Ah, fuck it

myf, I just don't feel alright aight all good so.. so? dry ass texts ― message deleted i saw that okay and? pick up huh?

My phone started to ring, and with no immediate excuse to mind, I answered.

Miles had a PlayStation controller in his hands, headset tucked underneath his braids but the microphone attachment over his mouth still.

"Hello to you too (y/n)'s wall" "Real funny. Hi Miles"

"Just woke up?" Through the tiny window I could see him pressing back into the reclining gaming chair. It had purple streaks all over it

"hmm, how'd you know?"

Looking into my recent chats, I found the user I was looking for. "You sound like a man" My thumb lingered over the profile picture. Did I hear that jiggaboo right?

"Funny how I sound like one more than you do" I smirked at his new found expression, trying to sight any open bookings my stylist offered between the time-frame of today and Saturday.

"What's that shit to mean" He questioned with a defeated tone, his ever so nonchalant look mixed with petulance.

"Play silly games, win silly prizes" He rolled his eyes before fixing his posture and pressing harder into the controller. Sassy much?

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Moving away from the phone unnoticed, (y/n) slumped herself to get ready for the 1pm appointment she barely managed to snatch.

Thank God for cancelling clients, she sighed with relief coming outside the bathroom wearing an off-the-shoulder shirt and casual sweats with her pre-washed hair in a loosely tied, top knot bun.

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Retrieving her charging phone, she furrowed her brows, shaking her head and smiling at the flood of texts.

"you there?" "(y/n)" "(y/n)?" "everything good?" "atleast shake the phone if you're okay"

I sent him a text saying that I was fine, it didn't go through. "Weird" Grabbing a sizeable shoulder bag, I put my purse and card in it, texting my mother my location while closing the front door.

Being distracted placing my keys and phone inside the bag, a big pair of hands held onto my forearms. I screamed, squirming and forcing my way outside the grip before a hand covered my mouth. "Shut u― CHILL. SHH" I looked up at the person before tilting my head with an aloof expression, hitting a smiling Miles on his shoulder "Not funny" "Making me think that you were in danger isn't either―"

"Okay― Wait― How do you know where I live"

"Asked your friend"

Now what if I got kidnapped Would you complain?

He did a once-over at me, raising a brow

"Are you really wearing a mask just to do your hair ?" He shook his head, pointing to the bag I held.

"What―" I raised a hand over my mouth, clutching onto the bag of braids and speed-walking to the salon. "Late?" Because of you― "yea". Before I finished, he grasped onto my hand, dragging me through different lanes and shortcuts, call me crazy but some real kidnapping shit going on

"Calm, I don't plan on taking you away" "I said that out loud?" He chuckled softly at my dumbfounded expression.

Standing infront the lightly tinted, push-and-pull doors, I turned to him.

"How do you know so many― I don't even care― Just― Thank you for getting me here" "No problem" "Can you hold this for me?"

Giving him the bag of hair, I expected him to let go of my hand but nope. Instead he took his time slowly rubbing my thumb in patterns with his as I reached for my phone. We arrived earlier than expected.

"So, see you later?" "Who said I was leaving" He can't be serious "Suit yourself, I can't help if anyone hits on you. A lot of your fan-girls are probably in there" "Would you even be able to? Aren't you like 5"5?" "Not you flexing being a giraffe" "Not you not being able to"

Finally entering the store, we stood awaiting the hairdresser that told us to do so. I pinched Miles' hand with my index and thumb, forcing him to untangle them. He flicked my arm in retaliatilon but before I could do anything, I was embraced by the 20 year old stylist, Keziah. She's one of my close friends, basically an older sister to me, probably how I slipped into my appointment so quick.

We engaged in small talk as she led me over to her station. With my hair down and out, Miles snapped a picture, I posed with a peace sign before pointing at him. "I know, I know. I won't post it" Having no other way of showing gratitude, I made a heart sign, to which he photographed again.

Look who's getting comfortable with someone she swore she'd never talk to

"Y'all together?" "nah, he's my friend" "sure, but believe me, I've heard that from one too many people one too many times. It's all the same ending " "which is?" "the inevitable, falling in lovee"

She made a heart gesture with her fingers to which I playfully rolled my eyes to. In the vanity mirror I peeked Miles' head buried deep in his phone. Looking up, he smiled and waved. Aww

Deciding on knee-length knotless, as expected, the wait took a longg time.

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Throughout the 8 hours (y/n) couldn't help but soften up at the things Miles did for her.

★ · When her neck hurt, he went out to buy a stuffed toy, earning laughs at the name he picked out for it ―Milo, despite not deciding the gender beforehand. Coincidence or not, it was in her favorite color, easily gaining its spot in her heart as a #1 gift. Maybe it was that or the fact that she got it from Miles, either way she adored it.

★ · For the umpteenth time she had reminded Miles of his freedom to leave, and each time he gave the same answer

"You can leave y'know" "Who said I wanted to"

★ · Halfway through, he fell asleep and seizing the opportunity, she took a picture unbeknownst that the flash was on and waking him. Snatching the plush from her hands as revenge, he laughed when she asked for it back with grabby hands.

"Okay, no. Milo is my child and therefore off-limits, give him back" "As Milo's biological father I believe I also get a say in who's care he's in" "And as Milo's biological mother and current guardian I want him back" "Nahh you'll be fine, sit still"

The teasing had Keziah chucking softly over (y/n)'s head, resulting in her putting on a forced anger expression that, however, quickly dissipated.

"Look, mami's angry Milo" "I hate you" "You love me"

★ · Nearing to the end with two braids left, she asked Miles his opinion on what to add. Miles he would've found it cheesy be it any other girl, but he felt happy, ―lovesick even― by her asking for his opinion on something so minor. 'The small things' he'd call it.

"Curls or no curls?" He thought long and hard before answering, he swore you'd look great with either. "Curls"

Closing her eyes as Keziah wrapped the end of her braids with curlers, she heard a buzz from her bag draped across his lap.

"Could you hand me that please?"

The new notification was a message from Miles. Looking at her phone, (y/n) couldn't help but smile.

"you ok?" "I've been ok for the last 13 times you asked" "I'm just worried about you" "What the fuck is tjag Fyt ??"

Spotting Keziah walking with a kettle in her hands she could only assume that was what he was referring to. Pointing at it, she tilted her head as if to ask:

"You mean that?"

He shook his head in response, watching closely as Keziah dipped her hair into the hot liquid. Slightly wincing in pain, he put Milo in her hold, it didn't go unnoticed by (y/n) how their fingers interlocked over the others before pulling away. Ouhh

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ · Ending off the night with the ladies talking briefly, it finally dawned on (y/n) how late it was getting, ―deciding to pay and leave.

On the other side of the door they stood separated; no type of touch between the two. Miles had his hands in his pockets, (y/n) holding tightly onto Milo. Usually, she was so accustomed to the sting of fresh-braids but no sah, this time it didn't work out like that.

Walking, he looked over his shoulder to see me still put, holding onto the back of my head for dear life and rubbing it. Just how long was that water boiling for? "You good?" "No" my answer― even thought against my will― came off somewhat harsh, tiredness and pain driving me agitated. Now standing infront me, he silenced my ever occurring grunts with a hug? Placing his hand over mine, he started to knead away the pressure, the tension within fading. After some time he hoisted my chin with curled fingers. "Better?" I mumbled an incoherent "Mhm" falling back into his hold and wrapping my arms around him loosely.

I don't know why I did that, well, I'm trying to push away a few ideas but even they're too out-of-reach. Looking up at him, he smiled. I returned it, my half-opened eyes closing fully before I let out a yawn. Hurriedly, I slapped a hand over my mouth as he laughed "How 'bout we head back to your place, sounds good?"

I felt drunk with fatigue miserably stumbling over my own two feet. It didn't help that Miles was laughing like a rass hyena helping me up.

"Can't hold a joke?" I tilted my head, lazily crossing my arms "Come here" He dragged me nearer to him with one arm around my neck, hugging me as we walked. I thought our feet would get caught up from us walking so close, the idea made me giggle.

He guided me the way home and when I tell you that déjà vu hit like a bus, believe me. We sounded like those recordings that had people talking as if they're in their own little world with the calming songs in the background. (Hope it makes sense lol) If anything, a video from some vintage camera would make us look like starring actors playing school-kids from a sappy love-sick drama .

Nah, that's too far. It's just a friendly encounter, nothing to go feral about...yeah

-------- Heyy, it's Wednesday

Dropping my head into my palms, I scanned my bed. Usually, as you can tell, I don't wake up this early, but the pain from the braids was too much for my subconscious to bear even after being alleviated. It wasn't anything concerning or harsh on my scalp but― ugh― how do I explain― it's like when there's a mosquito right, it's not doing you anything but it's there and being bat-shit annoying.

I slapped my forehead repeatedly, waking up myself to get ready to conquer day 2/6 of holiday. Trust me, extra sleep would be greatly appreciated, but I think it's time to give my bed a rest. Throwing on cargo shorts and a loose-fitting top, I did my hair in a low bun with a headband after doing any chores I think I'd get penalized for ―nothing atrocious though. Just the regular like cleaning my room and doing my section of the roster―

----

Taking a water for myself, I slid a bottle of juice down to my sibling per her request. Dae, my 14 y/o sister, is almost a mini-me; she reads a lot, plays most games I do, and really really quirky ―in a good way though, fs . But unlike me, she's what you'd call a 'social butterfly' and a pretty one too, genes run strong in the family i guess.

Sitting on the counter-top I flicked through whatever the media had to offer, Dae staring at me with a knowing look and crossed arms. Glances like that would've normally been exchanged from the two of us but this time I had no clue what's going on

"Your boyfriend seems nice" "My who now?" "Y'know, your Prince Naveen with the braids that held you oh so close to his manly chest"

In the middle of her sentence she held overlapping hands over her arms and twirling. She talked in a ludicrous princess voice; to which I cringed heavily at, earning laughs from her.

"He's not my boyfriend" "Soo you're like that with all your male friends?" Which male friends? "NO―"

She started to eye me up and down with a cheeky smile. I looked at her blankly, eyebrows drawing nearer as her smile got wider. She opened her phone, scrolling through something before she brought it up to my hand, urging for me to hold it. It was a thread of messages

"Even ma' likes him" This the intervention or sumn' ? "Wait― Hold on― What?" "I was on a call with her, and not gonna lie. You looked drunk as hell"

Flashbackk ¦

"You can leave me here, my house is right around the corner" Lifting herself off of Miles' body, (y/n) pointed groggily towards a shop. Hissing his teeth, he brought her back to her original position with a soft pull on her arm. "If it's right there we can just walk. What if something happens to you?" Shrugging, she clinged onto his arm for support. Stunned by the sudden affection, it was hard to bite back the smile that cuffed his lips. He felt something dull surge within his body when she didn't smile back, well, when her eyes didn't squeeze together like they usually would.

¦ In the past few hours (y/n) found the walls she built for her own protection falter; the bits left crumbling every time she interacted with him. Miles Morales did something to (y/n), be it the way he looked at her, the things he did, the stupid stuff they talked about; whatever it was, it was serenating. But she knew giving in would could cost her a lot ― much more than her 'ghost' reputation, it was her sanity at stake.

For Miles, all that mattered was the girl tucked underneath his arm, it's hand intertwined with hers― a stance they were sure to grow fond of. Unsure why he was acting the way he was, he found himself wanting to do and be so much more than an 'accomplice' by her. He wanted to watch every late 90's romance-movie while taking down the braids he wished he could've funded for her. For her, he would splurge his life savings on anything she could ever want and need. Miles knew that the Ms. Independent in her would never let him, something he admired about her. He grew to admire a lot about her. She's going to work me hard

Right now, our favorite two were in front the (l/n)'s residence as she frantically searched for her keys. Opening the door, she stood nervously as Miles remained outside, (y/n) went back down the steps to face Miles before―

Flash ¦

Hiding her phone in an instant, Dae smiled innocently, chuckling softly as she made way to her room.

"My dearest princess Tiana, whenever you're done dreaming about your prince Naveen and you find yourself needing me. Well, which I hope not, I'll be playing Valorant's new season" "There's a new season?" With her head peeking out the door frame, she narrowed her eyes "I don't know, fuck around and find out"

Before I could say something she shut her door. Yup, mini-me. I took up my phone in reaction to the notification sound, it was a message from Lailah.

"Mind explaining why thee Miles Morales wants your house address?"

okay culprit.

"took his book on accident" "so what you're telling me is" "You saw miles in the flesh and blood within less than three feet?" "Eww lailah" "It sounds weird like that" "girl, you cannot tell me that you don't find him cute" "who?" "miles?"

If you want him girl take him, I certainly won't

"..obviously" "nope...you do?" "who doesn't" "I'm worried about you" "wtv"

I scoffed.

What's so special about him? He looks like every other guy, like literally. The only difference is probably his jawline, smile, eyes..how all his features just make him look so. so. so.. majestic? I hissed and laid down on the countertop, groaning when my hands couldn't push my head any deeper into the material as I accepted defeat. The image of just him doing anything could bring a smile and not a scowl to my face. Ew

I hate this― whatever that he's making me feel, I don't like it.

I'll be staring part three for my other story and also this one

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bcdrawsandwrites · 10 months ago

Text

[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fanfic banner in the style of the game's achievement icons. A tattered yellow-white ID card is shown on a gray background. On the left side of the card is a stylized portrait of Miss Pauling, and on the right of the card is a stylized globe. On the right of the banner is the chapter's title in yellow-white, reading "CHAPTER EIGHT: IDENTITY THEFT" /end ID]

Flickering

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: K+ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Spy, Pyro, Miss Pauling, Medic, Heavy, Scout, Sniper Warnings: General references to trauma Fic Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it’s never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason.

Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve

---~~~---

Chapter 8: Identity Theft Summary: In which Spy makes use of his disguise kit.

---~~~---

Once again, Spy found himself staying on-base overnight. The drive out to the bookstore and back had been quite enough time on the road for him, after the little sleep he'd gotten the night prior, so he opted to stay rather than make the trip back home.

Fortunately the Pyro had not attempted another absurd bonfire that night, so those who chose to stay were able to sleep as well as they could. Which, for some, was not as well as might be hoped.

Spy woke before sunrise to the sound of voices—Medic's was the first he could identify, calm and authoritative and mildly annoyed, while the second was Heavy's, a low, quiet rumble. While normally he would not bother eavesdropping at such an early hour, the smell of blood from his dreams lingered in his nostrils, and he could do with a brief distraction. So, slipping out of bed, he crept to the door and listened.

"...have spoken with Herr Engineer about this, and no, it is not possible."

"Da, I know this."

"Then you did not have to wake me up at four in the morning."

"I did not mean to wake Doctor up. Only to check."

"That will not be necessary. If I am ever in mortal danger again, I will be sure to let you know."

Silence. No footfalls followed.

Medic went on, lowering his voice. "If it makes you feel better, you're not alone. That schweinhund keeps showing up in my nightmares."

"This... does not make Heavy feel better. Would like to help."

"You can do that by letting me sleep." The Medic sighed. "Tell you what—I can train Archimedes to come get you if there is a problem. Would this make you feel better?"

"...Da. I think so."

"Good. I can also prescribe you something to help you sleep."

"Maybe. Will see." A pause. "Goodnight, Doctor."

"Yes, good night."

Finally Heavy moved away, while Medic shut his door.

Spy stood for a moment, wondering if he should ask Medic for some sleep medication as well, but shook his head. No, he just needed to sleep in his own bed again, is all.

Yawning, he trudged back to the other side of the room and slipped into bed.

Everything was fine. They would be over this soon.

—-

Upon entering the mess hall, Spy abruptly remembered the events of yesterday when he found it near devoid of chairs and with multiple of his fellow mercs standing about awkwardly. Sniper lurked in a corner, nursing what was surely not his first cup of coffee; Engineer leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, eating a plate of eggs and bacon; Demo knelt awkwardly next to one of the tables, leaning his head against it; and Soldier sat in the only chair, shoveling burnt pancakes into his face.

Sighing, Spy turned away—perhaps today would be a good day to rest at home.

"The chair problem's bein' corrected," Engineer said, and Spy looked back at him. "Miss Pauling said she'd come deliver them herself."

Spy raised an eyebrow. "Good to know, but strange she would make the delivery herself."

Engineer shrugged. "I don't question these things."

"I don't expect you to," Spy muttered as he stepped past him and into the kitchen. Perhaps it would be beneficial for him to stay around a little while longer, if it meant he could speak with another potential source.

Breakfast went by quickly enough, and he hoped it wouldn't be much longer before Miss Pauling arrived. He had no desire to hang around the other mercenaries for the time being, and retreated to his bedroom, cracking open the window so he could hear Miss Pauling's vehicle when she arrived. He'd grabbed his book from his smoking room, but upon entering his room, he found his gaze drawn to the mirror.

Spy set down his book on his table and stood before the mirror. In one swift motion he whipped out his cigarette case and opened it. His gaze fell not upon his cigarettes, but the disguise kit. A few quick taps and a puff of smoke, and he found himself staring at the Engineer.

"Yee-haw, I struggle to pay attention to anything that is not made of metal!" he said mockingly in the Engineer's voice.

Rolling his eyes—invisible beneath those stupid goggles—he tapped the disguise kit again a few more times. A puff of smoke later, he was adjusting Medic's glasses. "I give pointless diagnoses and extremely unhelpful advice, and my lab reeks like a badly-maintained zoo!"

Spy shook his head, glancing down at the disguise kit again and looking through a few more disguises.

He paused.

He could, of course, turn into dead people. It was part of his modus operandi in battle—killing one of his enemies and then disguising himself as them in order to either sneak around or kill more of the enemy team. But...

For a long moment he stared at the name on the device, and, after a brief hesitation, hit the confirmation button.

When the smoke cleared, he was staring at Beatrice, the pyro of the former gray team. The disguise included her mask, but he removed it in order to stare at that face he remembered seeing what felt like a lifetime ago—the gray hair, the burn-scarred face, the singular eye. Yet... no, she still didn't look quite right.

Spy thought for a moment, then replicated a calm, smug grin.

There she was.

He would not soon forget that smile, nor the way it had twisted her face in dark, eager excitement as she looked at the Pyro.

"I like a challenge."

Spy shuddered as he spoke the words in her voice.

Admittedly, he sometimes felt joy at seeing his own enemies in pain. He might occasionally twist the knife—quite literally—but for the most part, he just did his job.

That was not, he knew, the case for this woman. This woman, who, when charged to interrogate them, asked Soldier one question before continuing to torture him, very clearly must have taken pleasure—joy, even—in what she did.

So what had she done to Pyro?

Spy lowered his head in thought. Off the top of his head, he knew what could be done to hurt most of his fellow mercenaries. Soldier, who took joy in his own torture, would have taken a severe blow to being told that he was not a true member of the United States armed forces. Heavy valued his family, and would potentially bend under threats made toward them. Engineer would be pained to see his hard work destroyed—not merely his beloved buildings, but his blueprints, which allowed him to rebuild them. He could go on, but there was no point. He knew what could hurt the others.

He did not know what could hurt Pyro—what had hurt Pyro. What had drained its life of color. What had brought it down to the point where if it dared to make a noise, it would degenerate into a panicked mess.

Looking up, he stared into Beatrice's eye.

"What did you do?"

He arranged her face into the same smug grin he saw the day she tortured Pyro, the day she died. And again he repeated the words he remembered her saying:

"I like a challenge."

Realization hit him like a sniper's bullet, and the disguise faded in a puff of smoke, leaving Spy staring wide-eyed at his own reflection.

His chest began to burn, and he stumbled over to his chair. A cigarette soon found its way into his mouth, hoping to cloud his disturbed thoughts, but his hands searched for his lighter, only to come up empty.

A motor rumbling outside interrupted his dazed thoughts, and initially he wondered where Sniper was off to before he remembered. Jumping up from his chair, he looked out the window and spotted a truck pulling in front of the base, and a familiar purple dress on the person stepping out of said truck.

Drawing in a breath, Spy straightened his jacket and exited his room. Perhaps he could talk to Miss Pauling about this—she may know something that he didn't.

But as he neared the front of the base—

"—I mean, you didn't have to come all the way out here just to see me, Miss Pauling!"

"I didn't. I came out here to deliver this myself because I knew if we sent someone else, you guys would shoot the delivery driver. ...Again."

Scout and Sniper had met Miss Pauling at the door, the latter sizing up the furniture in the back of the truck, and the former flexing his arms at every opportunity.

Scout shrugged. "Well, while you're here—"

"While you're here," Miss Pauling countered, "why don't you help me haul this stuff in." As she was turning away, she added, "Hi, Spy."

Scout looked over his shoulder, only to do a double-take. "What's with you? You seen a ghost or somethin'?"

Abruptly Spy realized that he'd been staring, and that the blood had drained from his face. But Scout was already shrugging and stepping out the door, followed by Sniper, who gave Spy a knowing look as he left.

"Yeah," Scout was saying outside. "I don't blame you for wanting first row tickets to the gunshow!"

"Oh! I'm going there with Heavy in a couple weeks, actually."

Gritting his teeth, Spy stormed into the mess hall, and, from there, into the kitchen. While normally he wouldn't bother with such menial tasks here, he removed his jacket and slipped some rubber gloves over his usual ones and began to wash the dishes that had been left to pile up in the sink. It would get him out of their way, and give him something to do while he waited for Scout to stop bothering Miss Pauling.

The sound of chair legs shrieking against the floor soon let him know that they were replacing the chairs in the mess hall. Above that, he could hear Scout's attempts at flirting, which might have amused him had it not made him remember a more dazed version of Scout's voice cracking jokes, when—

"Hey—hey! Heavy! Since when are you goin' on a date with Miss Pauling?!"

"What is Scout talking about?"

Seizing his opportunity, Spy yanked off the rubber gloves and whipped his jacket back on before hurrying out to meet Miss Pauling. He skirted past the utterly stupid argument unfolding in the mess hall and rushed out the front door, where he caught Sniper and Pauling both hauling in a new chair for the lounge.

"Miss Pauling," Spy said, and she gave him a grunt of acknowledgment. "May I have a word?"

"Yeah, sure, just let me—"

Spy approached one of the free sides of the chair and helped lift it up, bearing some of its weight.

"Oh, thanks!" She gave him a relieved smile, and the three of them carried the chair through the base and into the lounge, where they set it down. Wiping her brow, she heaved a sigh. "Sheesh, Pyro did a number here, huh?"

"Yeah," Sniper said, leaning against the chair. "Like I said, you shoulda' seen that bonfire it made!" He gestured with his hand in an attempt to indicate the height.

"Actually," Spy cut in, "that's what I wanted to talk with you about."

Miss Pauling raised an eyebrow. "The bonfire?"

Spy gave a quick look around—he hadn't seen Pyro yet today, but he didn't want to take a chance that it was anywhere nearby. Frowning, he motioned for Miss Pauling to follow him outside.

"Is it the furniture?" she asked, bewildered, as she followed. "I'm sorry, Spy, but we can't afford stuff that's as nice as what you have in your smoking room for every—"

"It's not that," Spy said as they stepped out the front door again. He looked back to see the Sniper had followed them out, but there was no reason to send him away. "It's... about the Pyro."

"Pyro?" Miss Pauling echoed. "I mean, it's not that weird for it to be setting fires."

"No, it's been acting strange. More violent on the battlefield, and strangely silent. It... managed to communicate recently that it no longer sees color."

"Oh, man..." Miss Pauling's brows knit with sympathy, and she lowered her head for a moment, only for it to shoot back up. "Oh! Do you think this is from whatever the enemy pyro did to it?"

"That is exactly what I think." He automatically tried to take a drag from his cigarette, only to remember it wasn't lit to begin with. With a growl, he tossed it to the ground and stomped it. "While I have yet to figure out the specifics of what happened... I may have figured out at least one of the details."

Both Miss Pauling and Sniper leaned forward in interest.

"Pyro has been silent, but I do not think it wants to be. However, whenever it does vocalize, it falls into a panic."

Miss Pauling looked down in thought, frowning. Meanwhile, Sniper hummed, and Spy wondered if some gossip about the incident at Medic's lab had gone around.

"Furthermore," Spy went on, "the enemy pyro took an interest in our Pyro when that idiot Soldier let slip that it could not talk."

He let that sink in for a moment. Sniper's brow furrowed, while Miss Pauling's head suddenly shot up, her eyes wide.

"I believe," he said, eyes narrowed in disgust, "the enemy pyro may have punished it for saying anything other than the information she desired."

Sniper scoffed. "That's ridiculous. Pyro can't talk—not with normal words, anyway."

"Exactly my point. She—"

"She saw it as a challenge!" Miss Pauling exclaimed, her face going pale. "She wanted to see if she could force Pyro to talk!" She wrapped her arms around herself. "Poor Pyro..." After a moment, she straightened, jabbing her thumb at the truck behind her. "I mean, all this is still coming out of its paycheck, but still."

"Bloody wankers," Sniper growled. "But what'd they even do to it?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Spy said, and looked at Miss Pauling. Sniper followed his gaze.

"...Wait," he said, pointing at Miss Pauling. "You knew about my birth parents, and where I came from. You gotta know something about where that bloke came from, or what it even is."

Miss Pauling winced. "Look, the Administrator wouldn't even tell me about it, so I'm as much in the dark as you are. Heck, she only told me about your parents because they were a lead on the world's remaining Australium."

Gritting his teeth, Sniper turned away.

"Surely there must be something you know?" Spy asked.

"Yeah—a lot! Just nothing in particular about Pyro, other than that it's not human." She rubbed her forehead. "Look—Medic might know something—"

"His knowledge is limited, as Pyro does not cooperate with examinations. What little he does know is classified."

"Ah, right. Just between him and the Administrator, huh?" Heaving a sigh, she tipped her head back. "Look, Spy... I'd really like to help you—or help Pyro, anyway—but I'm not sure what I can do."

"Well, Miss Pauling, given your unique position, I think there might be something you could do to retrieve the information I need. Even just to persuade the Administrator to—"

Miss Pauling gave a forced, humorless laugh. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen. Sorry." When Spy gave her a look, she softened. "No, seriously, I am sorry. But with how badly everything went with that last mission, I—" She cut herself off, and swallowed.

Spy looked at her for a moment, and she looked back, and he nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Thanks," she replied, her shoulders drooping. "I hope Pyro will be okay. It's nice of you to look out for it."

Spy shrugged. "It was merely a mission I gave myself, since no one else was looking into it."

Feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck, he knew Sniper was staring at him—for what reason, he didn't know, but he would not look back.

"Great!" Miss Pauling smiled, oblivious to the tension between the two mercenaries. "Sniper, could you help me get the last one?"

"Sure thing, mate." The Sniper followed Miss Pauling over to the back of the truck, but as he passed, gave Spy another look—one that seemed to say, we need to talk.

Absolutely not.

Frowning in thought, Spy hurried back into the base, heading down a few hallways until he neared the medical wing. There he stopped, looking around to make sure there was no one else around. There was no sign of anyone else heading this way, and, creeping up to the doors and listening, he could only hear Medic's voice speaking softly to Archimedes.

Casting one last look to assure himself he was alone, Spy whipped out his disguise kit.

A moment later, Miss Pauling burst into the lab. "Medic—? Oh, good, you're here."

Medic looked up, his eyebrows raised, while Archimedes fluttered up to the ceiling and Aristotle squeaked. "Ah, Miss Pauling! Good to see you!" the Medic said, smiling as he strolled up to meet her. "Finally come for your follow-up appointment? I've almost got the blood type separation technique worked out—"

"Uh, no, not today. I'm in a bit of a time crunch—since we set up office again, the Administrator realized she's missing some of the mercenaries' medical files, and I haven't had the chance to come out here until now."

Medic sighed. "Very well," he said, turning toward his filing cabinet. "Which ones did you need?"

"Just Scout, Soldier, and Pyro," she replied.

"Oh, you're in luck! I just updated Pyro's file recently."

"Yeah, great." Distractedly Miss Pauling looked around the lab, her eyes falling on Aristotle's, which were narrowed at her suspiciously. "Oh, uh, is... that the monkey you got from—never mind."

"Ja, he is!" Medic smiled as he went through the folders. "Say hello to the lady, Aristotle."

Aristotle hissed and scampered up to Medic's side.

"Now, now, that's no way to behave around patients like Miss Pauling!" Turning around, Medic wagged a finger at the baboon. "Only the bad patients. Now!" He held up the papers and looked up at Miss Pauling. "I'll make some copies of these and send you on your way. Stay here."

Miss Pauling held out a hand to protest, but Medic was already hurrying out the door. She watched him leave before turning back to Aristotle, who continued to glare at her. Then, in a deep, masculine voice that was not Miss Pauling's, she said, "What are you staring at?"

Shrieking, Aristotle scampered up on top of the filing cabinet and hid behind a pigeon nest.

Sighing, Miss Pauling crossed her arms, looking around the lab as she waited. Hearing the door open, she spun around. "Thanks, Medi—" The word caught in her throat.

Sniper stared at her from the doorway, holding out the copies of the medical records. "Looking for these, ya bloody wanker?"

"Uh, hi, Sniper!" She gave a nervous grin. "What are you doing here?"

"Dragging you out before Medic gets back." With that, he grabbed Miss Pauling's wrist and yanked her toward the doors.

"Sniper, what—?!"

His head whipped back to look at her. "Medic nearly chased the real Miss Pauling out the door to hand her these. I offered to run them out to her myself." He rushed her out the med bay doors and further down the hall, taking a couple turns before he slowed.

Meanwhile, Spy's disguise faded as he yanked his sleeve away from Sniper's hand. "I hope you've been washing your hands," he grumbled, dusting his sleeve off.

"You're welcome." Sniper stopped, and turned to face him.

"Now..." Spy reached for the papers. "Hand them over, bushman."

Sniper held the papers further away. "Tell me what this is about first."

Spy glared. "You already know what this is about."

"Oh, I do. It's you I'm not so sure about."

Rolling his eyes, Spy made another grab for the papers, only for Sniper to hold them away again. "You heard what I told Miss Pauling. I'm on a mission to find out what's happened to Pyro, and you are currently withholding vital intelligence for said mission."

"Yeah, you keep tellin' yourself that," Sniper said, his voice low.

"What are you talking about?"

Sniper leaned in closer, and Spy leaned back. "Funny, ain't it, how the one you decide to buddy up with is the one who can't talk back. Can't ask you what's wrong, or what you're running away from."

Anger bolted down Spy's spine. "Are you accusing me of being a coward? You're the one who hides in one place for an entire match!"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about, Spy." Even with his sunglasses, it was clear that Sniper was glaring at him. "Don't you. Or d'you have it buried so deep you don't even remember what you're buryin' anymore?"

"Stop talking nonsense and give me the papers!" Spy growled, making another swipe for them.

This time, Sniper let him snatch the papers, and leaned back. "...You really don't know, do you?"

Quickly he folded the papers and shoved them into his inner coat pocket before they could be grabbed away again. "What?"

Sniper went quiet for a long moment, before shrugging and turning away. "Nothing. Guess maybe you'll have to dig it up on your own."

Spy glared after him, but he was already heading away. He wasn't going to be digging anything, thank you—not in his suit, anyway. Instinctively he dusted off his sleeve again and hurried back up to his room, where he hopefully wouldn't be bothered any further.

Once safely in his room, Spy whipped the papers out of his pocket, unfolded them, and sat at his desk to read them over. For a moment he was confused at Soldier's papers being at the top before he recalled he'd asked for three of the mercs' medical records to avoid suspicion. He set the pages aside, and his eyes brightened at seeing the Pyro's class logo printed on one of the pages. He'd read this one before, when he'd first sneaked into Medic's lab, but now he had free access to all the information he needed. Setting aside the first page, he looked at the second.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the large text, reading:

DO NOT attempt to clean skin!!

Brows furrowed, he skimmed some of the writing after that, but there was no further information written on this point. Of course, he should have expected that—these were mainly for the Medic's reference, after all. Still, the other notes might prove useful. There was a recent date written, followed by more information:

Patient has submitted to a partial physical! Can be bribed with candy.

However, patient strongly resisted blood pressure and thyroid tests, likely due to recent trauma/shellshock. (Will try again later.)

"Goggles" seem to be a form of eyelid. Dense transparent lenses protect eyes beneath. Seems to be incapable of blinking.

Spy paused for a moment, and shuddered.

Heart rate elevated, though may or may not be due to anxiety. Normal heart rate unknown. More examination is necessary!

The notes on that page ended there, and Spy nearly crumpled them in frustration. Instead, he read them over again, his eyes drawn to the larger text once more. The previous page had noted the layer of soot coating Pyro's body, which Spy had witnessed himself. Could the soot be a protective layer? Or, perhaps, attempting to wash Pyro's skin resulted in injuring whatever poor sap attempted it. It did have a higher body temperature than normal—warm enough to burn someone, perhaps?

There was something there, he was sure. But what, he didn't know.

Sighing, he set the page aside, only to realize there was more beneath it.

Name: Jeremy—

Spy knocked a vial of ink over the papers, by complete accident and nothing more.

Some time later, he exited his room, and nearly bumped into the Pyro. Before he could stop himself, he held out the crumpled, ink-stained papers. "Here," he said. "Take these and burn them."

Pyro perked up and took the papers, but stared back at Spy, tilting its head.

Spy snorted. "How often does anyone give you kindling?"

Pyro stared at him a moment longer before turning back into its room, fishing its lighter out as it went. Spy watched it go, until it shut the door behind itself. With another sigh, he made his way down the stairs, only to stomp his foot on one of the steps.

That was his lighter!

#tf2 spy #tf2 pyro #tf2 sniper #miss pauling #team fortress 2 #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #my art #my writing #fanfic #flickering fanfic #OKAY! here's another chapter!#we've got three more after this

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