#and it's like. I probably could have been helped. and not still be SO BAD. if anyone had listened.

[saturngas]

hiding his wedding ring

[🪐] you hide your husband´s wedding ring just for fun. (heyy guysss, thank you so much for the support on my last posts!! im so glad you guys like them. and im working on the second part of the tinder fake profile like someone suggested :])

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

genre: sfw

warnings: established relationship; lots of fluff; I wanted this to be a crack fic but I ended up breaking down gojo's character; first 900 words of me rambling about gojo's role in the jujutsu world; end is very soft; you comforting satoru without using words; reader wears a bra;

word count: 2k

..

dark shades were still painting the city as the sun wasn't ready to rise and warm the breezy winter morning. you stirred in your sleep until you woke up. heavy arms belonging to your lovely husband were enveloping your smaller form. you breathed at the natural aroma of satoru next to you, vanilla from his body wash and subtle sandalwood from his expensive shampoo.

the stinging feeling of a full bladder started bothering you, giving up the chances to go back to sleep. you moved softly as to not wake up the tall lanky man behind you. satoru always had a bad time whenever you would leave the bed, whining like a child because you "took off all the happiness from his life." he was an expert to make you sigh and then giggle at his dramatics.

satoru could feel you moving though. his muscular forearms encapsulated you in a tight grip and his legs encircled yours. his over-180-pound weight did nothing to help you, however your chances of ruining the bedsheets with fresh pee were only increasing.

"satoru, come on~" you whined under your breath, inaudible to the knocked out man. after many shuffling and unnecessary force—because this could have been avoided if satoru wasn't as clingy—, your body was free. as you rose up to your feet, a cold breeze caressed your exposed skin.

after you finished your business in the bathroom, you sat on your shared bed with your husband again. you observed satoru closely. his pretty face was scrunched in a slight frown—probably from feeling your empty space—, his long white eyelashes were barely touching his high cheekbones and his soft and rosy lips were partially parted, letting out quiet snores.

he truly was a masterpiece. and to believe this beautiful man and strong sorcerer was your partner for life. this man who simply loves everyone and is kind at heart, his extravagant and loud personality playing a major role on other people's opinion on him.

but I love you just as you are, satoru... you thought with a light tug at your heart. satoru was a very sweet man, worrying and caring the most about you and his precious students, wanting to change the corrupted society you two work in. he deserved all the love from the world. from this world who would only see him as the strongest sorcerer but not as the human being satoru gojo was.

almost nobody would follow his travesties, share an agreement with him, or even laugh at his jokes. you could count the people who would do all that using just one hand: suguru, yuta, yuji, and well, you. there's a reason satoru proposed to you. of course he found you breathtakingly beautiful—his jaw would drop to the floor dramatically whenever you would wear a new attire he would bought you—, and your personality just complemented his, but you would also crack a smile or a laugh whenever he made a witty comment, you would partner up with his pranks, and you would be there too whenever he would get called out from his unprofessional behavior.

it was 4:25am and maybe you were thinking too much. you smiled sweetly once you caught a glimpse of the shiny band adorning his ring finger, his hand on his rising chest. a sudden wave of excitement rushed through your entire body. you felt funny. and maybe, just maybe, you wanted to make this morning a bit different, only to not make your lives monotone.

your hand reached out to his. the moment your skin touched his, your husband stirred—almost spasmed—in this sleep. of course he would have such a reaction to something so simply, he was just extra. you figured you'd have to be in your original position for him to not notice.

as you adjusted yourself back on the bed, next to him, satoru's long limbs recognized yours and got into a tangled mess with yours. his toned arms hugging you tightly, his palms caressing your back and lower back. you were chest to chest with him, well, almost, as the white haired man was almost on top of you.

"mmm, baby..." you heard him muttered while he adjusted his body to keep pressing onto you. rosy lips of his stroking your forehead, where you could feel his small breaths. his arm losing his grip a bit as his body relaxed again. you took this as an opportunity to grasp his large hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. satoru's throat did a nose, one mocking that of a moan.

was he getting hard from holding hands? you thought, but you didn't actually want to test your hypothesis right now. giggling silently as you remembered satoru did get hard from holding hands and being too close with you when he was a teen.

the cold ring brushed against your finger. you moved very slowly your hand as you drew it away gently, taking his ring with you. when the expensive little object was finally in your hold, his hand fell heavy on your waist. satoru unconsciously wasted no time to hug your waist. he did it so softly and gently and slowly that it sent a bunch of shivers down your spine, your body getting even closer to his.

once you had the ring, you actually didn't know where to hide it. under your pillow? you know that's the first place he's looking at. in a drawer? he'll find it eventually. inside a box? you couldn't even move your neck, how were you supposed to walk all the way to find a box to hide the ring?

so you put it in your bra.

you just had to make sure satoru wasn't feeling like it first thing in the morning.

"baby, baby, sweet cheeks," a pair of big hands were grabbing gently your shoulders as you were being lightly shaken. "baby, please wake up, this is an emergency!" satoru concerned voice got you restless, making you aware of your surroundings.

"satoru what's going on..." your voice lingered with slumber.

"baby, please don't be mad at me," his big blue eyes looked at you with panic and distress. he gave a chaste kiss on each or your cheeks, then his bottom lip jutted out forming a big pout. "but I lost my ring. I mean, I didn't lost it, well I did, but I just can't find it. you know I always sleep with it, so it probably slipped off my finger during the night but that's weird 'cause that has never happened, not even when we have sex and we—"

satoru kept talking, explaining with exasperation his situation so you wouldn't get mad. oh poor boy. for him, that ring represents the materialized love you two have for each other; the day you both said your I do's in the aisle takes form on a pair of circular bands; a piece of jewelry that shouts that you are his and that he is yours, being a loud announcement for any foreigner who dares to come to claim any of you.

"babyyy," he whined out your name. you weren't paying attention to him! "im so sorry I lost it, but please help me find it." he begged. as soon as he finished his sentence, he flipped off the bed, hading to the hallway probably to start searching in the entire house.

you sighed a bit. perhaps this wasn't a good idea. you certainly didn't think satoru would notice that quickly. he probably woke up and immediately noticed the empty space on his long finger and went frantic. now he woke you up at 7am on your day off.

I need to start thinking thoroughly these pranks...

"y/n!!" you heard your husband yell your name from down the hallway. "come help me!" he sounded agitated.

you got off the bed and threw one of the tall man's hoodie over your head. it was chilly. as you walked down the hallway, you visualized your husband throwing away each cushion from your couch to the floor, looking for the lost ring. one throw pillow went flying towards you, almost hitting you. his blue eyes were shining. you were certain he was using all six eyes to find it. how come he hadn't looked in your chest?

"satoru, my angel boy," you laughed softly at his state. "sugar boy, baby boy, sweet pie," you used all pet names left in your inventory to catch his attention.

big baby blue eyes met yours in an instant. you body relaxing once he saw you were serene. "hey boy, it is fine, don't worry." you said as softly as possible as you approached him. your right hand going right into his white locks, caressing his scalp. you could feel satoru's breath decelerate, his left hand placing itself on top of yours, engulfing it.

"but my ring..." his voice was quiet.

"don't worry, for real," you let out a hearty laugh, one that made satoru's cheeks burn with love. "I mean you can always buy another one." you teased him.

"yeah I guess I can." soft eyes stared lovingly at you. "Im sorry I lost it. please don't think I want to divorce you."

the chuckle you let out made your face red from the increased blood pressure. "I know, sugar boy."

your sugar boy took your left hand and kissed the expensive ring adorning your finger. his soft lips and apologetic eyes looking directly at you made you want to end this silly prank.

"im so sorry baby," a kiss.

"toru, please stop apologizing, baby."

"i deserve death," another kiss.

"stop."

"i deserve to be placed in prison for losing such important representation of love," two more kisses.

"toru."

"this is the reason why global warming is still a thing."

"okay." you rolled your eyes so hard you were certain your superior oblique muscles were going to cramp. the left hand that satoru was previously kissing went flying to lift the hoodie you wore, your right hand going under your blouse, searching for the ring.

"god baby, I love you lots, did me going insane turned you on?"

your frowned mouth moved up slightly, a smile threatening to play against you.

"no, you dummy." your fingers finally reached for the finger, taking it out of your bra. satoru's eyes widened so much you were sure they hurt a little due to the room light he turned on to look for such object.

"sweet cheeks..." he whined softly under his breath. grabbing the ring from your grasp. "it's so warm, thank you, baby girls." his free hand caressed your underboob. you giggled at his comments.

"im sorry, angel boy. thought it would be funny to prank you." you went back to caress his undercut, feeling him almost purr. "you always play dumb shit with me, guess it was my turn." you winked at him and your husband blowed you a kiss.

"oh girl... you're so naughty, I have so much fun with you." his lips found yours in a second, forcing them into a deep kiss. it was weird satoru would express out loud his emotions. even after years of being together, it was still hard for him to word his feelings, adding to the reason he was very physical with the people he loved—he didn't know how to display his love using words, only touches.

'i have so much fun with you,' you knew the deeper meaning behind those words. he felt alone even with other people. his students, only yuji seemed to enjoy going along with him, adding to whatever entertainment satoru was putting up with.

that was the reason the tall sorcerer loved you so much. you would keep him occupied all the time, it being with your mere presence, when you were all lovey dovey with him, when you would get mad, it being your giggles at his lame jokes, you pulling up pranks at him.

satoru loved you just like he loved his students and coworkers, but of course you were so much more special to him because you could keep up with him. him and the awful personality satoru claimed he had, him and his risky and demanding job, him and his inability to open up. because you could still read him as a book.

that was the reason he went rabid the second he saw his wedding ring was missing, he was afraid his love would vanish too. maybe it was too cheesy, but when it came to you, he recognizes he doesn't think straight.

[luvyeni]

THE DEMON IN THE KITCHEN • PARK SUNGHOON

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ demon!sunghoon wc. 5.2k+

𓄷 warnings... smut mdni. mentions of murder. sunghoon actually hates you. attempted murder ( twice ). reader likes some weird stuff. sexual tension. oral ( m. receiving ). rough sex. degradation.

nia's notes: this is probably a lot darker than the jake one , im sorry, but I hope you still enjoy 🖤 jay is next !!!

jake | lucifer masterlist | jay

having taken you away , I became a terrible monster, destroy and trample all …

with the burning fire of lucifer’s anger , swallow it up …

It had been about a month since you've found out about Jake; and the other demons who you haven't met that lived in your grandparents' old house — they hadn't introduced themselves yet ; so you and Jake spent your days alone in the house , never really leaving.

You mother had also came and visited to check on the house, see what you had gotten done; and if the house needed any renovations— unfortunately; your new friend had to stay away that week, which he dramatically claimed was the worse week in 50 years.

Besides watching TV shows and forcing Jake to take up baking; you two also had a lot of sex— like a lot there was not a time jake and you weren't on each other; his hips constantly rutting against yours while watching tv; his hands in your pants , giving you orgasm after orgasm before you went to sleep. Jake never slept though; he didn't need it, instead he watched over you while you sleep. At first yes you thought it was a bit creepy; but eventually you grew to like it; and soon you couldn't sleep unless he was right next to you, holding your hand.

You liked spending time with Jake; but you couldn't help but ask questions about the others; jake— who at first was jealous that you would literally ask about them when he's right there , put his pride to the side; you weren't only his— told you everything he could about his brothers ; telling you that he believed it will different and they'll all come out when they're ready. “be patient.” he would always said. “things will be different soon.”

“have you tried to eat?” you asked during one of your baking sessions. “of course , but, I don't need to eat, why would I? besides your grandmother was a terrible cook.” His face scrunched up in disgust. “I don't need to eat the brownies , but I believe you when you say they are good.” You frowned; which made him feel bad. “Fine, I'll eat one.” You smiled , cutting him a piece of freshly cooked brownie. “take a bite.”

You watched as he bit down on the brownie; his eyes lit up, moaning at the chocolate gooey treat. “it's so good.” he said. “We did a good job.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “we? the only thing you did was crack the eggs.” he shrugged. “That's something.” He said , your lips were in a thin line. “You got egg shells in the batter three times.”

“When you leave at night.” You said , laying in bed after a tense session. “where do you go?” this question had always loomed over your head. “there's a lot you don't know about this house; a lot that all of the owners don't know.” He said, “like what.” You sat up. “this house has many secret tunnels , the first owner who built this house was a bit of a maze lover , so he built a bunch of tunnels under ground.” He said. “And some of them have rooms?” you asked. “more like and entire underground house.” He said.

“How do i access it?” He sat up , holding your hand. “Do not go searching for it.” He said. “Why not?” You said. “Because the first owner wasn't just obbsesed with the labyrinth, but he was also a bit of a nutjob.” He said. “He also built secret tunnels that would lead to no where , but would trap you inside and you can't get out— ones so the ground could easily become unstable and you could get hurt.” He said. “Promise me you won't go looking, promise me.” you saw the concern look on his face , deciding not to stress him further. “Fine I won't go looking for the passage ways.” He looked into your eyes. “What can you tell if I'm lying or not?” He nodded. “Well smartass we can in fact tell when you're lying , that's how I know you're telling the truth.” he kissed your pouty lips. “It's best you don't go around getting hurt , if you die we can all feel it.”

Jake left after making sure you were in a deep sleep; locking up the house, something you always forgot to do , so he took it into his own hands to do so— turning the lights off , making his way through the tunnels back to where he'd wait until morning when he knew you were about to get up and start his day with you again.

you sat up in your bed , looking around the dark room. “Jake?” You rubbed your eyes , a blurry figure appearing in front of you. “Jake?” You squinted, “is that you?” He nodded , holding his hand out. “Come with me.” You held your hand out , getting out of bed , where he waited. He took a hold of your hands. “Follow me.”

“Where are you taking me?” You asked. “You wanted to see where we stayed right?” He asked. “Well I'm taking you.” You were confused. “You told me it was dangerous.” He looked back at you. “alone? yes, but you're with me me, would I ever put you in a dangerous love?” He wouldn't , you knew that he wouldn't. “No” he smiled. “Then keep walking.”

And that's what you did, following him down to the base of the house , where he guided you to a wall , pushing on the wall. “just go right through there.” He went first holding your hand , guiding you through the tunnels, lit with torches. “Just a little further love.”

You finally made it to the door , he pointed. “There.” He said. “open the door love.” You were about to reach for the door; turning back to him. “Go ahead.” As you reached for the door , you heard a yell— no a call of your name, it was jake; but how could that be if he was right there with you , and his mouth wasn't moving; in fact he was smiling. “Guess he's right on time.” The boy in front of you said. “what?” His mouth went flat. “Maybe next time.” He said. “Wake up.”

Your eyes suddenly shot open, it felt like all the air came rushing back to your lungs. “y/n!” His arms were wrapped around you. “huh?” Your head felt dizzy. “I told you to never come looking for these tunnels.” He held your shoulders , shaking you. “you promised you wouldn't come looking for these tunnels and you were sleepwalking.” He seemed so scared, you tried to explain but he wasn't having it. “Let's get you back to your room.” He said.

“You don't understand, you almost opened one that could've killed you.” He said , you sat on your bed. “But you're the one that guided me there , you told me you were gonna show me.” You said , he shook his head. “No I didn't , why would i guide you to one that was gonna kill you?” He said, he had a point. “But he looked just like you.”

“He did?” He asked. “Yeah , just like you.” He thought about it for just a split second , his eyes filling with rage. “What's wrong?” You reached for his hand , but he shot up to the floor. “I have to go.” He said. “Where?” You asked. “Jake where are you— just go back to sleep, I'll see you in the morning.” Was all he said , before leaving out— like hell you were going to sleep.

meanwhile Jake was on a mission; to find him, pushing the door open. “Sunghoon!” He shouted. “Where the fuck are you.” He was livid, walking throughout the house to find him. “sunghoon!”

“What?” The boy emerged from his own room. “what the hell is your problem?” Jake shoved the boy. “You could've kill her.” He bellowed , sunghoon nodded; the shrug barely phasing him. “you're right I could've but I didn't , did I?” He tilted his head to the side. “shes safe no? you got to her in time.” Jake couldn't believe his brother would be this heartless ; he wasn't always like this. “if you don't like her then leave her alone.” Jake said. “be like jay then , don't bother her.” He said.

“No.” he folded his arms, waking towards the boy. “I want her to take the necklace off , I want her to break the bond.” He said. “Leave this place , leave us alone.” He said, “I don't want to deal with her family anymore.” Jake knew he had his reasons; but this didn't mean he could do this to you. “she's not like her , I promise.” but sunghoon wasn't listening , already checked out. “maybe if you just got— i don't care, just cause your pussy whipped doesn't mean anything to me.” He said. “she's as good as dead in my eyes.”

You actually don't see Jake the next morning; which doesn't worry you at first; until he doesn't show up in the afternoon either— he told you he'd be back , and then the way he left abruptly. “Jake?” You called out , but got no answer. you got up , you couldn't wait for him today ; you needed to go into town.

“Hey it's you again.” You smiled seeing kai; the cute cashier standing at the register. “was starting to think you left.” He said , packing all your things up. “no , just don't really get out much.” He nodded. “understandable , driving into town all the time could be a handful.” He said. “Your grandmother never came into town , actually i haven't seen your cousins in a while.”

Cousin? you didn't have a cousin , you're mother didn't have any siblings. “Oh you're talking about jake.” Knowing what you knew about your grandmother she probably did use them as her slaves. “long black hair, kinda like a golden retriever?” He laughed , sitting your last bag in the cart. “Golden retriever?” He said. “No , absolutely not, his hair was short and black.” he could sense your confusion. “sunghoon I think his name was.” — sunghoon? jake said he didn't leave the house. “oh sunghoon , yeah.” you chuckled. “he went home to his family” he nodded. “figured.” he said. “he didn't talk much , and when he did, it was cold and sorta murderous.”

he walked you to your car; helping you put your groceries in the trunk. “thank you so much kai.” He nodded , smiling. “No problem.” He awkwardly shifted on the balls of his feet. “Is there something else?” You questioned. “Would you like the to get a drink sometime?” He said. “With you?” you asked. “Y-yeah , it's fine if you're busy though.” He stuttered. “No I'm not busy any time soon.” you said he smiled. “how about saturday?” you nodded. “sure.”

you bring all the bags inside. “Jake!” You shouted , closing the door. “Jake where are you?” You walked around looking for him. “I went to the grocery store.” You looked into the different rooms. “Jake?” nowhere , it was like he vanished, you walked into your room , the door to your closet open, making you smile. “Jake?” you open the door; empty — except it wasn't fully empty, there was a door. “huh?”

you moved the shoes , pushing the door; it opened. “Is this how he was leaving?” you asked yourself , shaking your head. “I'm gonna kill him again , if I find him.” you looked down the tunnel , another opening; wide open and you could see inside , a room. “seems safe.” You walked down the dimly lit tunnel , stopping once you reached the door. You pushed it open , walking it. “Jake?”

it was a room, a red and black room; the bed right in the mirror , it was almost a mirror to yours; Jake had nice taste— it was actually better than yours. “That's because it's not jake's room.” you heard an almost familiar, but unfamiliar voice. “and that's not how he enters your room.” He said , you were almost scared to turn around , you could feel the room become colder. “you're sunghoon.”

you turned around, and there he was, just like kai described— expect scarier cause he was right in front of you. “you kept calling for him and calling for him, it was annoying me.” he said. “I can hear you.” The door slammed behind you making you jump forward. “Your voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard.” he stepped closer to you. “i hate constantly hearing it in my head.” you stepped back. “then dont listen to it, I'm looking for Jake.” you turned to open the door; only for him to slam it again. “you think its that fucking easy?” He scoffed. “You are just as dumb as I thought you were.”

he didn't even know you, so why was he insulting you? “it was you.” You said. “You're the one who made me sleep walk— the one who tried to kill me.” he scoffed. “Trust me if I was trying to kill you, you'd be dead already.” He said. “sending me into a fucking tunnel to have my head caved in by rocks didn't seem like you were trying to be welcoming”

“Oh you have a mouth on you.” he said smiling. “Gonna make killing you so much better.” He said. “st-stay.” He interrupted “stay away? or what? you gonna call jakey?” he mockingly said. “I want you to take the necklace off,” he said. “Leave this house, hide it somewhere your parents won't find it.” he said. “If your mother doesn't find it , I won't have to slave for your disgusting family anymore, and when they die we'll get a new bond.” He said, “or I can kill you.” you can feel his breathing on your neck. “Jake can't stop me.” he whispered in your ear. “I can hear your heart racing.”

your breath hitched, he smirked. “Is the thought of me killing you turning you on,” he said. “are you really that sick of a person , not only do you fuck demons , you fuck demons who want to kill you as well. “ you felt his hand coming up to your back , pushing down on it. “st-st” you stuttered. “I bet if I fucked you right now you'd take it.” he growled. “Let little jakey walk in on me making you take my cock.” you gasp , his hands coming up to your hair yanking it back. “or I snap your neck now.”

he let you go; pulling the door open. “now get the fuck out; and think about what I said.” he said; you took off back down the tunnel entering back through the closet, slamming the hidden door closed , standing in your closet , trying to catch your breath— he said alot of stuff; what the fuck were you supposed to think about. “yn?” you heard jake's voice outside your door. “jake?” you pushed open the closet door. “where the hell have you been? I've called you 50 times.”

“I gave you a break, you seemed pretty scared,” he said. “Why are you coming out of the closet?” he asked, he saw the look in your eyes. “you found the passageway into sunghoons room?” you nodded. “and he was in there.” you nodded again. “I'm so sorry yn.” he stood up, hugging you. “I don't know why he's like that now , he actually wasn't that bad.” feeling your heartbeat. “What did he say?”

“N-nothing.” You said. “You're shaking like a leaf and your heartbeat is going a mile a minute, he must've said something.” you didn't know what to tell him , so you only told him what you thought he wanted to hear. “He said he'd kill me.”

telling him everything except the “moment” you both shared. “that's it?” He said. “that's all he told you?” you nodded. “Y-yeah.” you said, he sighed. “Why does he hate my family so much?” you asked, he rubbed his face with his hands. “your grandmother really fucked with him; sunghoon was always a little fucked in the head , but she made did something he swore to never do again , and he couldn't stop her , so before she made him do it again—” he stopped , continuing on again. “What did he do?” you asked. “he stopped her.” that's all he said , before stopping. “He killed her.”

That's all jake would tell you that day; and the next few days it was like that— you trying to force it out him and him telling you no; and you tried everything, even withholding sex; which never lasted long because jake was persuasive little shit.

Eventually you gave up; until he came to you again— you knew it was a dream again; but he wasn't trying to trick you this time; it wasn't him trying to disguise himself as Jake, it was actually him. “So you chose to die?” He asked , you couldn't move your legs, you could only sit up. “All you had to do was take the necklace off,” he said. “is it because of jake isn't it?” you felt his finger on your ankle. “would you miss fucking little jakey?” he mocked you again.

“Are you getting turned on again?” his finger dragging up your thigh. “you didn't tell him earlier, why didn't he want him to find out you got wet from me threatening you earlier?” he made his way to your thigh, squeezing hard, you whimpered, his face was angry. “you keep asking questions.” he dug his fingers into your thigh. “you want to know why?” he said. “Why I killed her?” you couldn't move anyway so it was an obvious rhetorical question. “because she was a murderer,” he spat. “and I hate those the most.”

What was he talking about? you wanted to say something, but you couldn't; you wanted to ask him, but you couldn't open your mouth. “stop asking questions about me.” he finally let your leg go. “Next time I snap your fucking neck.” and just like that he was gone— you shot up feeling your legs , looked down at them; no bruises, breathless you looked around your room; everything was normal. except the fucking adrenaline wouldn't stop running through your veins, and the obvious ache in between your legs.

when you finally came to, you were livid; he had no right to be upset with you; you didn't murder anybody, so why was he so upset with you? why'd he want to kill you so badly? and who the hell did she kill; that really wasn't on the top of your list now, finding the murderous man. “sunghoon!”

your voice was booming throughout the house. “I know you're listening, you're all always fucking listening.” you yanked at your hair frustrated. “so fucking answer me , sunghoon!” you felt like you were going crazy , screaming into the air like a lunatic. “what?” you turned around, and there he was. “I told you to le—” before he could finish , all you saw was red , before raising your hand , slapping the demon across the face. “What the fuck?”

“how fucking dare you?” you hissed. “whatever my grandmother did to you doesn't have shit to do with me , so don't you ever interfere with my dreams again.” you said. “and I'm not taking the necklace off , your little scare tactic doesn't scare me anymore.” he scoffed. “scare tactic?” He said. “That's what you think it is?” you could almost feel the heat bouncing off his body. “I said next time I will snap your neck.” before you could get a word out , your words were cut short; his hand wrapping around your neck. “I meant it.”

you could see his eyes flash red; he finally was gonna kill you. “I told you to take off the necklace and leave,” he said. “you should've listened.” He heard your heartbeat going faster, he wanted to do it, end it before he could start— but he couldn't.” He let you go , you gasped falling to the floor. “Stay away from me, stop calling out my name,” he said. “He's here.” before you could say something he was gone and Jake was here , ready to console you.

“you almost killed her!” Jake wanted to snap the boy's neck; that wouldn't help he was already dead. “but he didn't.” sunghoon sat on the bed. “and why didn't you sunghoon?” he sighed. “because she's innocent.” he said. “and?” he looked at Jake. “I'm not a killer , I don't kill innocent people.”

You rub the sleep from your eyes; sitting up, rubbing your sore neck. “you're gonna be fine.” a voice made you look up. “su-sunghoon.” you stuttered. “I'm not gonna hurt you calm down.” he said. “You tried to choke me.” You said. “yeah well now that you're not a murderer i have no reason to.” He said. “That's not how you apologize.” you said. “because it wasn't an apology.” you both stared into each other's eyes, before he coughed. “go to bed.” you tried to say something, but before you could blink— he was gone. “what?” then you realized, it wasn't a dream— he was really in your room.

you don't see him again— and soon saturday rolls around; and your date with kai. “you really don't have to go.” Jake followed you around the house as you got ready. “Well I already agreed , so yes I do.” you said. “why'd you agree in the first place?” you turned to him. “Because he's the first human I've come across since I came up here.” he pouted. “I can come with you.” you stood with your hand on your hips. “its supposed to be a date.” you said. “why would I bring you on a date?" he frowned, "why would you go on a date?" you pinched his cheek. “I'll only be gone for a few hours.”

you met kai at the bar; he was waiting at a table for your arrival. “kai!” you waved. “hey.” he stood up, hugging you. “you made it.” he let you go. “Of course I did.” you followed suit. “order anything you want , it's on me tonight.” He said. “You don't have to.” he shook his head. “Think of it as a very late welcome gift.”

“you're really pretty, you know that?” the red faced boy said. “I wanted to say that ever since I saw you first.” he was drunk , slurring his words. “but I was nervous.” he pouted, it was cute; it reminded you of jake. “but I was so happy when you said yes to going out with me,” he said. “I'm glad,” you said , and you genuinely were, but your mind was elsewhere; it was on sunghoon. why was he on your mind? he tried to kill you, you tried to shake it away.

“Are you okay?” he asked , both of you walking out. “yeah, are you okay?” you laughed , watching him stumble. “Will you be able to drive?” he shook his head. “I live down the road with my brothers, I'm fine, are you okay to drive?” you only had one drink , knowing you had to drive. “Yeah I'm fine,” he nodded. “Can I see you again?” your mind kept shifting , from him to jake— to sunghoon. “We'll see.”

you drove back to the house , pulling into the driveway. “Jake?” you call out , not getting an answer; but a noise , from the kitchen. “Jake?” there was the sound of glass shattering. “Jake , I told you to turn the light on , you've broken three of the mugs.” you threw your bag down , walking into the kitchen. “Jake get out of the ki—.” you froze in your spot. It wasn't Jake standing over the shards of glass; it was sunghoon. “I broke it , cleaned it.” he said. “wh-why are you here?” you asked. “Because you've been calling out for me for an hour , it started to get annoying.” He said. “I thought I said don't call out for me.”

“I didn't— you have been, you've been thinking about me, I heard it , felt it.” he said. “It's annoying.” you frowned. “Well you try being choked and then finding out you can't escape the thing trying to kill you, and then the thing trying to kill you is standing over a broken mug telling you to clean it.” you said. “That's annoying as well.” his face is stoic , but so is yours; staring at each other , both of you filling up with anger again. “I don't like you.”

you scoffed. “feeling is mutual.” he stepped closer , you stepped back. “i-im not scared of you.” He smirked. “I can hear your heartbeat dummy.” he said. “It's late out , why are you coming in late?” He had the nerve to ask you questions. “what's it matter to you?” he shrugged. “you smell like alcohol.” He scrunched his nose up in disgust. “you were out drinking? was it with a guy , little jakey won't like that.” it was your turn to scoff. “jakey or you?”

“What you do isn't my concern,” he said. “says the one standing in my kitchen , asking where I've been , seems like you like to make anything I do your concern.” you said, he stepped closer. “because I have no choice.” He said , standing over you now. “All because of that stupid necklace , as long as you're wearing it, I can hear what you're doing, see you.” he stopped. “feel what you're feeling.” your breath hitched as you felt his hand go up to your hair. “It's killing me.” you felt a tug on it, you whimpered. “i can't fucking escape you.”

he couldn't stop himself; his lips attaching to your neck with quickness, pushing you against the kitchen counter. “su-sunghoon.” he yanked on your head back. “don't speak.” He continued to attack your neck. “don't fucking speak.”

his hand gripped your waist; it most likely was gonna leave a bruise, but you didn't care. after leaving your neck covered in bruises, he pulled away. “On your knees.” he pushed you down. “gotta shut you up.” he groaned , unzipping his pants, pulling his underwear down just a bit to free his cock from its confinements , slapping against his abdomen. “open.”

you don't know why you were doing this; he tried to kill you; you should be scared of him— but that all seemed to not matter as he pushed his cock into yours mouth. “fuck.” he groaned, his cock hitting the back of your throat. “suck it , suck my fucking dick.” he growled. “wanna fuck your face.”

tears streaming down your face; drooling as he abused your throat. “so fucking messy -fuck- i can hear all the dirty thoughts on your little head.” he cursed. “so dirty, letting someone who hurt you fuck your tiny little throat.” he moaned, your thighs tightening together. “you're horny I can feel it.” he said. “need someone fu-fuck you.” he held your hair once more , pulling you off his cock. “not yet.” he pulled you off him, stroking his hard on. “gonna make you want it.” he said. “fuck you.” you spat; your mind was everywhere, you pissed at him— more importantly, you were horny. “still running that mouth.” he cursed, stroking faster. “see how fucking stupid you look -fuck- trying to be pissed at me , covered in my cum.” he growled. “fuck I'm cumming.” you felt his cum hitting your cheeks , tapping your lips. “So messy.”

You woke up the next morning; everything running through your head , you groaned. “yeah it happened.” Jake said. “I wish I could make it disappear from my mind.” you looked at the boy. “You two are sexually bonded to each other in a weird way,” he said. “like super weird , you hate each other so much , but you also want to fuck each other.” You stared at him. “i'm not jealous, I know our bond is stronger.” you rolled your eyes. “hey I'm not the one who fucked the demon who tried to kill me.” he shrugged. “I hate you.”

He was back two days later; you were sitting on your bed , when he pushed open your closet door. “Did I say you can use that, did I?” you said. “Yeah well I did.” he said, sitting down on the bed. “you were thinking about me again.” you stared at him. “Who did my grandmother make you kill?” His face dropped. “I’m not talking to anyone about that , especially you.” he said. “Why?” he said. “cause it was my grandmother.”

“You want to know? really?” he said , you nodded, “I do.” “It was your grandfather,” his voice was laced with bitterness. “she made me kill your grandfather.” you furrowed your eyebrows. “No you're lying, grandfather died of a heart attack.” you said. “Did he? or was it because I crushed his heart?” you gulped, he was looking you dead in the eyes. “why?” you asked. “She was tired of him , just wanted him gone , and she couldn't do it,” He said. “no , why did you kill him?” you said. “my told me he was the kindest man she'd ever known.”

“He was,” he said. “I couldn't do anything about it.” you scoffed. “So you just had to kill him?” he huffed. “You wouldn't understand,” he said. “Yeah I do, you're a murderer.” you could see his eyes turn red. “I'm not a murderer.” you curled back against the headboard. “I was a slave to her , to that fucking necklace— to who ever owns it.” He said. “That's my punishment.”

“punishment?” you questioned, “what kind of stupid punishment is that?” he closed his eyes , before continuing on. “As punishment for killing innocent people , I became a slave,” he said. “They killed her , she did nothing wrong and they killed her.” His fit was tightly closed. “who?” you asked. “Her name was mina.” he said. “she was my first love, it was supposed to be a robbery, we both were supposed to be out, but she didn't feel like it , so she stayed.”

“So you sold your soul like Jake?” you asked. “But he isn't a slave?” he scoffed. “If you think watching the love of your life die for the past 100 years is considered good , then you're just as crazy as I thought.” He said. “I didn't sell my soul , I died and went to hell.” he said. “After they killed her , I went crazy; I wanted revenge.” he said. “So I found them , all of them— and I killed them,” he said. “But you said they were trying to rob you, so they were not innocent.”

“they weren't, but there was this rage inside , I killed everyone in that house that night; including myself,” he said. “when I got to hell , he forced me to live through killing 2 innocent people and myself and over.” he said. “until I was begging on my knees for him to stop.” he said. “I told him I'd do anything.” and he turned me into a demon, and sent me here, forced to live out eternity as a slave for the people to whoever found that necklace, in the house I killed those people in.”

“So you killed her?” you asked. “When I'm told to do something, it's like I can't control my body— she forced me to kill an innocent person,” he said. “I was punished that night, he said if I ever killed any innocent person again I would be punished,” he said. “how were you punished?” “That's not important.” He said. “After that I thought she'd stop , then I started hearing her thoughts about killing her caregiver. Her caregiver had a child , 2 daughters and no husband, and she wanted me to kill her, for no reason. I couldn't wait until she told me and I couldn't stop , so I had to do it.” he said , staring off into space. “I had to kill her , so no one else got hurt,” he said, before staring at you. “You look like her when she was younger, I guess I really just hated her that bad.” you didn't say anything, just sat there in silence.

“don't look at me like that,” he said. “with pity, I don't want your pity.” He stood up. “I only told you so you'd stop asking jake.” He said. “I don't need your sympathy.” You sat up fully. “I wasn't going give you any.” You said. “You still tried to kill me.” You said. “and how do i know you aren't lying , demons don't really have a good track record of being truthful.” he grew frustrated, lifting his shirt up. “because this is what happened when I killed your grandfather.” Three long scratches on his chest. “This is what happens when I kill an innocent person.”

“yo-you can't heal them?” he huffed. “don't you think I would if I could?” he scoffed. “What the hell am I doing here? explaining myself to you.” he went to walk away. “no.” you said. “sit down.” He looked at you with anger on his face. “I said sit down.” he moved to the bed, sitting down. “I don't want to be here with you.” He said. “Too bad, because I'm not letting you leave , and I'm keeping the necklace on.” before you could say anything else, he was yanking your legs down , pinning them to the bed. “Fine then I'll do what I came here to do in the first place, the real reason you keep thinking about me.” he climbed on top of you. “to fuck you.”

he pulled down your sleep shorts , leaving you in your underwear. “open your fucking legs.” he growled , pulling your underwear down. “so fucking wet , do you get off on the fact that I don't like you?” you smirked. “wipe that smirk off your face before I shove my dick back down your throat.” his eyes were red , but filled with lust; not anger. “Please , you enjoy that more than I did, I remember you moaning and groaning too well.” He gripped your cheeks. “slut.”

Slapping the inside of your thighs, holding them open. “God you're dripping, you want me to fuck you that bad?” He pulled his cock from his pants. “just hurry up and fuck me.” he roughly shoved himself inside you, both of you moaning out. “shit!” he moaned, moving his hips , holding down your waist , keeping you still as he abused your cunt. “tight fucking cunt , sucking in my cock like a slut.” his hand coming up to your neck. “fu-fuck , please faster.” You moaned , his hips speeding up.

you were so close to cumming, you could feel it— then you felt him slip out of you. “Kee— I know what you're doing, trying to get your way.” he said. “I will gag you to keep that mouth shut if I have to.” he flipped you over; your ass up in the air, pushing your head in the pillow. “stop trying to tell me what to do.” he slammed back into you , you tell as he slapped your ass. “Just shut up and take my cock.”

his movements were lethal; his hip snapping against your ass , watching it bounce back. “fuck sunghoon.” You screamed. “Please let me cum.” he moaned. “fuck, fuck go ahead cum.” he squeezed your ass. “cum all over my cock.” your legs shook as you came , eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucked you through your orgasm. “shit I'm gonna cum , I'm gonna cum inside.” He groaned , “take my fucking cum.” you felt his cum filling you up , his hips twitching as he came. “sh-shit.” he pulled out of you.

“I'm not gonna make you murder anyone.” You said. “I don't think I ever wanted anyone dead.” he looked at you. “Well there was talia in second grade who took my pink crayon.” You thought about it further. “and a few of my ex's , but I wouldn't act on it or force someone else to do it.” you said. “and how do I know that?” He said. “you have to trust me, just how I have to trust that you won't snap and kill me.” You said. “you’re safe for now,” he said. “I can live with that.” you said. “but the next time you ever try to tell me what to do when im fucking you, I will gag you.” you rolled your eyes. “whatever.”

“I'm leaving,” he said. “Jake should be here soon , and I don't want to see him right after this , he'll be sulky for days.” you smiled. “he's cute isn't he?.” he scrunched his nose in disgust. “no, no he is not.” you pouted , then spoke up. “was it you?” you asked. “what are you talking about?” he said. “The one in the mirror on my first with the necklace?” he laughed. “the last thing that day wasn't fucking you or seeing you naked.” he said. “It was murdering you.”

“asshole.” you said, he smirked. “it was jay.” He said. “jay, jake told me he hasn't shown himself for the past 200 years.” he shrugged.

“i guess you're special , congratulations.”

TAGLIST. @deobitful @in-somnias-world @darlingz99 @luvitaria @lost-fantasy @lostinneocity @nalenhypen @heeshlove @kirinaa08 @strxwbloody @ryn000 @neosexuals @sakanelli-afc @yizhoutv @capri-cuntz @lilyuwon @criminalseung @hanhaeji @eggomi @serenijiny @luvvsnae @jakesfurry

©️LUVYENI

[steddieas-shegoes]

shirts off

for @steddieholidaydrabbles warm up round 'summer'

rated m | 966 words | no cw | tags: steve harrington has a big stupid crush on eddie munson, road trip, bad luck turned into a good situation, getting together, friends to lovers, implied sexual content

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

The tire popping was really only the start of the problems on this road trip.

The overwhelming heat and humidity was another.

Steve was trying to convince himself this road trip wasn't doomed, that it was just a short series of bad luck and everything from now on would be perfect. Eddie was grumbling as he tightened the lug nuts on the spare tire.

"You sure you don't need any help?" Steve asked him for the fifth time in as many minutes.

"If you ask me again, I'm leaving you here," Eddie replied, dropping the wrench on the ground and letting out a long sigh. "I'm done anyway. Please tell me there's cold water in the cooler."

Steve opened the cooler in the trunk and grabbed the last bottle of water they had for the road. Their plan was to stock up when they got to the beach, but clearly, they'd been derailed for longer than they hoped.

He handed it to Eddie, who proceeded to dump its entirety over his head.

"That was the last one," Steve said quietly, not wanting to admit that he hadn't planned for the worst.

Eddie looked up at him from the ground before closing his eyes and letting out an unamused laugh.

"We're still three hours away," Eddie complained. "We gotta stop at a gas station or something and grab a couple more. It's too fuckin' hot to not have water."

Steve was too busy staring at the way water was dripping down Eddie's neck to process anything he was saying.

"Hello? Earth to Harrington!" Eddie's fingers were snapping in his face, bringing him back from his daydream. He absolutely planned on blaming it on the heat. "Dude, you dehydrated or something?"

"Uh, yeah. Must be, sorry." Steve picked the wrench up off the ground and threw it in the trunk before slamming it shut and turning back to Eddie, who had his brows raised and an amused smirk on his face. "What?"

"Were you distracted by somethin', Stevie?"

Oh no. He'd gone all summer without Eddie being suspicious of anything. Nearly two months had gone by of Steve hiding his stupid crush that was probably a lot closer to love than he would admit out loud.

"Nope. Just hot," he gave a small smile before turning to the passenger door to open it. It was Eddie's turn to drive.

"I'm pretty hot, too," Eddie stood in his way, arms crossed over her chest. "You know what would probably help?"

Steve shook his head, but he could tell by the way Eddie was standing, so confident and knowing, this was going somewhere he wasn't prepared for.

"Ditching our shirts. Get some air on skin, ya know?"

"Right," Steve gulped. "I think once we get the air conditioner blowing, it'll be better."

"Sure, sure. But I'm all wet, and I wouldn't wanna get your seat wet. Might as well take it off until it's dry."

Steve watched as Eddie lifted his shirt off, throwing it in the open window into the backseat.

"I don't think it'll dry if it's bunched up like that-" Steve gasped as Eddie's hands gripped his hips, chests brushing together as Eddie's breath hit Steve's neck.

"I don't think I care, do you?" Eddie's low voice rumbled against Steve's skin. His lips were right there, grazing his pulse point.

Steve leaned his head back, offering himself up on a silver platter, hoping whatever was happening wasn't some heat-fueled daydream.

"So needy," Eddie groaned before licking a stripe up Steve's neck and nipping at his jaw. "Can't believe you didn't think I'd notice you staring for the last 20 minutes."

"I-" Steve couldn't fucking breathe. Eddie's hands were running up his sides, and his leg was pushing his own legs apart. "Eds, we're on the side of the road."

"A road no one has driven down in the last 20 minutes. It's fine," Eddie still pulled his head back, taking in Steve's ruffled appearance. "I'll stop if you're uncomfortable, though. Nothing we can't do when we get to the motel."

Steve's dick was already hard in his shorts, a fact that Eddie seemed to realize at the same moment as Steve.

"You can use my thigh. Take the edge off," Eddie offered.

"How the fuck am I gonna ride for three more hours in these shorts if I do that?" Steve wasn't completely opposed, he just wanted to see how far Eddie was willing to push.

"With the promise of being able to ride me for three hours when we get there," Eddie shrugged, completely nonchalant with what he was implying.

"Three hours? You think you can last that long?"

"For you? I can last all night, big boy." Eddie pushed his leg forward until it made contact with Steve's cock. "Wanna get one for the road though."

The heat was barely even a thought anymore as Steve rutted forward, knowing he wouldn't last long at all with Eddie's lips sucking a bruise into his shoulder.

He wasn't quiet, didn't even try to hold back.

It was the best thing he'd ever done, and he was still fully clothed.

When they got back in the car, Eddie handed Steve a bottle of water from the backseat. It was room temperature, but still refreshing.

"How long you been hiding water back there?"

"How long you been hiding your crush on me?" Eddie shot back.

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his face to hide his blush. "A while."

"I know, sweetheart." Eddie's hand covered Steve's knee as he pulled back onto the deserted road. "Don't have to anymore, though. I got you."

Steve's head fell back against the seat, turning over to stare at Eddie. He had a post-orgasm glow despite not getting off with Steve.

"Yeah, you do."

[wave2tyun]

gold rush | ☆

pairing: yeonjun x reader

genre: highschool!au, band member!yeonjun, friends to lovers, fluff, slight angst

prompts: “make me”

���mine”

warnings: none!

word count: 2k

a/n: gold rush anon i don't know if you are still around but if you see this by chance i miss you, and this repost goes out to you<33 ily!!!!😔😔✊💞💞

☆ = repost from my old blog!!

• credit to @/kilibae_0913 on twitter for the yeonjun pic!!

“earth to y/n” yeonjun waved his hand in front of your face “are you even listening to me right now?”

“no- yeah” you blurted out “fuck- sorry, can you repeat that again?”

you and yeonjun were sitting in the school’s cafeteria at your usual spot. as much as you loved talking with him, the history test you took earlier had you completely zoning out. you were too stressed wondering whether you actually wrote the correct answers or whether you messed up all the events again.

“ah- cute” he chuckled, putting his arm around your shoulder. this had always been a regular occurrence: a quick compliment muttered underneath his breath, followed by some sort of physical touch. to him- it was probably just normal behavior, he had a pretty charming and flirty persona after all. but to you? the moment those playful remarks leave his mouth, you can feel your cheeks flushing red in anticipation of his next actions. and you hated it- you hated how you had little to no control over how your body would react to his touch or his words, how your feelings are left in plain sight.

“so-“ yeonjun resumed the conversation “i was asking whether you-” he pointed a finger to your face “-are coming to the music festival tonight. our band is playing- the principal signed us up” a proud smile took over his face.

you bit the inside of your cheek. the music festival? it didn’t exactly sound like a great idea. ever since yeonjun’s band had started gaining popularity, people were all over him. it was bad enough that you had to handle this at school: shushed whispers as others saw him talking to you, girls giggling whenever they passed by him in the hallways. everybody wanted him- everybody wondered what it would be like to be loved and adored by choi yeonjun, including you. but you never had the guts to tell him anything. if continuing to be in his presence meant that you were only supposed to remain his friend, then you were content with that.

the music festival would only make you wallow yourself in even more self-pity. people from all over the town were going to attend it, not just students and teachers from your school, and you weren’t sure whether you could handle seeing everybody’s heart eyes upon seeing yeonjun. however, you couldn’t just choose not to go. you had to set your own feelings aside and put his first.

sensing your hesitation, yeonjun cleared his throat before speaking again “you know i’m not taking ‘no’ as an answer- you have to be there, you’re my good luck charm”

“i know, dummy” you sighed “of course i’ll be there” you playfully flicked his forehead, making sure to put on your best smile so that he wouldn’t feel your lingering worries. yeonjun returned the favour, lightly flicking your forehead back, only to rub the spot with his thumb right after, attempting to soothe your pain.

“thank you, i knew i could count on you” he whispered.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“looking for yeonjun?” beomgyu (yeonjun’s bandmate) asked you. you were standing near the backstage entrance. yeonjun had asked you to meet him in their waiting room, but you were unsure whether you were even allowed past this door. you didn’t exactly have valid proof to show the guards that someone wanted you in there.

“yeah, i texted him to come pick me up but he still hasn’t read my messages” you rubbed the nape of your neck.

“that fool- he’s too busy nervously pacing around the room to check his phone. i’ll help you get in- come on” beomgyu offered.

you thanked him, relieved that you didn’t have to put your ‘sneaking in’ skills to the test. you didn’t have much faith in them, cause 2 out of 3 times you’ve done that before you got caught. seeing beomgyu by your side, the guards didn’t question anything, and you made it in safely.

beomgyu knocked on the door only after entering “you’ve got visitors” he said, then turned on his heel, ready to return to what he was previously doing. yeonjun got up from the couch, the frown on his face gone upon seeing you “you’re here” he smiled, opening his arms wide to capture you in his embrace, swinging your body from side to side

“if someone had checked their phone- i could have arrived here even earlier” you complained. you had to think of some way to repay beomgyu after this.

“i’m so sorry about that” yeonjun broke the hug “but i’ve got a good excuse for it” he walked to the couch to rummage through his bag. “and that is?” you questioned him, quirking up an eyebrow.

“i was busy getting you this” yeonjun put a lanyard through your head. it was a vip badge “now you get to enjoy the show from the first row- and i get to look at you from the stage”

there it went again- that rose blush that loved to take over your cheeks. how could he say that so casually? so nonchalantly? you couldn’t help but wonder whether there was truly no meaning behind his actions “thank you, jun” you played with the badge in your hands “are you nervous?”

yeonjun stretched his neck, then his arms, humming “not really, now that i’ve seen you- definitely not” you pushed his shoulders, laughing together at his cheesy words.

“good luck then. i should get going, you probably need to carry on with the preparations” you said.

“see you after the show?” he asked.

“yeah, see you” you repeated, twisting the doorknob to take your leave.

the venue was starting to get pretty crowded, although it was still quite early. you had your own spot secured, thanks to yeonjun’s little trick. not knowing many others from around you, you scrolled through your phone until the lights dimmed down, the quiet murmurs being replaced by loud cheers. the host’s voice erupted loudly from the speakers: “coming in hot from woolim high school to kick off our night- tomorrow x together”

people’s screams were getting increasingly louder as the five boys got on stage, almost making your ears bleed. you were seriously debating whether you should have brought earplugs with you or not. yeonjun took his place at the mic stand in the center, electric guitar hanging from his shoulders.

“is everybody ready for tonight?” yeonjun asked the crowd, his question being met with an overwhelming enthusiasm from the crowd “let’s get this started then- taehyun, drop the beat” he shouted.

you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him perform, yeonjun was exactly in his element. nobody there could deny it, the place where he belonged to be was the stage. even song after song, his energy didn’t seem to drop, not one single bit, the venue almost burning from his passion.

his hair fell into place like dominos, body glistening under the golden spotlight. god- what must it be like to grow up that beautiful? that question continued to run through your mind with each passing moment, and it didn’t seem like you were the only one experiencing that. you looked around, noticing how everybody’s eyes were glued on yeonjun, screaming, fawning over him, begging him to take their phones and film like he did to others. they desperately wanted to gain, in some sort of way, his attention. you didn’t exactly understand the feeling that was beginning to take over you. you couldn’t even pin-point it. jealousy? disappointment? the realisation that in a room full of people that wanted him, there would be slim chances that he’d pick you, was beginning to settle in.

everything was starting to get all too overwhelming, in a way, suffocating. you couldn’t bear to stay in there, even though txt’s setlist was close to ending. pushing through the crowd, you struggled to get out of the massive swarm of people. you somehow managed to get outside, breathing in the night’s crisp air slowly.

‘fuck’

you left your bag in the band’s waiting room. you glanced over at your watch, praying that you had enough time to get in and out of there without bumping into yeonjun. you didn’t know how long it would take him to notice you missing.

luckily, that same guard that you saw with beomgyu was still standing at the backstage entrance. knowing that you were a familiar face, and noticing your badge as well, he allowed you to walk past after explaining your situation. you also slipped in a little lie, saying that you were feeling unwell and had to go back home quickly, just to make sure that he wouldn’t get in your way.

your eyes frantically scanned the room, searching for the small black bag that you had brought along with you. it was placed neatly on the coat hanger. you reached out to take it, your body freezing on the spot after hearing the door open. yeonjun abruptly entered the room. he placed his hands on his knees, panting as he was struggling to breathe properly. it seemed like he ran to get there right after the last performance “are you leaving?” he asked, chest heaving “why? are you okay- did something happen?”

you put your hand down, your gaze shifting from his face to the floor. you gulped- you got caught. you knew that you were supposed to face him again, one way or another, but you weren’t prepared to do it tonight, not when your head was such a big mess "i can't be around you" you admitted. every single part of your body didn’t want to be there, in that situation. your words received a frown from yeonjun. he was confused, he didn’t know why you were saying that all of a sudden "why?" he probed on further, coming closer to you. "you know why” your voice trailed off, eyes searching everywhere except for his own “you just fail to accept it. recognize it"

“then do it” yeonjun took another step closer “help me understand so i can accept it” he wrapped your hand in both of his, bringing it close to his chest. you looked at the way he was holding on to you, stopping you from simply running away from him. you shook your head, trying to swallow the heavy lump that was forming in your throat. you couldn’t find the strength to explain your feelings out loud. “why?” he repeated once more, still not satisfied with your answers “i want you to do it. if you want me to accept it- make me” yeonjun spoke softly, thumb rubbing the back of your hand “why won’t you let your heart control your actions for once instead of your mind?”

his words kept ringing in your mind, each time winning a little bit more over the thoughts that had been relentlessly holding you back. you blinked away the tears forming in your eyes, slowly retracting your hand away from yeonjun’s, his smile starting to fade. “please don’t hate me after this” you whispered, placing your hands on his shoulders as you rose to the tips of your feet, capturing his lips in a short peck. yeonjun’s lips lingered, barely 1 cm away from yours, curving up into a smile. his hands found their way on your waist, holding you close to him “i’ve always wanted to do this with you” he chuckled, dipping his head down for more. his kiss was tentative and slow. it felt tender, yet full of passion, like he was pouring all of his bottled up feelings through this delicate touch “mine” he whispered in between “i want to call you mine”

this time, his words didn’t make heat rise only to your cheeks. instead, you felt warmth spread throughout your whole body. your hands cupped his cheeks and you reached out for another kiss “i’m all yours” you muttered against his lips. you rested your forehead against his, the close proximity not letting your palpitating heart calm down, not even for one bit. but you enjoyed it, you loved the way it felt to have his body close to you, to finally have him truly own your heart, and you owning his.

the door opened briefly, then got slammed shut just one second after, startling both you and yeonjun “i told you he’d kiss her” beomgyu shouted at his members.

taglist: @huekalover3000 @maybabe00 @sunoooism @boba-beom @ujisworld

[carmenized-onions]

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

[ninyard]

i am in my renee and andrew besties 4eva era rn (when am i not honestly..) and was wondering if u have any headcanons u’d like to share about them? <3 i love ur brain dude!!

Here’s something:

After thanksgiving, when Andrew has returned from Easthaven, he invites Renee for a sparring session. Renee agrees, and everyone tells her to be careful, that he’s different, that he’s unmedicated and scary and if she thinks she’s in danger she needs to yell for help. She thanks them for their concern with a tight smile and tries to hold back an unfortunately bitter eye roll when her back turns to them. Her and Andrew find their way to wherever it is they usually spar - an empty room? A parking lot?

But when they get there, Andrew doesn’t start. He usually does, with some annoying move that almost always trips her up, but this time he stands in front of her with this blank and bored look in her eyes.

Are you okay? She thinks, but she knows she can’t say it out loud.

The thing about Renee and Andrew, in my opinion, why they work, is they each can recognise themselves in each other. Renee can read Andrew better than he probably thinks that she can, and she gathered a lot about his past purely from insinuations and little comments made here and there. I don’t think she knew who Drake was, but when she heard what happened, and she heard foster father, and she heard Luther’s name mentioned, she knows exactly what the history is there. Andrew doesn’t open up to her like he does to Bee or Neil, but he does share with her the scrapings off the top of his story. When she shared her past with him, she saw the look in his eyes, the shadow that passed over his gaze, and knew what had happened to him. She knew what his questioning meant, the curiosity he held over the things she'd been through. The pieces fit together perfectly, in her opinion, the pieces that told her exactly why Andrew trusted her so much once she'd told him.

“Good or bad?” Renee asks him. She’s talking about Easthaven, his time there, but he doesn’t quite catch on. He rolls his wrist in a circular motion to gesture for her to continue. “The hospital.”

“Bad,” he says. “They weren’t very good at their jobs.”

Renee feels her heart in her throat at his monotonous and unemotional delivery. She also sees that look in his eyes again, this time unsheltered and unprotected by the cloud of medicated mania that usually covered it up.

“Power trip or opportunity?” She asks.

She knows all too well how it feels to be poorly treated by medical staff or authorities as someone who frequently ran into both in her youth. Andrew seems to understand her question, and runs his finger over the lightly raised outline of a knife beneath his arm bands.

"Both and neither." Andrew says. His eyes are tired, and for just a moment Renee finds herself almost... startled? For just a moment, it feels as if she is looking into the eyes of a stranger, stood in front of him, with no smile on his face and no wild look in his eyes. Renee realises that she's never seen Andrew like this before.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks, as she’s prepping herself or tying up her hair. She notices how he hesitates.

Andrew doesn’t say anything, but still he doesn’t pursue the start of a fight. He doesn’t step forward to start the session, so Renee doesn’t start either.

“I get it, if you wanted to,” Renee offers, and Andrew looks at her, and his face says I’m not sure that you do. “I know you’ll talk to Betsy. I’m just offering an ear if you need to get anything off your chest.”

“Are you against killing medical professionals?” He says as he shakes himself out to take position. Renee smiles as she matches him.

“I’m against killing anybody these days,” she laughs. “But no, not if they deserved it. Keep that one between us.”

They fight for a while, but Andrew runs out of energy slightly quicker than usual. Renee wishes she could see something in him, some answer, some feeling now that his feelings were finally his own again, but each time she catches his eyes she is only met with this vast emotionless void. Renee naively hopes that with each step he takes, each fist he throws, that maybe he will finally be angry. Looking at him, knowing what he'd been through, imagining what had happened in Easthaven, she wishes he would scream and curse the world for the way it had treated him. It was a thought born from the old Renee, that much was clear. A thought founded in spite and revenge, born from fiery resentment and anger. Renee thinks Andrew deserves to kill each and every person who has felt entitled to him and his body. She would tuck her cross necklace beneath her blouse and go to confession afterwards, but she also knows she'd be right there with him.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for 🦄 behind the cut; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Um, yeah,” Billy repeats, shrugging awkwardly. “And–you know, you need sun, right? Like for your powers and stuff so you'll be safer on missions, but also, um–Kryptonians just really like it, I think. Well, okay, I dunno if you know if you like it yet, but Superman definitely does. He spends a lot of time in it. So–windows.” 

Lynn . . . swallows, slowly, and tightens his grip on Tawky a little bit again. Billy wonders if that means he wants a hug. Lynn's still a baby, technically–he might not know how hugging really works in real life, or just not know how to ask for one when he needs one. 

Or just not know he's allowed to ask for one when he needs one. 

Or just wants, obviously. 

“I like it,” Lynn says very, very quietly, and Billy can't help perking up excitedly at hearing that. 

“Awesome!” he blurts, then clears his throat and tries to reel himself in and settle down a little more. “Um–awesome, yeah. Cool. I'm glad.” 

Lynn doesn’t say anything else, but he loosens his grip on Tawky a little. Billy still wonders if he wants a hug, but he really doesn’t know how to tell. 

. . . well, he guesses there’s the obvious option. 

“Hey,” he says, leaning forward a little to peer a little closer at Lynn’s face while trying not to be, like, pushy about it. Lynn’s just hard to read, that’s all, and he doesn’t wanna mess up with him. “Do you want a hug or anything?” 

Lynn’s shoulders immediately stiffen, and Billy represses a wince. 

“You don’t have to,” he puts in quickly. “Just, um–I didn’t know if you knew you could have one? If you ever do? Like–that’s a normal thing to want. And, you know . . . do? And . . . stuff?” 

Billy is very, very bad at this, isn’t he, he realizes, trying not to cringe at how awkward and lame he sounds right now. Like–babies need touched and carried and hugged, and really everybody does, but he definitely could’ve made that offer way less weird-sounding. Just–he really doesn’t trust that Cadmus told Lynn that kind of thing was okay or important or ever would be okay or important, so . . . yeah. So he said it.

Just he said it very, very awkwardly and lamely. 

Lynn is totally never gonna think he’s a cool dad, is he, Billy thinks morosely. He’s gonna think he’s uncool and weird and boring and– 

Lynn . . . hesitates, slightly, and Billy gets distracted from worrying about Lynn deciding he sucks and peers at him again. Lynn looks conflicted, and Billy’s not sure what to say to him. 

“It really is fine if you don’t want one,” he promises finally, because it’s the best idea he’s got. “Just it’s also fine if you do want one, and I kinda, uh, didn’t know if you knew that or not.” 

“. . . okay,” Lynn says, which still isn’t really a helpful answer but is also still better than a lie. Billy can work with noncommittal. Like, he’d much rather do a little extra work to figure out what Lynn’s okay with than accidentally upsetting or hurting him 

Lynn probably doesn’t even know what he’s okay with yet, in a lot of ways. How could he, when everything’s still so new and strange? 

“You could hug Tawky, if you want,” Billy suggests. Lynn’s already been petting him, kinda, so maybe he’s more comfortable with touching him than he is him right now. Which makes sense, really. Tawky is really huggable, and also, like . . . sometimes it’s just less intimidating to hug somebody who looks like a stuffed animal at the time and also isn’t currently a lot bigger than you, Billy knows. Like–that’s definitely been a thing for him, a lot of times. 

. . . honestly, he’s not sure who the last person besides Tawky he even hugged was, come to think of it. Some people hugged him, because they were grateful he’d saved them and all, but–yeah. That’s . . . different, obviously. Not as . . . comforting, or comfortable, or . . . anything like that. 

And if Lynn’s never gotten a hug before–well. Yeah. 

Tawky’s a good start, Billy knows. Like–really good. 

“. . . I don’t know how,” Lynn says, his tone just a little–distant, maybe. Or . . . guarded, maybe. 

“Oh, it’s not hard,” Billy assures him, then picks up one of the throw pillows off the couch and demonstrates, wrapping his arms around it to squeeze a little. “You just wrap your arms around somebody and squeeze, kinda. I mean, you’re gonna have to be careful not to do it too hard with baseline humans and all, but Tawky’s tough!” 

And, well–he’s pretty sure Lynn couldn’t hug him hard enough to hurt him, at least not ‘til he grows up a little more or gets a little more sun in him. But he doesn’t wanna push, so he doesn’t say that.

[pixiiipie]

Hi there, me again. 😅 so I’ve recently become obsessed with Sampo from HSR and I don’t really see a whole lot of writings for him. So, I figured I’d request it. It can be subby or just platonic, I genuinely don’t mind.

to betray my customers, i charge extra~

includes || sub!sampo | dom!reader | gn!reader | reader described as having a cock but could be seen as a strap | reader is a little mean but the ending is sweet | sampo is called a slut and whore | reader is called master | sampo has a crush on reader (u probs do look at him <3) not proofread!!

hello you :) i’m so so glad you’ve finally discovered sampo he was one of my first characters when but i stopped playing after i got kafka. so, i’m hoping my quick refresh of content will help me write this. obviously, we gotta fuck this sweet boy <3

“if that is all you require of the esteemed sampo koski, then i shall be taking my leave.” sampo said in his usual manner and flair, even going so far as to kiss your knuckle with a wink. he’d just finished carrying out some jobs for you and was only sticking around to collect the remainder of his payment. half now and half when the job was finished of course.

“until next time, tah-rah~!” with a bow, sampo turned to leave before your voice cut through his theatrics.

“wait.” you called, plain and simple but halting him immediately. the relationship you and sampo had was… complicated to say the least. you were well acquainted to the point where he’d complete tasks you’d assign him to for a much cheaper price than he’d charge others and even not charge you at all for smaller, easier things (maybe he’d try his charm and ask for a kiss instead- which you’d always indulge him in). truthfully, he was absolutely infatuated with you. sampo would do anything for you even if you refused payment.

“my dear sampo,” you began. your voice, although seemingly sweet, was laced with poison. sampo couldn’t help but take an unnatural deep breath trying not to show he was nervous and remain cocky. “i heard a little something from someone that piqued my interest. word travels fast as you must know.” you closed the gap between the two of you where you could just about feel his breath on you.

“ah that’s probably just some gossip to pass the time. you know how bored and lifeless people get. even i’ve spread a few rumours to liven things up and i’m preeetty sure they’re still going strong. meaningless chatter my darling y/n, meaningless chatter.” sampo mused trying to avoid whatever you’ve said coming into light and potentially screwing him over.

“a little birdie told me, that you encourage betrayal of your customers as long as they pay extra.” you say mindlessly playing with a longer strand of his hair.

“well- now now i wouldn’t say i encourage it per say and that doesn’t go for everyone i do business with. for instance! sampo koski would never do anything that goes against you that’s just plain wrong and against my moral code.” sampo explains although it comes out a little faster than he’d liked. you wondered just how many close calls he’s had if he’s this bad at excuses.

“you’re a bad liar sampo.” you whisper in his ear taking note on how his breath hitches and he presses his lips together. “and, so is your body. what’s this?” you adjust your knee so it’s pressed lightly over his growing bulge which, in turn, made sampo gasp sharply and immediately cover his mouth. “just.. just very happy to see my favourite customer.” sampo tries to play it off with a wink but to no avail. his voice was failing him pitifully.

“hmm how about an exchange for this new information? you keep me protected in exchange for me helping you out.” it was almost as if you had swapped roles. with one hand, you held his face and kept him looking at you while the other snuck through a gap in his clothes to hold his waist. sampo was desperately trying to hold onto his snark but it was hard when he wanted needed this moment that he’d been so patiently waiting for. “exchange gladly accepted.” he said with a smile taking your waist and pressing you against him more.

———

“oh sampo i can tell why everyone keeps coming back to you.” you say adjusting his legs so you can reach even deeper into him. sampo was seeing stars, blown away by the fact his fantasies were finally coming true. he’ll easily keep coming back to you for more than jobs now he’s had a taste of your cock. a taste wasn’t enough to describe this it was more a five course meal he’d never become full from.

“mgghh-! f-fuck mmMhmhmhm! no one can qui-quite get enoughhh offf- aH-! sah-sampo mmM-!” sampo moaned trying to fulfil your request and put on a show for you. he was stripped of all his clothes apart from his top, which lay undone but still over his arms underneath him, and lay on his back taking your cock like such a good boy. as instructed by you, his was to keep his hands pressed under his back.

“i wonder… do you do this with many people mr cold feet?” you ask slowing your movements to allow him to think. sampo only nodded with an attempt at a smirk between whimpers. this was only half true. sure, he’d fucked around a little for information but it was never like this. a quick handjob under a table, head in an ally but he was never on the receiving end.

“i thought as much. you’re never fully satisfied are you, whore?” your last word stung but sampo was quickly learning that he had a thing for pain. “you do remember why i’m doing this don’t you sampo?”the switch to his name caught him off guard and he’s not sure if he was turned on or disappointed by this. again, he nodded. “use your words.” you swore he whimpered at your change of tone and it was difficult for him not to cum from this. “s-so i’ll hnnngg-! i’ll protect y-ya!” sampo squirmed as your hands carelessly roamed his body and grazed over his nipples.

“mm almost,” you began as you leaned towards him, talking into his ear. “it’s easy for you to say you’ll protect me but how can i know you definitely will? if i have this dirt on you, it’ll make it that bit harder for you to betray me.” you punctuate your words with harsh thrusts that probably made it harder for him to understand and take in what you were saying. “nn-no ne-aH-! never hnnggh betray y-you! neva-ah! m-masterrrr” sampo almost cries, wishing he never made that stupid slogan for some extra cash.

“but look at how well you take me. makes me think that even if i did expose you, you’d like it. everyone would know what a slut mr cold feet is and they’d all want a turn with you and fuck you like the whore you’re clearly proving to be.” to compliment your words, you lazily dragged your hand up and down his aching cock causing him to buck into your hand and almost curl in on himself.

sampo doesn’t want you to tell everyone but only because he only wants you to fuck him like this! he wants to prove that he can be a good boy and allow the chance that maybe you’ll do this to him again. you’re the only master he wants and he would never betray his master. it was all too much. sampo was almost at his limit.

“plu-pluheeseee g’nnah c-cumm hnnggg!” desperate to reach his high, sampo began subconsciously grinding onto you and trying to match your thrusts to force you deeper inside. watching him, you grab his hips and help him working faster and deeper inside. “such a polite boy. everyone likes a good boy don’t they?” you ask wondering how foggy his head has gotten.

“mmgnmmm! g-good boy ‘mma g’boyyy.” he almost shouts as if he was trying to prove your previous points wrong. “you’ve satisfied your customer greatly sampo. you can cum.” you say pressing a kiss to his cheek where a tear was running down.

“thhh-thaahnk you!” he slurred over and over as he came over his stomach with a high pitched whine. you gently helped him ride out his orgasm and watched how his hands dug into the blankets underneath him. he really was good. they never moved from where you instructed him to keep them. before you pulled out though, you had to do one more thing. you took your phone and held it above him, making sure to capture the full image of sampo lay blissed out, covered in his own cum and with a cock buried deep in his ass.

“smileee.” you say almost mimicking his usual sing song voice. to your surprise, he followed your instructions and even stuck out his tongue to sell the image more. leaning down to kiss his chewed up lips, you tell him that you were only kidding as you slowly and carefully pull out. it was only to make him believe that you really had dirt on him and it wasn’t another rumour. it would make him think twice before doing anything knowing that you had a picture of him in this state (and probably download so he could never truly delete every trace of it).

“you’d let me?” you ask moving some stray strands of hair out of his eyes and letting your hand rest on his cheek. sampo only nodded and kissed your palm. “i want you to trust that i would never betray you.” his voice (although a little hoarse) was serious and a stark contrast to his usual tone. “if havin’ that will give you peace of mind, that’s okay.” he smiles up at you with genuine earnest. “you’ll never have the chance to use it anywhos.”

“you’re m’favourite customer. i only want you. i love you.”

“pleasure doing business with you sampo, my good boy”

if you enjoyed, please consider liking or even reblogging! any kind of interaction let’s me know that you liked this and gives me motivation to write more. make sure to follow to stay up to date with all my thoughts <3

[astralphobia]

anyone else think of how terrifying sock opera must have been for mabel

like

when bipper’s looking down at her with that shit-eating grin, holding the rope?? Yk, that iconic scene??

Yeah, I can’t imagine how Mabel must have felt or how many nightmares sprung from that.

just. Imagine with me, okay? You’re twelve. You have a twin brother who’s been there for you your whole life, and always has your best interest at heart. He’s given up so much for you, and you’ve tried your best to help him in return, helping him solve mysteries and engaging in the things he enjoys with him. You don’t have to do that, but you do, because you want him to be happy.

And one day, something odd happens. He hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep lately, so maybe it’s just sleep deprivation! Maybe he’s just. ..Acting so oddly,, because he’s tired!

yeah. That’s it. At least he wants to help you with your crush for once, even if he wanted to focus on that laptop earlier. You feel kinda bad about ignoring it, but c’monnnn!! This guy is. So hot. You can’t help yourself! .. probably.

When you’re almost halfway through your attempt to impress this guy, this.. puppet you made starts floating, talking to you in the voice of your brother, telling you that he did something stupid (made a deal), and his body is currently being possessed by this triangle jerk you encountered earlier in the summer.

… kinda a lot to take in, but hey!! At least you know what was off now. .. wow, you’re kind of a bad sister for not noticing, huh?

anyways, he needs your help! But it could totally ruin your chances with this guy…. But that doesn’t matter, he needs your help. This only happened because you didn’t help him earlier, so you gotta help him now, right??

you rush to find the only thing that could possibly help you in this scenario. The journal.

And when you do find it, well..

even though you know that is not your brother, that’s a demon, possessing your brother’s body.. it still looks like him. And never have you felt such utter horror, such primal fear at the sight of a simple grin, ear. to. ear.

seeing him above you, standing on the catwalk makes you feel small, useless, insignificant.

and the expression on his face is one you hope you never see his facial features contort into again.

And he’s holding onto the rope that could mean the difference between life or death for you, the rope that is holding you and the wooden cake in the air. You’re lucky he caught it in the first place.

He could drop it any time he wants. Let go any time he wants. And he does, briefly, toying with you.

When your eyes widen and fear squeezes at your heart, he laughs at your pathetic, meaningless actions.

and even though you know it isn’t your brother. You know it’s not him, it’s not him, it’s not, it’s not…

And yet. It sounds like him. His laugh. The little one he makes whenever you make a silly joke, or fall over dramatically, possibly at the expense of your dignity. The one you have heard so many times, usually just as innocent and sweet as the last. And now you hear it again, and even if it’s something else laughing through him,, you can’t help but hear it. Tainted with ill intent.

The day does get saved, however. Your brother gets back into his own body not too much later. And everything is back to normal!

….. but.

You can’t help but remember that moment whenever he smiles a bit too wide, or laughs a bit too hard.

You can’t help but stay awake at night, replaying that moment. Telling yourself that it wasn’t him.

And you still have nightmares about it, too. Where you don’t notice until it’s too late and that thing that looks and sounds like him but isn’t him is back and this time you’ve lost, you’ve lost, you’ve lost!

..you wish you were a better sister.

[milkweedman]

hello! need help learning how to do a thing and it's your area of expertise so im squirrelling into your ask box (dad joke, sorry.) ANYWAY

i have a lot of jeans that i really really like. however, my most worn jeans tend to, uh. rip in the seat after some time. either near the ass, or at the crotch. this is super irritating, and i don't like tossing the jeans just because of that but i have no idea how to fix them or what to do about this.

i vaguely remember you posting on here about jeans wear and tear as well. sorry if im asking you something that you have already answered, but just wanted to know - what's a good way of mending jeans ripped in the crotch area?

better yet, how do i reinforce my jeans that are showing the warning signs of ripping at the crotch?

My jeans literally just ripped a couple days ago and ive been wearing sweatpants to work out if laziness, so you have good timing 🐿

There might be many ways to do this (and there's definitely NEATER ways to do this) but here's how I fix mine:

They just sort of wore right through. Luckily I was able to catch it before they started ripping too. The sooner you catch a hole the better--and noticing before it rips is best.

You will need a sewing needle (for jeans I like the shortest sharpest needle with a small eye but use whatever needle is comfortable), scissors, a strip of scrap fabric, and some thread. Ideally thread in the same color as your jeans, but I'm using one that will stand out so you can see the repair. Also, nobody will see this later so it doesn't really matter. Pins will also help keep things neat but aren't strictly necessary.

The strip of fabric should be big enough to cover the entire area that wears out, doubled over, on this leg. You can of course just patch the hole, but then you'll grow a new hole a centimeter to the left, so its less work to just do this now.

For preventative measures (sewing a patch on before there is a hole) the process is exactly the same. Just patch the area you know will wear out.

Step 1: turn the pants inside out. fold your patch and pin it in place. We want a doubled patch because a single layer might wear through as well. If you don't have pins, you can use a spare needle or just set it over the repair site.

Like so. If you want these to look nice, keep everything neat and straight. I just want these mended and don't care how it looks one iota, so mine will be messy.

Step 2: thread your needle with doubled thread. A single thread can and probably will wear through here.

Step 3: put your non dominant hand down the leg you're fixing. Your hand should be under the patch supporting while you sew. If you have an embroidery hoop or something leg-sized to put there to hold things taut, that's even better.

Step 4: start sewing the patch down. First we just want to secure it before we do any reinforcing. You could use any stitch here ( whipstitch would probably be good, backstitch is good as well) but I just use a simple running stitch. Go around the entire patch, removing pins if present as you go. Keep your stitches loose here, or at least not tight.

Step 5: reinforcing ! This part can be done on either side, and the front is going to look way neater than the back. If this is in matching thread I'd go ahead and work on the inside because the messy outside won't be seen. If it's contrasting thread you may want to work on the outside, so that at least you have a good pattern. I don't care either way, so I'll work on the inside as it's a little easier. Like I said, this repair really won't be seen when wearing the pants, so the aesthetics aren't very important imo.

To reinforce, I will stitch plus signs/x's over the entire patch. You can do them one at a time or sew all the horizontal lines, then sew vertically to intersect. It's up to you, I like doing them one at a time though.

Yes, they're very bad. Yes this will still extend the life of these pants several months at least. Yes it would be even more effective if I took the time to be neater.

On top on the right image is the patch I did on the other side when they started shredding 5 or 6 months ago. The fabric on the front is only just now starting to fail again, so they will need another round of mending. I will probably extend the patch down the leg a little but mostly just sew more. When you add a layer of thread over fabric, now you have to wear through all of the thread before you start wearing down the fabric again. That's largely how these patches work.

A much much neater and more aesthetic form of this basic idea is sashiko sewing. It's a great way to mend things like jeans (I just don't care about my jeans being anything other than usable so I save my effort and creativity for where I will enjoy it).

Here's the front. I highly doubt anyone will ever see the yellow but I sharpied it black (can also do blue on most shades of blue jeans) and now it stands out less.

One last thing--if, when you look at the front again, you see there are some damaged areas standing proud, sew over those until they have compacted back down and are smooth again. This is important--whatever stands the highest will wear first. So your repairs should be sitting on top, standing higher than the damaged fabric. Otherwise this is all for naught.

Some tips:

A canvas fabric is better. Go for something thick and with some weight to it if you can--immobilizing the repair site will also help some with how long the repair will last.

Similarly colored thread will render this almost invisible. Almost invisible means hard to work on... so make sure your patch is a different color so you're not mending like black thread on black fabric. Save your eyes.

Smaller stitches are better if you have the time/coordination. Large stitches can snag in the wash and also aren't as effective here.

That said, chicken scratch looking garbage will absolutely still make your pants wearable again, as you can see.

If the physical act of moving the needle is going terribly, it's because it's the wrong needle for the job. For jeans, you want a short needle as thin as possible with a small eye. I switched halfway thru this mend because I found a better needle and it was way easier after that.

That's all I got, good luck with your pants ! I usually can double or triple my jeans life this way

[bigsexiest]

Phantom x Swiss sad fic w comfort at the end

For some reason, I was feeling angsty today, and Phantom is such a sad little sop to me.

word count: 2.1k

Summary: Phantom thinks he's been forgotten when the other ghouls are preoccupied with their friends, so he hides away. Swiss figures out he's missing and goes to find him.

When all the touring ghouls returned to the ministry, they were met with hugs and tearful “I missed you”s. Even Aurora, anxious about being left out, was dragged along by Cirrus and Cumulus to meet Sunshine. Phantom wanted so badly to run over with Rain and Dew to meet Aether, but he didn’t want to intrude. And anyway, if they wanted him to follow they would’ve asked.

He watched as Swiss walked over to the ghoulettes, immediately falling into friendly banter as if they’d never been separated at all. Phantom stood awkwardly to the side, wondering if anyone was going to turn around and invite him into their circles.

As the groups of ghouls started leaving, Phantom was struck with a feeling of deja vu. When he had first joined the tour, he had been freshly summoned in the ministry and then quickly shipped away with Aurora to start his job. Aurora was sweet to him, but he yearned for a pack. Dew making a point to ignore him was painful, but the ambivalence of the other ghouls was heartbreaking. They all eventually warmed to him, but Phantom still wondered if they harbored the same feelings about him.

He wondered if he could do anything to make them mad. Something that would make them so mad that they began ignoring him again. The thoughts hurt him, but they also gave him comfort. Whenever he did something bad, he used the thoughts to make himself feel better. It helped to picture the worst thing that could ever happen and know that whatever did happen would most likely be better comparatively. 

Phantom knew he hadn’t done anything bad. At least, he thought he hadn’t. Rationally, he knew the other ghouls were probably preoccupied with greeting old friends, and they’d find him eventually. He hoped.

In the back of his mind, though, a thought had started to chip away at his resolve. A small voice growing louder the longer he stood watching all the other happy ghouls. It grew angrier as more ghouls left the room with their friends, probably looking for a place to snuggle and catch up on lost time. 

The voice was telling him he was worthless. The voice was calling Phantom whiny, and bothersome. That none of the ghouls actually liked him, they only put up with him because they felt bad for him.

Phantom started to believe the voice. He had understood why Dew had gone to Aether, and he had expected Swiss to go with Aurora, they had become rather close. But he thought maybe Rain would show him around the place. It was a large building and Phantom did feel a little overwhelmed. But no, all the ghouls had found their closest pack members and Phantom was left alone on the outskirts. 

Phantom didn’t want to bother anyone asking for directions to the ghoul den. Instead, he decided to walk through the halls until either he found it or found somewhere cozy to hide. 

He just wanted somewhere dark where he could wallow in his own loneliness. He knew eventually someone must come looking for him. But he’d started to wonder how long that would take. How long until someone noticed he wasn’t standing in the background like he always was. 

He wanted to cry. Phantom just wanted a space where he could disappear for a while and not have to worry about anything. He wanted a space where nothing could hurt him, for at least a few hours. He’d probably fall asleep and feel better once he’d woken up. It had been a long drive back to the ministry and he was probably just being dramatic.

Once he had found a sufficient storage room mostly empty apart from a few large boxes, he happily shut the door behind him and climbed into a small cabinet. It was long enough for him to curl up comfortably, but it was still snug enough to offer him the support he wanted. He felt safe enough to let go of his composure.

Phantom let his limbs fall free of the tension that had been straining him and the tears he had been holding back fell. He let all of the loud sobs escape. His tail came up between his legs and the small spade at it’s tip slipped into his mouth, giving him more comfort. He drifted off into a deep sleep, hugging himself tightly.

Swiss had been enjoying his lunch with the girls. He was starving from the ride home. Aurora was an easy friend for Sunshine, since they both had the same job. Swiss was purring with satisfaction that the little air ghoulette had warmed up so nicely with the others. He had been worried for the new ghouls. He knew firsthand how scary it could be meeting new people.

He had been wondering about Phantom. Swiss thought he saw the little quintessence ghoul following Rain and Dew to Aether, but he had lost sight of him as the girls were introducing Aurora to Sunshine. He was sure they must’ve shown him around the ministry first rather than taking him straight to the dining hall. Technically there was a kitchen in the ghoul den, but the ghouls sometimes found it easier just to visit the ministry dining hall and eat with the humans.

Swiss had decided to put it out of his mind and to focus on the food in front of him. There was no reason to worry, so he happily took another bite and listened to the story Sunshine was telling about Aether. It was something funny, but Swiss immediately forgot about it when he saw Dew, Aether, and Rain walk into the room noticeably without Phantom. His brow furrowed and he waited for them to pass by to stand up and walk with them. 

Dew was less holding Aether’s hand than hanging off his entire arm, but Rain was just casually holding onto Aether’s right hand. Swiss grabbed onto Rain’s free hand.

“Hey guys,” Swiss wanted to be direct, but still friendly, “nice to see you Aether, what happened to Phantom?”

Rain stopped walking and turned his head to look at Swiss. “I thought you were gonna show him around.” He looked concerned. Aether and Dew had also stopped and looked over. Dew looked puzzled.

“No, I thought I saw him walking in with you guys, I was busy with Aurora.” Swiss was very confused. If none of the guys had shown him around, where was he now? 

Swiss figured Phantom could’ve figured out the way to the den on his own, but the thought didn’t make him feel great. The ministry was a big place, and the little bug could’ve gotten lost. Even if he did find his way to the den, how would he know which room was his? Swiss hoped his room smelled enough like him so the little ghoul could find it to hide away there until Swiss arrived.

“I saw him standing near you guys, I thought he was just waiting for you to finish introducing Aurora to Sunshine.” Dew stepped towards Swiss away from Aether. His voice sounded worried, but Swiss felt a flash of anger towards the fire ghoul. If he had seen Phantom by himself, why hadn’t he chosen to include the little bug?

But then Swiss saw the way Aether leaned forward to place a comforting hand on Dew’s shoulder. Of course Dew wasn’t paying attention to Phantom. He had just been reunited with his mate.

“I’m sure someone found him, everyone knows you guys returned today.” Aether was always good with reassurance, and Swiss could feel a touch of quintessence magic helping to calm him down. Now wasn’t the time to get angry, now was the time to find Phantom.

Aether, Dew, and Rain had agreed to help Swiss find Phantom. Aether separated from them to go find Omega to let him know Phantom was missing just in case someone brought him to the infirmary. 

Rain offered to check the ghoul den. If Phantom wasn’t there, there was a possibility another ghoul had seen him somewhere.

That left Dew and Swiss to search the rest of the ministry. Dew was going to check the upper levels quickly, while Swiss spent more time on the ground level. Phantom was more likely to either stay on the ground level than go upstairs.

Swiss was making swift progress through the rooms. The ones in use by humans or ghouls were easy, everyone fell victim to his easy charm and let him know they hadn’t seen any quintessence ghouls.

He had been trying to use his nose, looking for the little ghoul’s sweet citrus scent. Occasionally he thought he’d get a whiff, but then he’d immediately lose it amongst the other scents. He wished his nose was as good as Dew’s or Cirrus’s. It was his hearing that was much more sensitive.  

It was a good thing he had both of these senses. When he entered a small dark storage room, he wouldn’t have thought anything of the largely barren place, but something was off. The place smelled of Phantom, but it had faded in intensity. The scent was still present, but it wasn’t as bright as it normally was. Swiss wished he had spent more time telling Phantom how addicting he smelled. Swiss could spend days with his nose against Phantom’s neck, just huffing it in. He couldn’t decide if it smelt more like limes or lemons, and on some days it threw Swiss for a loop by being more orange-ish. He loved it.

The scent wasn’t the only giveaway. Swiss could also hear soft snoring coming from a cabinet at the end of the room.

Swiss quickly went to the cabinet and opened it up slowly, not wanting to startle Phantom. The little quintessence ghoul was sleeping curled into himself, facing away from Swiss. He noticed Phantom’s tail was tucked and he had his claws tightly clutching into his shoulders. It was an obvious attempt at self-soothing.

Swiss wanted so badly to grab the little ghoul and just hold him. He had really fucked up. As badly as Swiss wanted to comfort the ghoul, he was also worried about Phantom’s state of mind when he would awaken. What if Phantom didn’t want comfort? What if Phantom was angry? Swiss was ready to accept whatever responsibility fell to him. He would happily grovel in sorrow at the feet of Phantom. It was all his fault.

Swiss decided to rip off the bandaid and wake up the sleeping ghoul. Sitting on his knees in front of the cabinet, he reached out a hand to softly shake Phantom’s shoulder.

At first the quintessence ghoul didn’t respond. Eventually he woke with a flinch, seemingly unprepared to be disturbed. He quickly flipped to see who had found him, and broke down in tears once again.

Swiss wasn’t exactly expecting this, but he grabbed the little ghoul nonetheless. Lifting him out of the cabinet from under his arms, Swiss cradled the lanky ghoul in his lap against his chest, gently shushing him and telling him it was alright.

“Little bug,” speaking softly, Swiss asked, “why didn’t you come with me?” He just wanted the little ghoul to feel safe.

Phantom sniffled, his head resting just beneath Swiss’s chin. “I thought you didn’t want me.” 

“Why would you think that? Of course I want you, my sweet creature.” Swiss’s heart felt like it was snapping in two.

Phantom looked up at Swiss’s face, wanting to see if he was being genuine. “You all seemed busy with your friends, I didn’t want to interrupt you.” Phantom raised a hand to wipe at his tears.

“I thought Dew was going to show you around, but Dew thought I had you.” Swiss wanted to make sure Phantom knew no one had forgotten about him. “It was a huge misunderstanding and we were all looking for you the second we realized.”

“Really?” Phantom’s eyes went big with amazement, and he smiled for the first time since Swiss had found him. Swiss was happy to note that his scent had started to become sweeter as well.

“Yes, of course, little bug. Let’s get you to the den so they can all see you’re safe.” Swiss was beaming as well. He was glad Phantom didn’t seem too torn up. When the others all spent time cooing over him, Swiss was sure everything would be better.

“Can we nap in your room after?” Phantom asked jovially, sounding as though he’d forgotten all about the whole situation that led to him sleeping in an empty storage cabinet.

“Of course, my little cuddle bug,” Swiss said as he stood up, picking up Phantom bridal style, ready to carry the ghoul all the way to the den.

[narrynukezankielover]

I love that in this scene (ep 9) Dean once again defends Cas to Ezekiel/Gadriel. Ezekiel/Gadriel asking Dean what he’s going to do about Cas being around them and Dean gets pissed off. He says that Cas is the one that the angels are after and yet he’s fighting. He wonders what Ezekiel/Gadriel is afraid of. Cas has been on earth for like 6 years and I’m happy to see him understanding human things. He could tell that every time Sam brought up Cas leaving the bunker Dean changed the subject and Cas waited until he was alone with Dean to ask him about that. He understands that Dean changing the subject meant there was something Dean didn’t want to talk about with Sam in the room. Back in season 4 Cas wouldn’t have understood that and probably would’ve said something at the wrong time. Then the fact that Cas knew that Dean is in a tough situation and even though he wants to be around Dean he knew he had to listen to Dean.

I’m pretty much just adding this part because Cas looks amazing. I don’t like that he’s being tortured and that he has blood on him but I love seeing him half naked. I will say there was soooo many missed opportunities with human Cas. I would’ve loved to seen Dean teaching Cas to cook or to shave or even something stupid like tieing his shoelaces. In my opinion they didn’t think this storyline completely out. There’s a few things that happened that don’t make sense. Like how did that angel (April I think her name was) find Cas since he had the tattoo?

In ep 9 Dean tells Cas they have to stay away from each other and at the end of that ep Cas says he should stay away from Dean and the very next ep (ep 10) Dean calls Cas for help and Cas comes right away. I would love to know what happened to Cas tie. He obviously magics up his suit and trench coat considering when he got out of purgatory he was still wearing the clothes he got from the mental hospital then when he came out of the bathroom he had his suit on so where is his tie now? I also love how Dean is looking at Cas here. He obviously loves looking at Cas in his suit (the ep where Cas gets out of purgatory proves that) and Cas is letting Dean look.

This scene is hilarious. There’s an angel, a human and the king of hell and the human takes over. It’s Cas car (I’d love to know how Cas learned to drive) yet Dean just goes directly to the drivers side and tells Crowley to get in the back which he listens to Dean (at that point Crowley is handcuffed so he doesn’t have powers) and tells Cas to get in the back with Crowley and Cas listens to him. Cas and Dean will literally do anything the other asks them to do. Another cute thing I noticed Crowley said to Cas riddle me this boy wonder. Riddle me this is what the Riddler says and he is a villain so obviously Crowley is calling himself a villain (he’s the king of hell obviously he’s a villain) but Dean is in the scene and Jensen has voiced Batman a few times. Boy wonder is Robin which is Batmans sidekick so Crowley is calling Cas Deans sidekick.

Dean finally apologizes to Cas for not telling him about Gadriel possessing Sam snd kicking Cas out of the bunker and I love that Cas completely understood what was going on and that Dean really thought Sams life was in danger. This scene also had my second favourite quote so far in the show Dean says we’re dumbasses and Cas says I prefer the word trusting less dumb less ass.

This scene is interesting. Pretty much since Cas and Dean have known each other Dean says whatever he wants to to Cas without any fear that Cas will hurt him because he knows he’s the one person Cas won’t hurt. Cas gets pissed off when he finds out the angel possessing Sam is Gadriel and that Gadriel is the reason for all the bad stuff that has happened to earth and Dean clearly knows that Cas is pissed off because he puts his hands up. To me he is showing Cas that he knows that Cas is an extremely strong angel even with his stolen grace (at this point at least) and can kill anyone if he wants to and right now Cas wants to kill Gadriel but Dean knows he has to calm Cas down so they can get Gadriel out of Sam.

To me (ep11) this shows how much Dean trusts Cas. Crowley is trying to look at the journal but Dean pulls it away from him. Back in season 8 Cas was picking through Deans stuff and looking through the journal and Dean didn’t care. Even in the scene when Naomi comes to Dean and Dean says he doesn’t trust angels which means I don’t trust you. Obviously that scene was about Dean not putting the signs on the boat so Cas would be able to come back to him but it does show Cas is the exception to that rule. Plus in the ep before this Dean was willing to let Cas possess Sam to get Gadriel out. He knows how much trouble letting Gadriel possess Sam made but Cas is the one angel he trusts would get Gadriel out and wouldn’t hurt Sam in the process.

I love that here Cas is trying to defend Dean to Sam. I don’t think Sam understands that Dean lied to Cas too but Cas got over it.

I love how honest Cas is. He’s always been truthful about how much he doesn’t like Sam. Cas has said that he doesn’t like the sound of Sams voice and other such things. I found it interesting that Cas said that before he became human he would’ve pushed the needle into Sams neck and killed him because the ends always justifies the means but now that he’s had human emotions he no longer feels that way. I find it interesting because even before Cas was human Cas would never do something like that to Dean. He didn’t need human emotions to feel like that for Dean. I personally don’t see Cas and Sam as friends I see them as putting up with each other for Dean. I do think that them spending that time together did help them not to become friends but to understand each other better and be able to be around each other if Deans not around.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

The Surrogate Dad Figure Competing With Lucifer Should Have Been Adam

Instead of making Adam a one note one dimensional villain, I totally want him to be a heaven ambassador who occasionally checks in on heaven and meets with her. And again tries to give the hotel a try even if he's skeptical it will even work. The reason why I would turn to him being the surrogate father figure instead of forcing Alastor into that role to shut down shippers is because for one Adam is Charlie's mom's ex and again guy has had experience being a father because besides his named children he also had tons of others. Guy has experience and could show it.

I could have him still a rock star persona but he actually cares about his hellspawn and totally see him having a happy marriage with his wife, Eve (which Lucifer didn't ruin like with Lilith). I see his secondhand being his son, Seth, while his son Abel is the head of the Cherubs (or as I renamed them the putto) which helps people on earth so more souls don't go to hell and have a chance in heaven. Instead of being a dick to Charlie, he's practically the awesome dad to Charlie and almost makes her wish he was her dad instead of Lucifer because he's actually supportive and encourages even when he's not sure. Also he totally would say to Seth if he wants a new sister if Lucifer continues to be a pos. Because I totally if I rewrote Hazbin I would still make what Lucifer was originally supposed to be a bad father and not misunderstood uwu boy with a lost dream. I want him to be an arrogant evil asshole who thinks he's rebel but he actually is a brat who just hated how everything his father and thought he could do better. And again was jealous how Adam was getting attention away from him and didn't want to serve in his mind an inferior creature. I do think it would be good to make Adam some flaws so he's not completely clean like at first being a jerk to Lilith which he regrets to this day and wishes he could have done better by her.

So, I could see when Lucifer finally shows up he sees Adam rocking in the hotel entertaining the guests because he wanted to support Charlie and wanted to see if any of the sinners were actually putting effort into reforming. He would be furious at Charlie that Adam was here. Adam would retort back that it's funny seeing him here since he never really believed in his daughter's dream and how crap of a dad he is. This probably would revolve to them singing this trying to best each other in being the father figure that Charlie is looking for. Also I totally see Lucifer taking a pot shot at Adam by mentioning if he's a really great father then what about Cain and Abel that would invoke him into a fight until Charlie tells them to stop. Adam listens to her first because again he's a been a better father figure and actually would want to have her as his daughter.

(For Lute she is still an exorcist, but with Adam no longer being one she works for the new head of the exercosits named Dumah who in my opinion should have been made the head instead of him. He unlike Adam is a no nonsense type of guy has no mercy for sinners. He would hate how Adam has compassion for even his fallen children which leads to them being rivals. Also in contrast with canon Lute, my revised Lute hates Adam for in her mind being an immature person who lets his children run wild.)

[chvrrycola]

STRAY KIDS X CLICHE MEETCUTES - KIM SEUNGMIN

word count | 0.8k

warnings | food mentions

now playing . . . time to love by red velvet

the other meetcutes

things seemed to be going your way today. you had woken up feeling super refreshed like an hour before your alarm, so you decided to have a nice leisurely morning before you headed off to work. 

you headed down the road to get your first coffee of the day from the shop on the corner, a trip that you had always been desperate to fit into your morning routine but had been unable to because of your unbreakable habit of snoozing your alarm half a dozen times before you actually decided to get up. 

your favourite barista was behind the counter, and looked pretty surprised to be seeing you so early, turning his back right after greeting you to start making your usual. the cafe was far quieter than you were used to seeing it, and filled with a lot more people in suits and dress shirts. you had just pulled a hoodie on over your pyjamas and found yourself crossing your arms a little tighter in front of you to try and hide your comparatively shabby appearance. 

the barista who handed your drink over in the end wasn’t one you recognised, you assumed because she mostly did early shifts, but she handed you your drink with a smile and sent you off to enjoy the rest of your day.

which you would have loved to do, except for the unfortunate fact that as you were pulling open the door to head home and get changed, a considerably flustered looking man attempted to open the door with the force of his shoulder, and rammed straight into you. 

he didn’t knock you over, he didn’t hurt you at all in fact, though the concern that tied his eyebrows together showed he was worried that he might have done. you were far more concerned about his crisp white shirt though, and how it was now neither as crisp nor as white as it had been. 

apologies began tumbling from your lips until the smiley barista came over and offered you the staff bathroom to get cleaned up. you hadn’t even noticed the coffee on your hoodie until the man was gesturing for you to follow him, apparently concerned by the potential stain on your already scruffy jumper.

you went with him, though, desperately pawing at his shirt with your sleeve without saying anything. neither of you really noticed the absurdity of the interaction though, both solely focused on the stain. 

‘i think this is as clean as it’s gonna get,’ he eventually sighed, looking up at you and making eye contact, you realised, for the first time. 

‘i have a couple shirts at my place, my brother leaves them when he stays over because he can’t be bothered to do his own laundry. i can’t promise they’re ironed but they could work?’ 

he looked slightly sceptical, beginning to mumble something about how he didn’t want to risk being late. 

‘my apartment is literally on this street, it would be five minutes if you need it. actually, i can go and get one for you, i don’t want you to feel like i’m trying to abduct you or something.’

you didn’t even wait for his response to your clearly inappropriate comment, heading out of the door and rushing back to your apartment as quickly as you could manage. your mind was almost too busy with the stress of potentially ruining both of your days to think about how this guy was definitely not bad-looking, and that if you hadn’t definitely messed things up by insisting that you weren’t a kidnapper you might have tried to get his number. 

you were back in the cafe in probably under three minutes, dodging round the gradually filling tables to knock on the staff bathroom door. your ‘it’s me’ was probably the least helpful thing you could’ve said given this man was a total stranger, so you swiftly followed it up with ‘i’ve got a shirt’.

the door unlocked and you sheepishly handed the shirt through the gap, opting to wait outside once he retreated back inside. he looked a little shocked when he noticed you still standing there as he left, but you allowed yourself to admit it didn’t look like the horrified kind of shocked. maybe surprised was the more appropriate adjective. 

‘if you live round here, you wouldn’t be able to point me in the direction of a laundrette would you? i’ll come by and collect this on my way home.’ 

you smiled, glad to be feeling less like a burden, and offered to show him the nearest one. it was less than a block, so you set your pace at more of a stroll, hoping it might yield an opportunity for a conversation. 

‘oh sorry, i should’ve bought you another coffee, it slipped my mind,’ he said, a slight lilt in his voice as though he was trying to keep it steady. ‘if you’re around later i can meet you at the cafe when i’m done with work. or like, this time tomorrow, or the day after, or like, any day really, would be good for me.’

‘yeah, i reckon i can find some time.’

you were definitely going to have to stop snoozing your alarm.

[fanfoolishness]

morning caf

For the @summer-of-bad-batch week 3 prompt, "Forget I asked." It's an early morning on Pabu, and Crosshair hasn't slept well. Neither has Wrecker. When Crosshair goes to check on him, he doesn't expect the question Wrecker asks:

"What was it like?  When your chip… when it activated?”

(Crosshair and Wrecker finally talk about their chips. Angst, family feels, ~2400 words.)

---

Crosshair yawned, taking a long drink of caf as he watched the sun begin to edge over the horizon.  He stood out on the patio, letting the morning wash over him.  He’d slept poorly last night, tossing and turning despite Batcher’s solid weight against him on the bed.  He wasn’t sure why.  Nothing had happened out of the ordinary yesterday --

Except the transmission from Echo.  His mouth quirked.

Maybe he’d go meditate.  It had been hard starting up again after the destruction of Tantiss -- after his hand -- but he could tell it was helping, bit by bit.  It was harder to see the progress now, no tremor fading to help delineate his improvement, but he could feel it in the fact that the sleepless nights were fewer than they used to be, in the way that phantom pain from his hand didn’t feel as sharp as it used to, in the way his chest felt lighter than it had in a long time.

But today he felt disquieted.

There was a noise behind him in the kitchen, a rummaging he could hear through the open window.  He turned around, surprised to see Wrecker pouring himself some caf.  Wrecker never got up this early in the morning except for missions -- well, they weren’t missions now so much as they were jobs or help for other islanders.  His curiosity piqued, Crosshair went back inside.

“You’re up early,” said Crosshair, the door closing behind him.  He took another drink of his own caf, watching as Wrecker loaded up his with cream and sugar.  “Got somewhere to be?”  He frowned, realizing how exhausted Wrecker looked, purplish shadows under his eyes, his face drawn.

“No, nowhere to be,” Wrecker said.  He shrugged.  “Just… couldn’t sleep.”  His hand, hovering over his mug in the midst of adding sugar, curled reflexively into a fist.  

“You don’t look so good,” Crosshair said, finishing his caf and reaching out with his left hand for the pot.  He was getting better at using his left hand, though a lifetime of memory meant he still got it wrong sometimes.  He used his stump to brace against his mug, holding it steady as he poured in more caf.  

Wrecker smiled wanly.  He looked like he was holding back tears.

Kriff.  Crosshair glanced around, but it was just the two of them -- no Hunter, no Omega, not even Batcher.  This was on him, no one else.  

“What’s wrong, Wrecker?” he asked slowly.

“Just… Echo’s update,” said Wrecker.  He stirred his cup of caf, and took a drink, grimacing.  Still probably wasn’t sweet enough for him.  “Sad stuff.”

“Yeah.”

They were both quiet for a moment.  That was one update from Echo Crosshair was glad Omega had missed, off playing with Lyana.  

“We had word of a clone trooper held captive in a transfer facility.  He was originally slated for Tantiss but didn’t make the last transport.  He’s been alone for months.  We broke in, but --- solitary must have got to him.”

“What happened?” Hunter had asked, but Crosshair had already guessed.  

“He’d killed himself.  Left a note, too, asking his Jedi for forgiveness.  Master Plo Koon.  I guess he never got over following the Order.”

They’d bowed their heads, a moment of silence for another fallen brother, and with shame Crosshair remembered a boy in Jedi robes, his figure brown against the snow.

“Echo’s tough,” said Crosshair carefully.  “But that’d get to anyone.”

Wrecker tried to smile at him, but it was like his mouth wasn’t working right.  His expression just came off worried.  Guilty.

“Cross,” he said, looking away and busying himself with his caf.  He picked it up, took a gulp, choked when it was still hot. 

“Wrecker.”  He waited, knowing Wrecker was working himself up to ask something.

He still couldn’t look Crosshair in the eyes, and when he spoke, his words were halting.  “What was it like?  When your chip… when it activated?”

Crosshair took a step back, his heart rate jumping, his breath catching in his throat.  He hadn’t been expecting that.  He crossed his arms over his chest, looking away.  “It doesn’t matter.  It was a long time ago.”  His voice came out sharper than he meant it.

Wrecker paused, swallowing, then waved a hand.  “Never mind.  Forget I asked.”  Crosshair risked a glance back at him, at the dejected set of his broad shoulders, at the guilty look in his eyes.  Why was it bothering him so much?  What did Wrecker have to feel guilty about?

Crosshair reached for his caf and took a drink, hoping it would steady him.  Instead he remembered he’d forgotten to add cream and sugar, and he wrinkled his nose at its bitter acidity.  An awkward silence filled the kitchen as Wrecker wordlessly padded back toward the hallway and the bedroom.

“Wrecker, wait.”  Wrecker paused, looking back at him, and Crosshair forced himself to continue.  “Come on.  Let’s go sit outside.”

“I’m no good at meditating, if that’s what you mean.  Omega tried showing me once and I fell asleep just watching her.  It’s so boring,” Wrecker muttered.

“No, you don’t have to meditate,” he said, smiling faintly.  “Let’s just… we can talk.”

A few moments later Wrecker had found a comfortable seat on the outdoor sofa beneath the canopy.  Crosshair sat at the other end, still nursing his caf, now with the requisite cream and sugar added.  The sunrise was well underway now, golds and amber-reds spilling across the sea.  

Crosshair stared out at the water.  If they were doing this, he didn’t think he’d be able to look at his brother.  “Why do you want to know about the chip?”  The last word was bitter in his mouth.  If it hadn’t been for that… so many terrible things wouldn’t have happened.  If he’d just been defective enough, he’d have been safe.  They’d never have left him.  He had gone round and round on it, during empty nights in their old quarters on Kamino, empty nights in his bunk on Coruscant, empty nights in his cell on Tantiss. 

He didn’t want to think about it again, but Wrecker was asking.  And for some reason it seemed like he needed to know.

Crosshair sighed.  If it would help Wrecker…

“Had nightmares,” Wrecker said softly.  “About Bracca.  Couldn’t sleep.”

Crosshair winced.  He’d nearly killed his brothers there; they’d nearly killed him.  He rubbed his right temple reflexively, his stump grazing over the pitted flesh and tight scarring that still remained.  “I don’t like thinking about Bracca.”

“Yeah, but Crosshair…”  He took a deep, shuddering breath.  “Mine activated, too.”

Crosshair choked down a gulp of caf, horror filling him.  He risked a look at his brother.  Wrecker  had tears in his eyes.  

“What?” he said sharply.  “On Bracca?”

“Yeah,” Wrecker said, staring down at his large, calloused hands.  “That’s why we went there.  Rex told us about them, and there was an old medbay in that cruiser.  That’s how we got ours out.  But before we did -- it was too late for mine.”  He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders rising and falling too quickly.

Crosshair reached out cautiously, resting his left hand on Wrecker’s shoulder.  He seemed to settle, his breaths getting slower, easier, though he kept his face hidden.  

“I didn’t know,” Crosshair breathed.  “I thought it was only me.  That I was the only one who wasn’t strong enough.”  He watched a long stream of seabirds fly, one by one, in a neat orderly line over the spreading waves.  Their dark silhouettes blurred and slid until he blinked away the water in his eyes.

“Nothing to do with being strong,” Wrecker said, voice muffled.  “I couldn’t stop it.  It was bigger than me.  Like it shoved out everything that was me, and made me different.  Made me try to hurt them.”

“It was… softer, at first.  For me.”  He let go of Wrecker’s shoulder, folding his arms over his chest, curling inward slightly.  “Like a detuned comm.  Made me go after that kid on Kaller.  It told me to finish the mission.  To be a good soldier.  And I wanted to, more than anything.  But -- I -- I wanted to follow Hunter, too.  I didn’t know what was happening.”  

“Never could figure it,” Wrecker said.  “Why you didn’t try to kill us right away.  When -- mine -- I came out swinging.  Tried to kill all of ‘em.  Even -- even Omega --”  He couldn’t speak, and for a moment Crosshair’s mind threw out visions of Wrecker, huge fists swinging, looming overhead, a cold, sick determination on his face.  It felt wrong even thinking about his brother like that.  

“But you didn’t,” said Crosshair.  He didn’t say, You don’t want to know what I’ve done.  He thought back to memories he’d kept hidden, shame he couldn’t bear to revisit.  But here in the morning light, with birds singing in the flowers and the waves down below, those things seemed far away.  Like maybe they’d finally lost some of their power.  

He thought about what Wrecker had said.  “I don’t know why it was different for me,” said Crosshair.  “But when they took me, Nala Se was there.  She did -- something.  Some kind of procedure.  An experiment.”  He closed his eyes, remembering the headaches crawling through his skull, the pressing insistence of the Order growing louder and louder, swallowing all sense of loyalty to his brothers.  “Made it stronger.  That’s when -- I started trying to fight you.”

“We shoulda never let them take you,” Wrecker said gruffly.  “We shoulda known it wasn’t you.”

“None of us knew,” Crosshair said.  “And I couldn’t tell you.  You did what you had to, for Omega.”

They were quiet for a moment.  A little saltbrush sparrow perched on their fence, singing its bright song, its plumage of bronze and cream and umber glowing in the golden hour light.  Crosshair tilted his head as he watched it, some of the sick feeling in his gut fading as he did so.

“Cross,” said Wrecker.  “I know it doesn’t really matter now.  But when did…”

Crosshair sighed.  Remembered Hunter’s gritted teeth, his own defensiveness, the snarled Does it matter?

It mattered.  But he couldn’t see that, back then.  He’d been too afraid of telling them the truth, too hurt that his brothers hadn’t tried to come back for him, too angry at them, himself, what he’d done, the chip, the Empire, all of it.

Was he still angry now?  After everything?

He let out a long breath.  “After Bracca,” said Crosshair.  He tapped the scar at his temple, giving Wrecker a rueful smile.  “Got damaged by that engine blast.  That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Guilty,” said Wrecker sheepishly.  “But it was gonna fry us!”

“Oh, I know,” said Crosshair, chuckling slightly.  “Figured as much.  Tech could’ve rigged up something decent, but I knew it was you.  It was too good.”

“Stop it, you’re makin’ me blush.  Uh -- sorry about your head, though.”

Crosshair shrugged.  “It did something to the chip.  I guess it was breaking down.  Frying my brain with it.”  It was all a haze, but afterwards, he’d put together pieces; he’d been having seizures on the way back from Bracca, his chip misfiring drastically.  “I told Nala Se to take it out.  That I would be loyal without it.”  His face twisted as if he’d bitten down on something bitter.  I made so many mistakes.

“Nala Se listened to you?” Wrecker said, clearly impressed.

“I think she only did it because I was a ninety-nine,” Crosshair said.  “You know how she treated us, her little pet project.  I’d heard she decommissioned regs for less.  Guess we’ll never know now.”  

He hadn’t been sure what to think when he’d heard from Echo and Omega that Hemlock’s research had been destroyed, and presumably Nala Se with it.  The most he’d settled on was that after everything, she’d stood up to the Empire when it counted.

Like he had, he supposed.

Wrecker scooted closer to him, raising one arm and settling it over his shoulders.  Crosshair leaned back, resting his head on Wrecker’s arm.

“Thanks,” Wrecker said, turning to him with a shy smile.  “The others -- they don’t know what it was like.  Guess hearing about that trooper messed me up a little.  Thinking about what could've happened.”

“I… I didn’t sleep so well either.”

“Thought so.”  Wrecker yawned, covering his mouth with his free hand.  “Maybe I should try to get back to sleep.”

Crosshair glanced at him.  “Oh yeah?  I’ve got an idea.”

Crosshair’s idea worked perfectly.  He hadn’t been meditating on the patio floor for five minutes when he heard Wrecker’s snores starting up on the sofa behind him.

He looked back over his shoulder.  Wrecker had already stretched out on the sofa, his large feet dangling over the side, a peaceful, calm look on his face.  

Fair enough.  Meditation wasn’t for everyone, he guessed.

He adjusted his position.  Breathed in.  Breathed out.  He’d been so skeptical when Omega had first shown him… and so impressed when she’d insisted he try anyway.  He smiled, thinking of the way she’d taken his hand so carefully.  She’d been determined to help him. 

He’d never understand why she loved him, but he’d never doubt it, either.

He kept breathing in.  Breathing out.

The sun had begun to swing higher, the golden hour light shifting into the harsher light of mid-morning before he unfolded his long legs and got to his feet.  Wrecker was still fast asleep, gently snoring, the sound mingling with the chattering call of the sparrows in the flowers.  

Crosshair walked over to the wall of the home, where they had a small patio shade.  They’d lowered it to enjoy the stars, last time they’d all sat out here together.  He raised the shade to its full extent until it left Wrecker completely shaded, protected from the sun.  The light and heat weren’t too fierce yet, but as Crosshair now knew from experience, sunburn on a shaved head was awful.

He gathered up their forgotten mugs of caf and headed inside, taking care to be quiet.  Wrecker could use the sleep.

Hunter was sitting at the kitchen table, having breakfast with Omega.  They both looked up at him as he came inside, Omega beaming, Hunter giving him a small, easy smile.

“Morning!” Omega said brightly.  “How are you today, Crosshair?”

He considered.  Hunter gave him a curious look, as if sensing something had changed.  

Maybe something had.

Crosshair smiled back, reaching into his pocket for a toothpick.  He settled it between his lips.  “I’m all right,” he said, and he was surprised to realize that he meant it.

[falaihullo]

LH44 x Reader

-pretending he doesn’t own his Monaco home

Warning: shitty writing and rushed since I’m at work

I’ll fix it when I get home

Was supposed to just be a simple hook up, that’s all. Following him around the world was simply because they were just friends before this mistake. Not y/ns words but his words, the next morning exactly. Y/n knew she had feelings for Lewis but never got the chance to act on them so she hid them.

——

The Monaco sun coming through the curtains of the hotel room Y/n happened to be staying in. Feeling a weight on her stomach she looked over to see a shirtless Lewis. Laying there for a minute thinking about what happened last night.

They were at the club drinking nonstop, dancing together with their bodies pressed against each other, then kissing each other in the elevator like the kisses were air, suddenly in his room stripping clothes off each other.

The movement of his arm breaks Y/N out of her thoughts. “Fuck” he says rubbing his face.

“Yeah” she mumbles shifting upwards, Lewis following same movements but with sheets to her chest.

“This was a mistake” he mutters grabbing his phone checking social media to make sure no one saw.

“Mh” was the only response she could from feeling like he’s sticking pins in her chest.

Moving to the side of the bed, she grabs her shirt that was on the ground to get dressed. The faster she’s out of there, the better.

“No one posted anything about us being together since it’s a normal occurrence” he says still on his phone. Holding my heels and phone in one hand as I open the door to leave.

“I’ll see you later?” He questions looking up at her as she pauses facing the door.

“Probably” she says weakly before making her way to where she was staying, thankfully only a floor below.

That had been over 2 months ago and basically the last time they spoke. Lewis tried to reach out for her to join him during races again like nothing happened. At first she contemplated whether that would be good for her, ultimately deciding that it was a bad idea. She was going to stay in paris away from him for as long as possible. The no contact will cause her to lose feelings…or she hoped. Seeing paparazzi catching Lewis making out with another woman dug the knife even deeper.

“Y/n, get dressed” Lily says walking in her apartment.

“No, why?” She stubbornly said still watching the show playing.

“Because you been here moping around for the past week. Let’s go party, you never get to see me now that you stopped traveling with…” she trails off

“I’m not moping, just don’t have the energy to party now”

“Sounds like moping to me, let’s go now” she demands turning off the show. Y/n rolls her eyes but does as she’s told.

“Look hot” Lily yells from the other room.

Lilymhe story

Caption: guys help I lost Y/n in the club

LewisHamilton replied: what club are you even at??

Seen

Lilymhe

Caption: Nvm found her…

Danielricciardo: 10/10 would do it again

Story Seen by LewisHamilton

Y/nofficial

Liked by LandoNorris, DanielRicciardo, Lilymhe, and 1,800,540 others

I don’t remember who I kissed but would do it again

Lilymhe: I don’t remember either but crying cause it wasn’t me

-Alex_Albon: uh hello?

-Lilymhe: not about you

-y/nofficial: not about you, go away

-alex_albon: wow that’s…insane

Danielricciardo: I think we were at the same club…

-y/nofficial: wait really, I barely remember last night

-danielricciardo: and it was me you kissed…

-y/nofficial: omg Danny I’m sorry 😭

-Danielricciardo: you’re a good kisser so that makes up for it.

Liked by Y/nofficial

-user1: UH HELLO NO LEWIS LIKE AND SHE KISSED YOU???

User2: lewy/n gang how we feeling

-user3: love doesn’t exist

——-

Looking at Danny’s comment the night comes back to her.

“Y/n! It’s been a while” Danny says over the music hugging her

“Danny omg yes” she says leaning into his hug

“Where you’ve been? We all miss you.” He asks letting go slightly to look down at her

“Oh yeah kinda fell out with Lewis” she says looking away.

“Wait…you had a crush on him though” he says confused.

“Yeah, well mistakes happened, his words not mine. But we don’t talk and he was seen kissing someone.”

“Let’s take a picture together…kissing. You know to show him what he’s missing”

“That’s insane…let’s do it” she says turning to Lily who’s witnessing the exchange. Pulling out her phone she hands it over to Lily who knows what to do.

-

It’s not long that her doorbell is going off cause the slight headache to get worse. Groaning she gets the door not looking into the peephole being surprised by Lewis standing in front of her.

“Oh dang what are you doing here” rubbing her forehead to calm the headache down. Moving aside to allow him in.

“You’ve been avoiding me then I see you kissed Daniel”

“Oh” all she can come up with

“That’s all? No explanation?” He says sitting on her couch.

“Fine you want an explanation!” She groans crossing her arms over her chest before continuing, “I had feelings for you, we hooked up and you said it was a mistake so I distanced myself then you were seen kissing someone.”

“What?” He whispers looking down.

“Yeah everyone else knew about the feelings, including Danny. So he kissed me to get back at you” she finished explaining while staring at his shocked state.

“You had feelings?”

“Yup” she says monotonously.

“I fucked up” he says to himself

“Yeah you did.” She says sitting down next to him but still far enough he doesn’t touch her.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s whatever” she says looking forward at the turned off tv.

“No, no it’s not” he sighs looking at the side of her face. Putting his hand under her chin he forces her to look at him. “I love you so much and I’ve known it but was scared to say anything” leaning towards her, he gently presses his lips to hers. Not a second goes by and she kisses back.