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carmenized-onions · 4 days

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Loosen Your Grip. | R & D

logline; even when it seems counter-intuitive.

[!!!] series history; so many parts, so many words.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. 8 hour mark officially! Lets go!

portion; 15k knowing the next chapters, this trend isn't going to change. they have started to line up with the chapter number, to my chagrin.

possible allergies; i think this one is relatively harmless? Stress though. Everyone's stressed. Idk what to tell you man, it's the bear. oh but more things were yoinked from Season 3!! Think that's just gonna be ongoing tbh. also if this is bad don't tell me. tell me it's really good, actually. i've never doubted a chapter more than I do this one.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader it's so fem. it's so she/her'd it's so girl'd i'm so sorry

kofi; if you’ve enjoyed the series, perhaps you wanna tip!

i'm so sorry for the delays beloveds, can you say 'most high stress but high reward month and a half of my life'? i can!!!

The Monday morning after New York— The first morning waking up in your own bed in a day or two— Comes rudely. Well, not immediately. First you have to roll over and grab aimlessly at your nightstand, searching for your phone to turn off your alarm. Through blurred vision you slide it to snooze, and as you debate going back to bed, your eyes glaze over some texts you’ve received in your sleep, from numbers you never bothered to put in your contacts. It takes a minute to absorb the information and register it as real, but once you do—

“...Are you fucking kidding me?!”

—You’re definitely not gonna be heading back to bed anymore. You’re wide-eyed and wired— You can probably skip coffee this morning. Maybe every morning forever.

“Oh— I fucking hate this fucking city, I fucking hate Chicago— Fuck this!”

In lieu of coming to terms with your world shattering news, perhaps this is an important moment to express gratitude, for the things that have gone well in the past few days.

The rest of the weekend in New York was as lovely as a last-minute trip in a cramped car full of kitchen equipment and four neurotics can be.

Gratitude. Highlight reel?

There’s a bag M and Ms monogrammed with Syd’s, Richie’s, Carmy’s, and your faces in your pantry now. Eva shouldn’t be the only one allowed to have fun. Though snacking on all your cute little faces does make you feel like a slight monster.

Managed to get a good gift for Richie. Thank you Tiffanys. It was certainly an interesting moment when everyone tried to come up with lame excuses as to why they had to split up from the group to definitely totally not go get Christmas presents.

Carmen’s knife guy wasn’t able to do engravings on such short notice, and you’re not the type to settle for less, especially not with Syd, so that’ll be a next year gift, it seems. You came up with a serviceable back-up while strolling through the MET— Which was a mostly fun field trip, it was very inspiring. You all could've done without Richie's pretentious prattling about postmodern absurdist dadaism. Mostly because you're pretty sure half of it was wrong; but still a good trip, all told.

Still lost on what to get Carmen… You’ve got a week, it’s fine. You’ve done more with less before. How do you subtly ask a guy, ‘hey, what the hell else do you like besides your job?’ You’ll figure it out. Figure it out like you figure out everything else, like you always do. Hopefully.

It's Monday. You've got a week. It's fine. Stop looking at your phone. This is such bad timing. This is awful fucking timing. You’ll figure it out. Stop looking at your phone, stop looking at the texts. Do the Connections, send it to Carmy, he already sent his, be normal… Just such bad timing—

At the very least if you can't bear to look away from the life ruining texts, just shut your phone off. You’ve got to stop ruminating or you’ll rot in bed forever. And you really have to get out on time, today.

“God wants me to kill myself—” Gratitude. Express gratitude.

The drive back went ‘well’. Everyone had their licenses so the squad took shifts either driving or sitting on the uncomfortable console. Or, in your case specifically, sitting half on Carmen’s lap in shotgun on occasion despite the many complaints from Syd and Richie. You had a good excuse! Neither of you slept for the entire trip just to work on the cocktail and coffee menu. It was practically a sacrifice! It was just easier to sit up front together, okay!? You had to be close, you were scribbling ratios and drawings of glasses into a stolen notepad from the Holiday Inn with pencil crayons bought from FAO Schwarz—

Oh, hey, put that on the gratitude scoreboard, that was another thing that went well. Pretty cool to go to the oldest toy store in America. Might not have gotten the chef in your life anything yet, but the kids in your life are covered— You’re winning best Aunt for sure.

Oh, huge highlight— Didn’t say love you, like some idiot. Got away with that by the skin of your teeth, honestly. Hard to stare up at the Rockefeller Christmas Tree next to the guy and not blurt out something fucking stupid. Thank God for Syd, who stomped on your foot when you seemed a little too doe eyed.

With great pain and bemoaning, you finish expressing gratitude, which hasn’t helped much. You slam your phone screen down on your nightstand and roll out of bed.

Today’s Monday. Today’s your first day at The Bear. Today that is the priority and there is nothing else to worry about.

You signed your contract last night. Talked to Syd for hours about it, planning next steps and goals and classes and budgets and a million other things. You’re both a little easily excitable, when it comes to lists and plans. Watching you sign yours gave her the ‘confidence’ to sign hers, if you can call it that. Not like you knew she needed the help, though.

“I love my life, I love my life, I love my life…” If you keep saying it while washing your face in the bathroom, it’ll become true, right? …Where’s Sara’s card again?

The Bear doesn’t run service on Mondays, so it’s a good day to do onboarding— Good day to do R and D. …What does one wear to R and D? Don’t need the serving uniform. Don’t need to dress up. Don’t need the jumpsuit… This is the first time you don’t need a uniform and that is bizarre.

You’ll wear your dad’s flannel, at least. Feels illegal to not wear the patch worked flannel. But besides that, you’re just a normal… restaurateur… part of the team…

Your hand hovers over where your necklace sits, in the small jewellery box on your vanity. “Mikey, if you want me to keep wearing it, make my ceiling cave in or some shit.”

You give it ten seconds and nothing falls. With a curt nod to no one, you pick up your book bag filled with loose tools and the menu filled notepad. Leave your bedroom, put your shoes on, grab your keys out of your clay dish tray on the way out.

It’s snowing.

That’s a lot of stuff falling, so to speak.

That’s basically a sign. That’s basically what you asked for.

You head back in, grab the necklace, hook it over your neck, and tuck it under your shirt. Baby steps. You head back out.

…And then soon after, head back in— Forgetting one of the most important things you need today. “The fucking glass, goddamn it!”

There’s a chance that today might be a little bit of an off day for you. No one’s gonna notice that, though.

“Mikey, why didn’t you tell me? You want me to look stupid on my start day, don't you? Fucker.”

You’re good. You’re you. You figure shit out. You’re compartmentalising perfectly and no one’s gonna be able to tell that you’re internally scrambling to figure out where you're gonna live once your lease gets terminated.

“ ‘Sup with you?” Okay, so Tina did immediately notice upon opening the back door for you. She tries to help you with the huge sheet of plexiglass you’re carrying, but you wave her off, stumbling further inside The Bear. Thankfully it’s a slow start to the morning, so the walk way is clear for your fumbled steps.

“I got it, T, just spot me—”

“Woahwoahwoah—” But alas, immediately Carmen is rushing over, making a big deal over nothing, “Fuck are you doin?” And grabs the thick sheet of glass from you. “Wait by your car next time, why do I gotta keep tellin’ you?”

“I am very capable—” You grunt, but you’re relieved when he takes the weight off you. You nod to the table in front of expo. “Put it on the island.”

“What’s it for?” Carmy asks but he follows direction without hesitation.

“Syd’s idea.” You walk with him, sidling up to Syd who’s already stationed up on the island with what looks like way too much paperwork for Chefs. You bump her shoulder as a greeting, she bumps you back. She lifts up the stack of papers and you pick up her deli container of Coke and ice, letting Carmen slide the glass onto the table.

“Unless it’s bad—” You correct, putting the cup down and digging through the tool bag on your shoulder for the right parts. “If you hate it, then it’s my idea.”

Syd snorts next to you, putting the papers back down on top of the glass. “Nice save.”

“What’s your idea, Chef?” Carmen taps his fingers against the glass, bemused.

You finally fish out two lock hinges from your bag, gesturing to them with a little flair like you’re Vanna White as Sydney explains. “For R and D. Thought since we’re like— Constantly changing shit and needing to review, it’d be like, useful to have a whiteboard— But those are huge and inconvenient for a restaurant— Duh— So—”

“Glass!” You come in with the assist as she rambles on. “On hinges— These one’s lock so you can have the glass sort of tilted up like an easel, or on the station— And then when you start service you can just flip it down off the counter for the night. Easy!”

“And—And—” Like a TV ad, Syd points out, “We can put paper under it and still be able to see— So it’ll make editing clearer— I-I think.”

Carmen always takes a nerve-wracking amount of time to think through other’s ideas, but once he nods, you both breathe easy. “Smart idea. Thank you, Chefs.”

You just smile, and this seems to bother Carm. Or at the very least, something is bothering him, as he frowns. “You got a second?”

Your brows furrow, for a moment, worried. You nod, putting your tools down. Glass can wait. “Always.”

Carmen comes around the counter, before he pulls you aside, Syd whispers over your shoulder, “Trouble in paradise.” Making you snort. When has it ever been paradise?

The two of you lean across from each other in the doorway of Carmen’s office, not quite in, not quite out. He looks worried, and his worrying is making you worry. He’s first to say something, concerned hand on your shoulder.

“Are you good?”

Fuck, he caught you too? “Hmm? Yeah, I’m good, do I not—”

You’re halfway through your response when he interrupts, he seems even more panicked by your words. His hand abandons your shoulder. “Right— Stupid, stupid fucking question— I just— Sorry—”

“Woah—” You grip both his shoulders, rubbing down his sleeves lightly. “Are you good, Carmy? You’re right, sweets. You caught me. I’m a lil’ off today. What gave me away?”

“Right, yes— You’re nice.” He’s saying it more to himself than you, like he needs to remind himself. Even so, it still hitches your heartbeat. “I— I’m good, I was just—You didn’t text me back this morning.”

“Oh.” You say it so breathlessly, with relief. It’s cute that that’s what’s got him freaking. “Sorry, yeah, I’ve been trying to not look at my phone, I just got some…” You shake your hand in the air for effect. “Bleh news. Put a wrench in some things for me, that’s all.”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Ah—” You shake your head, waving it off, “Too much to get into. Later, though?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whenever you want.” He nods. “Ah, I wanna get into uhm—” Carmen snaps his fingers a few times, finding the words. “Get into drinks, today. I made all the concentrates and syrups ahead of time—But Uncles gonna come in first with The Computer to go over some numbers shit— Should be here in thirty?”

You nod, squinting. “Is it like… A special computer or something?”

“Computer is a guy.” Carmen says, while Syd yells the same in tandem with him, “Why wouldn’t he be!?” Walking past you both as she carries produce out of the walk-in.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” You grin, reiterating. Your smile soon sobers though, as you finally notice a giant silver blob of machinery behind Carmen. “Baby, what the fuck is that?”

You’re already walking past him, quickly winding up all over again. It’s a gorgeous espresso machine— “It’s an Ascaso.” Explains Carmen. “It’s the best.” And it’s sitting exactly where your beautiful beat up mistake of a heavily-stained coffee machine used to be.

“Baby, baby, baby—” you’re looking above and below the station for your rusted companion, hushed and panicked. “Don’t tell me you threw away the old one—”

“You want the old one?”

Richie’s timing is perfect, as he walks in from front of house, and even from just hearing the last sentence, “Fuckin’ told you, Carm.” He knows the context. He keeps walking— On a mission, seemingly.

“I’m grateful— I- I am.” You kneel down and shove some mixing bowls aside to see if it was tucked in the back of some shelf— It’s not here. She’s not here. “New is good— New is nice— I’ll learn how to use the new one— I will— But— I— I need the old one— You didn’t throw it away, did you?”

When he stays silent, you turn and look up to Carmen from where you’re crouched on the ground, pleading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I— I—” The Chef is nearly sweating from this line of questioning alone. “It— It barely worked—”

“I know it didn’t! That’s the point!”

He blinks. You just seem to be saying all his trigger phrases, today, huh? “That’s the point?”

“I knew how she worked.” You push yourself back up onto your feet. “It’s got an espresso function that doesn’t work, if you tamp the basket the basket literally breaks off so you have to hold it and burn your hand a little— You have to hold the hot water button at the same time as the grind button for some reason or it won’t dispense— It’s literally a fucking nightmare— I covered it in like ten sticky notes of instructions at one point and they became pointless because no one but me was willing to use it. And— And I’ve got it memorized.”

“...And you want that?”

“No one’s gonna know how to take care of her, she’s my baby!” You gesture, albeit a bit too dramatically, speaking with your hands. “If you throw her away or donate her, no one’s gonna take the time to figure it out— They’re just gonna think she’s broken but she’s not, she works! She just needs the right hand!”

A dull silence falls between you, as Carmen purses his lips, squinting. There’s an ever slight chance your ‘I’m totally fine’ facade is cracking. “...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about your thing right—”

“I’m good!” “...Okay.” “Did you get rid of her?”

“Relax, Handy!” Carmen does not say this.

You grimace, looking behind Carmen to see Chi-Chi yelling from around the bend, in The Beef’s corner territory. Looking over him with the blue apron calling you your least favourite nickname by far— Well, second least favourite, only to— “She’s over here, Jack-Off. More our speed than rich boy’s ack - queso bullshit…” It’s nostalgic. Bad nostalgic but nostalgic.

He slaps the top of the machine, you and Carmen both wince as a random spigot falls off it. Chi-Chi clicks his tongue, staring at it in silence. “...Refresher would be good, though.”

You’re already walking back to your damaged darling, patting Carmen on the shoulder as a form of goodbye, he pats your hand back. You don’t get to see him smile, as he watches you get to work. “Don’t fuckin’ call me Jack-Off and don’t touch her, I’ll show you, I’ll break your hand Cheech, I swear—”

The man in question shrugs, a devilish and terrible smirk on his stupid face. “Ey, love a woman in charge. Show me the ways.”

Even on your most off days, working with The Beef will always be second nature for you. Even when the space is significantly more cramped than it used to be.

You rewrite directions on how to use the coffee machine while showing them to Ebra and Chi-Chi. Ebra tends not to learn new tricks, so he stops listening by the time you get to syrups. That’s fine. No one ordered syrups in their coffee at The Beef back in the day all that often either.

Mikey really shouldn’t have invested in all those syrups back then. He really only did it for you and the staff. To be fair, when he did convince regulars to try your coffee they always changed their tune. The people don’t know what they like yet. They will like this. You were his proof that that idea was true.

“You gotta toss these, Boss. Slows you down.” You overhear Cheech saying behind you. You turn to see his arm on Ebra’s shoulder, holding the small blue baskets for sandwiches in his other hand. “Just the wrapping is fine. These people are gonna throw this shit out anyways, waste of plastic.”

Cheech turns his head to you, “Right, Handy?”

“...Don’t call me Handy.” Don’t freak out about throwing the old stuff away. Don’t freak out about throwing his old stuff away. You shrug, looking at Ebra over your shoulder. “Maybe just offer them, if they ask for one?”

“Y’know what the people are asking for, babe?” Cheech sucks his teeth, pulling Ebra closer, who looks nonplussed. “They’re asking where the nearest brick is to throw through our window. This rich people shit is getting on their nerves.”

You sigh, eyes flitting to Ebra for confirmation. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, nodding. “Ninety-eight percent, Jack-Off.” Cheech and the gang have been a terrible influence. How are you going to undo this?

“C’mon, E…” You scoff, but nod as you turn around, arms crossed. Gesturing with the frother as you do. “Well, I’ll make note of that. Now back to the fuckin’ hand frother, Cheech?”

“I know how to crank it, Handy—” “I swear to fucking God—”

“Ey!” Tina comes up to your corner, smacking the back of Chi-Chi’s head with a hand towel when she does. “Don’t talk to the baby like that, clean your mouth.”

He puts one hand on the back of his head, hissing, and another up in front of him, in defense. “Ey, T, it’s all love, aright? Playing!”

“Yeah well, you’re not gonna wanna play wit’ this one. ‘Specially not now—” She nudges you, smiling that coy ‘I’m about to blow up your spot’ smile.

You grimace, attempting to interrupt her. “T, don’t—” “That she’s Jeff’s.” “—Goddamnit.”

“Oh! Oh shit!” Cheech laughs, delightfully shocked. “You finally closed on Charmin’? Congrats—” It’s a blessing and a curse that Carmen, the guy you only ever saw in photos and heard in stories that you had a very minor and not vocal crush on, is now your… boyfriend? Undetermined.

You wave a hand in his face, “Shut the fuck up—”

“So where should I send flowers?”

You hate this family. “For the record, I have not closed shit.”

“What’s closing?” Tina takes a half step back, surveying your face, it doesn’t reveal anything. “What’s that? Gramps?” She turns her question on Ebra, who shrugs, equally as old and unknowing.

“Well Jack-Off’s a little Mother Mary for my taste—”

You scoff, “So not true, for the record—” but Chi-Chi continues his tirade. “So I suspect she just means they haven't had the ‘are we datey-wating carmy baby?’ talk.”

You all but growl, crossing your arms as you wait for the second tutorial coffee to finish dispensing from the beloved whirring machine behind you. You can get the fuck out of here as soon as it’s done, and you’re praying that’s soon, because this interrogation is about to turn terrible. “We are currently unlabelled, if that’s what you’re trying to say.”

Tina kisses her teeth, poking at your shoulder. “Richie told me you spent the whole wedding together and you come back with no label?”

You sigh, composure falling apart. You are not ready for a mother’s disappointment. “We talked out a lot of important stuff—” “Mija, that is important stuff!”

“I just— We’ll talk eventually—”

Chi-Chi conveniently interrupts you when it looks like Tina’s about to go off into a full rant on the downfall of romance in modern relationships. “So you’re still on the market, Handy?”

“For you?” You smile, then drop it. Pushing your hand against his forehead. “Never. Now froth the fucking milk.”

He mumbles an endless series of expletives, but gets to work. You give him a quick tutorial on the hand frother— You fought hard for the old machine, but you are overjoyed to see an automated steamer and frother on that Ascaso. That part is gonna be a dream. You can make so many new drinks for Carm— The menu.

When you finish, you take the latte from Cheech to hand to Tina; and when you do, you catch her looking… off. She’s staring at the piled up diner baskets, next to the unused napkin dispensers.

You put your hand on her shoulder, massaging it lightly. “You good, T?”

Your hand shocks her back into reality, “Yeah, yeah, I’m good, baby.” It takes her a second to remember where she is. She takes the latte, nodding. “I’m good. You good?”

“I’ve got my complaints.” You shrug. “But nothing I won’t survive.” Probably.

Tina takes a sip of her coffee, continuing to nod. She wants to dig deeper into your thing, you want to dig deeper into hers, but the painful groaning from the front of the kitchen, “And when did I fuckin’ greenlight this?” interrupts both your trains of thought. Uncle Jimmy tends to have that effect.

With a knowing nod, you walk together to the front, leaving Ebra and Cheech to continue experimenting with the coffee machine before they open their side of the restaurant.

You watch from the sidelines as Carmen defends his choices, “The old one was shit, she was burning her hands on it. She’ll need the three groups to keep up.” and you’re able to quickly glean they’re talking about the new espresso machine.

“Okay, I hear that,” Jimmy nods, “but why the fuck did it need to be ten grand?”

“Ten?!” You can’t help but shout, you slap your hand over your mouth. Budget is none of your business. But fucking ten? You part your fingers to mumble through your hand, “Sorry, continue.”

Carmen cares too much about your drink menu. Berzattos tend to invest too much into your special interests. Though this time, instead of syrups, and in addition to a 10k coffee machine, you see on the stainless steel table your shared sketches laid out alongside all the ingredients needed– Including the concentrates, whips, and other compounds Carmen made ahead of time for you. He’s so sweet. God, you love him. God, that’s disgusting. They have all, of course, been haphazardly shoved aside though, to make room for The Computer’s— Computer. Carmy’s nonplussed by that fact, it seems.

Jimmy gestures to you, deadpanning to Carm. “See, Chip understands the power of the dollar.”

“I’m not involved.” You add, waving your hand, it’s a terrible moment for your favouritism to shine through. Though you do enter the radius of this trainwreck of a quarterly review, kneeling down by the kitchen island to finish what you started with the plexiglass and hinges. “Ignore me, continue.”

The men stand on either side of you, as you bolt down the hinges. Carmen brushes off the dollar comment with a simple, “It’s the best.”

Why do you need the best? You think; Jimmy concurs with your brain, speaking for both of you. “Why do you need the best?”

The question seems to make no sense to Carmen. He freezes, blue-screening. “Cause—”

You duck your head under the counter at just the right moment— Or just the wrong moment? Because you don’t get to see Carmen looking down at you, then back up at his uncle. “Because.”

You don’t see Uncle Jimmy practically roll not just his eyes but his entire body back into himself, witnessing the puppy love that is going to ruin his credit score. “Chip…”

When you slide yourself out from under the counter, Carmen puts his hand on the edge of the counter to make sure you don’t hit your head— Because you have an awful tendency to do so. You’re too focused on the way Uncle Jimmy says your name like you’re in trouble to notice though. “What’d I do?”

“You’re you.” Jimmy grimaces, shaking his head. It’s not your fault. Not completely. “F-Y-I– Your boss just cut your bar budget by ten grand.”

“Hm.” You squint, lips in a line. “And what do I do if the budget I was planning was just ten grand?”

“Well respect yourself more than that.” Cicero scoffs, arms crossed. “Take twenty, now you’re back to ten. You’re welcome.”

“Generosity knows no bounds.” You shake your head, laughing him off as you duck your head back under the counter. “Thank you, Unc.”

“Sorry, who exactly are we giving twenty thousand?”

“Oh fuck—” Despite Carmen’s best efforts, you still manage to bump your head on the roof of the counter, alarmed by the new voice— The Computer, you assume. “Fuckin—Ow— Sorry! Y’know what, hol’ on, let me just finish up here—”

“It’s the drink budget. Tony’s the new mixologist.” Natalie answers for you. “And sommelier.”

“Ah,” hums The Computer. “She’s the one we’re paying Quarter-Master for?”

“Nah, that’s me.” Gary strolls by, calling out to wherever his manager has gone, “Richie, you find that book yet?!”

“I’m taking them too!” You finally pop your head out from underneath the counter, finished bolting in the hinges. “Apparently I need actual W-S-E-T certification and a bunch of memorized google searches, youtube videos, and wine review blogs do not legally make you a sommelier.”

“I think it’s impressive you made it this far on basically nothing.” Syd taps the top of your head, she’s the one who made the call on schooling. She looks to her co-owner. “Classes are coming out of the advanced.”

“So is this.” You tap the plexiglass, nodding up to Carmen as well. “You’re workin’ with like… A thousand left for pre-paid work?”

“Hm.” Carmen nods, looking at The Computer, and you turn your head to him too. “Did you account for that?”

“Did I account for a thousand dollars?”

Carmen shakes his head like a white flag immediately, hearing the sarcastic tone, “Alright, you don’t—”

“A thousand dollars does not take you out of the hole, man.” He’s right, but you don’t love the tone. He tilts his head, reading something off his screen. “Payroll is a little high, for a somme.”

“I don’t disagree—” You try to say, because yeah, your contract does have a weirdly high salary.

But Jimmy, Nat, and Carm all speak over you. “It’s not.”

“That’s not pay for a somme, that’s a pay for Chip, you don’t need to enhance on that.” Jimmy deads the topic then and there. “You’ll see. Just trust me. You were sayin’ somethin about tiny plants?”

“Microgreens.” Says Syd.

“Yes. Do less of that.”

And you just watch, from the sidelines, as this crew flows into a bit of a repetitive we’re doing this, which gains the response, well stop. Do less, charge more, figure it out, duh, don’t duh– What’s that you’re hearing about a daily changing menu? Carmen seems to be the only one campaigning for it. At a point he just starts pacing, pointing at numbers on The Computer’s screen that he doesn’t understand but pretends he does.

You’ve got a million ideas, but it’s none of your business. It very literally isn’t your business, until Jimmy turns his head just so, grimacing at the non stop debate, to see you standing aside, arms crossed.

He sighs, beckoning you to the table, like it’s a witness stand. “What’s that fuckin’ face on your face, kid?” Oh, for the love of God, why are you so easy to read?

You pfft, shrugging. “I’m not makin’ a face—!” But you come forward nonetheless as he boldly speaks over you.

“You’re makin’ a face,” — “This is just what I look like,” — “Y’know how I know you’re makin’ a face?” — “Enlighten me.” — “Cause it’s the same fuckin’ face—”

He takes this moment to point at the face on your face. “That your dad makes.” A man that gambles as well as Cicero is a man that knows your dad’s tells. And a man that knows your dad’s tells is a man that knows your tells.

You bite down on your inner cheek, poorly pretending to be confused, shrugging again, “I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Come off it.” “I’m not on anything, Unc—” “You’ve got a problem, say it.”

“I don’t have a problem!” You have a lot of problems, but they can’t know that. That makes you judgy and pushy— You don’t know enough about the business to have an opinion. “I’m just observing, that’s all.”

Uncle looks up, to Heaven, to Mikey, and sighs the world’s heaviest sigh. It sounds painful. When he finally tilts his head back down to you, it’s to say, “C-K.”

“Cicero.”

“Y’know why I’m able to pour mas queso into this fuckin’ kid?” He loosely gestures in the direction of Carmen, who in response seems to bite down a lot of venom. It’s bad to think he’s pretty when he’s annoyed, isn’t it?

You tilt your head, “Honestly, I always assumed some sort of mob association.”

Jimmy holds back his laughter, it comes out as a disgruntled cough. He shrugs. “It’s because when I saw your dad at the table, makin’” —He gestures to you— “That fuckin’ face, I knew to pull back.”

“You don’t need to pull back.” Your reply is a touch too panicked and instant for anyone’s liking, makes it a little less believable. But Cicero smirks, and you know that face as well as he knows yours. Check. He’s got you.

“Then speak on it.” And he pushes you forward, just slightly, like a slap of support on your back. You grimace, looking to Carm and Syd for permission to have opinions, and they both nod, like it’s obvious. With great hesitation, lips pressed together, you finally allow yourself to come off as judgy, opinionated, a fixer.

“I think the chargers are kinda stupid.”

A plate no one eats off of, that they still have to clean, that’s on top of another plate? Definitely super necessary. Definitely not some rich people NOMA bullshit.

You look to Syd, apologetic. She shrugs, open mouthed, head tilted, “I– I mean, I didn’t invent them.”

“It’s presentation.” Carmen nods, to himself. He doesn’t like to budge. “That first look at the table affects everything.”

“Yes.” You nod, directly across the counter from him. “I agree, I just think the plates are stupid.”

“You got somethin’ better?”

“Think so.” You hum, tilting your body back to yell to the back of the restaurant. “Ay, Cheech! Pass me a fuckin’ basket!”

It’s without hesitation that you hear, “Hut!” before even seeing the man. You see the blue basket being hurled towards you before you see the man. You catch it, albeit a bit clumsy, but you catch it.

You toss the basket on the table. Everyone stares. You defend yourself before anyone even criticizes it, “Easier to clean than plates, because you just need to rinse the plastic. Ties together a colour scheme, costs nothing, they’re gonna be tossed anyways.”

“It looks cheap.” Carmen tuts, but he really does seem to be trying to hear out the idea, despite his reservations.

“It looks purposeful.” You double down, leaning on the counter just so, “It carries a story, that we didn’t forget where we started.”

“Ooh.” Marcus, clocking in just in time, hums behind you. “Kind of a bar, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef. Morning, Chef.” You fist bump him over your shoulder, not looking. Too focused on convincing the man before you, you let him think in silence for some time before asking. “Think on it?”

“No.” Carmen shakes his head, and you’re a little crestfallen, for a second. “It’s good. Let’s do the baskets, yeah—” He then remembers to ask for permission, he turns his head to Syd, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Oh, uh. Yeah. Yeah. Baskets are good.” Syd nods to Nat. “Can you look into, uh—”

“Returning the expensive as fuck earthenware shit? Happily.” Nat is far too cheery upon receiving a paperwork rabbit hole of a mission. She brushes past you, excitedly whispering, “Please keep going.”

“Oh, uh—” Are you some sort of thought leader now? “Well, uhm, I think I heard you sayin’” —You snap your fingers at The Computer, “That R and D cost is a little high?”

“A lot high.” He corrects.

“Kid with crayons.” Jimmy tuts, “Need to pull back a little.”

Carmen’s screwing and unscrewing the cap of a mason jar— Marmalade, it’s for Syd’s drink. He made it this morning, it’s labelled down to the minute. Just let him work on his fucking drinks menu, please God. He’s been dying for this moment and it’s being thrown off by this bullshit.

He can’t keep biting his tongue, “Hey, uh, why don’t you just tell us to do everything a little bit less so we can skip this and get back to work, huh?”

You hear Uncle Jimmy inhale as preparation to verbally beat Carmen’s ass. You put one hand up in front of the old man’s face, the other hand grabs a dry-erase marker. “He didn’t mean it like that and he apologizes, Unc.”

“Does he now?”

“He does.” You drop your hand, focusing on lifting the glass panel, clicking the locks in place to keep it up. You nod to Carmen through the pane. “Right, Carmy?”

Poor Carmen nearly deflates, “...I’m tryna be the guy.”

“Not what the guy does, baby boy.” You hum, uncapping the marker with your teeth. You turn your head to Cicero. “Guy had a lapse, he forgot you were his boss and just thought of you as family, so he spoke to you like family, cause he loves you, Unc.”

Cicero nods, tilting his head just so at Carmen. “S’that right?”

Carm manages to shake his head and nod all at the same time, “S’a facet.”

“....Well, just don’t do it again.” A crisis is averted and an uncle is softened.

“I love to see a family come together.” You hum, nonchalant, writing on the glass, ‘R & D - Cost: Bad’

“Bring it from bad to good.” The Computer notes very helpfully. “You can cut—”

“Hol’ on.” You put your index finger up, effectively shushing him, “Just think about it first. We don’t have to go straight to cutting. Let’s look at our options.”

“Your options are fucked.”

“Just—” You tut, rubbing the bridge of your nose, man, you really are becoming your dad right now. Loosen your grip, Jack. “Widen the scope. We cut costs through returning those chargers— How else can we ‘return’ shit? Carmy?”

Thank God you’re the guy, because Carm can’t hack it. “Heard? Yes?” And frankly, he doesn’t want to.

“What’s the main cost on R and D?”

“Supplies. Food— Y’know, lot of trial and error.” He nods to a bus tub filled with failed attempts over this morning’s session. But you like that, right? “Trying new things, y’know?”

“...Carmen.” He doesn’t answer, because he can hear he’s in trouble. He is staring at you stare at the tub in what seems like a sort of contemplative, serene, searing anger. “Sweetheart, are those four wagyu filets in a fuckin’ bus tub?”

“Yes, it’s got a blood orange reduction, but– But Syd suggested mint—”

You don’t let him finish, “Is it poison?”

“It’s not.” “It’s edible?” “It is.” “Okay, so then, babydoll, why is it not being eaten?”

Syd winces from the sidelines, hissing under her breath, fist over her mouth. Carmen cannot help but notice. You’re perhaps… a dash upset.

“We can’t eat everything.” “Did you offer it to the crew?” “Yeah—” “You offered it to Nat, Unc, Cheech— All the servers? Or did you just offer it to the cooks?” “...Heard.” “Did you take a bite of all of these?” “Not all.”

You start writing on the glass again, explaining as you do, “Okay. So then uneaten food from R and D should be sold on one of those fuckin’ food waste apps— Too Good to Go, or somethin’. We advertise it to The Beef regulars, try to get the other side of our city to understand the finer things, prevent any brick through window incidents, how we feel ‘bout that?”

You remember small things far too well. You did make note of the rich people shit getting on The Beef customers' nerves. You make note of the people who live on your block, who cannot afford to eat here. You make note of the fact that Carmen resents subtracting with a passion now, so you find another way. He can still try new things, just needs to handle the results better.

“...You keep a binder or somethin?” Is all Carmen can think to ask.

“Steel trap memory.” You tap the cap of the marker to your head, “Good though?”

He nods, “Good.”

“Good.” You take a breath, dragging a hand down your face, practically coming out of a fugue state. Carmen knows your need to have something to do, just as much as him, so he slides the jar of fig marmalade to you from across the table. You take it happily, unscrewing the lid. You’ve also been dying to get to this menu.

But Richie comes up from behind, scratch and sniff wine book in hand— Didn’t Mikey get you that? It was meant to be a gag gift but it’s actually quite useful. “Chip, can you also tell Chef Carmen the daily menu fuckin’ sucks?”

“Re-lax.” You sigh, pulling over all the ingredients and tools you need for Syd’s drink. “Syd told me ‘bout this though, daily pre fixe, or whatever it’s called?”

“It’s—” Carmen crosses his arms over himself, immediately defensive but trying his best not to be. “It’s an idea I’m floating, for now— It’s what the best restaurants do, and— And even if we don’t have full intent on getting a star, right now, it’s still important.”

“I just think…” You hum, trying to figure out the most delicate way to say it. “It doesn’t exactly give you the most room to collaborate or create—”

“The whole point of it is to collaborate and create—”

“Oh yes,” —As if waiting in the wings for this, Richie pops out behind you again, “What wasssit? ‘Vibrant Collaboration’ and ‘Constantly Evolve Through Eating My Own Head like a fucking ouroboros’.”

“Relax.” You hiss this time, putting a hand up in front of Richie. You can speak for yourself. “You don’t have time to be creative or collaborate when you’ve gotta make decisions in less than twelve hours.”

Carmen tries to defend, he gestures to the one good plate of wagyu with mint that came out of this morning, “But the—”

You nod and hum, knowingly. The sweet sound stops him. You already know the answer, but you ask anyway, as you scoop fig marmalade into your cocktail shaker. “Did you get to try the pop rocks thing yet?”

“Well, no, it’s not viable to perfect that in such—”

“A short amount of time, angel?”

“Oooh…” Richie mimics Syd’s movements, air whistling between his teeth as he takes a sharp breath. He gestures, standing behind you, staring at Carmen as he slides his thumb across his neck. He mouths, ‘Mad mad.’

Carmen’s two closest friends are freaking him the fuck out and one of them wasn’t even doing it on purpose. How do they know that? How can they tell that? Are you gonna break up with him? Are you even dating? This work together thing was a terrible idea—

“You don’t have time to be thoughtful about things, if you do an entire menu every day, you’re gonna have to cut corners on what you’re willing to experiment with.” You reword, more productive, better for his brain. “Plus, prix fixe is a fuckin— In—In my opinion, is sort of a lacking idea, maybe, for a new restaurant.”

Carmen’s willing to give up the daily rotation, he’s not so willing to give up the pre fixe. “It’s what the best restaurants do.” Carmen loves the word best, huh?

“Have those restaurants—” You bite your tongue from what was going to be an immediate catty response.

You try again, measuring out orange liqueur and lemon juice as you do so. “You’re thinking like a Chef and you need to think like a customer— A- A guest, for a second.”

Carmen gives you the floor, mostly because he cannot compute the command. You continue, “Let’s do a little roleplay, alright? Let’s say we’re just average people, not workin’ at The Bear, and we’re goin’ on a date.”

“When?” “...When?” “When is the date?” “No, I’m— It’s— This is hypothetical.” “Yeah but in the hypothetical.”

You shrug, clicking tongs together as you grab large chunks of ice for your shaker. “I dunno, Friday nights? We have like a Friday night date night.”

“Oh, so you’re doing good.” Richie hums, proud of this hypothetical you, “Weekly date night is a cornerstone.”

“Moving on.” You elbow Rich behind you, shaker sloshing in hand, “I’m not a foodie, you are— In this hypothetical. You’re looking around at restaurants in the area for the date, you find The Bear— You find through their website with an improper hyperlink that the menu is,” —You list off on your free hand— “prix fixe, unavailable online, and changes daily so you can’t go off of reviews either. Also, it’s a new place, so you can’t really ask around for opinions.”

“Right.” Carmen nods, as does Syd. Uncle Jimmy’s got that stupid smirk he gets when he sees his kids fall in line. You pour the ouzo over the ice, focus on the drink, not Carm’s mopey expression.

“So, we probably wouldn’t go, right?”

Carmen keeps nodding, eyes downcast— Not upset, just can’t take feedback without keeping his head down. “Prob’ly not, yeah.”

You pound the shaker shut, shaking it lightly in one hand as you try as hard as you can to sweetly explain. “People are open to like, two surprises on an outing. New place, new food— But they will need a set menu and they will need to have it available beforehand— And they’ll need to be able to choose.”

He looks like a cat in the rain, so you add, “But. Maybe we can do a daily special? Or weekly, depending on burnout, but like, y’know, a semi-frequent one new thing. And maybe on like, Valentines or some holidays we do a fresh prix fixe. That’s how some of the best places do it.”

Carmen’s eyes upturn, smiling with them, at that last part. “You do keep a binder.”

“Syd does. I just pay attention.” You shake your head. “She mumbled about it all night when we got back.”

Adamu is immediately aghast, she should’ve realized ages ago, you were practically quoting her. “You said you couldn’t hear me!”

“No, I said you weren’t bothering me, and you weren’t.” You can’t hide your smile as you break the seal on the shaker. Syd sucks at sharing her ideas, but you’re happy to act as a good mouth for her good brain. “Hand me a lowball.”

With a grumble, Syd walks off in search of the lowball; while everyone does seem to agree this is best practice, Carmen does still seem a little sore about it.

“It’d probably also serve us well to do a seasonally rotating menu, right?” And so you throw him a bone. “Like Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall? Base it on what’s in season with local vendors?”

“What grows together goes together.” Tina says, nearly sing-songy. “Farmer’s market is rough though, Jeff.”

“Fuck a farmer’s market— With love, fuck a farmer’s market.” Back to writing on plexiglass you go. “We gotta do vendors, maybe f’ like, eggs and dairy we can do farmer’s market, but it’s just not feasible. Maybe for holiday pre fixe or daily specials? But full stock, it’s just not— It’s not it. And I say that while having farm fresh eggs and local honey in my pantry, alright?”

Carmen agrees, like a bobble-head this guy. He nods to Tina. “That cool with you, T?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool with me.” Tina is a millisecond off to pipe in, which is really not noticeable– To anyone but you, that is.

“Why’s— Why would T not be good with that?”

“She’s in charge of farmer’s market.”

“Hm.” You bite the end of the dry-erase marker. “T, would you be cool with rotating that, now and again?”

“Ooh?” She tilts her head, shrugging, “Yeah, yeah, kid. If you wanna take the reins.”

“Not me.” You return to scribbling on the glass board. You point at Carmen and Syd through the glass. “Them.”

“I’ve paid my sous chef dues.” Says Syd, returning to the table with your glass. You tut, shaking your head. You refocus your vision from your writing to beyond the plexiglass, at them.

“You need it for inspiration! You fuckers keep forgetting you like cooking, I need you to visit the farmer’s market once in a while to remind you.” You take the lowball glass and tong a few ice cubes in. “Non-negotiable. Heard?”

A soft, simultaneous, “Heard, Chef.” from your cats.

“Good.” You strain the mixed concoction out of the shaker, into the lowball glass. It’s a very pretty peachy pink. You tweezer a slice of dried fig and place it on top. You grab a toothpick, stick it down the glass, pull it out, and taste the toothpick. Balanced, solid flavour, should be good.

You slide the drink over to Syd. “I can’t drink everything obviously, so first dibs goes to whoever the drink is based on— I don’t care who drinks it, just let me know if it goes down smooth.”

You also in turn hand Syd the recipe card and sketch, and you’re quick to move on as she reviews and sips away.

Ouzo. Dry anise tasting spirit. It’s got a licorice aftertaste, but oddly sweeter for it. It’s strong. Resilient. It’s made from remnants of unfermented wine grapes and a mix of other distilled and unused spirits. Better than the sum of its parts. It goes well with figs. Muddle it together with fig marmalade— Sweet yet earthy, spring-like. Orange liqueur to marry the flavours, lemon juice to brighten. Shaken, pour over ice into a lowball, serve with a dried fig on top.

Syd manages to reserve her reaction to a slow but repetitive nod, like entering deep space. She only comes back to reality when Richie reaches for the drink, wanting to try. She’s quick to pull it away from him, coveting the glass.

“Ah… what else? Rapid fire.” You knock your head around, remembering what The Computer talked about, and in quick succession, you line up every problem and talk through them, possibly solve them— As best as a newbie can. At the very least, you open the floor to actual discussions as you make drinks all the while.

“Opening a full sixth day I think will shoot us in the long run, especially if we ever get a kitchen plague going. Maybe we just open for half the day on Mondays going forward, try out breakfast? Stop booing me, I’m right.”

Richie’s. Also served over ice in a lowball. It’s similar to a whiskey smash. Nixing the mint. Whiskey bourbon— A good one, but not too good that it’s a sin to mix. Something with a cinnamon spice, that's warm all the way down, but never burns. Water it down a bit by stirring peach juice over the whiskey with ice for a brief moment. Float blueberry syrup on top. Add a toothpick, spearing two blueberries and one peach halve, balance it over the glass, for stirring. So the drinker can mix the blueberry syrup in and have a cute colour changing experience.

“Wine pours, me and Gary got that. We can also just start charging by the bottle by default— Whatever works.”

Marcus’. Simple but effective. A rum and coke ice cream float. Made complex by the fact that the ice cream is on a rotating schedule, based on whatever Chef Brooks is feeling that night and what’s in stock. Right now? Pistachio. So tonight it’s actually rum and seltzer, and it will probably continue to be rum and seltzer, based on the way Marcus’ eyes light up by the opportunity to get weird. More often than not, you’re going to need that neutral base. Served in a milkshake glass, because what else?

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just grow these microgreens myself in house. They’re just plants you murder early, are they not? Am I missing something?”

Tina’s. Varied take on a spiked agua fresca. Fresh blended mango agua fresca— With ginger, of course. A healthy kick is a necessity for a mom drink. Sweetened with simple syrup, spiked with white rum, dash of agave bitters, top with coconut water. Served in a tall glass, because why would you skimp on portions?

��Why are we shipping flowers from New York? No, fuck that, go to Violet’s Violets— I fixed her cooler once, she falls in love and gives a discount to literally anyone who’s nice to her. Just send Marcus with some dessert and you’ll be set for life.”

And of course, Carmen’s aperol spritz. You go with the cherry syrup rim for now because it’s important to try. You’re almost certain it’s too much though.

“Napkins…” You rub your icy cold hands— From shaking up so many goddamn drinks— Over your eyes. “Why are we renting?”

“Buying is insanely overpriced.” Answers Computer.

You nod, shrug, but nod, fingers tapping the glass, “Well, it’s like renting over owning right? It might be better to own because, y’know, you might suddenly get told by your napkin vendor, like, like years down the line, after basically paying for these napkins in full through rent, ‘hey, actually, we’re gonna jack up prices or just take those napkins back’ even though you’ve —again— Literally had them for years—”

“Chippy, are you good?” Richie tries to massage your shoulder, tries to break you out of the doom spiral, but admittedly, it was never his forte. Still isn’t.

“We—!” Your voice hangs and is grating in a way it usually isn’t, ignoring the question. “We can produce our own napkins if we buy linens by the yard and hem ‘em ourselves. We—” You snap your fingers a couple times at Carmen, praying he backs you up. “We can even get The Bear monogrammed on them.”

“That sounds nice…” It’s Carmen’s turn to ease you off the ledge of insanity, gently. “It also sounds expensive, were you gonna do that?”

“Fuck no.” You’re quick to shake your head. “I fucking suck at sewing, my own jumpsuit is covered in my blood— No, my—” Oh. “Hold on.”

Your hand immediately goes for your back pocket, quickly pulling your cell-phone out, and dial one of your first starred contacts. Richie, over your shoulder still, sipping his blueberry and bourbon cocktail, excitedly mumbles. “Oh, put it on speaker.”

You’re annoyed before he’s even answered, knowing the headache you’re about to get. “Trust me, the first thirty seconds minimum will not need—”

“Hey!” It’s impossible to convey how earth shatteringly loud and drawn out his voice is, immediately upon answering. There may be eight seconds of the sustained vowel? Maybe more. Almost everyone flinches, par for Syd, Carm, and Rich. Though for all different reasons.

A touch grating, in the same way your voice just was. Like father, like occasional daughter, you suppose. “Hey kiddo baby darling sweetheart angel princess—” Oh, he’s mad. The whole ‘slew of nicknames when you’re pissed off’ thing? Yeah, that didn’t start with you. “Did someone die? Because that’s the only reason my darling baby only daughter calls anymore!”

You sigh, immediately exhausted, putting your weight on one leg. “Y’know, once a month is honestly a lot of times a year for a fully grown woman to call their dad, on average. I absolutely call you more than my friends call their dads.”

Richie almost chokes and whispers over your shoulder, hesitant, internally preparing for a dreadful future. “Please tell me that’s not true.”

“Oh, and you should be so lucky that you have a dad to call! Cause I bet those friends are calling funeral homes, aren’t they?!”

“Dad—”

“I should have never taught you independence. Worst mistake of my life to teach you how to be your own person. Richard, never teach your kid how to use a screwdriver, it will be the last day you are a father.”

“Noted, Big C-K.” Richie goes for your dry erase to actually write it down, you pull it away from him. That’s gonna require a long talk down later.

Carmen mouths to you, across the table, he meant to ask earlier when Cicero said it but there wasn’t time. ‘C-K?’

You mouth back, gesturing to the logo on your very own flannel ‘Chicago’s Kindest.’ He’s not the best with acronyms.

“Oh— And thank you for bringing that up! And what’s this I hear about you cutting your hours with C-K? I hear this from Tony of all people ‘fore I hear it from you?”

“I got a long-term bartender gig that’s actually gonna keep my bills paid, alright? And I like it. Putting that mixology double trade major to good use. Cicero’s got stock in the place, actually.”

“How you doin’ C-K?” Cicero pipes in next to you, waiting for his moment.

“Ah… I’ve got my complaints. For one, my Jack keeps you more company than me!”

There’s a series of hums and haws, that weird uncle secret language of heavy exhales that manage to say more than any actual words they could say.

You let the heaving run its course for ten seconds before cutting it short with, “Anyways, I’m still gonna keep the business running, just only in the mornings. It’s not like I brought in that much business anyway, I’m not pulling a foundation.”

“Everytime a small business dies, a rich man laughs, Jack!”

“It’s not dying! It’s alive! It’s present and alive!” Don’t get flashbacks. “Anyways, speaking of small businesses, I need a favour—”

“Ooh, the truth comes out, princess calls cause she needs bail—”

“For the love of God, let me get through a sentence, Pops!” You grumble, continuing. “Remember that overpriced monogram machine you bought for no reason?”

“It was not for no reason, it was invaluable because it saved my mitts from hand embroidering all those logos— And and— you have to remember—” You mouth the words along with him, mimicking him, because you know exactly what he’s going to say, “that it all starts in your community— And now you have like eight beautiful outfits, cause of me… And also it’s fun.”

“Well… If it’s fun, would you consider making some linen napkins?”

And it flows like ping pong, because your dad is a repairman— Well, former, but still. He’s simple. He handles negotiations simple. So do you.

“For who?” “Restaurant. The Bear.” “Why?” “Cause they need linen napkins.” “How many?”

You look over your shoulder to Richie, he does the math in his head pretty quickly, “Bout seventy to a hundred covers a night.”

“Six hundred.” “Pay?” “We’ll pay supplies, and I’ll give you like—” You look to Syd, expectantly. She has no answer, so you put your advanced on the line. “A thousand?”

“A thousand!? Less than a dollar a napkin! Is this pre-housing crisis?!” “I work here, okay?! Discount me!” “My God, princess, are you in love with the owner or something?”

That world feels like it's choking, but that's probably just you. You blow hot air out of your mouth, looking anywhere but Carmen. Refusing to see him even in your periphery. Refusing to see his blue screened but ever so slightly expectant expression. Well? Are you? …Or something?

After a long moment, you find a way to avoid the question. “Ah–Uh, Syd co-owns the place.”

“Oh, Adamu?!”

Syd pipes in, leaning over the table. You hold the phone out for her. “H–Hey, Mr. CK.” She waves, despite the fact that it’s a phone call.

“Hey kiddo. Aw, what a sweetheart. Lead with her next time!”

“Alright!” You bring the phone back to your face— It’s remained off speakerphone this entire time, but he continues to yell loud enough for the table. “I didn’t realize you were best friends.”

“Of course we are. Y’know she brought me this uh– this salmon mushroom risotto the other night? Unbelievable.”

You squint at Adamu curiously, whispering. “You bring my dad food?”

She whispers in return, defensive. “He lives on my block, don’t be weird.”

“For her, I’ll do it for eight-hundred, okay kiddo? I know how tough it is to start up a business, can’t imagine trying to move on top of that.”

Your turn to blue screen. Moving? You’re immediately over the love thing. “...Pardon?”

“...I’ll do it for eight—”

“No– Yes, sorry, yes dad that’s great—” You arch the phone away from your face, focusing your attention on Syd. “Syd, you’re moving out?”

She sighs, “Trying to.”

“Pops.” You straighten up, not looking away from her. “I’ll call you back to sort details later, okay?”

“Sure. You also need to let me know holiday plans, are we going up to Oak Park or—”

Somewhat disrespectfully, you speak hurriedly, “Yeah, we’ll figure it out, love you, bye!” and hang up. Still locked on Syd, you ask. “When you tryna move?”

“Like, soon as possible.” She stretches out her shoulders. “My own dad is sort of… Encroaching on my space.”

“Right.” Your eyes flicker with too many ideas, and you’re trying to temper expectations. “You wanna live by yourself?”

“I mean, I don’t really know anyone on the same timeline as me, with the same ‘low budget’ as me.”

The Computer attempts to interrupt the interruption of his review, holding a finger up, “And why are we talking about—”

But you hold the palm of your hand up, continuing on, “I need to move out asap and have a ‘low budget’.”

That’s Carmen’s queue to chime in, he loves your place. “What happened?”

Also Richie’s, “What? Chip, your spot’s like a historical site, ya can’t move.” and this is generally agreed upon by a sea of dismayed voices.

“To make an extremely long story short, I don’t have a choice.” You wave your hand in the air, silencing murmurs. “My sweet old lady landlord— The only landlord I’ve ever respected, got bought out by a fuckin’ big business gentrification ass company— I’m not in a rent controlled zone so they’re gonna keep jacking the rent until I move out so they can tear it down and build a new spot— They also may or may not have found out that me and Loretta— My landlord— Haven’t exactly been keeping up to date on my lease.”

“Meaning?” Carmen knows the answer will be bad.

But it’s somehow worse. “Meaning I pay my rent on time in cash and she texts me once a year saying ‘do you want to keep living here?’ and I say ‘yes’, and we continue on.”

“Well, hold up—” Richie holds a hand up, like he’s a genius. “Squatter’s rights?”

“I thought about going that avenue, but—” You gesture to Syd. “If you’re already moving, and looking for a roommate?”

She looks up and around, thinking about it. You decide to join her in the brainstorm, scooching yourself just an inch to the right, writing on free space on the plexiglass screen, ‘pros and cons’

“Pro.” You murmur as you write. “I have a better credit score than you.”

Syd sputters, half sarcastic. “Well, that’s just uncalled for.”

“It’ll give you more options for places! Better ones! Ones with in-unit laundry!” You defend.

“In-unit laundry…” “Your eyes just lit up in such a sad way.” “Con. You are an ass.”

“That’s a pro. A real con would be that I have a lot of plants and if I ever go on vacation I’m gonna need you to take care of them, and I’m not gonna have a binder for you, because I water them based on vibes, and if I come back and they’re dying I’m gonna be pissed off and very passive aggressive about it.”

“Violently honest.” “Pro. Mostly direct. Aside from when I’m not.” “Con. I’m not direct.”

“Con. That’s fine but if I get the idea that you’re mad at me I’m gonna act really weird about it until you reassure me that everything is okay and you don’t want to throw me out the window.”

“Yeah. Con. Same.”

“Pro. I’ve lived by myself for a while, which is good to have when you’re moving out of your parents for the first time. Con. I’ve lived by myself for a while, and I’m very used to the lifestyle of big t-shirt no pants, I’m not giving that up.”

Now that one takes Syd a second to unpack, “But, but like, underwear though, right—?”

“No shit I wear underwear!”

“Okay! It’s important to note!”

“Don’t be weird.” Richie grumbles behind you, solidly directed at Carmen.

Who’s whole face really just scrunches up in confusion. “‘Don’t be weird’? You don’t be weird.”

“I’m not bein’ fuckin’ weird—” “Then why are you up in my shit—” “Up in your shit? Oh wow—” “Fully not what I was referencing—” “Don’t be weird, cousin!” “I literally— I did not even move— Not a single cell in my body—” “And— And you only know that ‘cause you had to lock it down, you dog—”

“I don’t remember having kids, why the fuck am I in a Kindergarden?” Uncle Jimmy interrupts.

“I’m just takin’ care of my boy, Unc.” Richie raises a hand in defense, feigning innocence. “Can’t be too careful.”

“You super can, and you super are.” You grimace, elbowing him again. “And also, not important–!”

“Actually, no, very important.” Syd of all people interrupts. “Non-negotiable, like you can’t— …Like you— …When I’m home it’s like— Don’t—” Ah.

You roll your eyes and save her before she just about breaks out in a feverish sweat. “Syd, I wasn’t planning on it. That’s like roommate rule one.”

“Syd.” Richie points to his own eyes, then to hers, ‘watching you’. “Don’t be weird.”

“What the fuck—”

“Everyone shut up, pros and cons—!” You shout, gaining the attention back. “Pros. I have a car, we work at the same place, I have all the furniture for a living room already, you'd never have to wait for a landlord to fix something ever again, and I could probably do a bunch of D-I-Y renter friendly projects, if you wanted.”

“...Oh my god, a French-door pantry.” “I think I could swing that.” “Pros. You’ll never have to cook again. I guess that’s my only pro, actually.”

“Con. I have been feeding the cat on my fire escape for like a year and if I’m moving I am going to have to adopt her, so we’re gonna have a cat. She’s cute, she has five toes on each paw. Something dactyl, it’s called.”

“What’s her name?” Squid’s not excited per se, but she’s not saying no.

You shrug. “I never named her, let’s name her together.”

“No, that’s too much pressure—” “No, you’ll do great—” “What do you mean I’ll do great—?” “Three–” “Oh like together together? No! What—?!” “Shut up, just do it, head empty, two—” “No! I’m just not gonna say any—” “Yes you will, Squid. One!”

And together, perfectly in sync, like it was planned all along, you both say on queue, “Calamari!”

“There we go.” You write ‘Calamari’ on the plexiglass. “That’s my girl— That’s our girl, actually. I’m still not sure if she’s a girl.”

You click your tongue against your teeth, knocking your head back and forth in thought as you look at the scribblings on the glass. “Non-negotiables?”

Syd leans forward on the table, chin propped up in her hands. “I need forty-five minutes of bathroom time at the beginning of the day.”

“...Do you have a fuckin’ lactose intolerance?” “It’s my me time!” “Alright! Fuckin’ fifty minutes of toilet time for Syd. Ah, I need east facing windows… and uhm…”

Syd stares at you, and alas, she can tell, “You have a big non-negotiable…”

“It’s not that big… It’s more a group thing than a roommate thing, really…” “What is it?” “I think… It would be fun… If we all started playing Dungeons and Drag—”

There’s an immediate, staggeringly loud array of groans, you’re still writing it down nonetheless, all the while defending, “I honestly think a little roleplay and math would fix you assholes! I really think it would! I’ll D-M, I’ll make it so easy— Please?”

Syd grimaces, but inevitably nods. “Y’know what, you’re never gonna get a concrete schedule for that down, and no one else is gonna agree so yes, sure from me.” Still a win.

“Okay.” You hum, capping the marker. “So… Aim to move first of February? You down?”

It takes some time, and you realize as Syd’s brain frozen, that you might be overstepping. “Sorry, that’s going too fast, you think on it—”

“...I’m down.” You make it very easy for her to say yes, by giving her the option to say no. “Yeah, let’s do it. February. I’m down.”

“I’m so happy for you two, but I’m still fuckin’ reeling— Chippy, it’s– it’s— So many memories—” Richie’s being overly dramatic on purpose, hand on your shoulder, really laying on the vocal fry in his voice; but it is true. “I mean, come on, first time I’d ever been stabbed was on your block.”

“Sorry, what?” Carmen was having fun watching his two favourite employees figure out they’d be perfect roommates. He loves to be a fly on walls around you more than he’d like to admit. Richie managed to ruin it with one line. “Stabbed on your block?”

“Yeah,” You suck the air between your teeth, trying to think of some sort of white lie, but slowly shake your head, “I— Yeah, there’s no real way for me to down play it, I was so fuckin’ scared.”

“You were tweaking!” Richie laughs, clapping his hand against your shoulder, to him it’s a charming story— You’d probably be laughing too, if Carmen didn’t seem so… unpleased, let’s say. “You fuckin’ thought I was gonna die!”

“You fucking were!” You slap Rich’s hand away. “It was so close to a cerebral artery— First and last time I’ll administer stitches in my fucking kitchen, hand to God—”

“What’s the story?” Oh, new face from Carmen you haven’t seen before, bewildered annoyance, you’d describe it as, it’s going in your bottom five. “You live in a bad neighbourhood?”

“It’s rustic—” You try, but Richie opts to speak on your behalf. “Oh, Chip lives in a terrible neighbourhood, Cousin. You’ve been there, haven’t you?”

“Yeah but it didn’t seem that bad— No— Hold on, go back, stabbed why?”

“So I heroically defended a boy from crooked—” Richie tries, but you opt to speak on his behalf. “Richie was helping me bring up groceries, we saw some highschoolers shaking a kid down, Richie tried to break it up, one of ‘em stabbed him with one of those shitty switchblade comb things.”

“You got stabbed by a kid?” Syd snorts, but immediately regrets it because she has perfectly set him up for—

“Yeah, and wouldn’t be the last time, would it?”

“Richie, c’mon…” You reach up, patting the guy’s shoulder. “It was an accident and she apologized—”

Richie just raises his eyebrows, interrupting with a simple, “Mm-mm.”

And so yours raise in tow, “...Fuck you mean ‘mm-mm’?” And your head turns to Syd, alarmed. “Syd, you apologized, right?”

Her mouth just sort of hangs, sputtering noises do come out of it, but nothing that strings a sentence together. You grow more agog, repeating again, astonished, nearly laughing from the shock, “Syd?! You apologized, right?! And told him it was an accident, right?”

Syd takes a beat, but she gets there. “I— I. Am. Sorry I stabbed you by accident, Richie.”

“Hm.” Richie crosses his arms, considering, mostly sarcastically. “Yeah, I’ll take it, I guess. Would’ve liked a card.”

“I am not getting you a card.” “I’m jus’ sayin’ I’d’ve liked one.”

Carmen’s still five steps behind, “Are you gonna be fine living there? In January?”

You choke back a laugh, because this is how men try to show they care, one must imagine. “I’ve been fine for the past handful of years living there, I think I’ll be fine for another month, sweetheart.”

“Crime is bad in January.”

“I was a first responder, and I know that’s not true.” You shake your head, shirking off laughter. “It’s actually in the summer that you see shit go down. Again, I will be fine. But you are free to visit.”

“Point of order.” The Computer finally pipes up again— Might’ve forgot he was here, if you’re honest. “What are we talking about anymore?”

“Point of order— I feel like numbers— Talking numbers is great but it’s all just like— Paper, y’know?” You unlatch the plexiglass, gently settling it back down on the table. “We should be talking more.”

Tina nearly whistles in agreement, nodding by your side. “Heavy that, Jeff.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’, like—” You snap your fingers to the rest of the crew, hand moving to and fro to point at everyone, “Did y’all know until right now that Syd was moving? …No, right? Let’s like— Fuckin’ remember to check in, like y’know, family, Chefs.”

And without calling her out, you can feel Tina’s demeanor next to you change, relaxed.

“Heard, Chef.” Is the agreement from the crew, however, The Computer nor Cicero seem convinced, so with a sigh, you put on your most authoritative voice.

“Y’know. Three Cs! Caring cuts costs!” A phrase no one has ever said, but it sounds legitimate when you put it like that. That gets them to acquiesce.

Thank God, Marcus helps you move the conversation along, “...What’s everyone doing for the holidays?” Alas for both of you, the silence is deafening. “...Or not.”

You volley back for him, “If no one has hard plans I was thinking of having a lil’ Holiday party? Nothing big. Sort of a ‘goodbye old apartment’ party? Come by after you hang out with your families or whatever?”

“Not gonna go up to Oak Park?” Rich leans one arm on your shoulder, nursing his whiskey cocktail in the other.

“Meh.” You shrug, attempting to push him off you, but he doubles down. “We’re not so intense about holidays since everyone’s aged. I’ll visit my nephew on New Years.”

“I’m doin’ Eve with Eva, but I’ll be free on the day. I’ll come by. We doin’ gifts?”

“I mean I got you something, so,” You tap the bottom of his glass as Rich takes another sip, making him flinch. “Catch the fuck up.”

Syd pipes in, sniffing. “Me and my dad only celebrate on Christmas Eve now, so I’ll come.”

“Incredible. Two down.” You gesture to Marcus and Tina across the table. “You guys? Tina I assume you’ve got a loving family and shit?”

Tina smiles and nods, rightfully proud. “I do have a loving family and shit, but maybe I’ll come by late with them too?”

And Marcus tacks on with her, “I’m gonna be with my mom most of the night, but I’ll come through for a couple hours.”

“Perfect, perfect. Invites open to any plus ones as long as you text me first!” You hum, writing names down on the glass board. It’s kind of a nightmare of different lists at this point. “Richie, can you make sure Fak and Sweeps get the invite?”

“Yessir.”

“And us!?” Shrieks Cheech in the back, who really shouldn’t be able to hear you, he should be in the zone, slinging sandwiches.

You yell back without turning to him. “Yes, fucker, you and E can come, if you want! No fuckin’ plus one for you though!”

“Oh come the fuck on, Jack-Off!”

“Oh, make me a fuckin’ sandwich, big man!”

“Oh, I’ll make you a fuckin’ sandwich!”

“Oh, my dick!” A response that makes no sense, consistently the perfect bookend. You sigh, and finally, your eyes flit to the most terrified two in the room. “Berzattos… Holiday plans?”

“I think we’re gonna do dinner on Christmas Eve, and then the morning together? Well, I am.” Sug hesitates, she’s looking between Uncle Jimmy and Carmen. “I was gonna ask what Carm’s plan is…”

“I’ll go. I’ll go.” Carmen has to stop himself from biting the skin off the tips of his fingers. “I’ll go. And I’ll come to the party, after.”

“I’ll probably just go home with Pete after. Baby’s first Christmas, y’know.” Natalie hums and nods awkwardly. There’s a question both of them want to ask. Neither of them are brave enough to ask it. And while you can sense there’s something dancing in the air, you’re not going to overstep on this front.

“Mazel. I can buy silly decor with reason now. …Now let’s talk about the important grievances.” You hum, happy to end that chapter.

You turn just slightly to gently slap Richie’s cheek as he stands next to you. “Rich, you need to line your beard up, this neckbeard shit is pissing me off—”

“What’s with the fuckin’ drive by?!” “It’s been on my mind forever— You can’t be wearin’ suits and then be rockin’ that unkempt shit, clean up—” “I’m clean! I’m fucking clean!” “Who said? Who fuckin’ said? Cause I sure didn’t!” “How’m I s’posed to be linin’ my shit up every mornin’—” “You do not grow a beard that fast—” “Oh fuck you, I’m not fuckin’ Carmen, I grow a fuckin’ beard.”

Carmen’s just surprised to hear his name out of any name come up. “What– Now that’s a fucking drive by, what the fuck?”

“If we’re voicing grievances, I’d like to voice my fuckin’ complaint with Captain Crash-Out over here—” “Who the fuck is sublimating now?” “You’re not usin’ that term correctly, cause you’re not integrated—” “I thought you two worked this out on the road trip!” “We did!”

You only half regret starting this feud with the beard comment— To be fair, you’re right. “This is it working?”

“This is, in fact, it working.” Syd confirms plainly, her disappointment more than apparent. Rubbing the tips of her fingers to her temples. The fight is out of her, at this point.

“Alright.” You slap your hands together. “Richie, what is your complaint?” Are you just union rep now? You might be a union rep now.

“Carmen is fucking killing me.” The cocktail swishes and nearly spills as Richie points at the Chef, emphatic. “He won’t change shit for guests!”

“No substitutions!” It’s almost cultish, the way Sydney and Carmen yell it out together.

Richie scoffs, head reeling back. “What happened to it bein’ about hospitality?”

“I mean…” You suck air through your teeth, squinting. “If we’re sayin’ no substitutions, it’s no substitutions— Unless it’s like an allergy or sensory thing— But even then, it shouldn’t be like a major component getting replaced.”

“See? See?” It’s almost maniacal, rabid, how delighted Carmen is that you’re on his side. “Fuckin’ thank you. This is why I lo—”

Before Carmen can finish his sentence, Richie flails about to suddenly throw the peach and blueberry skewer from his drink at Carmen— Not the pointed side, he doesn’t want to stab the guy. Just wants to save him from running his mouth. The peach slice hits Carm’s chest as Richie stutters out, “F-Fuck you, fuck you, fine. No substitutions— What the fuck am I supposed to say then?” speaking over whatever syllables fell out of Carmen’s mouth, muddling them.

You cock your brow, but Carmen seems to quickly let the childish toss go, more than eager to move on. So you do too. “...Say some bullshit like, like, The Bear encourages —uhm— explorative culinary experiences where you let your taste buds go beyond your limitations and comforts— So eat a fuckin’ mushroom, you’re not gonna die.”

“If they don’t like mushrooms—” “Then they shouldn’t order it!” “How hard is it to just fuckin’ switch it out!?” “So hard! So hard! I think! I could guess!”

“I could do it.”

“Could you?” You cross your arms, leaning your weight onto one leg, pivoting to Richie. “Okay, roleplay, you’re Carmen, I’m you—” Just as Richie opens his mouth, you hold your index finger to his lips. “I know you wanna be a bitch, I’m askin’ you to just skip that part for me.”

His shit eating grin is only a little endearing. “How am I supposed to be in character if I’m not allowed to be a bitch?”

You clench and unclench your hands in the air, but let it go, opting to move on to your little thought experiment. “Chef, patient—” Instincts never give out, huh? “Christ, patron doesn’t want mushrooms in their anolini, I need you to sub it.”

“Ah, well I’m happy to do that for you, Host Richie, I—” He’s going to go into some scathing spiel, and you love the guy, but you have to rub dirt in the wound for the lesson to stick.

You speak over him, voice stern, “Chef. In order to keep pace, I need you to make this call in fifteen seconds, what are you subbing it for?”

Richie’s head shakes back and forth as he scrambles to get his brain to work.“Fuckin— Fucking– Eggplant.”

“Eggplant?” You ask politely, tone unsure. Carmen asks it with you, tone ridiculing.

“It’s a sauce isn’t it?” You squint, turning your head to the actual Carmen. “It’s like a really thick mushroom sauce stuffed pasta?”

He tilts his head from side to side, but nods. In gist, yes. “It’s a ragout. Low and slow cooked stew—” Carmy’s ready to rave about it and teach you every facet of the dish, but perhaps that’s too romantic for a public setting. God, he’s weird about love. “We keep it going on our back burners all day— It takes an hour minimum to make from scratch, you can’t just sub it.”

“Yeah, well…” Richie stops himself short of getting snarky for no reason all over again, taking a second to think about it. “Well, I didn’t know that. You didn’t explain that shit to me.”

“I don’t have time to hold your fuckin’ hand—” Carmen stops short of getting catty when you give him a very soft and yet gutting disappointed look. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sniffing. “I can’t explain why I do everythin’ I do when I’m— When we’re in a middle of a rush, I just need you to trust when kitchen says we can’t do it. Trust that I thought it through.”

Richie has to control himself, has to make sure the corners of his mouth don’t upturn just slightly, has to make sure it’s not clear that he is overjoyed that there’s finally middle ground, can’t get his hopes up. He nods. “I just wanna make everyone happy, y’know?”

“I know. You’re—” Carmen’s nose scrunches up for a second, God, he’s never had to say that he think’s Richie’s good to his face. And he’s not gonna start now, “Eggplant would be a good sub, if we had time.”

Richie prods his tongue along the side of his cheek, thinking. “Maybe I could look into knowin’ restrictions faster and estimatin’ their orders, so you can have ‘em on deck?”

And Carmen does think that’d be a waste of time, but he’s learning. He hears it out. “Could give it a shot, yeah.”

“Same team.” Richie reaches across the counter, and Carmen actually takes his hand, a quick dap. Civil.

“Same team.” First time you’ve heard Carmen adopt your idiom; you can’t help but smile, though you’re trying to hide it. You’re too focused on arguably the two most important men in your life to notice the silent conversation Uncle Jimmy is having with The Computer, speaking solely through nods and exchanged glances.

Pay is for Chip. Cicero nods, and The Computer nods back. He gets it now. Pay is for Chip. Not just the mixologist, not just the sommelier, not just the repairman, not just the not-quite girlfriend, Chip. You’re Chip. You’re the cog, the piece. The grease between everyone.

You’re the guy. Always have been, always will be.

The silent conversation and the warm feeling in the room is cut short though, by The Computer. “Can she deal with the butter thing?”

“What the fuck is the butter thing?” You immediately jump onto the case, when Carmen looks down and away from you, you frown, leaning in. “What’s the butter thing?”

Jimmy snaps his fingers at The Computer, he hands him an invoice, which is then handed off to you. Old Major Farms, Orwellian Butter, salted and unsalted. $11,268. You just. Stare. The math comes all too easy to your head. Worth a week?

“It’s the best.” Carmen repeats as your eyes remain worryingly unblinking. “It’s—”

“Carm.” Syd all but hisses, shaking her head in tight swivels, waving her hand around her neck for him to cut it. “Making it worse.”

“Angel is like, the worst it can get.” Hums Richie. Recalling your barometer of anger. Recalling the times when Mikey would say ‘what’s the point of paying bills?’ And you’d have to pull him aside. “Can’t get much lower than that besides—”

“Light of my life.” You look up from the paper in your hand, and both Richie and Sydney wince. Your voice is terrifyingly delicate as you nod over to the room behind you. “Apple of my eye. Can I speak to you in your office, please?”

Carmy’d like to say no. “...Yeah.” But you already started walking before he even answered, so there’s not much of a choice here. You head in by yourself, and thankfully, the door closes behind you, so Carmen’s got a second before he gets devoured.

He walks around the counter, and as he nears the door, Richie grabs his arm. He whispers as he hands Carmen what’s left of his cocktail. “You need to lock the fuck in.”

“I know.” Carm returns, shooting down all that’s left of the lowball. Why’s Richie’s the sweet one? Why’d Carmen get the cough syrup drink? That’s not fair. Do you not think he’s sweet? “Thank you for the— Intercept.”

Richie nods, he’s been unwillingly playing quarterback for Carmen since going to Rockefeller and seeing that goddamn giant tree and Carmen couldn’t stop opening his big fucking mouth after seeing you under the star. “Just think with your brain, not your—”

“Don’t.” “Was gonna say heart.” “Sure.” “Don’t be weird.”

“I know it’s expensive.” Carmen gets it out before even fully closing the door behind him, “But it’s normal prices, for high-end restaurants. I know it’s different—” He stops short when he finally turns around from the closed door, to see you, holding your painting.

It’s facing you, you’re reviewing it in your hands where you sit in the office chair; the brown wrapping paper freshly ripped and on the floor. Carmen still doesn’t know what’s on the piece.

“Carm.” You twist the piece around in your hand, turning it to him. He can see the nine squares. The Beef to The Bear. Mikey. “This is not another restaurant.”

Carmen continues to stare, silently, though he takes a step closer, reaching a hand out to graze over the canvas. You keep going, clarifying. “We’re not just another high-end restaurant. We’re us. And so we should be doing things like us. We’re the best, we don’t need the stuff to be.”

He was with you until that last part. His pursed lips say as much.

“It’s—” You smack your lips together, haphazardly handing him the canvas, he’s very quick to grab it with both hands, not wanting it unstable for a second. “Hold on, let me show you somethin’ — I think I left one in here.”

You roll the office chair back a bit, sinking down in the seat to reach far behind a tall cabinet; you have to pad your hand around in the dark nook for quite some time before you pull out— A screwdriver. An oddly shaped one, at that.

“...Has that been here the whole time?”

You nod. “Like threeish years at least, I think I threw it back there while telling it’s origin story. It’s part of the first set I ever got.” You grip the flat wooden handle. “It’s the worst screwdriver on earth, like, by far.”

That gets a little chuckle out of Carmen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look up from it to him. “It’s a handmade set. Dad’s dad made it.” You awkwardly roll closer to him, he leans over, head next to your head as you both look down at it. “It’s got a flat wooden handle, made of poplar— So not only is it fucking impossible to get a good grip on, it’s also so fucking slippery. It’s part of a whole set, passed down from my grandpa to my dad to me.”

“Sounds fucked.”

“It is.” You laugh, and so does he. “It’s purposefully meant to piss you off.” You rub your thumb over the dent marks in the wood— All from the times you threw it at something— Including the very cabinet that it hid behind. “You ever wonder why I took over the handyman gig, bein’ the youngest and all?”

Carmy shrugs, glancing from the screwdriver to you. “Just assumed you were the best.”

That gets another laugh out of you, and Carmen’s overjoyed by the sound. “Yeah, I’m probably the best. But that’s only cause I kept up with it.”

You turn your head up to face Carmen again as you explain, “When our dad started bringing us to jobs as kids, he would make us exclusively use this set of screwdrivers— Sort of as a secret test. My brothers would get pissed off, as planned, and they’d quit and cry. And I dunno, I guess I’d cry and keep going? And I learned a couple tricks, eventually.”

“Tricks?”

“Like.” You pull back in the chair and run your hand across the office desk. The corners of it are screwed into the metal cabinet below it. “It’s really good if you’re screwing from the top down.” Using it as an example, you start to unscrew it. “It’s balanced. And it’s really all in the grip— Always loosen your grip with this one. Even if that seems counterintuitive.”

You get it to unscrew just fine with your loosened grip. “But if that doesn’t work, and you just can’t get it to work—” You lift the screwdriver in front of his face, showing off the sides of the handle. He smirks at the— “Just make your own grooves, it’ll be easier to hold.” Tiny teeth marks.

“Carm.” You tap the handle to his nose as he zones in too much on it. “I’m the best repairman because I can work with anything. You’re the best Chef because you can work with anything. You don’t need the best when you’re the best.”

He’s the best?

He’s the best.

“I truly think you could make just as good a plate with Becel as this fucking Animal Farm butter.”

Carmen’s the best. You think he’s the best.

He’s gotta think with his head and not with his heart and not with anything else, either. Lock the fuck in, Carmen.

“I dunno bout all that.” He shrugs, bashful and attempting to hide it, trying to shake the praise off his back.

“Well I know ‘bout that.” You shrug back, “I’m actually kind of a genius, when it comes to knowing who’s good and who’s not.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Carmy hums, and the sound is sweet without reservations. “...Painting is very good.” He nods to himself, on repeat, like a bobblehead. “Or I guess it’s less a painting and more a buncha photo transfers?”

“Yeah.” You set the screwdriver aside on the desk. “Most of them I took.”

“They’re good. It’s—” He pauses, tongue against his teeth. “It’s nice to see evidence he kept up, or somethin’.”

You nod, seeing Carmen’s brain struggle to keep pace in real time. “We took that one I think the day we talked to Uncle Jimmy about The Bear? Had to print out articles as proof we could make it work— Or, that you could make it work, rather.”

Carmen sniffs, crossing his arms, hands in tight fists— Probably too tight— where they hide. “Yeah, kinda fuckin’ up my end of the bargain, hm?” The light laugh that follows is hollow.

“Eh. You both did.” You smile, though it’s hesitant. “ But at least you’re still here fixing it.”

Still here. Still fixing it. That is in essence, the piece. Carmen gets lost staring at the squares, so you speak as he does. “I was trying to like. I dunno, replicate your brain.” He can see it. The messy yet coherent, controlled yet chaos. The love. The grief. The progress. The home. You see him. He can see that you see him.

“11k for butter,” Carm’s head doesn’t move but his eyes raise to you. “Is a week. More than a week.”

Ah. Carmen can see you too, see your thought process. The Ascaso, worth one of the worst weeks of Mikey’s life. The fucking butter. Worth more than a week of Mikey’s sobriety.

All you can do is nod solemnly. “It is, yeah.”

He nods back, tongue prodding his cheek. “That’s too much.”

“I’d agree.”

“I’ll switch to local.” You make it easy for him to fix his mistakes, by giving him the space to realize them.

“I think that’s the right call.” You nod, smiling. After a moment, you reach for Carmen to uncross his arms, and when he does, you take his fist and uncurl it— Your hand is a very soothing balm to the spots where he dug his nails into his own hand.

“Loosen your grip, Carmy.”

And so, he does. With a laugh and a look to high heaven, he loosens his grip. Really loosens his grip. Well— Not completely, he’s not going to say that, but he will say something that is just nearly as difficult but not quite. He'll bite down a little. He’ll make the grooves, for now, until his grip is good enough.

“Come to dinner with us?”

would you believe me if i said I had to rewrite a bit of this last scene because intially it went so rom-com and I was so disgusted when I reread it in the morning I had to stare at it in the subway ride to work like "what the fuck am I gonna do"

was this chapter good? God I hope so. I felt like with where we're going, it was kinda necessary to do Chip's onboard, set the stage for what work is like for her. I had to loosen my own grip with this one lmao. just allow myself to be a LITTLE messy. if it's bad, lie to me. tell me sweet little lies peach

DAD REVEAL THOUGH EH? MR CK!!! So much did happen this chapter. Chips on board! Squid Ink moving in together era commences! Christmas party!! Also. Would you believe me if I told you no shit syd was gonna move, she was planning it in S2, but I was planning this whole time for Ink to get evicted!! I want those fuckers to be roommates STAT!!!

anyways, i really hope i remembered to write down everyone that asked to be added to the taglist, i might've not. i'm very sorry if i didnt

oh also if you wanna be added!! send in your thoughts!! words for words baby, essay for essay cmonnn gimme ur character analysis!! (oh and also ask to be added, ofc)

@hoetel-manager , @fridavacado @sharkluver , @spectacular-skywalker , @silas-aeiou , @deadofnight0 , @sunbreathingstuff , @anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @blueaproncarmy @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @mrs-perfectly-fine @thefreakingbear @anytim3youwant

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

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g0ry0re0 · 5 months

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"Two Sugars" - Part 2, Derek Danforth (The Beekeeper, 2024, Film) - Imagine

Description: As promised by Derek Danforth himself, an at-home coffee date takes a turn for the not-so-unexpected. / Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

General Notes: 18+, MDNI!!, Pure Smut, Some Plot (barely), Gender Neutral Reader (no use of Y/N, no mention of specific genitalia, "hole" and "entrance" are used), A Little Bit Of Nipple Play, Not-Sanitary Kitchen Sex, Oral Sex (reader and derek), Use Of Lube And Spit, Fingering (reader), Penetrative Sex (reader), No Use Of A Condom, Creampie (reader), Second Person POV, Use Of Pet Names ("sugar", "baby", "pretty thing"), Dirty Talk/Banter, Some Degradation (toward reader, "slut"), Some Praise (toward reader), Use Of Curse Words (derek says fuck a lot + others), A Little Bit Of Abuse Of Power, Reader Has A Little Internal Dialogue (italics)

Author's Note: Author's first smut! Lol. This took a lot, so I'm totally open to any critiques regarding this! This is also officially the longest thing I've ever written on Tumblr. Shoutout to @anal-spaghetti-monster for helping proofread this! Enjoy!

Word Count: 3,712 Words

Part 1

This car was way too fancy for your taste. You nervously pull down on your top as you look around, fiddling with the edge of it and slightly fraying the ends. It's got practically an entire bar lined up behind the driver and a goddamn sunroof. You're almost tempted to stand out of it like you're straight out of a coming-of-age film. Are those all-around seat warmers? You continue to ogle at the intricacies of the vehicle currently taking you to a billionaire's house. Your boss's house. This was almost too much for you to handle.

Before you can spiral over the thought, the car pulls into an extremely lavish-looking mansion, completely glazing over any thoughts you have on the mode of transportation. The vehicle stops and the driver runs around the car to open the door for you, holding his hand out and almost bowing as you step out of the car.

"O-oh," you stutter out, not used to this sort of treatment. "Thank you."

You look up toward the large staircase leading to the mansion's front door and see a figure standing at the top. You can see smoke flowing from the figure briefly before dissipating. The wind blowing made you realize you forgot to bring a coat. You shiver as you walk up the stairs to meet the figure, which you can see clearer now. Mr. Danforth himself. He was smiling as he took another hit from his pen, blowing the smoke toward you with little remorse. Once the smoke clears, you take in his attire. He hadn't changed. Still wearing that ugly green print button-up and orange jacket. Still very tacky. He sticks his pen in his pocket and reaches his hand out to you, still smiling.

"Hey, sugar."

You roll your eyes playfully, smiling back as you reach your hand out toward his. He brings your hand up to his lips. Ever the charmer...

"Come on in." He gently pulls you closer to him and leads you inside his house, the door being opened by another one of his staff members.

Derek walks in first, taking you with him as he lets you look around. The inside was just as impressive as you imagined it'd be. It was more formal than you anticipated, but still expensive-looking nonetheless.

"Nice, right?" He smiles at you, looking you up and down.

"It is...really nice..." You trail off, still taking in your surroundings.

You're not sure if you've ever even been in a mansion before. He lets you admire for a few moments longer before breaking the silence.

"Well, I did promise you coffee, didn't I? Follow me."

He pulls you away, fixing your gaze back to him and leading you to an adjacent room. The kitchen, where a couple of his staff members are standing at attention, waiting for him to bark whatever orders he has at them. He shoos them away with a wave of his hand before turning back to you. Well, alright, I guess. You make a bit of a face, unintentionally, causing Derek to glance at you.

"Don't worry about them, baby."

He drops your hand and looks toward a large bar-looking wall in the kitchen, affixing your attention to it as well.

"This," he gestures to that section, "is my drink bar. Coffee, teas, cocktails, mocktails. You name it, I got it."

You stand there, gaze fixed on the counter in awe. He doesn't give you a chance to say anything before speaking again.

"I can make you anything you want. Flat white, matcha latte, piña colada..." He trails off before looking back at you. "A black coffee with two sugars." He adds teasingly.

You give him a knowing smile before moving closer. He lets you walk around it, observing its many details for a few minutes. A Jura double brew machine? A Simonelli espresso maker? Not to mention, a million different kinds of liquor and juices. How could someone even fathom owning this much stuff?

He looks you up and down without your knowledge, taking his time ogling at your curves. Both of you are in awe of different things. When you take a moment to lean on the counter, Derek makes a bold move of coming up behind you, pressing you against the edge with his hands on your hips. You gasp and try to look back at him, almost unsuccessfully because of the angle. He rubs his hands along your clothes waist.

Bringing his lips close to your ear, he purrs, "I think we all know why you're really here though, sugar."

You knew this was going to happen, he wasn't subtle about it even in the office. But it still took you by surprise, how quickly he got into it. You can feel him start to press kisses to the back of your neck, recapturing your attention. Derek begins lifting the slightly frayed edge of your shirt, feeling the warmth of your skin on his slightly cold hands. He leaves a few pecks behind your ear before speaking.

"This alright?" He asks, giving you a tender squeeze.

You nod your head, reveling in the feeling of his touch, which is visibly overwhelming your senses.

He makes a noise of disapproval. "Need to hear words, sugar, or we're not doing this."

"Y-yes. Please." You almost can't believe how eager you were already. You can only hope that having sex with your boss doesn't have that terrible of repercussions.

He hums in approval now. "There they are." He comments, almost to himself.

He lifts your top up higher, ghosting his fingers over your skin, his touch warmer now. You shiver for the second time that night. You allow him to pull your top over your head and toss it somewhere on the floor before you turn around. His hands slide further up your waist, getting closer to your chest as he looks up at you for permission.

"Wait." You pause as he looks at you with concern. "What if someone comes in?" You whisper and Derek chuckles.

"Trust me, no one will come in. I made sure of that."

You hesitantly let out a breathless, "Yeah, okay," before he brings his hand up, toying with both of your nipples. You release some soft noises as he lightly twists and runs his thumbs over your now stiff peaks. He brings his mouth down to one of them and moves his tongue, circling it. He gently bites down while pulling on the other and looks up at you.

You look back down at him as he starts kissing up your chest, making his way up to your neck where he leaves little love bites. He sucks on your skin in between soft bites, making his way up and down your chest, marking you as his. He makes his way back up, leaving kisses on your jaw before finally making his way to your lips, pausing briefly. You nod, his lips already practically pressed against yours, your breaths mingling.

He goes in for the kill, pressing his lips on yours fully. Your lips molded together feel like heaven, smacking against one another in the wettest, messiest way possible. His hands go from messing with your chest to groping your waist. To pushing on your hips. To fondling that fat of your thighs. Your hands weren't doing much different, one hand gripping and rubbing his shoulder. The other was tangled in his hair, pulling and tugging lightly, causing him to let out some groans into your mouth.

He pulls away enough to talk with his lips still pressed to yours. "You're driving me insane..." He breathes into you.

He bites your bottom lip to open your mouth up to his, shoving his tongue in unceremoniously. You're letting out soft noises of pleasure in his mouth, enjoying what little he's giving you, but you need more. You give his shoulder a squeeze, breaking away from one another after a few moments with a string of spit connecting you both. He maintains eye contact as he lowers his body, dropping to his knees in front of you, and running his hands along you as he goes. It feels almost surreal, to see the CEO of the company you work at submit to you, wanting to please you.

He begins to pull down your bottoms, still maintaining eye contact, taking your undergarments with them. You let him pull them down, stepping out of your shoes before kicking them away. He leaves a mix of sloppy kisses and harsher bites on your shins, calves, and thighs as he makes his way closer to your throbbing arousal. You wince every time he leaves a bite, but it feels undeniably so good.

The tension in the room was so thick, it could be cut with a knife. Derek looks up at you one last time before finally putting his mouth on you, causing you to let out a loud moan before you slap your hand over your mouth. He circles his tongue while he pinches your thigh, signaling that he wants you to uncover your mouth, which you do reluctantly. He alternates between sucking and licking before moving down to your entrance, wetting it in preparation.

He brings your leg up on his shoulder as he focuses on your hole, every once in a while sticking his tongue in, stretching you out just enough to keep you on the edge. Your core tightens as tears line your eyes and you bring a hand down to tangle in his bleached, curly hair again; the other gripping the counter for dear life. The air is filled with the wet sounds of Derek stroking your flesh with his tongue and your nearly pornographic-sounding moans. There's no way his staff can't hear you two right now. A rush of embarrassment runs through you before you realize that he probably does this enough to where they're used to it.

Before you can let that thought spiral, you feel Derek groan in you before slowly removing your leg from his shoulder and rising back up to your level. Wordlessly, he brings a hand up to your face, almost tenderly ghosting his thumb over your chin. Before you can lean in for another kiss, he holds his middle and ring finger up to your lips. Knowing immediately what he wants, you take his fingers in your mouth. Derek bites back a groan as you seductively swirl your tongue around his fingers, lubing them up for what you're sure he's going to do.

"Good slut..." He says offhandedly, almost moaning it before pulling them out of your mouth with a wet-sounding pop.

He makes his way back down your body, still keeping eye contact as he puts your leg back over his shoulder. He brings his fingers to your entrance and delicately circles it, teasing you. Just as he pouts his mouth back on you, he slowly inserts his fingers, stretching you open slightly. As his fingers and mouth bring you closer and closer to the brink of pleasure, you focus on chasing it as his fingers scissor you open.

"Fuck...oh, Derek. God..."

Your stomach tightens again and your legs threaten to give out as you let out the loudest noises you think you've ever made. Derek can feel your hole fluttering around his fingers, which makes him groan into your flesh again. Before you can even think of reaching your peak, Derek pulls out his fingers and makes his way back up to you, getting face-to-face.

"How ya doin', pretty thing?" Derek inquires playfully, going back to toying with your nipples.

You take a moment to catch your breath, only egging Derek on even more.

"What's that? Cat got your tongue?" Cheeky bastard...

"You're good at that." You finally whisper, not able to say much.

He laughs a bit.

"I can think of a few other things I'm good at." He pinches one of your nipples.

"'M gonna fuck you so good you won't wanna sit down for long at the office tomorrow. Then I'll fuck you some more. How about that?"

"Please." You breathe out desperately.

He leans in to kiss you once more, even messier this time, teeth practically clashing from the eagerness on both of your parts. Feeling bolder, you bring your hand gripping the counter down to Derek's waistband, gently running your fingers across it, asking for permission. He smiles into the kiss and pulls away, only slightly.

"Go ahead, sugar, I'm all yours."

This gives you the confidence to reach into his pants and grasp at his dick, still concealed by his boxers. As you grope him, you realize just how underdressed you are in comparison and look up at him. He looks back at you, biting his lip to conceal his noises as you bring your hands to remove his jacket, dropping it to the ground. Then you bring your hands down to unbutton his shirt, going at a faster pace. He tears off his button-up and you run your hands over his now-exposed chest after throwing it somewhere in the kitchen.

You slowly get down on your knees as you pull down his pants and he rests his hand on your head. You look up at him as you pull down his boxers, his length slapping up to his stomach causing him to hiss. You start to tentatively run your fingertip up the side of his member, tracing a prominent vein; you didn't want to tease him for too long, though. Both of you were too excited for that. You grip him softly and run your tongue along his tip, smearing his precum around before finally wrapping your lips around the first few inches. Derek is having trouble stifling his noises now, as he has been letting out whimpers with every little touch you provide him. You rest one of your hands on his tensed stomach now, almost comfortingly, and your other hand is wrapped around the base of his shaft as you take most of him in your mouth.

"Your mouth feels so fuckin' perfect..." He trails off, nearly mumbling.

Looking up at his minuscule expressions, you start bobbing your head at a slow pace, using your hand on what you can’t fit in your mouth. Derek grips the back of your head harder, now freely letting out moans of pleasure as he moves your head to go faster. You pull off briefly to let a glob of spit drip down onto him, spreading it along the length with your hand before putting him back in your mouth. You can start to feel the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag lightly, even more drool dripping down the corners of your mouth. He looks down at you, bliss written all over his face, eyes drooping as he tries to look at the mess you’ve become underneath him. He begins thrusting into your mouth, gently at first, getting a feel for your mouth and your tolerance before he starts thrusting a bit harder, gripping your scalp.

“God, you look so fucking good choking on my cock.”

Before you can process it, he pulls you off of him, nearly yanking you up by your shoulders and stepping out of his black pants, kicking them off somewhere on the floor along with his shoes. He turns you around and bends you over the bar as he presses kisses to your lower back.

“You get off on this, baby? Sleeping with your boss?” He taunts. “You get off on fucking the CEO of the company you work at?” He mirrors his words from earlier that day as he runs his hands along your sides.

All you can let out is a meek moan as he laughs.

“Too fucked out already to talk?” He asks and moves his hand down to repeat the pinch of the skin on your thigh playfully.

You can feel him leave for a moment so you briefly turn around. You see him rifling through his pants pocket before finding what he wanted: a bottle of lube. This asshole… You raise an eyebrow at him as he smirks.

“Can never be too prepared, right, sugar?” He teases.

“So, you can have lube at the ready but not a condom?” You ask, jokingly, gaining your voice back.

He looks back at you, giving you a goofy smile. “Feels better without one, baby. You know that.”

You roll your eyes as he pours a more-than-generous amount on his middle fingers before moving them back to your entrance. He presses his free hand on your lower back to bend you further over the counter as he circles your hole. You whimper out of desperation and push yourself back, wanting more. He presses harder on your back to keep you still as he finally inserts his fingers, gently loosening you up and providing the stimulation you need. You can feel the excess lube dripping down your legs, making a mess on the kitchen floor. After a few blissful moments, he slowly pulls his fingers out, watching the way you clench around nothing as his fingers fully leave your body.

“Fuck, look at you, baby.” He slurs as he presses your face into the surface with his clean, dry hand.

Finally, he lines himself up with your lubed-up entrance. He doesn’t take the time to tease you before he slowly begins to ease himself in, inch by inch. The stretch almost burns as he slowly bottoms out. After a few moments, his hips are connected with yours and he stills for a minute, causing the burning feeling to only grow slightly.

Derek groans. “Jesus, fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbled, starting to ramble.

“So fucking good,” he repeats, starting to move inside of you, only a little bit at first; quite gentle as he was getting a feel for you. One of his hands was holding your hip, pushing it against the edge of the countertop, causing it to dig into your hip bone almost painfully. The other was still pressing your face on top of the surface roughly. The roughness didn’t stop there, as Derek began to thrust harder and with longer strokes, moving even faster after a few minutes.

The only sounds that could be heard in the kitchen were your meek whimpers, Derek’s groans, and the lewd slaps of wet skin on skin. You began to move your own body with his as much as you could under his grip, and he let you. Both of you move in unison, sounds of absolute sin filling the air making the scene an unruly picture for anyone who might walk in. Your eyes start to roll to the back of your head as you muttered nonsensical strings of curses along with some sobs and wails.

Derek runs the hand that was previously on your hip along your back, smearing it with lube as you are now fully moving with him. “You’re driving me insane. You look so fucking good like this. Bent over my bar, stuffed full of my cock, in my fucking mansion.”

“You’re mine.” He growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

The mix of lube, spit, and precum you could feel building up inside of you, slicking each little movement, was an intoxicating feeling for the both of you. Derek was letting out little whimpers now as your moans got louder.

“Been thinkin’ about this all day.” He mutters out, his pace growing even faster. “God, you’re such a whore. Fucking your boss like this. Bet you do this everywhere you’ve worked.”

His thrusts start to falter, the harshness rising in intensity as you ground your ass against him harder. Derek pulled you away from the counter roughly and reached around you, stroking your heat. You started grasping at nothing, your fingers curling on the cold marble surface as your back arched. Without warning, Derek hit a spot inside you that had you yelling, your screams and chants of his name being heard as you finally came. Both of you could feel your hole clenching hard around Derek’s length as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“You’re gonna make me cum, baby.” Derek slurred as his body stuttered.

Your release covered Derek’s hand as his hips stilled, pumping hot ropes of cum inside of you. He only moved a little bit as he hits his peak, just to feel his own cum being pushed deeper into you. You both stay still after a few moments, catching your breath and coming down from your simultaneous orgasms. Derek stayed inside of you for longer than you expected, causing you to finally look back at him, eyebrows raised. He smirks back at you, rubbing his hands soothingly along your waist again.

“What? I like being inside you.” He slaps your ass playfully as he pulls out, both of you moaning at the loss as his release and lube run down your legs and drip onto the tiles below.

You turn around to face him for the first time in a while and look at one another. Derek brings his hand up to your chin for the second time that night, tenderly running his thumb along your lips as you maintain eye contact. He glanced at your lips before pressing them together, the softest he’d done all night, contrasting almost every move he’d made since you arrived at his place. Despite being taken by surprise at his softness, you kiss back eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck as his other hand grips your hip. He pulls away and looks at you, an indescribable look in his eyes before smiling. He pulls away and walks over to the Jura machine, just beside you, and starts the coffee maker with the press of a button. He grabs two coffee mugs from the cupboard above you and places them down before glancing at you.

“Look like you need something to wake you up.” He turns to smirk at you for the millionth time that night, and definitely not the last time.

“Two sugars?” He inquires, holding up two fingers.

You smile back, turning your body towards him to the best of your ability, your legs shaking. “Two sugars.”

I have a little one-shot for this AU (?) planned, so keep an eye out because I'm pretty excited about it!

Masterlist Link

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#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #derek danforth #derek danforth x reader #x reader #derek danforth x gn!reader #derek danforth smut #smut #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #x you #x you smut #imagine #derek danforth imagine #the beekeeper #katykat235 #g0ry0re0

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jokeringcutio · 6 months

Note

would you ever write for TDK joker? craving something reader/ledger joker - would you ever write for him? maybe she asks to see him without his makeup and she’s totally dazzled by him, tells him how beautiful he is, touches his scars gently (I mean, he is heath ledger with some scars without it, so it tracks😍😅) and he softens

Yes. (Short Drabble follows below:)

Rating: Mature? No Explicit Smut (yet). Just some loveliness. ~*~

You watched from the shadowed corner of the hide-out, the dim light flickering across the Joker's slouched silhouette as he shuffled in. Exhaustion hung on him like one of his tailored jackets, shoulders sagging, his chaotic day etched into every line of his body.

"Rough day?" Your voice cut through the stillness, a blade wrapped in velvet.

He grunted, a non-committal sound that vibrated against the peeling walls. He faced away from you, hands reaching up to smear away the clownish facade with a stained cloth, movements slow and deliberate. The smeared white gave way to tired skin beneath, the green paint-streaked water darkening the basin.

"Chaos reigns," he murmured, the words almost lost as he wiped the last vestige of makeup from around those sleep-deprived eyes, revealing the man beneath the monster.

You stepped closer, the space between you charged with an electric current. The air felt thicker as your gaze traced the contours of his face – yellow teeth, the sallow skin, the embodiment of neglect. No wonder he had never dared to show you his face before, how he kept himself hidden from both you and the rest of the world.

A shame, really. The rest of the world was missing out.

Seeing his unmasked visage, there was something painfully human about him that took your breath away.

"Joker..." It wasn't just a name; it was a revelation, whispered with a reverence that surprised even yourself. "You're beautiful."

The word clung to the damp air, a truth laid bare. You saw him, truly saw him beyond the chaos. Not just the demon that the world portrayed him as, but someone who touched upon the divine. There was beauty in his darkness, a captivating allure in the raw edges of his insanity.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, the agent of chaos stood still under your gaze, the world outside the decrepit walls of the hide-out fading into nothingness.

Your hand reached out, tentative as a whisper. Fingertips grazed the jagged landscape of his scars, grotesque and tender all at once. The touch was featherlight, tracing the history written in his flesh, the story of a smile carved by brutality.

He softened.

“Why hide this from me?” The words came out in a breathless whisper.

The wordless exhale of breath, a silent surrender. There, in the dim light, the Joker's eyes flickered with something unnamable. Not joy, not peace. A flicker of humanity amidst the turmoil.

"Liar,” he breathed, the sound a caress against the stillness.

"Beautiful," came the echo of your own voice from moments before, now reflected at you in his voice. His hand lifted, the gesture slow, purposeful. Cold fingertips danced across your cheek, a stark contrast to the warmth blooming within you.

Laughter bubbled up, nervous, shy. Your heart a staccato against ribs. You let him draw you nearer, his grip ghostly on your hand.

He was touching your face with such reverence, studying you with his darkening gaze. It made you feel like jelly under his touch. He had called you beautiful before, but this time, to hear it as an echo of your own words, felt wrong. You were no liar. You’d spoken the truth.

Joker was, without anything to hide behind, beautiful. The most beautiful man you ever saw.

His lips met your palm. Scar tissue, rough and uneven, pressed into your skin. A delicious shiver coiled down your spine, your core pulsing with desire.

"Beautiful," he murmured again, his gaze holding yours captive. And in that look, the world tilted, madness and sanity blurring into a heady mix.

"Joker..." Your voice faltered, drowned in the intensity of his eyes.

"Shh," he silenced you, the sound soft as the brush of moth wings. "Just feel."

And you did. You felt everything.

You trembled, the room's chill a stark contrast to the fever in your veins. "Make love to me," you whispered, the words a loaded gun.

He didn't speak, actions speaking volumes as he moved with a predator's grace. Clothes discarded, whispers of fabric falling to the floor. A hush before the storm.

Your bodies collided, a crash of thunder in the silence. His hands, commanding, insistent, mapped every inch of you, claiming territory. You arched into him, a willing conquest, the world reduced to the space where skin met skin.

Passion flared, raw, and unbridled. Each movement was a sentence in the story you wrote together, punctuated by gasps and moans. The Joker – no longer a specter of chaos but a man ablaze with desire - moved with a singular purpose.

You clawed at the sheets, each breath a plea, each touch a promise. He complied, a give and take that danced on the knife-edge of madness and euphoria.

And then, stillness.

Afterward, you lay entwined, a tangle of limbs and labored breaths. The silence was delicate, a gossamer thread weaving through the aftermath.

"Did you ever imagine..." your voice drifted, a feather on the wind.

"Imagine?" he echoed, his chest rumbling with a low chuckle.

"Us. Like this." Your fingers traced idle patterns on his chest, daring to explore the man beneath the monster.

"Never," he admitted, the word almost lost between you. "Chaos doesn't plan."

"Yet here we are," you mused, the irony not lost on you.

"Here we are," he agreed, his eyes searching yours for a truth you hadn't spoken.

"Will you show me your face more often?" you asked tentatively, seeking his eyes.

"Why would you want that?" The question hung in the air, a thin veneer over deeper inquiries.

"Like I said," you whispered. “Beautiful.”

A grin curled his lips, the scars uncurling like the petals of a flower. Gorgeous, your mind provided.

“If your reaction will always be as intense as this, I just might.”

"Good." A simple affirmation, yet it carried the weight of worlds colliding.

"Good," he repeated, tucking you closer to him.

The kiss he placed on top of your head felt like heaven. ~ AN: I haven't been well enough, but once I am, I definitely want to write more for this man. I love his little insane ticks, the licking of his lips, all his mannerisms. Definitely would love to write more about him. But to everyone who didn't get the memo, I am ill (it isn't a flu or a broken leg or something that will go away on its own, it won't go away in a few days, it needs treatment and possibly surgery and time, so keep your fingers crossed that everything will end well so I can write more for all of you lovelies out there.) ♡

#heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #softness #drabble

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harrisonbrainrot · 1 year

Text

Indiana Jones NSFW Alphabet

18+ MDI

Teehee, content for my POOKIE. God, I love him, I'm feral, a horny monster, I have thots.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Indy is alright at aftercare, but it really depends on the setting you've been in. A slow, romantic night home from a life threatening excursion for an ancient relic? He's taking care of you, treasuring you. He wants to make sure he takes his time with you, so you know how important you are to him. If it's a quickie in the heat of the moment because you might never get another chance to ever fuck again? Forget it, you're getting a soft kiss on the forehead, he's pulling your pants back up for you, and you're back to running for your life. Mess and all, you get enough attention to know he loves you but he's not stopping long enough to be all lovey dovey.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I genuinely think his favorite is his brain, he thinks he's so smart, and it makes him all smug and arrogant half the time. Which isn't untrue, he's very smart, but God does it make him insufferable sometimes.

That being said, he loves curves, feeling your waist tuck in and holding your hips, feeling your ass. It's hard to pick a singular feature, but he appreciates your figure.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves to hit it from the back and cum all over your ass. He loves seeing it run down off your cheeks and down the back of your thighs. It makes him feral.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He told you the door to his classroom was locked, he really thought it was locked, and in the end it wasn't. It's a simple dirty secret, it added to the moment after. He had you bent over his desk, your backs to the door, and anyone could've walked in. He'd never tell you, he hates being wrong, but the thrill of being caught added to his experience.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Good lord, he's so sickeningly skilled, it's just unfair. He's so well versed, it's almost embarrassing because he's so much more experienced than you. He knows exactly what to do to leave you a crumbling, drooling mess and absolutely relishes in this fact.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl, or missionary, but your legs are on his shoulders and he's folding you in half. He loves cowgirl when he's sore and battered from an adventure and he wants to be taken care of. He wants you to set the pace, he wants to hold your hips. He'll sit up and nuzzle your tits, sighing against them. His scruff drives you crazy and he loves how it combined with his warm breath makes you clench around him. If he's feeling himself and he's really wanting a good time, he's nearly pinning your thighs to your chest, just absolutely wrecking your pussy. The man bruises your cervix almost everytime in the most delicious, mind blowing way. You'll feel him for days after and it makes you just want it all over again.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be a total goober. If he's had a few drinks and you're home and he gets frisky, he's using bad lines to get you in bed and he's giggling and flushed. He's happy, he's safe, he's in love. So rarely does he feel this comfortable and content in his life, he can't help but feel giddy.

That being said, he's usually very down to business with sex. He wants to make love or fuck and he wants to do it right. Which requires his full attention if you both want to get off.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Trimmed enough to be polite. Sometimes a bit too hairy when he gets back from being gone, but will return to his grooming habits promptly if you prefer it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Wildly intimate. I'm talking eye contact, soft praises, slow and deep thrusts. He wants to feel and chart everything to memory. How tight you are, how you flutter around him when he places open mouth kisses just under your ear. He loves it all. He wants you to feel absolutely loved. He might be a smart ass but that doesn't mean he isn't one to slack in the romance department.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If he's desperate and you're not around, other than that he doesn't really ever jerk it. He's usually always with you and you two are always down to be horny monsters wherever you can be.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Call him sir or professor and see how fast he's making you moan in the nearest dark closet at the college.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In no particular order; outside in some jungle with you pressed against a tree, his office at the college with your legs spread on the desk, an old temple, palace, ancient ruins.. he's the first person there in hundreds, maybe thousands of years, and he's probably the first to cum there.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Flirty banter, subtle touches, neck kisses. Bite his ear. He's a sensitive man, just breathe a certain way and he wants you mewling under him.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He's not super into anything extremely taboo or rough, he likes rough sex but he's not into inflicting pain or anything.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to receive, loves to cum down your throat, holding your head steady and close while you gag around him. Is extremely skilled at giving though and will never, ever hesitate to go down on you.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

The man is fast and rough and hard, he knocks the air out of you. But that's not to say it isn't sensual. He's very strong, very skilled, he's not clumsy. He's not sloppy, unless he's drunk and you're both in a fever trying to get each other naked. He'll bend you over the nearest surface, rutting into you until sweat drips down him. His grip on your hips is harsh, but his thumb traces soft circles against your skin. He's relentless but he leans over you, kissing your neck, whispering soft praises against your skin.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He's a quickie master. Fucks in-between classes, lectures, and running for your lives. There's really never a time he'd say no to you. He'll pin your back against the wall, holding your thighs tight around his waist while he fucks you desperately. Your mouth silenced by his, as you moan into the kiss. "Sweetheart, your pretty little noises are gunna get us caught." He'd whisper into your skin, punctuating each word with a hard thrust, just to make you suffer and try to keep quiet.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Let's be real, it's Indy. He's always taking risks. Quick fucks after surviving some traps in a tomb to celebratory sex, some idol found and he wants his other reward, you. And that's just on his adventures. He'd fuck you in cars, in his office, in his classroom, the library? Pinned up against the bookshelves, trying to be slow and gentle but it drives you both crazy, anything other than that and you'd get caught. Can't have that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Safely say two rounds, maybe three if you're lucky. But he lasts a while, almost too long, he's a master at edging, both himself and you. He won't come unless it's the perfect moment and he won't come first.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Probably not tbh.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's 100% the biggest tease on the face of the planet. Little touches he knows drive you crazy while you're in public. Fuck, he'll finger you while you're at the bar ordering drinks in some foreign country where no one knows you, and once you're completely hot and bothered and basically dripping wet for him, he'll ignore you until his drink is finished. Just soft glances out of the corner of his eye while you wiggle and squirm and beg for even a modicum of his attention.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Oh, he's fucking PRIMAL. When he can be vocal, he's swearing, grunting through gritted teeth, making these whiny little moans when you're on top. A bit of a shout with his head thrown back as he cums when he's fucking you. He's a vocal man.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Kisses like a man starved. Open mouth kisses everywhere, his hands gripping you close. He kisses like every one is his last with you, because to be fair, it very well could be. His tongue against yours, against your throat, teeth against your soft skin. Forget it. He can ruin you with his kisses alone.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

8", cut, girthy enough to make you stretch delightfully, thick vein on the top that you love to trace to tease him, which gets him all huffy and puffy.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Stupid high. He wants to fuck to wake up and he wants to fuck to go to bed and maybe have a quickie for brunch.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depending on the setting and time, he could be chipper after. If it's a desperate "I almost lost you, this, us" type fuck, he's almost asleep before he pulls out. He's dozing while still inside of you, all snuggled into your neck, his arms wrapped around you. (He loves that the most, he won't say that but he doesn't have to, you know your Indy)

#indiana jones imagines #indiana jones #indiana jones x reader #indiana jones/reader #indiana jones imagine #indiana jones smut #pookie posting

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smuttykdrama · 9 months

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[Hyunsu & Chanyoung as Subs ; SWEET HOME]

Hi, this is my first smut drabble and first post so please be kind! also note that i've only watched through sweet home once! i've just finished the second season lol. ><

Warnings: smut, sub!hyunsu & chanyoung, dom!reader, female!reader, masochism, only read if you're eighteen or above.

This is written with an older reader in mind, with hyunsu being 19, the reader being 29, and chanyoung being 25. Forgive my HUGE noona kink. 🥲 Even tho I'm only 22 lol.

Hyunsu

● Sub!Hyunsu, who only wants to please you, his noona, regardless of his own pleasure.

● Sub!Hyunsu who eats you out like you're a goddamn five course meal, savouring every part of you because you're his everything. The only light in his world.

● Sub!Hyunsu, who needs your praise like it's a drug. He's sadly very insecure, constantly worried that he's not doing well enough or that his body isn't good enough for you. You'd soon change those ridiculous thoughts of his.

● Sub!Hyunsu who is a sweet and caring boyfriend in the day, but a masochistic freak at night. You definitely take advantage of his healing abilities, allowing you to make Hyunsu's body your canvas. Scratches down his back, his front. Biting his chest, teasing him, and testing his pain tolerance.

● Sub!Hyunsu, who, after being in captivity and chained up, wants nothing more than to replace those memories with YOU. Tie him to the bedpost, put a hard metal collar around his neck. Anything to forget those painful times...and make new memories with you.

● Sub!Hyunsu who literally hate fucks you. Not because he's mad at you. But at himself. You know when he's depressed, because he shoves you onto the bed and buries his cock in your tight heat without warning. "Sorry, Noona...i really need you right now...i don't want to talk...i just need you."

● Sub! Hyunsu who gives you the best aftercare, even if he's the one who's all fucked out after a session. He'll even go out of his way to explore the city just to find a scented candle to light for you.

● Sub!Hyunsu who's monster wants you too, having felt just how satisfied Hyunsu was with you.

Chanyoung

● Sub!Chanyoung, who's a complete virgin when you first meet him, and he's unable to meet your gaze when you sleep together for the first time.

● Sub!Chanyoung who is so overstimulated the moment your pussy clenches around him that he doesn't know what to do with his hands other than clutch the pillow as you ride him.

● Sub!Chanyoung who loves being bossed around in bed, and being told what to do. Want him to fuck you like you're unbreakable? Got it. Want to finger him until hes a blushing mess beneath you? Done! He lives to be your living, breathing sex toy.

● Sub!Chanyoung who keeps his uniform on while he eats you out, having just come back from a mission outside the stadium, knowing about your soldier kink. He looks just so handsome in it, but oh so much prettier with it off.

● Sub!Chanyoung whos thighs and lower abdomen are the most sensitive parts of his body. The moment you start leaving hickeys on his thighs or tracing the lines of his abs, Chanyoung goes crazy. "Not there, jagiya...i'll go crazy."

● Sub!Chanyoung who kneels at your feet after a long day, practically begging to bed you, looking up at you with his puppy like eyes.

● Sub!Chanyoung who is so drunk on your kisses, that he could come in his pants from the mere sensation of your lips on his.

● Sub!Chanyoung who can't believe that even after the world went to shit, he still has you to look after him. He may be your protector, but really, you're the one who saved him.

[END]

(A/N): Wow first smut headcanons!! I am here totally for the Hyunsu switch & Chanyoung sub agenda. Please like and leave a comment/reblog if you liked ^^ Let me know what Sweet Home Hyunsu & Chanyoung reaction you'd like next! I currently only write for those 2 characters :)

#sweet home #sweet home imagine #sweet home x reader #chanyoung x reader #cha hyunsu #hyunsu x reader #sweet home smut #smut #x reader #dom!reader #sub!character #kdrama smut #kdrama imagine #kdrama x reader

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yellowbunnydreams · 3 months

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Do You Need Some Vitamin D? (Part 2) (Incubus!Afton x Oblivious!Reader)

~Hello all! I'm back again...for a bit anyway, just been busy with life and stuff. Hope you are all doing well, I figured you could probably do with something to prove I am actually alive~

@ruh--roh-raggy xp-doggy redbunny03

CW: 18+ MINORS DNI. Fluff, age gap (Reader 20's - William Afton 40's(?)), teratophilia, meet-cute, punny pick-up lines, scenes of working out, minor porn-logic, ditzy! reader, could be classed as bimbo! reader?, size-difference, flirting, monster-lover, sexual innuendos, Monster! AU

Heading to work on the next Monday was certainly uneventful after the interesting text you had received from your boss over the weekend. Somehow, that photo hadn't been saved to your phone, but you definitely didn't keep scrolling back to look at it, admiring the little details about how his strong arms looked in the low light, how tight the shirt seemed across his broad chest. But you thought you had gotten over those thought by the time your shift rolled around.

Until William Afton walked in in that damn shirt.

"Okay, now you're staring." Your co-worker made you jump as they snuck up behind you. Seeing the familiar face of Claire behind you and making you blush and scowl, shaking your head as you turned back to look at Mr. Afton, before realising that he has already gone to the office with a surprising pang of disappointment.

"I'm not staring!"

"You totally were...Was he wearing a new shirt today? I'm not sure I've ever seen him in colour." Claire raised an eyebrow, and you tried to shrug nonchalantly.

"I wouldn't be able to tell you." Claire's eyebrows went higher on her face as she put her hands on her hips, giving you a slightly tilted head look that you knew meant she saw right through you.

"Right...And you definitely aren't blushing right now!" She thought for a moment before her eyes widened, giddily gripping onto you and smirking as you looked slightly confused by her sudden enthusiasm. "You have a crush on Mr. Afton!"

"No!"

"Yes! Oh. Em. Gee! You have a crush on our boss!"

"Faz-fuck off with that! Do you want me to get in trouble? And I don't have a crush, he's just...nice." Your cheeks heating up as you avoided her gaze, but your colleuge simply tutted and wrapped her arm around your shoulder, holding you tight to one side.

"Wow, never pinned you for the type to go for older guys...Why don't you ask him out to the Valentine's Dance?" She teased, earning a sharp jab in the ribs from your elbow and a playful pout from her.

"I'm NOT going to ask our BOSS to the Valentine's party." Earning an eyeroll from Claire as she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow again. You were sure if she kept doing that, she would be stuck in a permanently surprised expression.

Claire simply shook her head, throwing her hands up in the air as she chuckled slightly, turning to go and walk off to the main floor and direct you towards the prize counter. Looking over her shoulder and smiling wickedly as she shrugged.

"You know, I'm going to ask that DILF out for you if you keep this up. You're going to ask him."

"What the faz-fuck is a DILF Claire?" You asked, staring after her with a mildly confused expression. "Claire?"

Monday's were never busy at Freddy's, so you never had to really worry about keeping ontop of all the niggly little jobs that made you want to curl up and cry; like untangling the slinkies because a kid just have to have that specific one, or a parent complaining that the claw machine hadn't payed out despite their kid 'winning' and having to crawl around for the one specific plushie that you knew they hadn't won but you had to retrieve anyway.

The prize counter was however, mercifully quiet on Mondays, and it also gave you a good vantage point of the employee's only door, where you could see everybody coming and going, including Mr. William Afton.

It was weird, how you noticed him a little more as he stepped out onto the floor today. How that purple shirt was still a little bigger on his frame than the broad man should really be wearing, even though you swore the photo on your phone showed him filling it out, the colour complimented him though. His greying hair swept back out of his face, that greying beard that you found yourself wondering how it would feel if he brushed his cheek against yours... Shaking your head, you quickly snapped out of it, it wasn't appropriate to think that way about him, he was your boss after all.

He however, was thinking similarly about you. Not that you would ever know it aside from the slight smile that curled his lip whenever he looked in your direction. William's heart pounded slightly in his chest as he slowly made his way over to the prize counter, making sure to stop and greet staff and reprimand them if needs be, saying hello to customers. It was all torturous to him as all he wanted was to see you, take his mind off of paperwork for a while and enjoy the soft vanillaish smell you always seemed to have. It was that or cocoa butter, he couldn't decide, but you smelt like candy to him, and it made his mouth water in more ways than one.

You glanced up as a shadow fell across your back, placing out some new prizes with the ticket price stuck on gently with tape. Turning to give your usual greeting before finding yourself looking at a broad chest, eyes wandering up as your cheeks heated and your eyes met intense silver behind gold framed aviators.

"Mr Afton! Nice of you to pop over to see me." William blinked for a second before chuckling, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and giving you that lopsided smile that made him look quite charming.

"Well, I thought I would come see what prizes are up for grabs...I have a few spare tickets from me getting bored." You smiled back at the thought of him playing the same arcade games and silly games as the kids, such an imposing man being a kid at heart. Watching him stuff one large hand into his pocket as he spoke to you.

"That's great! What can I get you, sir?" Watching his eyes scanning the thick, freshly cleaned glass at all the prizes before his eyes caught something, his smile widening as he reached over the counter and gently pulled a ticket from your vest, your own heart racing in your chest as his thick fingers brushed against your ribs ever so slightly and your eyes naturally followed his hand as he flipped the ticket over to show you.

"Two-hundred tickets for a sweet like you? I'd gladly give triple for this prize." You giggled and shook your head, hair bouncing softly around your face as you touched the back of your own neck. It was silly, he almost sounded like he was flirting with you, but you chalked it up to your silly thoughts about the older man recently.

"I'm afraid I don't think you can own a human, sir, and thanks for picking that off, it must have gotten stuck there earlier." Laughing it off as William paused then chuckled, his smile tightening just a fraction.

"Right...No of course I can't own you. Six hundred Faz-Tokens seems like a measly compensation for a life anyway." He was confused by you again, and it made him all the more intrigued. He thought the flirting was obvious this time, he even called you a prize, asked to own you, implied he wanted to take you home. Yet there you were, barely reacting like it was nothing. The fingers in his pocket laced around a few cherry candies in his pocket, pulling them out and unwrapping one, popping it between his teeth and offering you the other. "What prize would you get, if tickets were no problem?"

Looking at the prizes, you hummed as you considered it, taking the candy with a quiet thanks and placing it in your vest pocket, not wanting to indulge in front of your boss. After a few moments however, your eyes landed on a toy-bonnie plushie and you smiled, pointing it out in the case.

"Spring-Bonnie, he's always been my favourite." William's relaxed smile returned, and he gestured for you to take it out. Counting out the eight hundred Faz-Tokens on the counter, he pushed them towards you and then pushed the plushie back against your chest as you offered it to him, leaving you a little confused yourself.

"Well, I hope he's going to a good home then."

"Sir?"

"He's yours, doll, keep him. As a token of my gratitude for putting up with such a silly old man." Rubbing the back of his neck, you shook your head after a moment, carefully cradling the plushie to your chest as your cheeks heated up once more. Maybe you were developing a cold, or coming down with something..Maybe Claire had been right about you starting to develop a crush on your boss.

"You're not a silly old man, Mr. Afton, I find you quite funny, and you always brighten my day." It was William's turn to blush as he looked down at you, giving that warmest smile that made his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. You could have sworn you heard the sound of his foot tapping repeatedly against the plush carpet, watching him rock back and forth onto his heels a few times.

"That means a lot to hear, bunny. Enjoy your new friend." With that, he walked off, leaving you clutching onto the yellow velveteen rabbit with the purple bow-tie carefully. Smiling happily to yourself as you thought how you perhaps wished just a little bit that he was really flirting with you.

When you got home that night, you debated for a long time how you could thank William Afton properly for his kind gift. And for the candy too. You carefully sucked on the hard sweet, savouring the almost too sweet cherry flavour as you got changed into pyjamas and glanced over at the Spring-Bonnie plush on your dresser, deciding something for a moment before taking a deep breath.

"Fuck it." You said to the plushie, picking it up and stroking the soft ears as you placed it down on your bedspread, setting it up carefully so that it was nice and presentable before whipping our your phone and snapping a picture. Pausing over your keyboard, trying to think of something subtle and funny to put before sending it to your most recent contact.

William's phone buzzed as he hunched over the bench in his workshop, his thick fingers moving the animatronic parts before him with a practised precision. Shirt changed out for a more comfortable t-shirt and feeling his foot tapping against the floor in no particular rhythm. Lit cigarette burning in the ashtray besides him as one large hand reached out to pick it up and take a drag whilst the other grabbed his phone. Clicking open the message without a thought as he was sure it was from Henry, trying to talk to him about 'his outdated methods'.

His heart practically stopped however, when he saw the picture that had been sent through.

From what little he could see, the bed was a single, the sheets neatly made up and white, able to just make out some form of pattern across the duvet cover. The walls were beige, which surprised him as he had always suspected that you weren't a beige wall person. But what really caught his attention, was the presence of a familiar Spring-Bonnie plush, front and centre to the bedding, tucked against the pillows in pride of place. His silver eyes wandered to the caption quickly as he wondered what you had to say. Had it been a mistake?

'I thought you would like to see that he's settled into his new home. Thanks for the candy by the way, I'm not usually a cherry person but I'm eating it now :)'

William's hand instinctually reached for his pocket, pulling out another candy and unwrapping it quickly and putting it in his mouth. Tobacco and cherry mixing together to create a unique sensation that made his brain light up happily, swearing softly under his breath that he was constantly running out of pocket candies since he had a bad habit of crunching them rather than savouring the taste. Thinking for a moment before he finally replied.

'He looks comfy, Although that bed looks rather uncomfortable for cuddling in.'

You blushed as William mentioned cuddling, but you tried to shake the thought out of your head as you tried to image those large, strong arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest.

'Well, he's not oversized, so we should fit fine. He's nice and soft! Not like I've ever slept in a bigger bed anyway :p' Climbing into bed, you were tempted to send another picture, but knew that would be overstepping professional boundaries by a country mile. Unknowingly to you, William had the same thought and barely got to snuffing out his cigarette before he practically sprinted up the stairs, feeling his legs changing as he went, feet becoming more elongated and lapine to accomodate his bounding strides. Almost throwing off his slacks and diving into his bed like he hadn't been down in his basement just moments before. The perk of supernatural speed, he supposed.

The next message you received was a photo, another one that brought colour and heat to your cheeks and gave you the start of a fluttering feeling in your stomach as you looked at it. William Afton was in bed, his broad chest obscured by a thick pillow that he clutched tightly with one large hand, his chin rested ontop with a lazy, almost half-asleep smile on his face. Glasses pressed into one side of his nose as you thought it was rather cute and somehow kind of hot at the same time.

'Well, there's always plenty of room in mine if you want to try it for size. Goodnight, bunny, see you tomorrow.' William wondered if he went too far, but it felt right to invite you, to extend the offer and hope you realised just how badly he would rather replace the pillow with your smaller body against his, but he missed your reply, as he soon fell asleep clutching onto the pillow. Holding it and twitching in his sleep as his nose wriggled, dreaming that the person of his obsession was against him instead of an inanimate object.

'Goodnight Mr. Afton. It does look comfy there, but that could be what's in the bed, lol' You knew the older man would definitely not be flirting with you, you imagined him to be more of a flowers and a date kind of guy, rather than pick-up lines. Not that you were entirely sure why you kept having those thoughts about him at all, but as you curled up on your side, you knew that somehow, you had to flirt with the giant man.

#william afton #william afton x reader #steve raglan #springtrap #steve raglan x reader #fnaf movie #william afton x you #springtrap x reader #william afton smut #fnaf x reader #incubus!william afton #monster au #monster william afton #monster henry emily

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nightcolorz · 3 months

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Going to vent to you because this seems like a safe space for Armand sympathizers lol…

LIKE obviously Armand is doing all the wrongs, he didn't have to agree to literally any of this, blah blah etc etc BUT GIRL. if the guy i had been casually dating for two years because he had great benefits one day revealed to me that he was a child sex slave, the thing i would not do is be like 'wow, i guess what you're secretly saying is you want me to turn our relationship into an unnegotiated 24/7 TPE huh'.

And then when he came to me in a panic to tell me his life is falling apart and his employees are plotting to kill him and his protection isn't going to last much longer and i should flee the country for my own safety because he's the most vulnerable he's ever been since the time he was abducted by the crazy torture cult, the thing i absolutely would not do at that moment is surprise him by introducing that dynamic into our relationship completely out of nowhere and then order him to stay right here because I've got a totally cool plan to outmanipulate his enemies and I'll be his master now :)

And then I orchestrate a series of hot public encounters where i blur the lines of being angry and disgusted with him right up against ignoring the boundaries he sets and telling him to do whatever i want wherever i want. and because i never bothered to ask him, i don't know if he's genuinely into it or if it's because i've weaponised his trauma when he's feeling unstable, but like, he's the one who manipulated me into doing this anyway by telling me his sad backstory, so actually i'm the victim here??

AND THEN when I tell him my awesome idea of turning a nazi collaborator into a human eating monster machine and I want him to do it even though he is clearly revulsed by this idea from every angle, I'll berate him endlessly for refusing and be annoyed with him because by saying no he's making me turn her and that's not cool bro, and when he begs me not to do it, or at least not to tell him because it's breaking the rules and he's vulnerable to the machinations of the coven rn, I'll shut him up with my dom routine, and then tell him to come watch because he'll realize he does actually want it after he does it.

and when he asks me whether this is a genuine invitation in this moment or if I'm ordering him to do it and will be upset if he doesn't, I'll be so hurt and angry with him because wow, I can't believe after months of using my nonconsensual game of acting like his childhood master to get him to do things for me, he's acting like I'd use my nonconsensual game of pretending to be his childhood master against him, fuck you for trying to manipulate me right now you worthless piece of shit </3.

like even daniel, the most neutral and ethical judge of whether it's okay to make someone a vampire, can tell the only reason he'd set his one boundary at murdering and cursing another human being for eternity is because it's not hot or convenient, and not because of 500 years of witnessing the most insane vampire maker shenanigans known to Europe.

and then the entire audience claps because honestly i'm just trying so hard and my boyfriend just keeps fucking it all up for me and taking away my choices. literally what else could i have done in this situation :(

AHHHH ANON U ATE THIS UP ‼️🙏 and Yes this is absolutely THE safe place for Armand sympathizers!! I am the Armand sympathizer king and u have just brought me an Armand sympathizer gift lined with gold and jewels and placed it in front of my thrown and I’m knighting u Armand sympathizer general as I bow before u

ur so right and it’s actually so crazy to me that this isn’t a more popular take. it’s insane to me bcus im remembering how seriously this fandom was taking Claudia’s s1 sexual assault and how sensitively it was being discussed and now these same ppl r insisting that it’s unfair to “demonize” Louis for preforming non consensual bdsm with a csa victim without any safe word or prior discussion specifically because he told him about his csa and Louis found a chance to leverage control in this relationship. I saw someone insisting that it’s ridiculous to interpret Louis as sexually exploitative for being a pimp because he was a nice pimp and he was self aware about how pimping was bad and like ??? 😭😭 how do I even argue with that, that is just so absurd I’m lost for words. No guys he was one of the good pimps because he “didnt take advantage of his position” (😭⁉️) and he knew that it was wrong to sexually exploit vulnerable women and just chose to do it anyway so see it wasn’t that bad. And because Louis knows sexual abuse is wrong and chooses to do it anyway despite this he clearly isn’t mirroring the sexual abuse Armand experienced in his non consensual power play dynamic with him because uh yeah he wouldn’t do that ig 😭. It’s not like Louis canonically is capable of using sexual exploitation to manipulate people’s vulnerabilities for his stability and gain. Like guys book Louis also felt guilty for being a slave owner and knew it was wrong 😭😭 am I gonna hear “it’s unfair to say Louis being a slave owner was indicative of his negative traits cuz he felt bad about it” come out of ur mouths 😭⁉️cuz oh my god I hope not 😭 “Louis was only a pimp because pimping was his way of keeping his family afloat and asserting the masculine identity he felt obligated to preform for his safety” and he is doing the same thing with Armand guys obviously??!! He is taking advantage of armand’s history of sexual abuse to keep himself safe from vulnerability with the coven and to assert his masculine identity as a shield like 😭 and that doesn’t stop what he’s doing from being wrong like no fucking shit. He’s a complex character and his actions come from a place of fear and not straight forward evil, but that doesn’t mean u have to defend literal sexual abuse to analyze that and to enjoy Louis as ur favorite character 😭 I keep saying this but louis is a great character and there’s nothing wrong with him being ur fav but it is pretty mf weird to insist that everything he does is ok when things that he do include like, non consent 😭

I feel ur annoyances so hard anon, it’s driving me a lil crazy rn cuz in s2 ep6’s wake i have barely seen anyone discuss the Louis fucking Armand in the coffin scene like it was pretty shitty and abusive and not like, non complexly hot and fun and nothing else. Like, Armand has been panicking for a while and insisting to Louis that he is loosing respect from the coven and therefore his control and he’s in danger because of it, and Louis decides to stroll into Armand’s office unannounced, demand he strip for him immediately, demand again without any room for argument when Armand says he can’t, and then fuck Armand in view and ear shot of the whole coven in a degrading power assertion that Louis knows will put Armand in even more of a vulnerable and compromising position, like ?? I get it read the pages to me while I fuck u was pretty hot but omg can we talk about this with some nuance 😭⁉️ this is possibly the most overt instance of Louis not asking, *demanding* that Armand sexually submit and preform for him specifically as a grab to assert dominance over the coven. And Armand of course won’t say no, he’s been quite literally trained to believe that he has services that people r entitled to take from him at any time because he’s a product to be used. He also believes that saying no is not an option because submitting to the master will keep him safe, and Louis I think knows this to an extent and knows that taking advantage of this will help him stay afloat. I believe that this scene was a significant contributor to Armand deciding to betray Louis, because Louis’s actions *do* put him in danger with the coven and cause him to loose his position of power (Santiago mocking him for getting fucked by Louis cough cough). And Armand at this point is realizing, I can choose to be in a relationship with Louis that is causing my sense of stability and safety to fall apart, or I can choose to regain my position of power by forgoing Louis and getting to retain my safety. When u think about it like that it makes perfect sense for him to do that 😭 and I’m tired of seeing takes treating Armand like he’s a sneaky little snake and not a cornered animal

on the subject of Daniel because u mentioned him at the end there, oh my god it has pissed me off since the beginning how a lot of people act like Daniel is the embodiment of the neutral, unbiased correct word of god figure who is just telling the audience how it really is. Like?? No??? 😭😭 Daniel is a shitty journalist and a shitty person, he’s borderline racist and ignorant, he is not looking to expand his perspective or approach his subjects with any empathy or nuance because he decided going in that he hates them and they r bad, which is like?? Defeats the entire purpose of the affective journalism that he is trying to preform 😭😭 He is NOT the guy u should be getting ur takes from, he is a character like any other, he is not a source for correct analysis or meta or unfiltered truth.

But anyways lol, not to be personal and vulnerable in the gay vampire sex tv show post but it’s rlly disheartening for me to witness this blatant excusing and downplaying of a sexually abusive dynamic as someone who has experienced a very similar type of “but was it technicallyyy non consensual though..?” Sexual abuse. Like guys pls 😭🙏 I thought that “bdsm dynamic that merges with actual, genuine grabs for control and blurs the line between fun sex and real demands or anger” was like considered unambiguously bad? 😭 There asses do NOT have a safe word. In conclusion anon u r everything to me and everyone else um USE UR BRAIN🔥🔥🔥🔥

thank u sm for the ask OMGG ur so well spoken and correct and I enjoyed reading ur ask so so much

#armand #iwtv #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv spoilers #iwtv s2 #iwtv amc #iwtv season 2 #daniel molloy #the vampire armand #Loumand #louis de pointe du lac #amc interview with the vampire #sa tw

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love-toxin · 1 year

Text

Retrieval - entry I

plot: after escaping the horrors of Los Iluminados, a piece of your heart is still stuck in that desolate place. you won't truly be able to rest until you find him--or until you put him down like the monster you wish you'd saved him from.

(cws: post-canon divergence, re4make spoilers, yandere!plagas!leon, fem!agent!reader, guns & blunt weapons, blood, gore & injuries, violence, grief, funerals, pining [chapter smut cws: wet dreams, mild choking, possessiveness, unprotected]

wc: 5.3k

(future entries to come! <3)

No matter how much time passes, you're certain this place will always reek of blood and death. It will always be the place that you lost the person most dear to you, and in such a vile, cruel way that it still haunts your darkest nightmares.

It's been awhile since then, but it all still feels the same when you step down from the car and let the door shut with an unapologetic thud. The air hangs heavy and thick with humidity, and although the distant stench of rot is lesser this time around, it still lurks in the background of your senses like a shadow creeping by the windows of a house. The trees hang low and sway gently as you pass them, crows beckoning you deeper into the brush with their croaking trills echoing all around you. Aside from a pitiful line of cautionary police tape strung across an iron gate, even the entryway and the path leading into the village all look exactly as they did weeks ago.

The last time your feet hit the dirt here, only Leon had been your much-needed company in your venture. You'd walked through the mud and ran through the mist together; searching the lodge and being chased into the heart of the village had only been the beginning. His breathing had been the thing to keep you calm then, of all things. Those heavy pants when he scrambled through doors and soft puffs of his chest when it was a touch too quiet; it reminded you that he was alive, and saved you from having to glance over and pray in the seconds between that he wasn't being carved into a bloody stump by a Ganados.

But all that? That was a long time ago. It feels like a lifetime, and yet neither of those timelines are the truth–really, it's barely been a month since you and Leon had been separated, but it still feels like years since you've seen him.

The scent of charcoal pulls you away from the memory of him as you draw close to the circle of houses, your gun out of its holster the moment you cross underneath the main gate. You at least have the sense not to go slinging it around when you hear the crackle of twigs in the underbrush, though the sound that resembles a gasp has you eyeing the forest to your left…just long enough to watch the offending group of birds chitter and take flight suddenly up and away from the trees as you draw close. The policemen that had accompanied you here have long since granted you their goodbyes, their eyes dark and fearful at the sight of this village looming in the distance before they had driven off in a frantic hurry. When you think about it you can't really blame them, not with them knowing the unfortunate fate of the two men they had probably rubbed shoulders with back at the station. Knowing that both of them had been made sacrifice for no better reason than violence and power.

That would've been you and Leon once upon a time, if Umbrella and the virus and everything hadn't screwed it all up and blown it to pieces. Sometimes you daydream about what it could've been like at RPD, but most times it's too painful to even consider and you just end up drowning your sorrows in a bottle of liquor instead. Leon would be admonishing you for dealing with it in that way and he would've been a total hypocrite for it, but he hasn't been here to do so. The thought that he won't ever be again fills you with so much dread you can feel it in each step you take into this dilapidated heap of pig slop and manure.

It's been over a month since you've been here last, about 37 days if you've been marking off your calendar correctly. You had to take into account the retrieval, your hospital stay, and the few days that seemed to meld into each other when you'd slept almost every hour away in recovery, but altogether it totals 37 days since you last stepped foot on this soil. Over five weeks since you last saw Leon, and only a couple days since you gave a eulogy at his funeral. It had all felt fake and pitiful even with you having organized it yourself–most of the people there were the reasons he even came to this disgusting place, all those government agents and well-to-do politicians that ate up yours and Leon's survivor stories and demanded you join the military's special ops. They should be the ones paying the price in the grave, not Leon.

But as you look around now, there really isn't much to speak of in the first place, now that you feel the sense of urgency wane and lower your pistol in the wake of dead silence. Aside from the bullet holes, the crumbled tower, and the blasted-out windows that cake the dirt with glass, there's not many signs that you and Leon had even treaded ground here. It's getting later than you'd like based on the position of that hot, Spanish sun, though. You've got to get moving and quit moping around this ghost town if you want to make any progress on his retrieval before night falls.

This isn't a trip down memory lane, after all. You came here with your own rescue mission in mind; you're here to find Leon's body, and you're prepared to give him the mercy he deserves if your suspicions about his supposed death are correct. Because you can't keep living with that memory of him in your head, that version of Leon burdened with black veins and vermillion eyes and a pained gait as he tried to kill you. When there weren't enough injections of the suppressant to go around, he gave you his own–and when it came time for you to go under the knife, Leon insisted on you and Ashley going first even when he had a death grip on the lever, the Plagas taking over him quick enough that he knew exactly what he was doing. Leon gave his life for you, Ashley, and Luis to live–and you've taken on the job of returning the favour, whether it means dragging him home in a body bag to give him a worthy burial, or putting a bullet in his head and ending the monster you never wanted to see him become.

"La Americana!"

But the moment you take another step to climb over the rubble of the church, a voice shouting from behind you sends a chill rocketing right up your spine. You thought you would only hear it again in your nightmares–but no, as soon as you turn on your heel, your eyes scan over a mob of Ganados shambling right for you. Drooling, bloody, rotting villagers wielding their pitchforks and sickles, and in that momentary panic that freezes you to the ground, a cold feeling erupts inside your chest that you've never experienced before. Acting on base instinct alone you make a mad dash for the house on your right, but you're left skidding to a stop and backing away just as quick when another monster lunges out of the doorway and makes a swipe. You're being cornered, trapped, with nobody left to save you like they did before.

This is wrong. It feels wrong, it sounds wrong, it's all wrong. This is exactly what happened before, but that was a nightmare you fought through and survived. You shouldn't be here again. Why are you here again? Why are you being so stupid to feed yourself to the same monsters that took your Leon from you? Why haven't you learned your lesson? Why?

When the first gets close enough to strike, you barely even register the hot, vile presence of its foul breath on your skin. Your muscles tighten and you swing indiscriminately, the butt of your pistol smashing into its temple with a force you didn't even know you were capable of. The scythe in its hand is halfway to hitting the ground before you're crossing the distance to the second one, movements almost robotic as you empty half your magazine into its forehead and don't stop until you're standing over it. For some reason, the gore and the blood splattering over you doesn't disturb you like it should. It doesn't even feel…real.

You're all to blame for this. This is all your fault.

Whether those thoughts are self-inflicting or self-soothing, they plague your mind in a constant, changing loop as you stagger from villager to villager. There's no other option; either fight or die, because reason won't get you anywhere but closer to your own grave. It's not even worth running at this point because they'll just chase you down, and you want them to just leave you alone more than you even want to live.

Getting hit doesn't feel real. Watching the Ganados choke on metal doesn't feel real. Not even your gun clicking empty and burning hot in your hands feels real, even when your brow furrows and you whip it at the nearest monster with a grunt that sounds more feral than ferocious. It's a slaughter but you can't tell that time has passed, or that you've gained bruises from the beating you've taken, or even that you've been blowing off the faces of people who were probably just people once. It just doesn't matter in that short, fury-driven span of time, not until you have nothing more to attack and you blink yourself awake with a hatchet gripped in your hands, soaked from head to toe in rotting blood.

With one final, blood-curdling scream from the deepest pit of your stomach, you throw your arm down and send the weapon flying across the ground like a tempestuous child. The pain, fury, and grief have been building up inside you for long you've forgotten what it feels like to be free, what it once felt like to laugh away your troubles when they got too big to deal with. Now you've been planning your best friend's funeral on the days you don't drink yourself into a stupor, and nothing matters anymore. This was a stupid idea and all you've done is set yourself up for a bigger, stupider failure than you've already proven you could accomplish. Right now, the best relief would come if you just dropped dead.

….But it doesn't come, even after you've fallen to your knees and sobbed into your hands. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. You count each breath, but each of them are just as heavy and laboured as the last, never slowing or getting shallower. If anything, you feel more alive as your senses come back and you cringe at the blood starting to crust over your skin and clothes. Taking your hands away, all that fills them is a sheen of dark, wine-deep red, splattered with tears that sting just as much as your skin that's been hacked with small, shallow cuts and bruises. As the episode passes, your desire to get up is stronger than your want to just lay down and relinquish your strength.

So you press on. Not for want of something better, but for the simple fact that you have nowhere else to go but forward. You put yourself into this mess, and as you can hear Leon's voice in your head, "You can get yourself out of it."

So you walk. You scoop up your gun from the ground and wipe the blood from the handle with your shirt. You stumble over the chunks of stone and rubble that litter your path, weaving through the half-open doors that haven't leaned right since Leon had first kicked them in or shot them open. You just keep walking until the gate with that familiar symbol comes into view, and upon pushing it open you're met with the sight of a sea of graves and dead grass–and a murder of crows watching you through the tree branches while they await a new body to pick at.

Seeing the church looming over the hilltop is enough to give you a chill. Maybe the graves are helping with that, standing as crooked and crumbling as they were before, but whatever it is about that place just plagues you with a sense of unease. Each step up the hill has you on guard, peeking around to see whether more Ganados will come out–but it's just as eerily quiet as you expected it to be, and you don't even spot much more than the crows until you're past the gate and standing on the front step of the chapel. To your fortune, the door's still unlocked–as you hoped it would be, considering all that you and Leon had to endure to get it open the first time. You'll never forget that feeling of your stomach sinking when you watched him retch up all that blood over the side of the boat, nor the heat of his tight grip as he had grabbed your wrist and whimpered in pain before slipping into unconsciousness on your lap.

Life had been scary enough then, but in some way seeing Leon go through the Plagas infection hit you harder than any other mission you'd gone through…especially since you know now that he would never be cured. He was just so strong in the face of everything, even during Raccoon City, when he truly had no idea what he was doing. He had such a kind heart that he would do anything for anybody. Even if he could be a hardass at times, he was pure.

Thinking about Leon always ends up leading you to memories of his funeral, especially so as your shoulders relax and you step into this church that somewhat resembles the one that housed it. You drop your bag on the nearest pew and let it spill over on to its side, and when your wallet tumbles out, your eyes pass over the picture inside that makes another memory pop into your head.

"This world is undoubtedly worse off without Leon. It won't ever be the same, and I…I'll miss you, Sancho."

Luis hadn't more than dabbed at his eyes at the service, but he'd hugged you so tightly at the reception he could've broken your bones with ease. You sat at a pew just like this one and held your hands between you throughout the eulogies, quiet and empty while Ashley cried her eyes out a few rows ahead. Other than a few close friends from the academy, a couple surviving members of RPD, and a handful of people Leon got to know in the military, the rest of the service was populated by complete strangers to you. Including the president himself, whose hand you openly refused to shake when he approached you with his "condolences". Without Luis there to guide you away to go get some complimentary dinner, you might have told the leader of your country where exactly he could stuff his condolences.

At the very least you can get some healing by actually burying your best friend, you think as you check the perimeter of the church to ensure its security. If you succeed, which you're hoping might actually happen if you can keep the grief and overwhelming anxiety to a minimum.

"Mh?"

Perhaps it's a good sign already, but going unnoticed by you up until now you spot something out of your peripheral that looks out of place here–and when you step up to it to take a look, sitting at the crest of the church where the podium would be, is what looks to be a washbasin that might have come from one of the nearby houses. Peering over the lip it looks to be filled with nothing but clear water…and when you dip a finger in, a sigh escapes you when you feel how warm it is. There's even a towel hanging over the nearest pew that you could've sworn wasn't there earlier, but it's getting harder to see with all the blood caking your eyelashes. And not one to turn away a perfectly good miracle, you're all too happy to strip off your clothes and dunk your head, hair, and limbs into a clean, semi-refreshing bath.

While you scrub the dust, dirt, and dried entrails from your skin, your mind wanders yet again into another world–the one you lived in before, so blissfully unaware of how bad the outcome could truly be. You'd met Leon for the first time at his debriefing in the RPD, when he'd been quietly optimistic with that baby face and a well of enthusiasm that had come out in the strength of his handshake. Marvin introduced you first as his immediate superior because you'd been in that same position before; you had been the rookie from out of town the year prior, and aside from the beaming sense of pride at moving up a peg in the force, you also liked how sweet Leon was.

He'd greeted you with honorifics you didn't need, smiled when you gave him a tour, and not once did he ever scoff or roll his eyes when you were giving him advice before he had even started. You noticed him because he was new, but also because he respected you and pretty much everyone else with barely any hesitation. In his plainclothes surrounded by decorated officers he treated everyone he met like a friend, and although Marvin had expressed concern about him being a little naive once he went home, you remember that moment as you watched him get into his car, and you remember thinking that the world–and Raccoon City–needed more people like that. You liked to think that you always knew he was a hero at heart.

Your brow softens as the water starts running clear down your body, the basin filled with blood and muck that you've been scrubbing off your skin until it's raw. The tiredness is setting in now from the plane ride and the tension, and all you want to do is sleep–but a sudden start and pain flooding through your abdomen has you alert and gripping the edge of the basin. Easing your chest out of the way to look down, you watch in frustrated horror as your fingers brush by the opening of a much more significant wound than the scrapes and bruises just beneath your breast down towards your stomach. At only about a half inch wide and five or more inches long the cut isn't severe, it doesn't even seem like it's been touched by the filth you've been doused in as you pour a little more water over it. But now that you've noticed it the sting is much more palpable, and with no desire to have it infected and die a slow death you fumble for your pitiful first aid kit and work away at closing the wound. Strips of medical tape and gauze are about all you can do, though the process is slow and awkward with you trying not to stretch or strain it too much for it to hurt worse. Just your luck. It's only the first day. You just count yourself fortunate that Leon isn't here to see this because you know he'd both fuss over you and tease you to no end…although you do find yourself glancing around more as you fix yourself up, your mind on high alert while you're in this state of vulnerability. For some reason you do feel watched, although with no sounds or odd noises to tip you off you're tempted to assume you're relatively safe. You can only hope that you are, because rarely have you ever been so sluggish and desperate for rest than you feel right now and you'd rather not wake up with an axe in your skull.

When you're done and with your clothes still hanging wet over the pew, you've got little choice but to tug on an old shirt and thin shorts from the bottom of your bag, the spare set of clothes an absolute emergency item that you're glad you at least brought this time. The summer heat's still strong so hopefully it doesn't get too cold in the night, the darkness of which you can spot creeping over the horizon through the stained glass windows. Luckily for you the layout is fairly simple and you'd already rediscovered the upstairs room where Ashley had been kept in your search, so after pushing the pews with a grunt to block the doors, low windows, and finally the ladder to the second floor, you take your gathered things inside and set up on the thin, downy cover that will have to do as a mattress for tonight. You've certainly slept in worse, less secure places than this anyways.

But before you allow yourself the chance to drift off, your fingers stretch for your wallet again that you'd tucked back into your bag, the picture greeting you once more when you flip it open and slide it out. Leon's beaming face smiles back at you, and your gentle self stands beside him six years younger in front of the RPD's grand foyer statue. Him in his jacket and you in your uniform, waving and grinning at the camera with his arm around you like nothing bad ever existed in the world. You knew in your heart that day would be the start of something different, but just how different wouldn't occur to you until it was too late. The picture sits tightly in your hand for immeasurable moments that melt into one another, up until your eyes finally flutter closed and you drift off in neverending silence.

When sleep finally comes, so do the dreams. And in them, you get to see Leon in a much more visceral way than the pictures on your desk or the smell of cologne on his jacket. The walls behind you look to be the same as the room you'd fallen asleep in, but in smooth fashion a hand cups your chin and pulls your gaze back from the floor to the one who wants it the most.

Leon looms above you on bended knees, his chest bare and hair tousled as if he'd yanked off his shirt in a hurry–he's always like that, always in a rush to begin only to take his sweet, agonizing time when he's actually performing. His lips look bitten and flushed like he's been kissing you already, but maybe that's because he's been nibbling on it like he is now out of shyness, or maybe embarrassment.

"I missed you." Your voice comes out muffled as it usually does, and Leon shifts around, his hands dwarfing your knees in comparison as he moves them to fit himself between them.

"I'm right here, sweetheart." His smile lights up your world with a glow, he makes it brighter even though a shadow still casts itself over half his face from the lantern on the other side of the room. "I'm always here for you."

But you died. Those words play on your lips, but you don't allow them to slip out. If you do, the dream may end here and now, and you can't afford to let such a precious moment of affection pass you by. "I love you, Leon." You whimper instead, and he gasps with pure, undiluted need as he makes that push inside you that he's been waiting for all night–that soft, wet heat welcoming his stiff self in like it always does and always will. The pressure stings at first, it beats hard in your chest and between your legs where he lies, but it's a forgiving ache and not a dull pain. When Leon kisses you again, it all disappears just as quickly–even quicker when he eventually starts to move.

"I love you more. I'll always love you, even after you're gone." He whispers against your lips, breathing his sentiment in and capturing yours on every exhale back. His fingertips leave trails of searing desire up your flesh, warm hands guiding your arms higher to rest around his neck and keep him as close as you can. You wouldn't need to, you don't have to, but he wants to be closer and you know you do too. Being inside you isn't enough for him, he needs you to want him, to desire him so deeply you can't fathom being apart. And you do, you always do, but you never seem to manage saying it out loud even in the throes of a perverse dream…but he can.

"I'll love you even if you leave me again. I'll fuck you so good you don't even think of doing it to me." Your lover pants, his pace picking up while your pleasure jumbles up into a heated, twisted mess. It seems like he's just entered you but at the same time it feels long, like you've been at his mercy for hours or days on end and the pressure keeps mounting higher and higher too fast. These fantasies usually end too soon for your liking but that's always because you're the one folding first, legs shaking and nails digging blunt marks into his arms when he makes you see stars. You're getting close to that mark now, yet you've barely even started.

Leon suddenly holds his hand up to your throat, fingers splayed over your delicate neck to squeeze it with a growl low in his throat. "Don't ever leave me again. Promise me." At your absent reply he tightens his grip harder, and the stars in your eyes have you choking out an answer that isn't good enough. "Promise me I'm the only one. Swear on your life you won't choose him over me."

"I-I promise! Leon, p-please, I promise! I-I'm coming to–c-cumming, Lee!" You cry, overwhelmed as you look up with wet, hazy eyes at the man you've always loved. The black veins start spreading across his golden skin, and his own gaze grows cold and dark before a sudden pulse turns his irises to a bright, piercing red. The killing blow comes with a chuckle as his lips curl into a sinister smirk, and his hips plummet down to meet yours in a cacophony of sounds that will echo in your mind for days on end, just before he stills and a shudder rolls through his body. As tight as he says you are, he never fails to press himself deep enough that he releases that pent-up desire as close to your womb as possible.

"Mine. All mine. You promised."

In the next moment of bliss settling in and a groan erupting from his throat, the world blots out into darkness and you jolt up from the floor with a start.

"Shit!"

The curse just flies from your mouth on instinct, the heat having disappeared and the pressure of a body on top of you making way for cold, aching emptiness. An uncomfortably warm, sticky wetness pooled between your legs has your attention immediately, but you've got no choice but to cringe and ignore the discomfort for now. Your breathing labours in your chest for minutes upon strained minutes before eventually quieting, and only then do you groan and shift in your spot to glance at the time just to remember that you aren't in your bed nor at home. As you would hope not, considering how stiff your back is from sleeping on the ground.

Without windows it's impossible to tell just how long you've slept, and a glance around the empty room offers no clues either. So when you manage to get up and stretch, the only thing you notice fluttering down from where you'd let go of it is that same photo of yourself and Leon–with that dream in the back of your head, however, you can't bring yourself to look at him and shove it back into the plastic holder in your wallet.

Still, with that being a normal practice for you being around the person you've been harbouring feelings for, that dream in itself was stranger than most. The last thing you want is to dwell on it right this minute, but Leon's words still echo in your head regardless; what did he mean when he spoke those words? Did they have a shred of truth to them, or were they just the frantic machinations of your brain still trying to make sense of his death?

Either way, you don't really want to know. You just want to leave this place altogether–but with that option out the window, the least you can do is leave this church and get some fresh air. With the skill and briskness of a trained agent, you gather your things and briskly slip on your newly-dried clothes downstairs, a few bites of a protein bar all you need to sustain you at least for a couple hours.

Upon pushing on the heavy entrance doors, the crack of light between them opens up into a bright horizon with the sun beating down on the soil, the burst of morning light blinding you temporarily as you take those first few steps outside. It's just long enough for your surroundings to come into focus that you get a whiff of the humid air–and in seconds your nose scrunches up, the foul stench of decay pervading your senses in the instant that it takes for you to take a look around.

Lying in droves around the cemetery, piles at the bottom of the hill, and strung in pieces all around your feet, are the bodies of the Ganados. The sight of it strickens you immediately with shock, but then nauseates you to the point of clutching your mouth to keep what little food you brought from coming back up.

The corpses have been strewn around like some sort of macabre dollhouse; lying in pieces splayed every which way, facedown in the grave dirt or strung up in the trees for the crows to peck at. Some have been gutted and others dismembered. A few have their heads missing. Intestines and gore lie in bloody wake around the site of the massacre, sticking to the soles of your boots from one step into the aftermath, and you want to vomit. God, how can you not want to vomit at the sight of it all? What god could be so cruel, even to monsters?

It's sickening to the point of panic–run, you just want to turn tail and run far, far away, but your destination hasn't been decided quite yet. Ideally you would have sat down with your map and plotted it out, found your next objective, maybe would've scoped out the closest place to rest once you're finished your search. You would've been thorough and confident like any rescuer should be.

But the cowardice in your heart screams louder than courage. In a moment, you're rushing down the path and running out the gate, frantic in shoving it open just enough to slide yourself through but too disturbed to look back towards the carnage. In seconds the church is far behind you, and in a matter of minutes you're on a new path you haven't yet considered the danger of.

All you know is that you want out of this place, you want to go home–even though home has been within arm's reach since you got here. It's never too far away, especially when you inevitably follow the road that leads right towards that infamous castle gate, and your destiny.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #plagas!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy x reader #yandere leon kennedy #yandere leon kennedy x reader #re4make #resident evil #resident evil 4 #spicy writing #ellie writes #series: retrieval #<- see this tag for chapter updates!#5k

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