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ciaomarie · 5 months

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Part 6: What Then?

It's over kids! The longest and final chapter is done. Chris Storer & Co. are probably going to put our beloveds through it in S3, but until then let's enjoy our low-key angst and romance. Post Season 2, Canon-Compliant, swoony, girly, fluffy. A happy-ending obviously.

After 10 years of grinding himself into dust Carm’s body began to surrender. About a month after The Bear’s opening, he came down with a cold that turned into a low-grade fever, a bitter cough with lime green mucus, night sweats, and mind-numbing exhaustion. After two days Sydney and Fak showed up to his apartment and dragged him to the emergency room. It was pneumonia and dehydration. The young male doctor muttered that his lungs sounded just like his father’s, a 40-year smoker. Yes, pneumonia was the primary reason, but a man Carmy’s age should be in better shape. He was out of commission for a whole week. The regret of letting down The Bear crew so soon after the Friends and Family fiasco motivated him to make a couple changes. First, he allowed himself only one emergency cigarette a day, which he needed less and less. Second, he went outside on Mondays, when the restaurant was closed. If the temperature was over 30℉, he took the train or walked to a park. His favorites were Humboldt and the Garfield Park Conservatory. Today he had come to the latter with his sketchbook and pencils in his backpack. Since the renovation he had continued drawing.

As he went towards to his favorite bench, he noticed a slender woman walking ahead of him. Her height, long swishing braids and jacket were identical to Syd’s. He compulsively began jogging towards her. Before he could call out her name, the woman pounced on a tall lanky man in front of her, wrapping her arms around his waist. Carmen had the sensation of being pushed off a diving board unexpectedly, his stomach pitching forward, unable to breathe much less scream before slamming into the water like a brick. The man turned and picked up Sydney up, planting a kiss on her mouth. He spun her around and…she wasn’t Syd. Thank God.

Carm made his way to the bench and hunched over, his head in his hands. She wasn’t Syd he recanted over and over until the feeling of relief gave way to self-reproach. This time it wasn’t her, but one day it would be. Would he be able to live with that? Uncle Jimmy’s warning not to be an overthinking manichino flashed in his mind. It was time to do something. He took out his sketchpad and began thumbing through it, an idea beginning to take shape. Hopefully, it wouldn’t scare Syd away.

The following Monday Sydney was in her cousin’s salon getting her entire life. Her microbraids were taken out, her hair was washed, deep conditioned, her scalp massaged, and now she was getting box braids put in. They were accented with delicate gold hair cuffs. She drowsed in the chair, with an almost empty to-go container of jollof rice in her lap, as her cousin and another hair stylist quietly discussed the latest season of Love is Blind.

“Sydney babe, would you ever go on Love is Blind?” her cousin, Ashley, asked in a louder tone.

Syd startled and rubbed her eyes.

“Never. That’s insane.”

“I got a message on IG that it’s coming to Chicago. You live and breathe your job so when are you going to meet somebody? Maybe your soulmate is in one of those pods!”

“Why don’t you apply then? You could find “love” and get more exposure for the salon.”

“Same for you and your restaurant ma’am, but I have a man.”

“Since when?”

“Since three months ago. His name is David, he’s a chemical engineer and the son of you know, Ms. Jumoke, she goes to the African church on Mackinaw…St. Paul.”

“Yeah, I remember her. Her sister used to watch me when my dad worked nights.”

“Anyways, back to you. Are you dating anyone, or should I send you the show application?”

“I don’t think love is blind. Have you seen the people they cast? Nobody too unfortunate-looking gets on. It’s so shallow.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk. You have a very distinct type…white boys with tats and muscles.”

“Ashley, there’s been two of them. Like, that’s not a pattern.”

“No, three! This boss, no “partner”, of yours, had Sydney written over him. The family never sees you anymore.”

“I came to lunch at uncle and auntie’s last month! Besides, opening a new business is like having a kid. You know this.”

“Sure, but when I had dinner at your restaurant and you introduced us, he complimented you for five minutes and then followed you to the kitchen like a whipped puppy.”

Sydney grinned biting her lower lip and covered her eyes. Her cousin stopped braiding and hugged her.

“Aww…my baby cousin is finally going to get some!”

“ASHLEY!” Sydney groaned pushing off her cousin’s arms.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop, but I am happy for you. He is sexy. That neck is thicker than a tree stump.”

Sydney who had just taken a sip of her sweet tea, spat it out all over the mirror.

“That’s on you, Ashley!” she choked out between laughing and coughing.

When she was able to contain herself, she tried to reel her cousin back in. Talking about romantic potential with Carmy gave her too much pleasure. If he was content with the status quo she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Nothing really is going on. We’re business partners and we’re pretty good friends and it’s probably best we keep it that way.”

“Yes, and he gave you an equal share in the restaurant out of the friendly kindness of his heart.”

“You know, I think he would do that, because I’ve put in so much work, but it did feel like it was something more, at least his Uncle Cicero or Jimmy seemed to think so.”

“Girl, watch out. His sister and an uncle like you!? Would you take his last name, hyphenate, or keep Adamu?”

“Ugh, I’m not going there with you! Shouldn’t you be done with my hair by now?”

“If you want it done right it’ll be 2 more hours. If you don’t…30 minutes?”

“Fine, take your time but please let me sleep.”

Sydney closed her eyes, admiring her self-control. She hadn’t told Ashley that Carmy asked her to come by The Bear this evening. He was reworking a few old dishes. The invite was made at the end of the night a few days ago while they were turning off the lights. She said yes as they pulled down the last switch and she couldn’t see his expression, but she heard him exhale loudly as if he feared she’d decline. Sometimes they meet up on Mondays to network with vendors or collaborate on menu ideas, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary. However, she intuited he was hiding something again like when he and Nat surprised her with a share in the restaurant. This time she didn’t pester him for details, knowing that it was probably worth waiting for.

When Syd arrived home at 3:00 pm she could’ve folded laundry and watched an episode of Psych, but she decided to pretend this was a date; well, like she was preparing for a date. It was a long time since her last. She had entered the Convent of Failed Dreams after Sheridan. Then The Beef/The Bear became her world. The light blue cuffed jeans and stripped white and mint green button-down shirt she was wearing was more than appropriate for a food brainstorming session. However, Carmy’s mysterious attitude might be concealing more great news. She might as well look good when and if he had some.

She took a luxuriously long shower, shaved, and rubbed in her mandarin-scented body oil. Then she entered slowly sifted through her closet considering a red jumpsuit, or just nicer jeans and a blouse when her eyes fell on her marigold-colored shirt dress. It was knee length, comfortable, but chic and the color made her complexion pop. She paired it with a brown and gold oval buckle belt and brown flats because she might be standing in the kitchen for hours. After a short struggle she decided to keep the top two buttons of her shirt dress open. It was only a collar bone, not cleavage. Then she considered makeup. She hated wearing a lot of it; her skin felt suffocated with foundation. She did her brows, applied mascara, a little mineral powder, a smidge of highlighter on her cheekbones, and finished with the Fenty “Hot Choclit” gloss bomb her cousin had given her as part of a set for Christmas. Her new braids with the gold cuffs made the look even better and Sydney couldn’t help admiring herself more than usual in her floor-length mirror. She felt so delicious that she ordered an Uber rather than sit on the train. She would take it later or maybe Carm would give her a ride home.

Just before she could lock the door Emmanuel came up the stairwell, his face lighting up.

“My baby girl, you are stunning! Where are you headed?”

“Thanks, daddy. I’m just going to the restaurant. Felt like dressing up for once.”

“So, is it a staff meeting?”

“No, just working on some recipes. I gotta go. My Uber’s waiting.”

Emmanuel leaned against the door and nodded with a sly smile.

“Oh okay, I see. Tell Carmen I said hello. Have fun!”

Sydney’s eyes widened and she ran down the stairs waving goodbye. Her voice couldn’t be trusted.

When the car arrived at the restaurant, the sky was overcast, the evening darker than usual for the time of year. She let herself in and observed the layout. The lights were low, and the back center booth was set for dinner, with a single table candlelit. She could see Carmy in the kitchen already sautéing something. She was headed towards him when he looked up, seeing her through the window and rushed to meet her in the front.

“Syd don’t-” he began before he was immobilized by the vision before him.

Sydney was similarly taken with him and marveled at how often they were of the same mind. Carm was wearing a crisp button-down blue shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the shirt tucked into dark navy pants, and he had gotten a haircut. Somehow it made his eyes stand out more. The sides were moderately tapered, his hair on top remained almost as long as before, and one of his rogue curls was damp against his forehead. He was perspiring, apparently having been cooking for a while.

“Nice haircut”, “You look amazing” they began at the same time and laughed nervously.

Carmy started again, beating his trusty spoon against his palm.

“So, the food is almost done. Just have a seat over there and I’ll be right out.”

Sydney nodded, a little confused and excited for this change of plans. She sat in the booth and noticed the speakers were playing The Teskey Brothers’ “Take My Heart.” She leaned back and closed her eyes letting the lyrics wash over her, her emotions stirring with that sweet ache.

“Take the time to notice what you really need, 

You’ll find it’s a little more simple, than what you thought before,

But I can say for certain that I’ve got more than I ever had before,

By remembering the little things that make my heart warm.

So take my heart and cut it into two,

After all the only thing missing from me was you,

You’re all I want, you’re all I need, you’re the air I breathe,

Cause after all the only thing missing from me was you.”

“Hey, are you good?” Carmy asked approaching the booth with their plates.

Sydney sat up and cleared her throat.

“Yes, I’m good. I really like that song. Reminds me of-“

“Otis Redding?”

“Yeah.”

Carm carefully placed the plates on the table.

“Well, speaking of throwbacks, I made-”

“Pork confit with onions and rhubarb!”

“Yes, and after we’ll have Milk and Honey.

Sydney bit the inside of her mouth trying to absorb what seemed to be happening. Carm muttered something about getting their drinks and went to the bar for their club sodas. Sydney remained mute, not knowing if she should ask him what this meant now or let it play out. “Don’t get ahead of yourself”, she admonished her heart.

He returned to the booth with their drinks and encouraged her to start, rubbing his chin as she put the first bite in her mouth.

“That’s it Carmy. Maybe even better than the first time,” Syd purred the pork melting on her tongue and some of her anxiety with it.

He blushed and began eating too.

“It is pretty good. Eleven Madison Park taught me a lot.”

The meal was mostly silent except for the occasional ejaculation over some element of the dish. Carmy couldn’t help gazing at Syd, taking in each detail, and rejoicing in the whole. The dip above her collar bone that rose and fell whenever she swallowed, made his head swim. Her lovely face was absolutely regal framed by her new box braids. Syd’s brown skin glowed in the candlelight and a heavenly citrus scent emanated from her. Whenever her eyes caught his obvious staring, he was too filled with gratitude to look away. Sydney’s eyes were soft and filled with kindness for this dear, lovestruck man. He looked helpless. In moments like this she remembered her capacity to build or obliterate him at will. “Go with the flow” she reminded herself.

After they finished the main, Carmy took their plates and returned, with dessert, Milk and Honey. Syd lit up at the sight and when she tried it a wave of surprise flitted across her face.

"Is that mango? I didn't taste it at first, but then it like...bloomed at the back. Wow!"

"I thought it could use a Sydney twist. You always grab the mango lollipops off Sug's desk."

She resumed eating her dessert. Carm noticed everything about her. She'd played the Teskey Brothers, once or twice while they cleaned after a service, comparing them to Otis.

The Milk and Honey was devoured too soon and just as she wondered what else was on the agenda, Carmy took their bowls and returned with a package tied with twine. He set it in front of her, hands trembling, and sat a little further away than before. Syd perceiving his anxiety didn't raise any questions. She untied the string, removed the wrapping paper, revealing a red leather hand-bound notebook. The cover was engraved with her initials. On the first page was one of Carmy's drawings. It was a curbside view of The Bear. Several lined pages followed, then a drawing of the grapes in bone marrow broth. This alternating of lined pages and his pictures continued throughout the thick notebook. There were more pictures of their recipes, the various designs of her head scarves, and some were of her in different attitudes. In one she was leading expo with the confidence of Napoleon, and another was a portrait, her chin leaning on her hand, with a faraway expression in her large brown eyes. There were several others, so perceptive that Sydney felt naked. Adored. The final picture was surreal. It was a profile of Carmy's head the entirety of which was filled with Sydney wearing a hopeful smile and the scarf and shirt she'd worn her first day at The Beef.

She couldn't stop looking at it, her index finger tracing the lines.

"Sy-d" Carmen croaked his voice thick.

Breaking.

She looked up to find red-brimmed blue eyes searching hers.

"Come here" she breathed and no sooner than she blinked he was at her side.

"Syd" he tried again. Hyperventilating.

"Say more", she gently commanded smoothing his hair back before taking his hand in her lap.

This disarmed him, and he grinned in surprise. That was his line.

"Okay."

Breathe

"I want you Syd. I want to be with you.”

Breathe

“I want to do everything with you or not at all."

Then for the first time he wanted to say the words that had been a weapon for most of his life. They either were forced on him or yanked from him. His mother thought those words meant meekly submitting to her abuse. For Mikey it was cutting him off, so he wasn't exposed to his self-destruction. He never got to say it all. Claire believed it was part of a script. If he would only play his role and ignore who they were underneath, those words would become true enough.

Now, he had a new idea about those words, and they were wrapped up in this beautiful, talented, funny, tender, generous, stubborn, loyal, woman. His friend.

Suddenly they didn't hurt. He continued leaning to rest his forehead on hers.

"I love you."

Sydney blinked slowly as if in a trance, tears dropping to their joined hands.

Carm didn't move, but his face was filled with concern.

'Syd, are you-" he started to ask. Then he was spinning.

Sydney kissed him.

His neurons habitually used to process grief, anxiety, and small doses of happiness, trembled with the unusual amount of joy coursing through him.

Sydney was delirious. Her only thought was, he loves me.

Carmy couldn't close his eyes. The curve of her soft cheek so near his made him want to cry.

Then he did, for Sydney said,

"I love you, too."

#the bear #Please schedule an intervention if I post any more fics this weekend #sydcarmy #sydney x carmy #carmy x sydney #sydney adamu #fan fiction #syd adamu #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear #carmen berzatto #sappy #slow burn

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thepalerimitation · 4 months

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Let Me See Some Hands:

Why SydCarmy is the most controversial dish served on the Bear

When the Bear came out, I didn’t watch it. The most I heard, it was a show about line cooks and it had the guy from Shameless. I wasn’t interested, I’m a self proclaimed cooking snob and wanted to see a tv show that had a little more flair in cooking.

But then it was 9 pm, and I was bored.

BAM!

I watched both seasons in a week.

I was obsessed, I was absorbed, and I was deeply and truly in love. The show captured everything gritty and everything beautiful with both hands and threw them into a pan to sear at high heat. It was sexy, it was hideous, and it was mind blowing.

Then the age old question.

What’s going on with those two?

Sydney Adamu, the raw ambition and talent to Carmy Berzatto’s genius and finesse. They’re well matched in the nonstop heat of the kitchen, with an easy dynamic that snags on their jagged edges like fabric on a nail.

In the first season, they’re awkward and magnetic, drifting together and falling apart, shattering and putting the pieces back together. By the second season, they’re starting to click. They dress the same, they finish each other’s sentences, and they argue like people who have known each other for twenty years.

So yes, I did pose that particularly debase question.

Can men and women be friends?

It’s a question that gets thrown in front of the runaway train. It’s the conversation-ender and argument-starter. It’s dynamite. It’s catnip.

The warning signs were there. Shots that focused for a beat too long on him looking at her, or her looking at him. Her embarrassingly admitting he made her favorite dish of all time. Their sign language communication. The season two conflict as a girlfriend was thrown in the mix with Sydney flatly saying “I need your focus, I can’t share, I’m sorry.” I’ll admit, I’ve made more out of less.

But what’s the counter argument?

Well, for one, the girlfriend. Claire (no last name), a nurse and childhood friend who approaches him at a grocery store. She asks for his number, he gives her a fake one. She finds his number anyways and calls him.

Yeah…

There’s some moral arguments. As coworkers, a romantic relationship would be inappropriate. As partners in the restaurants, a romantic relationship could fracture the Bear. Then there’s the purist argument. It’s a cooking show about found family! Let it be that. Romance doesn’t have to be in everything.

“Well gee, which do you think people are pro or anti SydCarmy?”

Well I can tell you why I’m pro.

To me, romance doesn’t demand satisfaction. There’s no need for boyfriend/girlfriend hand holding and playful arguments about doing the dishes. I’d like a kiss, but I’ll take a heated conversation in the walk-in and longing glance.

They’re young and crazy, and HR violations can shove it.

But I also think romance has killed some excellent plots.

Platonic representation is important, especially male-female relationships. I think a lot of platonic relationships are fetishized in media or misinterpreted to add intrigue or interest to audiences.

But can Syd and Carmy be friends?

The short answer?

Who Cares?

The long answer?

Whatever Storer’s design for the show, whether he moves forward in the unclear relationship between Syd and Carmy or buckles down on either platonic or romantic, he’s definitely won.

The show has buzz. It’s got attention and heat.

You hate the romance, so you watch it to prove it’s not there. You love the romance, so you watch it to prove it IS there. You’re curious because every news site talks about it, so you just have to watch it.

Even I’ll admit, I’ve rewatched it and stayed hooked to prove my little delusion. (And because it’s beautifully acted, but who cares about that).

So whether you’re pro or against, just remember:

There is no controversy that wasn’t first stirred up by a clever strategist.

#the bear commentary #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #the bear hulu #carmen berzatto #carmy x sydney

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daydreamgoddess14 · 1 year

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Heatwave

Full Masterlist

Sydcarmy Masterlist

Syd, Carmy and a heatwave which threatens to tip things over the edge...

it's hot as balls basically everywhere I think atm? Anyway, it's hot in the UK so this popped into my head.

~~~~~

If you can't stand the heat, get outta the kitchen.

If you can't stand the heat… Get. Out. Of. The. Kitchen.

Get. Out. Of. The. Kitchen.

Sydney was at least 96.8% certain that she was going to die in this kitchen today. Which, coincidentally, was the temperature outside. Inside, it was a cool 104°F at least . She didn't dare look at the room thermometer Marcus had brought in with him for fear that she'd crawl into the walk-in in tears and never come out. They'd put a rule on breakdowns in the walk-in. Only 2 allowed per week, and Richie had bagged both of them already thanks to Tiffany's engagement party. She was bracing herself for the pomme puree and the steam, bicep work out, and overall exertion it would inflict on her, when she felt a cool hand sweep under her braids and leave a damp washcloth behind. She couldn't stop the low moan that tumbled from her mouth, or the breathy,

"Fuck me."

"Too damn hot."

"It wasn't an offer, Carmen." She tutted, rolling her eyes.

"Obviously not if you're full naming me, Sydney." He teased.

"Behind," she called, lugging the steaming pan of potatoes over to the sink. He followed with a strainer and took over.

"Here let me," steam billowed up between them, obscuring her favorite view of his arms. She had a running total of how many times he stepped in to lift something she or Tina would have struggled with. She wondered vaguely whether he was the one doing it on purpose. The helping, the little quips, the overall being better . The tension had been simmering gently beneath them since the day after the soft open, probably before that if she really cared to admit it. He'd called them all in, apologized until there wasn't a dry eye in the house, and made it clear he'd spend as long as necessary making amends to each and every one of them.

She'd walked out.

He'd followed her out back and stood perfectly still while she shouted, screamed and cussed him out. Words that she'd probably never said aloud before were hurled at him with ease, and he took it all. She shouted until she was hoarse and exhausted, eyes streaming with tears and head pounding like his fists on the metal door the night before. When she paused to catch her breath, he'd moved into her space and put his hands on her shoulders. All out of words, she hit out physically, and he took it as she rained fairly useless and ineffectual punches onto his chest. If she'd had a right hook like Richie, he probably would have been far less accepting. Eventually, she succumbed to silence, and still, he stood there. He'd wrapped those damn arms around her even as she still fought against him, pushing her hands on him to try and move backwards. She gave way to indifference, arms limp at her sides until he'd whispered a heartbroken beg for forgiveness into her ear, and her resolve crumbled like dry bread dough. She accepted the apology but made it abundantly clear that forgiveness would have to be earned. He became more present and dedicated than she'd ever seen. Their working relationship, firstly, had blossomed because of it, easily followed by their friendship and now… well. If suggestive banter or innocent touches were Olympic team events, they were gold medalists.

"Get some air, Syd." He suggested as the steam died away. He looked as bad as she felt, hair damp, and what looked like a permanent sheen of sweat coated his skin.

"Is it any cooler out there?"

"No, but there's air?" She nodded and took the offer. They'd carved out a few meters of shade by snagging one of the old tablecloths on some rusty hooks and had moved a couple chairs out of the sun.

"Too damn hot." She repeated his words back to him as he approached, taking the seat next to her.

"Yeah. What're you thinking?"

"Really?" She opened one eye to look at him, "what's the coldest I can get the shower to go later."

"Not cold enough."

"Heard, Chef. You?"

"What's the maximum fine for a health code violation." She looked confused, "naked cooking." Came the explanation.

"Ok, one - gross, and two - last time I did it, I burned myself, so it's a no from me."

"Where?"

"Where what?"

"Where'd you burn yourself?" He asked, turning the already considerable temperature up on their conversation once more.

"Uhuh, you'll never know."

"Never? We'll see." She shook her head. She normally enjoyed the push and pull, the raising stakes of who gives in first and changes the subject when it gets too much. But this heatwave had been going on for days, and the combined heat is just too much. She's too damn hot to keep up a witty repartee and try to make him blush. Plus the heat only makes her think more of their sweat slicked bodies together. She found herself wondering more and more often how long they'd keep this up. What would be the thing that brought about change? Did it just disappear again as gradually as it arrived? Was it a simple one and done fuck it out of their system? Or did they carry on in this perpetual state of winding each other up and then, as she did now frequently (so, so frequently), bring herself back down. If she could do it without spontaneously combusting, she'd wonder if he also had to do that as often as she did. As if on command, an image of him with his hand on his cock pops into her brain before she can stop it, and she has to grit her teeth and press her thighs together to stop from making a sound.

"It's too fucking hot." She grimaced and headed back inside before she could accidentally make eye contact and have him read her mind.

The next day was just as bad. The sun was gone, but a sweaty, muggy heat remained and that was somehow worse. There was no breeze at all, no air, everything was hazy. They'd sent everyone home who didn’t need to be there, preferring to survive the evening on the bare minimum number of staff rather than have a packed out kitchen or front of house. Fak hovered, mumbling something about stressed pipework and expansion but Syd ignored him and refilled hers and Carmy's iced waters, hands brushing together as he eagerly took it from her.

"Isn't there, like, a point where you can drink too much water and get ill?" She asked, downing half her cup in one go and leaving condensation drips to travel down her chin and neck.

"Fuck knows. We need to 86 half the menu tonight."

"Heard, Chef. Already gone through it with Richie." She handed him the revised menu for the evening.

"No swordfish?"

"Do you want to stand and sear it on the hotplate all night?"

"Definitely not."

"I thought not. I swear it's so hot in here I think I could turn my back into a hotplate." She shook her head and mumbled, "fry a fucking egg on my ass." He laughed so hard he nearly threw his water across the room.

"We should try that." He suggested once he'd recovered and received a glare in response.

"I need air." She took her cup and refilled it again on the way out. In the tiny not-really-a-corridor between the pot wash and outside she heard a gurgling rumble near ground level. "The fuck?" She looked down to see a drip of water escaping from the pipe. "Fak?" There was no response initially, "yo, Neil, get your ass out here?" It happened just as Carmy comes to the door to ask what's wrong. The pipe groans and creaks, "hey, can you get Fak, I think there's -" water everywhere. Everywhere . It sprayed out from the pipe in a forceful gush and got her right in the face. "Holy fucking shit!" To his credit, Carmy shut the door behind him and grabbed at the coats on the hooks in front of them. Syd pulled off her apron and dropped to the floor, using it to press against the pipe to stem the flow of water while Carmy used the coats on the gap at the bottom of the door so it didn’t get into the kitchen. They were both soaked to the bone and the water just kept coming.

"Fak, where the fuck are you?" Carmy shouted over the sound of the water, Syd tried to hold the gap in the pipe but it only made the water gush harder at odd angles. Finally, finally , Neil appeared by the back door, "shut the fucking water off, Fak!" He had to go round to the front and into the kitchen the long way to get to the stop tap. Syd let go of the pipe as soon as the water slowed to a trickle, and sat back on the wet floor with her back against the wall, trying to catch her breath,

"Fuck. That was," there were no words, "... that was crazy. At least it was clean water." She lifted the edge of her soaked t-shirt to wipe her face. He wasn’t talking and she had no idea why - he wasn’t calling out for Fak or cursing the heat, the pipes, the pool of water they were literally sitting in. She looked up to see what was wrong and he just stared back at her. “What? What’s wrong - did you get hurt?” She moved forward on her knees quickly, half crawling towards him when Fak opened the kitchen door.

“I knew it, I knew the pipes wouldn’t take the heat,” he sighed, taking in the sight of both of them sitting in an inch of water and looking, presumably, like drowned vermin. “Woah, wet t-shirt competition!” He covered his eyes and turned away. Syd looked to find that her plain white t-shirt had clung to her body like a second skin, her non-padded black bra and dark pebbled nipples completely visible.

“Shit,” her arms covered her modesty but the damage was done. Fak left quickly, mumbling something about repairs before they opened and Syd stood as quickly as she could without moving her arms. Carmy cleared his throat,

“Sorry, that was really fucking inappropriate, I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t think… didn’t realize. It’s fine. Should have left my apron on.”

“Yeah. You’re dripping,” he started to say,

“Excuse me?” Her eyes were like saucers, her voice was barely a squeak,

“You’re uhh, you’re dripping. You should change? You wanna uhh… you should use the office? I’ll start clearing up, Manny will be here in a few, and then I’ll get changed. You got spare clothes?”

“Yeah, yeah I think I’ve got some stuff to get by with.”

“Let me know if you need a shirt, think I’ve got a couple.”

“Thanks,” She hesitated, his shirt was also plastered to his skin, the faint outlines of more tattoos just visible through the transparent fabric. She swallowed and looked back up to eye level and he moved aside to let her through. She waded to the lockers and office without a backwards glance. The second the door was closed behind her, she was able to let out a shaking breath. Fuuuck. Assessing the damage, she peeled off her t-shirt and bra, and slid her Dickies down her legs. There wasn’t a single dry item of clothing that she could put back on so all she had was a clean cami crop top and another pair of Dickies. No underwear, no bra. Not even socks. She was just about dressed again when there was a faint knock on the door,

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” She’d pulled her braids back into a high bun and reused her damp scarf to hold it up off her neck, the cami left her arms and shoulders exposed but she has her custom jacket hanging up to put on later to cover herself. The crop top left a line of her stomach uncovered. She wasn’t sure it had ever been seen in public before, and certainly not by Carmy. Learning from previous mistakes, she covered her breasts by crossing her arms - no bra meant she may as well still be wearing a soaked t-shirt for all the dignity it provided.

“You good?”

“Fine, not ideal but, y’know,” she shrugged. “Hey do you have any spare socks?”

“Yeah, think so. Shit, even your socks?”

“Literally every item of clothing I was wearing is just… fucking soaked.” The statement lingered in the air,

“You should hang them somewhere outside, let everything dry out.”

“Gonna do it now. Need some help with the clear up?”

“Nah, Manny’s got it and Fak’s repairing the pipe.”

“Will we have water for service?”

“He tells me so. We’ll see, it’s Fak.” She hummed in agreement and turned her back on him to grab her wet clothes from the floor. He stepped behind her and she felt a featherlight touch on her tattoo. “You have a tattoo?” He stated, tracing the outline and causing goosebumps to pick up across her shoulders and back. She tried to speak, but the words weren't forming. His other hand went to the bare skin on her back, knuckles grazing the dip of her spine. “You’ve cooled down.” She nodded, it’s all she can do. He was so close, she could feel the cool damp from his t-shirt and it was still so oppressively hot in the kitchen that she just wanted to lean back into him. Her breath was already ragged and he’d hardly laid a finger on her. The knuckles on her back turned to fingertips on her bare waist with the faintest, almost imperceptible grip. She felt his lips ghost over the back of her neck and then a tiny kiss directly on her tattoo. It felt like all of the heat from outside and from the kitchen had all pooled in her stomach. He held her a little tighter and her body flooded with longing, a sigh escaping from her mouth. The clothes dropped to the floor with a wet slap, and she turned in his arms. There was so little space between them, it was blindingly obvious that she didn’t have a bra on. “Fuck, Syd,” he rasped, his hand coming up to cup her breast over her t-shirt, the pad of his thumb skimmed her nipple. She arched into him, her hand was already bunching his t-shirt in her fist as he nudged her nose with his, their breath mingling. His eyes were locked on hers, waiting for her agreement,

“What the fuck happened, Fak! I thought you said the pipes would be good?” Richie’s voice boomed through the kitchen just as she’d leaned into him, and they sprang apart instantly.

“Yeah Richie, when it’s not plus 100, dude! Everything falls apart in that kinda heat.” Syd grabbed her clothes again and was out of the door before Carmy could say a word. She shoved her bare feet into her work crocs and darted outside, stepping over the rags thrown down to soak up some of the water. Manny had moved the coats they’d originally put down and hung them outside. Communal outerwear which had been there since spring turned to summer and people came to work in a coat but didn’t leave with one. She made a mental note to take them to get cleaned before anyone would need them again.

“Any damage?” She asked Fak on her way past.

“Only the pipe, you guys managed to keep all the water to the pot wash. Nothing in the kitchen.”

“Great. We good for service?”

“Well see.”

“We gotta be, Fak.” She told him firmly.

“You got it Syd.” Outside, she flung her clothes over the back of one of the chairs and dragged a hand over her face. Everything falls apart in that kinda heat. She heard Fak’s words over and over.

“Yo, you good?” Carmy asked as he stepped out and did the same thing with his clothes as she had. Of course the only sign of the mishap inside for him was his wet hair, while she looked like she’d gotten dressed in the dark and forgotten most of her clothes.

“Yeah. Gotta get on with prep, we’re behind.”

“Heard, Chef. I’ll be right there.” He grabbed her wrist as she passed him and asked the question again without saying a word. She nodded and threw him a small smile.

“Later,” she assured him. “We’re all good, Chef.” She confirmed and headed inside.

It was a quiet night, for which Syd was eternally grateful. Just one full cover and turnaround on tables, the latest seated at 7.30pm and out by 9.30pm. The quiet night however, left plenty of room and time in the kitchen. Fewer people around had seemingly given Carmy a free pass to make his presence known around Syd. Any normal night and she’d barely have time to look at him other than when answering him. She’d suggested that she take the expo while he manned hers and Tina’s stations with Connor on his own and Daniela’s.

“You sure?” He asked as she tied her apron,

“Yeah, I’m faster.”

“No you’re not,” he scoffed.

“Yes, I am.”

“Not. What’s the real reason?” He asked quietly, looking around to see that they were as alone as they could be in the open kitchen.

“No reason.”

“Bullshit.”

“You want the truth?” She asked.

“I do, say more please?”

“I need to not have your voice, like, talking me through it all fucking night. Ok?” He looked a little hurt and she realized how her comment had sounded, replaying it in her mind, “fuck, I didn’t mean…” she stepped closer and dropped her voice so that only he could hear her. “It can be distracting and I don’t need that distraction with half the kitchen staff out. Ok?” She’d moved over to the expo and started setting up while he was still processing her comment.

“Distracting?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Shut up. We’re not talking about this, I said what I said and that’s it,” she waved her hand as if to brush the comment away and out of the conversation, “done.”

“We’re coming back to this conversation.”

“We’ll see about that. 10 minutes to open, Chefs. We good?”

“Yes, Chef.” came the slightly reduced chorus back.

“Excellent, let’s get it done and get out of this furnace.” They moved quickly through the tables, Syd’s constant stream of information and requests flowed through the kitchen with ease. Hands were exactly where they needed to be, nothing needed to be refired and despite the heat, the atmosphere was calm and relaxed. Despite his voice not being as much of a distraction, he still found other ways. Small touches to her back as he passed behind her, brushes of her hand when he brought her plates and every time he caught her eye she was sure she could burst into flames.

“More hands please and thank you.” She called out as Carmy brought three plates forward along with a refilled cup of iced water, “thank you, Chef.” She murmured, stealing a glance at him.

“Y’welcome, Chef.”

“Chefs, stay hydrated please, and do not sweat into my plates.” She reminded them.

“Yes, Chef.”

“Carm, you good?”

“Yes, Chef. Just trying not to be a distraction.” He smirked.

“If only that were possible.” She retorted,

“Maybe some pointers?” She fought the grin pulling at the corner of her mouth but ignored him,

“Connor, your station done?”

“Sure is, Chef.”

“Gorgeous, thank you.” The young chef beamed at her.

“Ok, last table are ready for desserts and then we’re done, lizards.” Richie confirmed, Connor left his stations to cover the final desserts over on Marcus’ empty section while Syd went through the night's tickets and Carmy started clearing up.

“So back to my being a distraction -” he started, she continued counting while he continued talking, “can we get into that, please?”

“Right now?” She carried on counting,

“I mean, later works for me?” he saw her hands falter on her count, she paused to remember where she was up to and then carried on,

“Yep, sounds good, I’ll cook.” She finished and clipped the tickets together, adding a sticky note to the top with the totals as Connor brought the final desserts over,

“Hands please, Richie,” she called out, wiping the plates.

“No smudges.” She and Carmy both told him as he collected them. “Outside?” She asked, reaching for her nearly empty cup. “Connor, we’ll be back in 5. Take a break if you want.” She collected Carmy’s cup on the way past and refilled both of them. Outside, the heat was still fierce even in the twilight. “How is it no fucking cooler yet?”

“Better than in there.” He slumped into one of the chairs and lit a cigarette. “Good service.”

“Not bad, considering. Heat’s supposed to break tonight.” She muttered, looking up at the sky.

“Maybe it will.” He replies, looking at her.

“Maybe. I’ll go finish clean up.” She leaves him with the sun nearly fully set behind him. Connor, bless him, had nearly finished the basic clean down. Leftovers boxed up and labeled ready to go in the lowboys, surfaces cleaned and sanitized and the floors swept. It’s about all she’s willing to do tonight, if the heat breaks she’d be there early in the morning anyway to go through everything properly. She thanked Connor and sent him on his way, hearing him say goodbye to Carmy as they crossed paths in the pot wash.

“Don’t forget your stuff.” He handed over her clothes as she took off and folded her jacket carefully. She stuffed her sun dried clothes into her bag while he shut off the lights, and she followed him out to his car. They drove in a comfortable and easy silence that didn’t call out to be filled. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d say anyway, there was too much of a sense of inevitability in the air. “How’s the new apartment?” He asked. They'd all helped her move in the week before to a tiny ("It's bijou, Richie!", "It's fuckin' tiny, Syd.") studio apartment closer to the restaurant.

“S’good, yeah. Still a bit basic, but I’ll get there.”

“You’re dad missing you?”

“He says so, but I think he’s just happy he can watch as much Jeopardy as he wants and eat potatoes for every meal again.”

“Living the life.”

“He’s loving it. Considering I was out of the house probably 15 hours a day, I think it’s a stretch to say I cramped his style, but that's the angle he's going for.” She pointed out a parking spot which she knew wouldn't get ticketed, and he followed her up to the fourth floor. She could already feel her heart pounding in her throat, the heady combination of nerves, anticipation and wanting, but he seemed so calm. For someone usually so weighed down by the expectations of others and the stresses of the restaurant, he was effortlessly laid-back. He was approaching her within seconds of walking through the door, stepping right back into the same space he'd occupied in the office earlier in the day. He placed one hand on her jaw which she covered with her own, and one on her hip, softly stroking the bare skin there.

"This ok?" He asked, tentative but firm. She could hear in his voice that he had no reservations about the radical change they were about to make to their friendship and fuck, the confidence was definitely something.

"Yeah," she replied, trying to sound composed. "Yes." She repeated firmly, "yes." He guided her a step backwards and held her against the small table in her kitchen. She waited for what felt like an eternity as he brushed his thumb over her cheekbone and across her bottom lip, taking his time to really look at her. His eyes never left hers until he finally looked at her mouth. The hand on her hip moved around to her back, she still felt sticky with sweat and the temperature was only increasing with their proximity. He didn't seem to notice or care at all as he captured her lips in a kiss. She hadn't known what to do with her hands but they moved unconsciously up his biceps, tracing the line of muscle. She worked her fingers over the knots in his shoulders and tangled them in his hair. He growled against her, deepening the kiss and sliding his hand up her back under her t-shirt so he could draw her closer with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. The heat of his palm against the bare skin of her back drew a low moan from her, she broke the kiss for air so he moved to the column of her neck. He sucked at the soft skin at the hollow of her throat and licked the sheen of sweat. "God, I feel gross," she breathed a laugh. He ground his hips against hers as if wanting to show her that he didn't agree. The length of him pressed into her thigh was enough for her to buck against him. She busied her hands in pulling his damp t-shirt off and his fingers brushed the underside of her breast as he went to do the same thing,

"May I?" He asked,

"Please, yes." She sighed, lifting her arms. He dipped his head to catch a nipple lightly between his teeth, "Oh f-fuck, Carm,” she moaned, “please don’t stop.” His kisses moved back up her neck,

"I'm not gonna stop," he murmured, palming her breast, "not ever going to stop, baby." Her hips bucked against his again in a frantic attempt to find pressure, fiction, anything .

"Carmy -" She whined,

"Tell me what you want?" She groaned in frustration, coherent sentences the furthest thing from her mind - or capabilities - her hand moving to his waistband instead. He took her hands in his own, "how long have you wanted this?" She wrestled her hands back and worked on her own waistband instead, pushing her Dickies down over the curve of her ass.

"Too long," she perched on the table and pulled him closer,

"Zero patience." He teased,

"Fuck you." She retorted, kissing him along his collarbone, running her tongue over the new-to-her tattoos and tasting the same sticky saltiness that covered her own body.

"Gross?"

"I don't care, we match," she laughed, reaching again for the button of his pants. She popped the button and stopped, "sure about this?"

He took his hands from her hips and cupped her face, brushing his nose against hers, "Absolutely fucking sure." She pushed his pants down over his hips and wrapped a hand around him, his jaw tightened as he jerked into her. "Fuck, Syd," He rasped. He reached behind her to where he'd thrown his bag onto the table, and dug through blindly until he'd found a condom. "You're so good for me." He kissed her softly, pushing into her slowly. The table groaned dangerously as he fucked her, his pace increasing. She pushed back against each thrust, matching his hungry pace. Their sweat-slicked bodies worked in symphony and it felt like Carmy was adapting in the moment to every catch of her breath or garbled, breathless moan. "That's it baby, I've got you." He grunted, leaving a bite mark on the soft flesh of her shoulder. The table rattled and Syd gripped his shoulders,

"Don't break my fucking table," she warned. He brought a hand down between them in reply and worked his thumb in circles on her clit. His hips snapped against hers and she could feel her legs tremble as he brought her over the edge with him, her name positively reverent on his lips. She fell limp against him with a choked sob. She let her forehead rest in the crook of his neck while he rubbed her hips where his hands had gripped her so tightly she was sure to have bruises. "That was… god, why the fuck did we wait so long?" She asked, moving to look at him. He laughed, kissing her damp forehead and tucking a couple of stray braids behind her ear. He pulled out carefully and discarded the condom. She stepped down gingerly from the table, trying to work out who had the more stable legs of the two. She swayed on the spot a little and immediately decided the table was doing better than she was. He handed her his t-shirt and she put it on despite the heat. "Now I definitely feel disgusting."

"You shower, I'll cook." He told her, opening the fridge, "uhh filled pasta and tomato sauce? Wait, is this Mikey's?" He opened the plastic container and sniffed the contents.

"Yeah. I was fucking around with a roasted tomato and basil filling for the pasta using his recipe but it's not there yet so this was the leftover sauce I had."

"You made it here, at home, just because you wanted to?" She took the container from him and put it next to the stovetop so that she could loop her arms around his waist.

"Yeah, it's the first thing I made when I moved in." She kissed him lightly, "so I'm going to shower because I currently feel more sweat than human, then you can do the same? We can skip the tour - bed's over there." She nodded in the direction of her bed which took up most of the space in the small room. He stopped her from leaving with a searing kiss that left her leaning into him once again. "Hmm, I'll be back," she murmured, gathering the clothes they hadn't put back on and throwing them into her laundry basket. The cool shower felt like bliss after the heat and grime of the day, followed by the sweaty sex. Stomach rumbling, she hurried to switch with Carmy and plated the food while he showered.

"You didn't give me a real answer before, when I asked how long?" He said once they were sat on her sofa with her bare legs in his lap,

"I was busy," she grinned. "Honestly? Maybe straight away but everything was too chaotic to know for sure? And then that day I came back and there was tomato juice on the walls and the floors and just fucking… everywhere and you didn't care, you just looked at me. That's when I knew I was totally screwed." She stopped to inhale more of the rich pasta, "you?"

"The day I met you."

The heatwave broke overnight with rain and thunderstorms, but all Syd cared about was the delicious warmth of Carmy between her legs.

FIN

#carmy x syd #carmy x sydney #sydney x carmy #syd x carmy #carmen x sydney #syd adamu #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #syd x carmen #sydcarmy fanfic #sydcarmy fic #sydcarmy fluff #sydcarmy smut #the bear #the bear fx #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto

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heavenbarnes · 7 months

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hi!! i’ve never done this before but id like to request a sydney adamu x femreader :) like maybe with the reader being a new sous chef at the bear or old culinary school crush or smth along those lines haha or literally any other ideas u might have!! there’s an unfortunate lack of sydney fics in general so i’ll rly take anything lol. also LOVED the one you wrote recently (im losing it lately) i have been re-reading it over and over again omfg

Already better for knowing you

Sydney Adamu x female reader

Warnings/Contains: swearing, syd is so fucking awkward, carmy is a meddling shithead, mature themes (involving fruit), beginnings of a praise kink, no actual smut (can you believe it?!)

Thank you so much for requesting this, I thoroughly enjoy writing for Syd! Also sorry that I always write her the same way (awkward-lesbian-munch) but I genuinely think that’s how she’d be. Also cannot believe you’ve read my work multiple times! I didn’t know if you wanted this to be smut so I only hinted, but lemme know if you want more. Anyways, hope you like this!

Sydney and Carmy had to have the difficult talk.

With the success of The Bear, how much it had taken off with their hard work, it was time to bite the bullet.

They needed more hands in the kitchen.

Experienced hands, they needed someone that Syd could rely on. She could give an order and that person would follow.

She needed a sous chef.

They put up the ad and, sure enough, they had a number of chefs in for the interview. They were keen, mostly young, hungry for the chance to break out into their first kitchen.

Both Syd and Carm knew you had to start somewhere but they both really needed the experience, the trust, the reliability.

Their last day of interviews rolled through and Sydney couldn’t help the feeling of helplessness creeping in her chest. Last day of interviews and still no closer to a new sous.

Were they being too picky?

As she shuffled her papers of interview questions and old CVs, she watched Carmy scratch the back of his neck as he read over the last applicant’s details.

“Well, she sounds good on paper.”

Syd couldn’t help the snort she let out, elbows on the table and head resting in her hands. “They’ve all sounded good on paper.”

Carmy shrugged his shoulders at that, but nevertheless sat down beside his chef de cuisine still reading over the paper.

“Says she’s worked in a couple restaurants, out of state- she’s only recently moved to Chicago.”

Syd listened to him speak, trying to find herself a little bit more excited at the prospects.

“Graduated from the CIA, experienced with-“

That perked her up a bit, knowing it was a long shot with the number of campus locations and students that came and went from the institute.

But there was still a small chance.

“What’s her name?” She turned to read the paper over Carmy’s shoulder as the sound of the door opening filled the space.

It all happened so quickly.

The door opened.

Carmy said your name.

You appeared before her.

Still as beautiful as the last time she saw you.

As if she could forget that day, for a few reasons. One, it was graduation, obviously she was going to remember it. Two, well, you were there.

If anyone cared enough to ask, she could tell them what you wore. The way your smile shone under the stage lights. The way you smelt as you hugged her and wished her the best.

Sometimes, when things got quiet, she’d play that moment over in her head.

Sydney thought she might’ve been dreaming when she saw you striding across the auditorium right towards her. You smiled, bright smile, hand coming up to give her a quick wave.

She’d even looked over her shoulder, trying to find out who you were even waving at. By the time she looked back towards you, you were smiling harder and giggling a little.

“Yes, that was for you.” You’d teased, making a heat grow on Syd’s cheeks.

“Yeah- yeah, I knew that.”

Your smile turned into a smirk as you nodded knowingly. “Course you did.”

Then you both stood there quietly, Sydney couldn’t really focus when you were dressed like this. Granted, it was just your chefs whites, but she couldn’t deny you wore the hell out of them.

You’d been wearing them nearly every day, and it still took her breath away every time she saw you. She didn’t even notice you were speaking until you shifted to get into her eye line.

“Sorry- what was that?”

“I said I’ll miss seeing you in the kitchen.”

Syd nodded, earnestly, face softening as she spoke. “I don’t think I’ll enjoy cooking as much without you there.”

She’d surprised herself with her confidence, actually being able to say it. She was pleased to see your smile growing. There was also a glint in your eye that she couldn’t place.

Her chest tightened up as you stepped forward, hands reaching out to pull her into a hug. She melted into you, taking a deep breath to remind herself of your sweet scent.

“Soon as you make it big,” You spoke knowingly, like it was inevitable. “I’ll come find you.”

And here you were now, standing before her in her own restaurant.

You’d found her.

Her mouth fell open as she tried to find the words she’d wanted to say to you all this time. How are you? I’ve missed you? I’ve thought about you every day since the last time I saw you?

Instead, she just stayed silent. She closed her mouth, blinking up at you with those beautiful eyes of hers.

“Syd,” Her name sounded at home in your mouth. “How long has it been?”

“Three years, eight m-months.” She’d only realised how quickly she’d answered when she saw your eyebrows raise.

Carmy shifted beside her, too. It snapped her back into reality, the reality where you were standing right before her and she was acting like a fucking dickhead.

“Well, here’s hoping I’m right on time.” You didn’t look put off, you assumed that same smirk you’d given her all those three years, eight months ago.

You were, you were always right on time. Always in the right place. Always just right.

Syd managed to pull herself together enough to stand up (for whatever reason) and gesture to the seat before her and Carmy. You graciously accepted, sitting down and placing your hands on the table.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to them, the way your fingers intertwined together, the lines coming off your palms. Sydney remembered back to the institute, the distractions she’d face watching you handle a knife or split a citrus fruit.

She couldn’t think of the latter right now.

The way your fingers would pierce the skin, pulling it apart with juices spraying up your wrists. You’d scoop out the flesh with your bare hands, not caring for the way it’d leave you sticky and dripping.

You’d look up at her, finding her watching you and not minding the way she stared. The fateful day you threw the rest of the grapefruit into the scraps, bringing two fingers to your lips to lick the excess off before you washed your hands.

Sydney was completely and utterly-

“Obsessed,” Your voice brought her back into the room, only for the second or third time in the short span of time. “Obsessed with what you’ve done with this place.”

She saw Carmy smile out the corner of her eye, his cheeks blushed a little at your words. You had that effect on most people. Sydney knew better than anyone what you could do to a person with just a few words.

“Well, we’re quite impressed with your CV,” He responded, laying it out on the table. “Aren’t we, Syd?”

By the time she looked away from him, she found you were already staring at her expectantly. She nodded, mumbling an affirmative sound to the both of them.

“Really impressed, seems like you’ve done a great job since graduation.”

You lit up, that’s the only way Sydney could describe it. It was as if your heart was swelling in your chest as your cheeks rose.

“Thank you, that means a lot,” She had assumed you were referring to the both of them until you finished. “Coming from you, Syd.”

If this was how she was at the interview, lord help her in the kitchen. There was no doubt you were getting the job, that was an absolute given. But Sydney would have to think hard about how it’d work practically.

Her sous chef. Following her every move. Responding to her every word. Reliable, obedient, willing, responsive.

Syd had seen you in action at the institute, but never following her own orders. She didn’t know if she’d be able to cope with hearing your “yes, chef” and knowing it was directed at her.

Even the way you were looking at her now, so expectant, hanging on to everything she was saying. She knew that look in your eye, on your face, you’d given yourself away just a little earlier.

“Coming from you, Syd.”

Praise. You were looking for her praise.

The thought sent Sydney into overdrive, forcing her to stand up abruptly and knock her knees into the table as she did.

Both you and Carmy looked up at her in confusion, your mouth opening to ask if everything was alright.

Syd cut you off, babbling as she walked away from the table. “I just remembered- remembered that the stove is on and- that’s the number one cause of kitchen fires- and I will be right back!”

She kept talking as she eventually made her way into the kitchen, hiding in the space right next to the oven (that hadn’t been on all morning).

Sydney knew she was fucked. Royally, totally, well and truly fucked. The crush she’d had on you at the institute had been debilitating and, whilst she’d missed you, these three years and eight months had meant she was finally able to focus.

Now here you were, in her kitchen and looking like everything she’d ever wanted.

Syd had no idea how long she stayed hiding in the kitchen but sooner or later Carmy came through with a stupid smile on his face, leaning against the bench.

“Think you handled that really well.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m begging you.”

He laughed, laying the brown folder he’d been carrying down beside him as he crossed his arms. She looked up at him, wincing a little as she already knew what was coming.

“You gave her the job, didn’t you?”

Carmy laughed louder, looking down at the heap of Sydney on the floor. She could kick his shins right now.

“Of course I did,” He responded, pushing up from the bench as he turned to leave. “Have fun training your new sous chef.”

Fucked. Completely fucked.

#sydney adamu x reader #sydney adamu x fem reader #sydney adamu x female reader #sydney adamu one shot #sydney adamu Drabble #sydney adamu blurb

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gingergofastboatsmojito · 3 months

Text

The Beef →← The flesh

What if seeing as Storer is keen on planting breadcrumbs in plain sight, instead of pasta being code for sex on the show, the meat is actually what represents the flesh (and its pleasures)?

Walk with me here:

Syd offered him Coca-Cola braised short ribs, which he "ate from her plate" yet didn't think were perfect. - Because he wasn't involved in the dish at that point the dish lacked acid. Carmy is the acid → bingo!

Even before that, in 01X03, Carmy had offered her something with meat and rice too, that was "good" in S1, but she refused to eat it:

Then Syd proposed beef smoked consommé and Carm liked the idea, even tho they didn't "eat" it.

And then there's the Kasamagate where she went on her food tour by herself and then she ended up asking a butcher about short ribs.

Then in Avec they changed the menu at the last minute to, yes, you guessed it:

She should have been with Carmy but they couldn't eat the beef because ... anyway...

FF to Bolognese 02x08 (pre-omelette), which is also the name of the Italian sauce with meat he made for dinner and for Claire when they slept together

BUT as he was making it, Storer gave us this totally unhinged shot of Syd's bare back and ink:

Carmy ate the beef that night, only he ate the meat with someone else:

Bonus track: guess what he drew while he was with Claire (because they didn't have any heat)?

Yes, the concord grapes with the beef consommé type of thing... (I think that to him, subconsciously speaking, the beef consommé represent himself and the black concord grapes represent Sydney).

#SydcarmyEndgame

PS: I keep thinking that their star will come via their Pasta, but the sex has more to do with the meat and short ribs and beef and FLESH.

CANNOT WAIT.

Update: I used to think that only short ribs or any type of beef were the kind of meat associated with this theory, but after watching S3 I broadened the spectrum to fish because of the Paupiette of hamachi with blood orange sauce.

I still think that red meat is the strongest option here, not only for the obvious reasons:

But also because RED is one of the Sydcarmy colors → check this out

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

#sydcarmy #ITS THE MEAT #the bear #the bear hulu #carmy berzatto #carmy x sydney #the bear fx #syd x carmen #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #sydcarmy endgame #SHORT RIBS #BEEF #gingerpovs #the bear meta

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navstuffs · 4 months

Text

Friday night dinner

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x Sydney Adamu

Summary: Carmen Berzatto has dinner with Sydney and her dad.

Trigger warnings: none, they are already dating, domesticity with syd's dad

Author's Notes: hiii! launching this one month before the show comes back and i had this idea since last year?? lol im an embarrassment. OH, i personally didnt like the alternative ending i gave this fic but left in there, you can read it if you want to :) also the name of the fic comes from a british show. anyway, enjoy your reading!

Carmy arrives at the apartment, knocking precisely three times and holding the wine bottle in his hands. No sweaty hands, which was good. Years of cooking probably stopped that side of him, at least. Deep down, he can feel the tingling sensation of nervousness and anxiety, and it just grows when it is Mr. Adamu who opens the door, cloth on his shoulder, apron on his hips. Mr. Adamu doesn't say anything as Carmy, standing there like an idiot, greets, "Good night, sir."

"Hey, come in, she's in the kitchen."

Not off to a good start, but at least Mr. Adamu had given him a slight smirk, not one that Carmy had noticed, looking down as he entered. It is his first time in their apartment after they started what he doesn't know yet how to call, two months ago. Richie explains, "going out, getting to know each other," what Fak calls "being utterly in love," and Sugar pinches his arm, stating, "If he loses Syd, I'm going to kill you."

Carmy tries to erase the thoughts in his head as he follows Mr. Adamu into the kitchen. The recognizable smell of food, Syd's food, welcomes him and slightly calms his nerves. When Carmy finally sees Syd in the middle of boiling pots and sizzling pans, he feels like he is home.

"Look who I found at our doorstep. Didn't have a choice but to let him in."

"Dad!" Syd sounds scandalized as Carmy nods.

"Hey, I-mhm, I brought wine." He hands the wine bottle to Sydney, who thanks him. Then, Carmy stands there, hands in his pockets. "Can I help?"

Before Sydney can even reply, her dad shakes his head. "Please, like any of my guests would ever work in my kitchen. Go relax, Carmen. Syd and I will take care of this. We are almost done anyway."

Well, great. At least, while cooking, Carmy would not have to think about what to say to Mr. Adamu during dinner without sounding like a fool. Now? Carmy nods, giving another smile in their direction, before leaving the kitchen. He could sit on the sofa, but that would sound like he took more liberty than he should. Or he could hang between the space from the kitchen to the living room, looking like a piece of furniture that no one actually knew how exactly got there. You know, in case they needed help.

Carmy decides on the middle ground: the living room, but without sitting on the sofa. With one last look to Syd's back, he steps into the living room, his eyes working the space. Smooth jazz plays in the background, but it is low enough that he has to pay attention. CD’s, books, even DVD’s. Carmy feels like invading space, invading somewhere he shouldn't be yet.

He turns his eyes to the books: some mysteries, science, and cooking—tons of cooking books. Carmy gives a small chuckle, some of which he had himself. He then turns his eyes to the pictures across the bookshelf: Syd and her dad, his arm squeezing her shoulders on probably the day of her graduation from the Culinary Institute of America. Mr. Adamu looks proud, pulling her into a half-hug as Syd smirks back at the camera.

The other picture shows an eight-year-old Sydney playing in a backyard, running after a woman he couldn't see. The next one shows the same eight-year-old Sydney with a woman who looks exactly like her, smiling at the camera.

"My mom."

Carmy turns to find Sydney at his side, a glass of wine in her hands. "Oh, yeah. She was a pretty woman."

"Yeah." Syd hands him the glass of wine, but Carmy doesn't drink it. She also looks nervous, not as in the day we re-opened The Bear together, but you are here now, and this is getting more real.

"Hey, you good?" Carmy asks, squeezing her arm. She takes a deep breath and nods.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Didn't think it would be this nerve-wrecking, and it's just, you know, my dad!"

"Wait until you meet my family," Carmy replies before he can stop himself. He realizes what he said and quickly tries to correct it. "Not, not that we would be going there. If we went there, I meant. We don't have to."

Syd looks at him, her face opening into a smile. "We shouldn't -"

"Hey, Sydney, I think the pie is almost done." Her dad calls her from the kitchen, and Sydney startles, asking for one second before leaving. Carmy follows her, glass of wine still secured in his hand.

He watches Mr. Adamu and Sydney work for a while. They barely look at each other, but there isn't no animosity. No screaming, shouting, nothing like that. Mr. Adamu tries to explain to his daughter that he didn't know if the pie was good, and Sydney gestures that it was nothing. He goes back on finishing the salad, humming to the tune it was playing; how he could hear it, Carmy had no idea. Carmy just stands there, observing their work. What a contrast with his family.

"Oh, could you put the plates, please, Carmen?"

"On it, Sir. Where are they?"

"Upper cabinet to my right. Forks and knives will be on the first drawer down here."

Carmen takes the task seriously, trying to impress Mr. Adamu with his ability to place the plates, forks, and knives on their dining table. But hey, you try to impress when you can, right?

Soon, they are seated at the table. Carmen waits until Mr. Adamu is properly seated on the head of the table to sit himself, looking straight into Syd's eyes. He has a good feeling about this.

"I hope you enjoy the food, Carmen. I was responsible for the salad preparation."

"Which looks good, Sir."

Mr. Adamu doesn't correct the "Sir" but gives him a satisfied smile. Carmy then feels a slight nudge on his foot, Sydney's brown eyes smirking. She was probably having a blast, watching him all nervous and shit. But Carmy realizes he doesn't seem to mind, not this time, as he smirks at her back.

extra/alternative ending:

It is not later that night, after saying goodbye to Emmanuel, that Carmy asks Syd how well he did. Syd, who is walking him to the door, stops her hand on the door's handle.

"I don't think he hates you," she replies, face serious.

"Yeah, but, but, do you think he liked me? Like actually liked me? Because I feel like now, I shouldn't told that stupid joke Richie suggested, or I shouldn't have -" Before he can continue, Syd's lips are on his, silencing him. His hands immediately go towards her hips, pulling Syd close to him. After they break apart, Syd taps his chest, "You did great. He let you call him Emmanuel."

#sydcarmy #carmy x sydney #syd x carmen #carmen berzatto #sydney x carmy #sydcarmy fic #sydney adamu #sydcarmy fanfiction #carmy berzatto #the bear fanfic #the bear fanfiction

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nolita-fairytale · 6 months

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so my darling | sydney adamu x the restaurateur (unnamed male oc) | oneshot

summary: sydney falls in love with a restauranteur (one played by pedro pascal). song title inspired by so my darling by rachel chinouriri.

warnings: swearing, unnamed ocs, talking about sex, use of she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, two original characters (the restaurateur & the pastry chef), the pastry chef is the mc from make my heart surrender, wong kar-wai films, ambiguous ending

wc: 4.8k

a/n: ok, so i'm not entirely back, but this photo of pedro pascal and ayo edebiri at the sag awards quite literally haunted me and made me write something about it. also i've really missed all of you. and i've missed these characters. and i miss this world. this oneshot feels really different to me than a lot of the things i've written for the bear and there isn't much inclusion of the other characters because i really, really wanted to write from sydney's perspective. it's limited storytelling in the way that it's mostly her experience of being charmed by the restaurateur but i had a lot of fun with this and i hope you enjoy. fic inspired by the pic below:

nolita fairytale's masterlist

Sydney doesn’t expect to win, yet her name is called out anyway, followed by the phrases: “James Beard Rising Star Award” and “the winner is.”

Most of the night is a blur. Somewhere between winning the biggest award of her career to accepting congratulations from the best chefs in the world, Sydney’s still trying to gather her bearings. It’s not until Carmy’s girlfriend, the woman who picked up her life and moved to Chicago to be with her exec chef, tugs at her arm.

Sydney doesn’t mean to completely reduce the woman to just Carmy’s girlfriend.

She’s also become many other things: the head pastry chef at The Bear, a colleague, and most importantly, a best friend.

“Hey, Syd! Carm wants to introduce you to someone,” she says, before giving Sydney a chance to politely excuse herself from the previous conversation she’d found herself in.

As The Pastry Chef leads her away from her present company, Sydney follows with a soft smile, half expecting it to be yet another celebrity chef—someone in Carmy’s network that reminds her why she began working at the Bear when The Bear was The Beef.

What she doesn’t expect is to meet him, her breath hitching in her throat as she and her best friend who’s dragged her over here, find themselves standing across from Carmy and an unfamiliar man.

“I see a congratulations is in order,” the man greets her, tipping his half-empty glass of champagne in her direction with a smile so charming she has to do a double take.

“To this year’s newest Rising Star chef.”

He’s handsome, sure—but that’s not what catches her eye.

The first thing Sydney notices about the man is his soft, dark curls—much cleaner than the unruly ones that belong to her head chef. He wears thick-rimmed rectangular glasses and has a perfectly groomed mustache that surprisingly works for him. It’s not usually her kind of thing, is all. In a white button down, perfectly tucked into his pristine black trousers, it's somehow still black tie with a touch of rebelliousness for forgoing a tie and a proper suit jacket.

He can’t be much older than Richie, she thinks to herself. What? Ten… maybe fifteen years older than herself?

Reality comes back to her, as she realizes that she hasn’t said a word, wondering just how long she’s spent caught up in her own head over the handsome stranger.

“Oh uh, yeah. Thanks,” Sydney replies with a smile and a nod, snapping back to her senses.

“Syd, this is… probably one of the few mentors I’ve had in my career. Well, him and Terry, ‘course,” Carmy begins to introduce, shyly. He’s not used to the one doing the introductions. “From Malibu.”

“Fairest Creatures,” the man clarifies with a hearty chuckle, citing the name of the restaurant they worked at together. “Way, waaaaaaay back in the day.”

Right.

The restaurant that put Carmy on the map, winning himself the same award that year that Sydney’s won tonight.

That’s when it clicks for her.

An old mentor of Carmy’s.

Not Terry.

And no, not that one—not the asshole from New York—to put it nicely.

The Restaurateur from California.

“No, I-. Yeah! I’m a big fan of your work, yeah,” Sydney scrambles to say, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes as she reaches out to shake his hand.

“Carmy was one of my early boys—look at him now. The student has far surpassed the teacher,” the chef adds, implying he’s mentored plenty of then-up-and-coming chefs back in the day.

“Oh thanks, but uh. Nah, I don’t know about that,” Carmy mutters, quick to brush off the older chef’s compliment.

Sydney can feel The Pastry Chef nudge her playfully, letting out a chuckle in response. The two exchange glances as Sydney follows her gaze from Carmy to his mentor.

“Oh they’re just being modest. Don’t think I’ve ever met two humbler chefs than these two,” the pastry chef adds with a playful eye roll, shooting her lover a look that doesn’t go unnoticed. “Which… if you ask me, is practically unheard of in this industry so… I consider us lucky, Syd.”

Sydney lets out a small, nervous laugh in agreement, before raising her own champagne glass to her lips as she finds herself, suddenly, parched.

She sees him again, weeks later, when the pomp and circumstance of winning a James Beard award has almost died down. She’d been quick to assume that, like many other chefs that weekend, he’d only been in town for the award ceremony, but as Sydney listens to the man tell Carmy that he’s moved to Chicago for “the foreseeable future,” she wonders why she never asked in the first place.

The Restaurateur had come in to say hello, for a meal, and Carmy had quickly declared that it would be on the house—eager to feed the best mentor he ever had in his California fine dining days.

“Yeah, I’ll be steppin’ in for Cuadros… when he goes on paternity leave… and we’re talking about expanding—what that could look like. Well, you know how it goes, Carm. Right now I’m just hangin’ out, helping out where I can between the two restaurants he’s got now,” he explains to Carmy with a nonchalance, as if he’s not a restaurateur whose reputation precedes himself.

“Ah, man. That’s cool. Well, you let us know if you need anything. I’ll give you mine and uh… Syd, you cool if I give him your number too?” Carmy asks, catching Sydney off guard.

“What do you-, I mean-?” Sydney begins to ask, unable to hide her surprise.

“Since he’s new to the restaurant scene here in Chicago. Can help each other out, you know?” Carmy returns, a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I-. Sure,” Sydney nods, forcing a small smile in an attempt to shake the ‘deer-in-headlights’ look she’s sure her face has involuntarily contorted itself into.

She watches her head chef carefully, as Carmy continues to interact with the restaurateur in a way that she’s never seen before. She’s never seen him this eager to try to impress someone—hell, sometimes she wonders if Carmen thrives on pretending like he doesn’t give a fuck what anyone thinks—so it’s sends her head spinning as she tries to reckon with this newly-revealed side of her business partner.

“That means a lot. Thank you–the both of you,” The Restaurateur replies, genuinely, bringing her back into the conversation.

“Sure,” Sydney manages to get out, still caught up in her head—exploring this new side of Carmy she has yet to see. “Anything for a friend of Carmy’s.”

“I’m at Amaru most of the time these days,” the restaurateur continues, his eyes shifting from Carmy then back to Sydney as he adds one last thing.

“You should stop by sometime.”

They exchange a few texts here and there, but it’s all business.

Who’s your preferred vendor for kitchen towels?

You guys see success with extended weekend hours?

Thoughts on being open on Monday?

“He likes you,” The Pastry Chef insists one day, in between lunch and dinner service. Sydney quickly shoves her phone back into her apron pocket, as if she’s a kid again—one who’s gotten caught texting in class.

“What? He does not! I-. This is-, it’s not-, we are two professionals… talking shop,” Sydney dismisses, because it’s easier to push those thoughts aside than to entertain them.

“Syd. He could be texting Carm but he’s texting you,” the her friend continues, completely and utterly unconvinced. Sydney finds herself on the receiving end that says, ‘cut the bullshit’ as The Pastry Chef continues.

“Even if it is… just about work, I think it says something that he’s texting you, Syd. I mean, do you know how long it took me and Carmy to-.”

“Okay, but not all of us are you and Carmy!” Sydney interjects, letting out an uncomfortable laugh as a means to break the tension.

Off her look, her friend just chuckles with a shake of her head, reminded of a time that she too could live this far in denial.

“If you say so,” The Pastry Chef resigns herself, accepting that she won’t make much progress on this one today.

She waits a beat, focused on cleaning up her station as Syd unconsciously checks her phone to see if there’s a notification from a certain someone yet.

“When are we going? To his restaurant, I mean,” The Pastry Chef speaks up again with a quirked eyebrow.

Could she really have noticed that? Syd wonders.

This time, Sydney only groans in response with a mumbled, “Fuck off. I am sick of you,” earning a bigger laugh this time from her pastry chef friend.

But the conversation seems to be the push she needs. It only takes a week or so longer for their days off to align, and Sydney’s the one bringing up the idea: that they should do a happy hour at Amaru to “show support” (and nothing else — really, no ulterior motives at all).

The Pastry Chef is more than enthusiastic about the idea, easily suggesting that they make it a girls’ night.

Which is how Sydney finds herself here, seated between her two biggest cheerleaders, Sugar one side of her, and her pastry-chef-colleague-turned best friend, at the bar of the Pan-Latin American neighborhood spot. She’s sure that Sugar was recruited for said girls’ night, in an attempt to get a second opinion on whether the handsome, older restaurateur is or is not in fact, into her.

She doesn’t hate the idea of it, for the record, but she wonders if they’re reading this all wrong—hesitant to get her hopes up.

But after the first plate—a gift from the kitchen—and the aperitif sent their way, both on the house, Sydney can only assume that The Restaurateur has something to do with it.

Of course, it’s easy to chalk it up to good hospitality. After all, hadn’t they done the same when he visited The Bear, a few things on the house Carmy insisted they send out? Isn’t it customary?

Sydney thinks back to how easily Carmy had given her number to the older chef, eager to extend as much support as possible to his previous mentor as he transitioned into the Chicago market.

But he wasn’t texting Carmy all that much. Just her.

She tries not to brush off yet another excuse: because she’s the CDC, not Carmy; because maybe he thinks Carmy, as the exec chef, doesn’t have the time when she does. Syd thinks she could go on and on like this, and instead, for a split second, she allows herself to think that maybe, just maybe, it’s because her friends aren’t all that wrong about this.

“You’ll have to forgive me. I wanted to come say hello earlier, but. Well, you know how it goes,” The Restaurateur says, earning the attention of all three women. While he acknowledges both of her friends warmly, he makes sure to he’s look at Sydney as he concludes with:

“I’m glad you came.”

“Oh, yeah. Thank you for everything. Seriously. Everything’s been amazing,” Sydney answers, wondering why it suddenly feels five degrees warmer inside of the restaurant.

Sugar snickers and the knowing look shared between her and The Pastry Chef doesn’t go unnoticed.

She just might have to kill her best friends later for this.

The Restaurateur smiles, and with a polite nod of his head, mutters a ‘thank you’ before her friends chime in with compliments, kudos, and their own respective ‘thank yous’ for the superb hospitality. Syd listens as he picks The Pastry Chef’s brain on their newest dessert addition, while Sugar enjoys what feels like a well-deserved second margarita. As The Restaurateur explains the most recent dishes he’s added to the menu since taking over as CDC, she notices that somehow, his focus and attention always seem to return to her.

He can’t visit for long, The Restaurateur apologizes—it is a busy night of service—and before she knows it, he bids his goodbyes before disappearing to the back of the house for the rest of the evening.

“Well he definitely likes you,” The Pastry Chef declares, as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“Oh. So obvious,” Sugar adds with a knowing smirk as the two exchange the exact same glance from earlier

“I’m gonna kill you guys,” Sydney mutters, her head hanging low as she feels a heat rush to her cheeks. She can’t make eye contact with either of them—not right now—or she might just burst into flames.

“Well, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you! That’s for sure,” Sugar clarifies, earning a nod of agreement from The Pastry Chef.

“See! This is what I’ve been telling her since… shit, since he came to The Bear a few weeks ago!” the pastry chef exclaims, sharing another looking with Sugar. “I think he likes you and I think you like him.”

Sydney opens her mouth to say something, but instead, just lets out an exasperated sigh, earning another round of giggles and exclamations of ‘I knew it!’ from her best friends.

They don’t stay for much longer, knowing they’re all due back at the restaurant in the morning. The three women say their goodbyes before parting ways, and as Sydney sits on the train, on the way home with her phone on do not disturb, she notices a few notifications waiting to be read.

A text from Carmy about the prep list.

The pics from tonight waiting for her to open in the group message labeled: Girlies.

And then, from the Restaurateur…

Thanks for bringing friends! It was great to see you.

There’s a familiar heat that warms her cheeks as her fingers race to reply:

Thank you for everything. The meal was incredible.

She waits before adding:

I’m glad we stopped by.

And almost instantly, there’s a reply:

Come back any time. :) With or without friends.

Come back any time. With or without friends.

The words linger in her head over the next few days. She lets them settle in, tossing them back and forth in her mind, while holding what feels like a fragile kind of excitement in her hands that’s somehow seemed to have buried itself deep inside of her.

So he is flirting with you, she thinks to herself, coming to the conclusion that her friends were perhaps right about The Restaurateur.

She doesn’t want to completely misread the situation, but she’s not sure how else she should interpret it either.

It takes Sydney two more weeks to work up the courage to go back to Amaru on her day off that week. Part of her wonders whether it’s been too long—if she’s missed her chance—and part of her knows that in the business they’re in, the days blur together, and two days become two weeks, become two months, and that he probably hasn’t even noticed that’s been that long. Her and The Restaurateur are both on Kitchen Standard Time, right? She’s not sure what takes over her, but she’s somehow mustered up the cajones (she can practically hear Tina’s voice in her head as she hypes herself up) to show up, this time, without friends.

Her risk does not go unrewarded, when he comes out to say hello. This time, he’s not alone, introducing her to his soon-to-be-business partner, Chef Cuadros, the owner of Amaru and his other venture, Bloom. They exchange pleasantries and congratulations (you know, over the huge fucking deal of an award she’s just recently won) before he pats The Restaurteur on the back, excusing himself back to the kitchen.

The Restaurateur chuckles, noting how much he’s looking forward to joining Cuadros’ restaurant group.

“Rodolfo’s a great guy,” The Restaurateur sighs, contently.

“Yeah, he seems great,” Sydney agrees, almost just to be polite.

“Yeah. Really leads by example. Rare to find that in this industry,” he chuckles, before changing the subject.

“Speaking of. Cuadros is closing up tonight which means I’m off, starting now.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You wanna get a drink?”

She doesn’t even have to think about it.

“Yeah. I uh-, I’m in.”

“It’s devastating!” The Restaurateur declares, the passion evident as the words escape his lips.

“I mean, the transitions are a little choppy. And even they can’t take away the fact that: It. Absolutely. Without a doubt. 100% ruined my life,” Sydney wholeheartedly agrees, completely captivated this conversation—one that she finds incredibly sexy.

“I cry. Every single time,” the man that sits across from her says, a dopey smile plastered to his face and a heat to his cheeks from the second whiskey on the rocks he’s nursing.

“Every single time!” Sydney emphasizes, just to drive the point home.

“Because, well-, I mean, they just can’t catch a break! Always just a moment too late. It’s like… well, it’s like they’re never supposed to end up together in the first place,” The Restaurateur clarifies, in reference to what about the film is so goddamn devastating.

Syd nods with a sigh, examining the idea in her head cautiously, knowing that he’s right—even if she doesn’t want him to be.

A beat.

She leans in, the corners of her lips beginning to turn up into a smile.

“Have you seen Chungking Express?” she asks, because she’s ready to start this whole thing over again.

“Have I seen-? Are you-, of course I’ve seen Chungking Express,” the Restaurateur answers, building on their shared excitement about finding common ground outside of the kitchen. “I love Wong Kar-Wai so much I even put myself through My Blueberry Nights.”

“Okay, chill. It’s not a competition,” Sydney jokes, earning a full bellied laugh from The Restaurateur.

“You’re funny,” he states, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles back at her.

Her heart skips a beat, her breath caught in her throat.

The way he says it is genuine. It’s real. It feels… more earnest—more intimate than what should exist between two colleagues.

Then again, she didn’t exactly say ‘yes’ to drinks thinking it was just as colleagues.

“I-,” Sydney hesitates, scrambling to find the right words when it feels like so many of them could burst out of her at any minute.

Instead she settles on, “Thanks,” feeling more like Carmy than she’s ever felt in her life.

There it is again—that flutter in her belly.

This man is most definitely flirting with her, a thought that only mildly causes her to panic.

The moment feels almost too tender for either of them. Sydney shifts nervously in her seat while The Restaurateur takes another sip of his whiskey, before clearing his throat.

“I uh. I should probably get going. It’s uh… yeah. It’s getting late,” Sydney says, finding the words to excuse herself.

She’s not sure what she wants out of this—it’s maybe why she takes the out in the first place, thinking it may be best to end the evening here. Tonight was… more than she expected it to be, and she’s torn between wanting to stay and wanting to flee the great state of Illinois.

Better pause while we’re ahead, Sydney thinks.

“Yeah, no, of course,” The Restaurateur agrees, easily, before insisting that he pick up the tab.

“No, I-, I couldn’t let you-,” Sydney begins to argue.

“Please,” he insists, his tone once again rendering her once again at a loss for words. “You’ve been more than helpful to us over at Amaru since the minute I got here. This is on me.”

Syd spends the next few days going back and forth over whether or not it—whatever the hell the other night was—would be a good idea. She eventually concludes that she can’t stay away—from the high, from the way he made her feel when he insisted on paying the bill (a moment she’s replayed in her head over and over again), from him. She doesn’t tell anyone: not Nat, not The Pastry Chef, and certainly, not Carmy.

She sends the text before she can chicken out one Saturday night, as she finishes closing up.

Heading to Green Door Tavern for a night cap.

He puts her out of her misery, quick to respond as always, almost as if he was expecting her to (or waiting for her to, which, she decides is a little too much of wishful thinking).

I was just thinking about you! Just rewatched 2046 the other night. Want some company?

Yeah.

Let me close up. I’ll let you know when I’m on the way :)

The smiley face.

The fucking smiley face.

She discovers that the same dopey smile finds its way across his lips as soon as he enters the bar. The two of them quickly find themselves in yet another deep conversation about foreign films over, for him, a whiskey on the rocks, and for her, a tequila soda. There’s that same buzzing in the air between the two of them—chemistry, one might call it—as they move from Wong Kar-Wait to Jean-Pierre Jeunet with an ease that feels good to her.

Really good, actually.

So good that as soon as Sydney realizes it’s getting late, she doesn’t run in the other direction. She’s not sure what she’s expecting, but she thinks this time, she could stay. This time, she could talk to him till the sun came up, allowing herself to get lost in his soft brown eyes she finds more comforting than she should. It’s not till he brings it up that she notices again that:

“It’s getting late.”

“Oh shit. Yeah,” Sydney agrees, reluctantly, because she doesn’t want this night to end. Before she can say anything else, her body moves to get up, just half an hour away from last call.

The Restaurateur stops her, reaching out a hand that feels warm against hers as she pauses, her eyes locked with his.

“I hope it’s not uh, well, I hope it’s not inappropriate of me,” he begins, clearing his throat as he pauses.

“No, I-, I don’t want the night to-, you know… I lost track of time too and I-,” she stammers through, unsure of what she wants to say.

He smiles warmly, his hand moving to grab hers, as if, in spite of the fact that she can barely get the words out, he understands exactly what she’s trying to say.

“You can say ‘no,’” he prefaces with, a sure nod as his gaze returns to hers.

“Can I take you home?”

And the only response that makes sense to her is the biggest, most enthusiastic:

“Yes.”

Maybe it’s just a one time thing.

Okay, a three-time thing, considering it happened that night, then two more times after the sun came up.

But to Sydney’s surprise (and delight) he texts her later that day, and the one (three) time thing becomes a one to three times a week kind of thing (schedules permitting, of course).

They fall into a rhythm—and she likes this rhythm—they cook, work at their separate restaurants, and then she lets him fuck her into his mattress like they didn’t just work their own respective twelve-hours shifts.

The Pastry Chef lets out a laugh, noticing that it’s the third day in a row that Syd’s come in having ‘not gotten enough sleep’ yet still glowing.

“How’s the sex?” she smirks, shooting Sydney a look.

In return, Syd rolls her eyes, like she isn’t getting laid on the regular, her best friend waiting patiently for a proper answer.

She checks over both shoulders to ensure no one else is listening before lowering her voice.

“It’s the best sex of my life.”

She finally moves into her own apartment a month later.

Of course, it’s a decision she’s made on her own volition and has nothing to do with the hot Restaurateur who seems like he might have some kind of staying power—the same one that’s giving her the big bang of orgasms, but that’s besides the point.

No, it most certainly has nothing to do with that.

With Chef Cuadros officially out on paternity leave, The Restaurateur somehow still manages to find the time to help her move in between running two restaurants while developing the concept for a third.

It’s the first night he spends the night and they sleep—just sleep—since she started seeing him, though they christen the place in the morning.

“We’ve been talking about a full nixtamalization program. For the new spot,” The Restaurateur explains over breakfast tacos one morning—ones he made for her in her new apartment because, of course, they had to christen the place in more ways than one.

“Shit. That’d be dope,” Sydney replies, as they continue to bounce ideas back and forth. “Do you think you could pull it off in that small of a space?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” The Restaurateur grins, before going into a near-monologue about the handful of creative solutions he’s come up with, eager to soundboard a few ideas off of her.

But Sydney finds herself a little distracted.

It’s not that she’s not listening… but she’s got something else on the tip of her tongue that she’s been holding back. The Restaurateur is in the middle of breaking down the logistics, contemplating whether or not they could pull off what he’s labeled, Idea B, when Sydney finally musters up the courage to blurt out:

“I want to cook something for you. Like not in a restaurant, or anything. I mean. Here. I want to cook something for you here.”

“Yeah?”

A beat.

“Yeah, I mean. It doesn’t have to be like-, I don’t know, this big thing or anything. But. You’re always cooking for me,” she explains, unsure of why she feels so nervous as she continues. “I kinda want to return the favor.”

He only smiles.

“Then it’s a date.”

It started as the best sex of her life, but it’s as if he’s carved out a place in her life without her noticing, seamlessly woven himself into her life, and she, his, in a way that she can’t imagine what it was like before.

It simultaneously excites her and makes her feel uneasy.

Fuck.

She doesn’t really even know what she should call ‘it’ anyway.

They haven’t really talked about it—haven’t given it a label—but with shifts at The Bear for her, running two restaurants for him, and fleeting nights spent at each others’ places before it was time to do it all over again, it’s not like they’ve had the time.

She finds herself in late Fall, almost Winter, all dressed with a newly-done silk press at yet another James Beard fundraiser. Her coat was checked in long ago as she bares her shoulders in the near-off the shoulder, gingham-printed dress, with The Restaurateur by her side. He wears thick-framed glasses, his white-collared shirt unbuttoned low enough that she’s more than ready to head back to her place to undo the rest.

It practically gives her deja vu—the two finding themselves in an all-too-familiar place—as they stand across from Carmy and The Pastry Chef, sipping on their fancy champagne and making small talk to the best of anyone’s ability.

“Hope you guys don’t mind. Can we get a few pictures?” the event photographer asks as he approaches, noting that a picture of this year’s Rising Star award recipient is a must on his shot list.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Sydney replies, a kindness in her voice even through her discomfort.

It’s not lost on her that Carmy’s more than relieved that he doesn’t have to be in the spotlight anymore, eager to step out of the way.

She poses for a few photos solo before both Carmy and The Pastry Chef are encouraged to join in, taking a few more shots with her.

“And then can we get one of the two of you?” the photographer asks, this time gesturing towards The Restaurateur.

Sydney opens her mouth to protest, to let him off the hook, because what would that mean? Before she can say anything, The Restaurateur has happily agreed, wrapping an arm around her, his hand on the small of her back.

She exchanges a look with him, something that says, ‘are you sure?’

He only nods in response, a supportive smile and a softness in his eyes that puts her at ease as if to say, ‘of course.’

Instinctively, she reaches for him, his right hand landing softly against his midsection. She feels the warmth of his palm as his hand slides up, landing somewhere above her wrist, making another point of contact. Well, now they certainly look like a couple.

“Great! That’s great, you two,” the photographer grins after taking a few more shots, his eyes fixed to the screen on his DSLR as he plays back the last few photos. “Thanks so much.”

What could this mean?

What could this be?

She doesn’t have all the answers.

Not yet, at least.

But she’ll take a wild guess—one that fills her with a certainty that she can feel in her bones.

Because tonight, he stood proudly by her side—his hands all over her as if she were his, in a photo she’s sure will make it out of Adobe Photoshop—meaning maybe, just maybe, The Restaurateur could be here to stay.

#nolita fairytale's masterlist #sydney the bear #sydney adamu #sydney is the main character #sydney adamu x oc #sydney x male oc #sydney adamu fanfiction #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear fanfiction #ayo edebiri #pedro pascal

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golden--doodler · 9 months

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So, I just got this amazingly lovely Commission from @stephreynaart of my two Gravity Falls OCs, Maggie and Sydney, as sort of an early Christmas gift for myself (and because I saw they were having a sale on their Comm prices)! And my goodness, they absolutely knocked it out of the park. My heart is so full 🥺😭🫶🏼

The idea is based off this section of the long Gravity Falls fic I’ve been writing on-and-off with my best friend, Matilda (again, not her real name, just an alias for privacy) since around 2020, though I think I actually started writing it before beginning to collaborate with her around 2018. So this fic has been in the works for a very long time!! But we’re almost finished with it (we’re very close) and are planning to continue writing it so it gets done eventually!! So that’s very exciting.

Anyway, the scene takes place during the episode Soos and the Real Girl in Season Two, and Maggie has had a crush on Sydney for a very long time, since they first met in The Time Traveler’s Pig back in Season One. And this is when they finally have their first kiss at Hoo-Ha Owl’s Jamboree:

“You have quite the moves, Syd.” I laughed, my face becoming warmer, and my hands rubbing against my thighs as I searched for something to occupy them with.

She bumped my shoulder with a playful smirk occupying her face, “They weren’t as impressive as when you knocked that beaver with a chair! That look of determination on your face was… whoa.”

I could’ve sworn she turned away after saying that, but I didn’t comprehend why.

My smile soon faded into more of a frown, “I don’t think I could have handled all of those animatronics without you.”

“I mess things up all the time, and I’m not as brave as you are.” I looked at the ball pit below us, groaning. “Soos didn’t get along with Melody because of me. It’s just that you’re so courageous, I don’t know if I’m good enough.”

Sydney sighed and put an arm around me, “Who got the courage to talk to me?”

I looked up at her, pausing for a moment, “I did?”

“Who helped stop a Summerween monster?”

“You and Soos did.”

“Maggie, you still helped! Who got up the courage to stop Gideon from taking over the town with his giant robot?”

I smiled, “I did.”

“Who stood up to Bill Cipher twice?”

I stood up, “I did!”

“I don’t like you because of traits you think matter. I like you because of traits you have that do matter. You’re courageous, you’re smart, and you’ve protected me more than once.” She chuckled softly. “Honestly, I have doubts too, so you’re not alone. But I think it’s safe to say that going to that fair and meeting you was the best decision I ever made.”

I couldn’t help but feel extremely warm, and my heart started beating faster than before. It was no longer a hummingbird, more like an avalanche of rocks tumbling down the side of a mountain, pushing everything else in its path away.

“You were amazing back there just now, you know. And I would’ve been toast if it wasn’t for those Taekwondo moves you showed me that one time. How about you give yourself some credit once in awhile and enjoy things as they come.”

She leaned forward and gave me a huge bear hug. I reciprocated it, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet after the chaos of .GIFfany.

“Like what?” I asked, wanting some clarification.

“Like this.”

Before I could even process what was occurring, Sydney leaned forward. Her face was becoming closer to mine, and my heart became a hummingbird needing desperate release from a cage. I almost leaned back because of instinct, and there was part of me that didn’t want to allow myself to believe that what was occurring was really occurring.

Then her lips connected with mine.

It was gentle and tentative at first, and for a moment, all I could focus on was how smooth and delicate Sydney’s mouth felt. Despite my fear, I couldn’t help but reciprocate. The kiss was filled with an unspoken promise and understanding that our connection ran deeper than any self-doubt I harbored. And I couldn’t believe she felt the same way about me as I did about her. This entire time we could’ve been doing this.

The kiss deepened and our hands soon found each other. They interlocked like the twine of a basket, finding each other in the midst of this newfound connection. My other hand explored Syndey’s hair, her wonderful, flowing locks that cascaded like a waterfall down her back.

Sydney laughed once we separated, and we both panted, breathless. Our foreheads rested against each other, “We should probably go. I think we should give Soos and Melody some time alone.”

I laughed and followed her down, and Mabel tackled me in the ball pit.

“MAGGIE, YOU HAD YOUR FIRST KISS! It seems Soos and Melody aren’t the only match meant to be.” Mabel grinned.

“It seems like it.” I quickly hugged her and adjusted my glasses, which were starting to slide down my face.

#gravity falls #gravity falls oc #putting these two adorable dorks on swings for their first kiss was all steph which was such a lovely idea #the winter clothes was my idea to get into the holiday spirit #maggie’s gingerbread shirt is the cutest thing!!#the monochrome purple and yellow actually looks super cool!! i asked for those colors because they’re my favorite~#i definitely have an obsession with commissioning artists but it’s not my fault there are so many talented individuals out there!!

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zombster · 7 months

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Carmen and sydney having the classic anniversary dinner of spaghetti and wine

Sydney brought home the “good good” wine for their, first year of dating, anniversary. Carmen didn’t even hear Sydney tell him the price, (it was too expensive) because he got distracted by her pretty face and kissed her up.

They made a simple dinner together. Flirting and being handsy in the kitchen made them sloppy, but the spaghetti was fine. They didn’t crave anything fancy anyway when they had a Michelin restaurant waiting for them every morning.

Throughout dinner they had a glass of wine, sitting side by side on the couch until Sydney got up and drank straight from the bottle. Carmen would be lying if he said his dick didn’t get harder and harder as he watched her swallow.

Sydney noticed him looking and shrugged. “We’re supposed to be celebrating.” She sat back down with him and guided the wine bottle to his lips. She slowly fed him the wine. Before Carmen could even swallow, she kissed him.

“I picked a good wine, huh?” Sydney asked while pulling back.

Carmen nodded, if he spoke the words “fuck me” would’ve been blurted out.

“You want more?”

And before he knew it they were both giddy, naked on the floor, and incredibly turned on with an empty wine bottle. They had played some ridiculous game of taking an item of clothing off after taking a drink.

They faced each other with their legs spread out. Sydney lazily pumped Carmen’s dick and Carmen softly rubbed Sydney’s clit. Carmen’s entire upper body was flushed because of Sydney’s absolute demand for eye contact.

They both had been touching each other very slowly. Really drawing out each other’s pleasure instead of teasingly getting each other close and starting again.

“I love you so much,” Carmen whispered. It was still hard for him to say it, but he felt an immediate need to say it. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the vulnerability and intimacy of being naked and drunk on the floor with the love of his life. Most definitely the alcohol.

Sydney smiled, his favorite smile with her teeth and dimples showing. “Love you too, Carm.”

Carmen quickened his pace on her clit a little. Now he wanted to hear her moan his name. He sped up so quickly Sydney struggled to jerk him off. Instead he took her hand and placed it on her clit and put two fingers inside of her.

Sydney was dripping wet. Her cunt practically spoke to him with all the squelching it was making. He curled his fingers inside of her and she squealed.

“Keep being loud for me. I wanna hear it,” Carmen rasps.

Sydney kept moaning Carmen’s name and when he finally gets her close Carmen makes Sydney suck on the same fingers that were just inside of her. And before she can even complain about him not letting her finish Carmen moves Sydney across the kitchen counter. A common sex spot for them, but it was always just as sexy.

Sydney’s nipples almost burned at the cold sensation of the counter. Carmen had a hand pressing down on her back and another grabbing her hips guiding his cock inside of her.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sydney hisses as Carmen starts moving. She pushes back on him to meet his thrusts.

They’re moving so fast and Sydney has barely anything to grab on so Carmen grabs her hands and pins them down.

“Why do you feel so good? How come everytime I’m inside of you I can barely contain myself, huh?” Carmen whispers in Sydney’s ear.

Sydney knows it’s rhetorical but answers anyway. “Maybe because we’re made for each other.”

Something in Carmen’s breath changes as she says that and suddenly he’s fucking her harder. Every thrust sends her straight to heaven and anytime he pulls out she comes right back down.

Just out of pure lust Sydney clenches onto his dick.

“Syd, please… please don’t do that. Gonna make me embarrass myself,” Carmen whines between ragged breaths.

For a minute they’re both breathing heavy and touching each other anyway they can before Sydney whispers she’s going to cum.

Carmen lets her cum and then his own orgasm followed onto her back.

Carmen turns Sydney around and peppers Sydney’s face with kisses then rests his forehead on her’s. “Happy anniversary, Syd.”

“Happy anniversary… and also I need this mess off my back,” Sydney says between giggles.

“I was getting to that,” Carmen says while mockingly rolling his eyes and getting a rag.

Carmen comes back with a warm rag and cleans her up. Then they both get dressed and watch shitty cooking shows and makeout until early morning.

#sydcarmy #the bear #syd x carmen #syd x carmy #sydcarmy fics #the bear fanfiction #the bear fandom #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #sit down for a story

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gagmewitha-spork · 2 years

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Flirt (Klara Bühl x reader)

Warnings: angst. also it’s vvvvvvv long.

Description: Klara has the feels for reader but reader is a flirt and there’s lots of miscommunication.

Notes: requested about 3 months ago, like I started this at the start of november. I think I kinda strayed from the original request a little bit… but hopefully the length makes up for that and the time I took to write it :)

“reader joins bayern after the euros and is English and joins bayern from Chelsea and they get close and develop a crush on each other and they ask each other out in the end”

Word Count: 5117

Your move from Chelsea to Bayern Munich was big, one of the biggest signings of the year in fact. It was no Keira Walsh to Barca level move, but the German club had paid a considerable amount of money to buy out the last year of your contract with Chelsea, and the blues had clung onto you right until the last minute. But in the end, they had respected your wishes to move, understanding that it was what was best for you.

Being at Chelsea was great, you had grown up there, having come up through the academy system at the club, but you needed to play somewhere you could guarantee you would get consistent minutes and a frequent starting position, and with the sheer amount of defensive talent, and just talent in general at Chelsea, it was difficult to get the minutes you were looking for.

You’d had an incredible summer with the lionesses, coming in as a one of the ‘super-subs’ at around the 60th minute every game, taking over from Rachel Daly as LB. You had quickly been recognised as one of the best young players at the tournament and had made a bit of a name for yourself, working high up the pitch on the left wing, sending in crosses that had resulted in quite the number of assists to your name. Your pace and endurance also meant that you could cover a lot of ground and sit high up on the wings while still being able to get back down the pitch into a defensive position when needed, which had come in handy in a few games, especially against the likes of Spain and Germany.

You had now been in the Bavarian capital for around 5 months and had settled in well. Having Georgia there with you made everything a lot easier, plus having had a few German lessons from Pernille before leaving London made things much easier too. You definitely wouldn’t claim you were anywhere near being fluent, but she had taught you most of the basics, including several phrases she had insisted you would be likely to hear on the pitch or during training, and your lessons with the teacher provided by the club were going well.

Both you and Georgia had quickly made friends with the a few of the Germans, most specifically Lina Magull, Sydney Lohman and Klara Bühl. The five of you had become known among the squad for being loud and always laughing about something, though if you were to have a say, you’d put most of it on Lina, Syd and Georgia. The three of them together were a bunch idiots, while yourself and Klara enjoyed sitting back and enjoying the free comedy show they put on, occasionally chiming in to fuel the fire when they would briefly die down.

Your relationship with Klara had gradually become less friendly and more flirty as the months had gone by. You generally had quite a flirty personality anyway, and had developed a bit of a reputation. Fans would often post edits of you on twitter flirting with refs and players, both on your own team and others. You were charming, but Klara had seen the edits, and was well aware of your reputation, so no matter how much her heart would flutter every time you sent a flirty remark or wink her way, her head told her you did it with everyone so it didn’t mean anything.

The way you were looking at her now though, almost made her weak at the knees.

The team were stood in the middle of the Allianz doing a pitch inspection, and you had just joined everyone in the centre circle after having done your usual ritual of speaking to the grass and asking it to be nice to you and your teammates for todays game.

You now stood opposite Klara in the circle, you had caught her looking your way and had immediately sent her one of your signature smirks. Going against everything her body was telling her to do, she managed to maintain some eye contact with you, and as a result she saw a seemingly impressed look cross your face before you broke the eye contact at your name being called.

You looked over your shoulder and instantly a bright grin broke out on your face, a grin that made Klara follow your eye line to find the source of your sudden happiness. Her eyes landed on a group of Barcelona players, but as you left the circle of your teammates and made your way towards them, she was surprised to see that it wasn’t either of your England teammates, Keira Walsh or Lucy Bronze, who you leapt into the arms of. Instead it was Mariona Caldentey, a Spanish player.

A frown formed on Klara’s face as she watched you interact with the Spaniard, your usual flirty demeanour evident to her even from this far away. How did you even know any of the Spanish players, she thought to herself.

Right on cue, two more joined the pair of you. It was Patri Guijarro and Claudia Pina. You hugged them both in greeting, but instead of separating from the youngest of the three like you had the others, you stayed with your arms wrapped around the smaller girls shoulders from behind. You pulled her close into your front, kissing her cheek and saying something into her ear that made her giggle. Klara couldn’t bring herself to take hers eyes off of you. Her heart was thundering in her chest, and she was reminded for the umpteenth time that when you flirted with her, it was no different to you than from when you flirted with anyone else.

“How does y/n know the Barca players?”, Klara suddenly found herself asking Syd. Her German teammate only shrugged her shoulders in response.

Klara kept watching you, how you interacted with Mariona and Patri, and especially how you kept Claudia close, the four of you laughing at whatever you were talking about. Her mind reeled with potential reasons as to why or how you might know any of them. She couldn’t come up with one.

In the end, as you separated yourself from the opposition players, placing another kiss to Claudia’s cheek as you did, and everyone started making their way back into the dressing rooms, Klara concluded several things. 1. She was definitely falling for you. Why else would seeing you interact with another girl like that affect her this much? 2. She was too far gone to stop now, and 3. You were clearly in some kind of relationship with the young Barca forward. Which sucked given her other two revelations.

She masterfully avoided you for the majority of warm ups, and sat beside Georgia during half time. You didn’t seem to notice the lack of her presence by your side. Which only caused her heart to shatter further. She may have avoided you but that didn’t mean she didn’t watch.

You had a lot of habits, and doing an obscene amount of stretching during half time was one of them. In the past she had teased you for it, saying you did it on purpose to show off. Now all she could do was watch and hate the fact that she’d seemingly missed her chance with you. Not that she ever really had one anyway. Why would you choose her over the beautifully tanned perfection of an up and coming Spanish superstar?

Soon enough the team was making their way back out onto the pitch and the second half was under way.

The game ended with Bayern winning, and the team celebrated almost like they had just won the whole competition. Barcelona were a tough side, but Bayern had been the better team and the result showed that.

Klara felt a weight jump on her back as she walked around the side of the pitch with everyone. Without needing to look back she knew it was you, the abundance of intricately linked tattoos on your arms was a dead giveaway, and she wouldn’t admit it, but she had practically memorised the feel of your body pressed against her own.

“Wir sind die meister!”, you shouted in her ear, she laughed, the pronunciation was off, but it was close enough, “we should celebrate”, you continued, remaining on her back, your arms, and now legs too, wrapped around her as she carried you, still applauding the fans as she walked.

“Is that not what we’re doing?”, she questioned you, laughing again at your excited demeanour.

“Nein!”, you shout, a bit too loud for how close you were to her ear, “I mean celebrate properly”, you insist, “go out, eat great food, have a few drinks, it’s almost Christmas anyway”.

“We have a game in three days y/n”, Klara points out.

“I didn’t say anything about alcohol”, you defended, “we’ll save that for the end of year party”, you said, and jumped off of her back, but not before planting a kiss on her cheek. Klara felt a warmth instantly start creeping it’s way up her neck, but thankfully you were too distracted to realise.

The two of you continued your lap around the pitch, your arm stayed slung over Klara’s shoulder for as long as possible, only leaving her side a few times to sign shirts or take photos with a few fans. But you came straight back to her side every time.

So much for avoiding you, Klara thought to herself. The bead of hope that had found a home in her heart was growing again, much to her dismay, but maybe you did like her back…

She shook her head, deciding to just be in the moment instead of overthinking every little thing you did. For now at least.

After about half an hour the team gradually started making their way back inside the dressing rooms. You had disappeared inside a little earlier than Klara, so were already finished showering by the time she got in. She had just finished getting out of her match kit and was about to head to the showers when you caught her arm.

“So we’re going for food tonight right?”, you asked her.

“Oh yeah sure, who else is coming”, she asked, assuming there would be a group of you going.

“Just us”, you replied simply. She failed to keep the slight look of shock off her face, but ended up getting it together and sending you a smile.

“Okay, cool”, she said calmly, though on the inside, she was freaking out.

You let go of the light grip you had in her arm and she made her way into the showers, taking a moment once she was out of sight of everyone to let out some of her internal excitement, before getting on with her shower.

About ten minutes later she emerged from the showers to find you were no longer in the dressing room. She didn’t think too much of it, assuming you were probably just with the physio or something.

“Did y/n say how long she’d be?”, she asked a few of the girls who were still sat around getting ready to leave.

Most of the just shrugged in response, but Lea, with a careful look on her face, spoke.

“She didn’t say, but someone knocked on the door asking for her, I think it was one was the Barca players”, she informed Klara.

Klara’s heart dropped at the information, but she reminded herself that you had asked her to go to dinner, so she relaxed slightly. You were probably just catching up with your friends. She must remember to ask you how you know them, she reminds herself.

She leaves the locker room thinking you’d probably just be out in the hallway somewhere chatting. But when she finds you, well, chatting is definitely not what she’d call it.

She rounds a corner in the hallway, and that’s where she finds you, with Claudia pressed between yourself and the wall, your lips locked together.

You pull away at the sound of Klara’s gasp, a sound she had not made voluntarily, and glance over your shoulder towards her.

She turns and runs back towards the dressing room before you get a chance to say anything, but decides against re-entering a room where a bunch of her friends would be sat, knowing they would know something was up straight away. She really didn’t want to talk about it, all she wanted to do, was go home, and soothe her broken heart.

How could she be so stupid, she thought to herself, she could tell there was something going on between you and the Spaniard when she’d seen you interact before the game. Her stupid heart had gone and gotten its hopes up anyway.

“Klara!”, she suddenly hears you call, “Klara wait”, you say as you catch up to her. In her shock she apparently hadn’t made it anywhere near as far as she’d hoped, “please don’t tell anyone”, you beg, she just stares back at you, still shocked and now a little confused, “it’s not serious, we’re just having fun, but I’d prefer it if none of the team knew, you know?”, god you were so fucking oblivious it was infuriating.

“Fick dich”, she shoves you backwards.

“What?”, you asked, now it’s your turn to be confused. She was angry, over what you weren’t sure, but you were certain you were about to find out.

“Fuck you”, she said in English this time, like you hadn’t understood what she’d said the first time. She shoved you again too and you held your hands up, staying far enough from her that she wouldn’t be able to do it again.

“Ich kann nicht glauben dass ich dachte du magst mich”, she said, mostly to herself.

“Klara I can’t understand you”, you pleaded with her.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about how you’re fucking a Barcelona player”, she spits at you, the venom of her words almost paralysing you.

She goes to move past you, intending to leave, but you grasp her arm, pulling her to a stop.

“Klara, what is going on?”, you beg for her to explain what’s caused her anger to be directed towards you. She doesn’t answer, instead just scoffing and pulling her arm out of your grasp.

“Why are you mad?”, you push, getting annoyed yourself now. She has no right to be mad about this, it wasn’t affecting her, “why are you so pissed about what I do with my sex life? It has nothing to do with you”.

“Well it does now I have to keep your dirty fucking secrets”.

“Is that really what you’re pissed about?”, you exclaim, exasperated, “that I asked you not to tell anyone?”, you’re in shock, “Jesus fucking Christ Klara if I knew it’d be such a problem I wouldn’t have asked, I just thought you’d be a good friend and not go gossiping about my personal life”.

“Fuck you”, she repeats, and it only pisses you off more.

“No, fuck you, if you care so much I’ll just tell everyone myself”, you finish before storming into the locker room where most of the team still sat, “hey guys, Klara seems to think that keeping a secret for a friend is too much of a tough ask for her so I just thought I’d tell you before she does”, you start, gaining the attention of everyone, “I’ve been hooking up with Claudia Pina for while now, it’s nothing serious, but it’s good fun and she’s really fucking good in bed so yeah”, you shrug, turning back to see Klara stood in the doorway behind you, a shocked expression on her face, “happy now?”, you ask sarcastically.

She doesn’t respond, but lets you push past her back into the hallway and god knows where after that.

The whole team stare at her in shock. She feels a lot of things. Embarrassed. Angry. Heartbroken. She wishes the ground would open up and suck her down into it.

She doesn’t see you until you show up to recovery training the next day, barely on time. You look tired, your jaw is set and you don’t make eye contact or speak to anyone while you change, before heading out to the training pitch straight away.

Klara sees a few of her teammates look her way after watching you leave, but she just looks away from them.

Days go by in exactly the same way, you barely talk to anyone, especially not Klara, and you avoid any invitations to hang out in your free time, masterfully really, considering you live in a shared apartment with Georgia.

You play the final league game of the year with a new found fire, and the following two champions league games are the same.

It’s now the day before your flight home to England, and as much as you wanted to, you just couldn’t get out of going to the end of year team party.

You got ready before climbing into the back of a taxi alongside Georgia. She hadn’t asked you about what had happened at the Barca game, as much as she wanted to. But, being your roommate, she was well aware that you had failed to return home that night, and considering what you had revealed before storming out of the locker room, she didn’t need to guess where you were.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could now see her, trying to avoid getting caught looking at you.

“G”, you turn to her, causing her to look away quickly, acting like she hadn’t just been watching you intently, “whatever you want to say, just get on with it, the staring is getting creepy”.

“What happened between you and Klara?”, she blurts out.

You roll your eyes, you supposed you would have to tell someone eventually, you just didn’t think the back of a taxi would be the place.

“She caught me and Claudia, in the hallway”, you started explaining, “I asked her not to tell anyone, I just didn’t want everyone gossiping about it”, you continued, “but she freaked out at me, said some shit in german when I asked her to explain what was going on, which I obviously didn’t understand, and then basically informed me she was a shitty friend and wouldn’t keep a secret for me”, you took a breath in an attempt to get your growing anger back under control, “so I told everyone myself and then went and had some mind blowing sex”.

“Okay”, Georgia trailed off, thinking over what she had just heard, “I can’t see Klara doing something like that”.

“Well it happened so believe it”, you stated bitterly, “I knew I should have just gone to Spain or France instead”, you muttered, mostly to yourself but it was loud enough for Georgia to hear.

“Hey no”, Georgia starts, grabbing your hand, “don’t let this make you think like that, you’re playing well, getting minutes, you just need a break, go home, chill out, forget all this and in January when we go to Mexico everything will be better”.

“You don’t know that”, you say dejectedly, “I though she was my friend, I just don’t understand why she reacted like that, but either way I don’t know how long I can go playing on the same team as her if it’s always going to be like this now”.

“Maybe you should talk to her”, she suggests, “now you’ve had some time to cool off, y/n she watches you like you hung the stars in the sky, I think you should maybe hear what she has to say”.

“If she wants to apologise she can approach me herself”, you say bluntly, getting out of the back of the taxi, as it had arrived at the hotel restaurant the team had hired out for the evening, before Georgia could say anything further.

She sighs to herself as she watches you make you way inside, then thanks the taxi driver before following after you.

Once inside you realise that most of the team is already here, so you make your way to the bar to get a drink. Georgia joins you pretty quickly and you order drinks for the two of you.

You spend a short while mingling with a few of your teammates, you had yet to see Klara and Syd so assumed they had yet to arrive. If you were honest you were quite thankful for this as it meant you could spend some time talking to everyone before you inevitably spent the rest of the evening avoiding standing within a 5 metre radius of Klara.

It was about 20 minutes after you arrived that you heard people greeting both Syd and Klara as they entered. You couldn’t help but glance over towards them and when you did, you were thankful that Klara was too occupied with greetings to look back in your direction.

A wave of sadness passed over you as you looked at her. A sadness for the loss of a friendship you had grown to treasure over the months you had been in the city. And it was a sadness which masked the anger you still felt for what had happened.

Your gaze was pulled away from her by a notification on your phone. It was Claudia. You had told her everything that had gone down with Klara, and she’d been on your side throughout, because aside from being your occasional hookup, she was definitely one of your closest friends above anything else.

You’d met the Spanish players around a year and a half ago, through Erin Cuthbert, one of your best friends from Chelsea. She had dragged you on a trip to Spain during the summer, where you had met her girlfriend Mariona, and subsequently her friends Mapi and Ingrid. You weren’t aware you were being dragged on holiday to be a fifth wheel, so when you had also met up with a few of the other Barcelona players, and Claudia happened to be the only other single person there… it was inevitable really.

Barcelona were also having their end of year party tonight, so Claudia had sent you a picture of herself and Patri, along with a message telling you to have a good night and just ignore Klara. You messaged her back telling her the same thing (minus the ignore Klara part obviously) and said you’d give her a call tomorrow to fill her in on the nights events.

As you put your phone away you look up and immediately find yourself locked into uncomfortable eye contact with Klara. It’s like she knew you were texting Claudia. You looked away and internally rolled your eyes, she had no right to care about who you were or were not texting.

The night went on very much the same, you would occasionally find yourself making eye contact with Klara across the room, but you never found yourself in the same vicinity as her. If you had paid more attention you would have noticed that she was watching you, waiting for the perfect time to catch you.

She had spent the last week or so planning what to say in her apology. She knew it needed to include an explanation, she was just terrified to admit the reason she had reacted the way she did was because she liked you. You evidently didn’t feel the same way, that much was obvious to her, but she knew you deserved the truth, especially if she wanted a chance at rekindling some kind of friendship with you.

She was also scared that if she told you the truth, you may no longer want to be friends with her anyway, that you’d find it too weird. In the end she hadn’t really decided on what she was going to say, hoping that in the moment the right words would come to her. She knew she needed to say something tonight, you were going home tomorrow and she wouldn’t see you until January, and she couldn’t bare to have to spend the holidays with the situation unresolved.

So she had been watching you all night, waiting for the perfect time to catch you, and as you finished a conversation with Maxi and Linda and headed towards the toilets, she took her opportunity to follow.

Some people might say it’s a bit creepy to wait right outside a toilet stall for someone, but she knew she’d need to take you by surprise if she was going to convince you to talk to her.

You stepped out and saw her immediately, she had been waiting leant back against the sinks directly opposite the stalls and stood up straight as you emerged.

Neither of you said anything as you stepped up and washed your hands, but she turned and watched you the entire time, you could feel her gaze piercing the side of your head as she did. You moved to dry your hands, all without saying a word.

It’s like the words were stuck in her throat, she couldn’t get them any further up, which left her staring at you like an idiot. She wanted to smack herself around the face in an attempt to knock herself out of whatever trance she’d fallen into, but she was rooted in place.

You were moving slow, like you were giving her a chance to spit something out, anything, but still she couldn’t think of what to say. Now she really wished she’d rehearse exactly what she wanted to say, because as it turns out, in the moment, she was frozen.

You move towards the door, but before pulling it open you pause, a last chance for Klara to say what she followed you in here to say.

When she doesn’t, you start to pull at the door.

“Wait!”, Klara immediately exclaims, out of instinct more than anything. You stop at her request and turn back to face her, folding your arms over your chest, “I um..”, she trails off, “I’m sorry”.

You don’t reply, she’s going to need to say more than that if she wants to be forgiven.

She breaths out heavily and starts pacing, rubbing her temples. A puzzled frown forms on your face as you watch, you were honestly expecting either more arguing or more pleading, you weren’t sure what to call this.

“Okay”, she starts, “Ich werde es einfach sagen”, she says in German, your frown deepens as you don’t really understand what she’s saying, “I like you”, your eyes widen slightly at what she might be implying, “like really like you, and I thought you liked me too, but obviously you don’t, which is totally fine”, she fills in quickly, “I just, yeah, I thought you did, then I saw you with Pina and I was totally heartbroken and I guess probably jealous and I shouldn’t have reacted that way and I’m really sorry”, she finishes, or so you thought, “and I would really like to still be friends with you but I totally understand if that’s not what you want, if you think it’s too weird or whatever”, she actually finishes this time, now standing awkwardly in front of you, her hand rubbing over the back of her neck as you stare at her.

She couldn’t even start to figure out what the look on your face meant. It was sort of a half frown, half shocked look.

I takes you a second but eventually you speak, “I thought you were straight”, is all you say, your tone as unreadable as your face.

“Oh, um, I mean, I used to have a boyfriend, but I’ve dated girls before…”, she trails off, not feeling the need to explain any further.

“If I’d known”, you say, “sorry I assumed”, you apologise.

“No it’s fine, there was no way you could have known”, she justifies for you.

“No, I shouldn’t have assumed”, you repeated, “if I’d known, god I would have done everything so differently”.

The atmosphere shifts at what you say, and the bead of hope that had always been present within Klara starts to grow once again.

“What would”, she clears her throat, “what would you have done differently?”, she asks you.

“I would have made it all mean something, I would have”, you throw your hands up.

Before you can continue Klara lunges forwards, grasping your face between her hands and planting her lips against yours.

It’s takes a second for you to release what’s happening before you pull her flush against your body by the hips and start kissing her back.

Your lips moves perfectly against each others. Klara’s are soft, but her kiss is hard, fuelled by a desperation you can tell she’s been holding onto for a while.

After a few seconds you pull away, “yeah I probably would have done that a long time ago”, you state, before pulling her back in again.

This time the kiss is softer, sweeter, you both know it won’t be your last.

Klara is the one to pull away this time, “will you go in a date with me?”, she asks, a hopeful tone to her voice.

“Yeah, I would like that”, you reply, and place one last kiss to her lips, “we should go now”.

“Now?”, Klara questions, a little shocked.

“Yeah I mean, I’m going home tomorrow, I don’t want to have to wait until the new year”, you tell her your logic.

“What about”, she pauses, “I mean don’t you need to, you know, probably talk to Pina”.

“I told you it was casual, she’s just a friend”, you insist, she doesn’t believe you, you can tell by the look on her face, “don’t worry about it, she’s got something going on with someone back in Spain anyway, she won’t care, she’s been looking for an excuse to tell me we needed to stop for ages”, you explain, “I’ll call her tomorrow”.

“Okay”, she smiles.

“Okay”, you repeat, and then grasp her hand in yours.

The two of you manage to sneak out of the team party with nobody noticing you.

A little while later Georgia texts you though, asking if you were okay, and if by the off chance you had seen Klara, who had also mysteriously disappeared from the party.

You replied telling her you’d explain on the plane home, but that she didn’t need to worry about you and Klara trying to kill each other anymore.

You didn’t look at her reply, but you would have rolled your eyes at her claim that she was responsible for setting the two of you up.

#klara buhl x reader #klara buhl imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine

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fluentmoviequoter · 7 months

Text

to being ghosts.

Chapter 3 - Treason Unordinary

Chapter Warnings: angst with a tiny sliver of fluff, mentions of death (fem!r) and executions, world-building. 5.1k+ words.

Your initial reaction upon entering Victor Vale’s safehouse outside of San Francisco was like an interruption. He, Sydney, Mitch, and Dol had grown comfortable in a domestic pattern on the run but made a sense of home wherever they went because of their unique bond. Then, when they decided to stay in one place and wait for you, there was an opportunity to settle into a routine, to be content and alone with one another, forgetting the world outside and all the changes everyone else went through.

When you walked in, it upset the domesticity, if only for a moment. As Victor learned to trust you, he kept Sydney at arm’s length, unwilling to let you get too close.

Now, you have fallen into the trap of alluring domesticity, too. Victor trusts you, Sydney feels safe beside you, and Mitch has been more help than you ever dreamed of having. The feeling of belonging, the sense that you finally found a place where you fit, living alongside other ghosts, threatens to blind you to your mission.

“What are you doing?” Victor asks.

“Mitch looked around online to see if I’d been reported missing or anything,” you answer softly.

“And?”

“There’s nothing. I’d bet that Daniels is lying to Smoak, pretending that he left me somewhere to protect me from your charms.”

Victor steps into your room, his brows raised as he repeats, “My charms?”

Sighing, you admit, “When Smoak told us about you for the first time, he said that Eli could charm women pretty easily, and he and Daniels warned me not to let you do the same to me. Smoak didn’t even know for sure what your powers were but told me not to let you get to me.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Was that a joke?” you ask excitedly. “Did Victor Vale just make a joke about using his charms to win me over?”

“No. Did Smoak say anything else? Something that could help us take the NWA and the charter down, for good?”

“Not really. He gave us assignments, and even then, we got the bare minimum. Finding you was a stroke of luck.”

“My name’s pronounced Mitch,” Mitch calls from across the hall. “And you’re welcome!”

“What do we do now?” Victor asks.

“Truthfully, I have no idea, Victor. I’ve been running on adrenaline, hope, and a half-cocked plan to get all of the EOs in one place.”

Victor looks over his shoulder before closing your door and walking to the foot of your bed.

“You’ve shared a lot,” he begins.

“It’s the least I can do, given everything you’re doing to help me and other EOs.”

Victor sighs, lowering to sit on your bed. “Do you still want to hear about midnight?”

Sitting up to lean toward Victor, you nod.

“Then I guess we should start at Lockland, where I met Eli Cardale…”

✯✯✯✯✯

Sitting on one end of the couch, with Sydney beside you and Victor on the other side of her, you feel like part of a family. It’s been years since you felt anything like this, and you wish this moment would last forever.

“How many doctors are in the NWA?” Victor asks. “I can’t imagine spending all that time and money on med school just to be forced into a genocidal army.”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “But don’t worry, you wouldn’t have been they’re type anyway.”

“As if I would have let them find me.”

“Why are we staying hidden?” Sydney interjects. “I understood at first, while you figured out what to do, but it’s been a while now, and we’re still completely alone. No more EOs, no plan to save the world, just… waiting.”

“Unfortunately, it’s part of getting the world back, Syd,” you explain. “And I’m not just saying this because I don’t have a plan, which I don’t. But we should not go outside until we are prepared to deal with anything and everything that the NWA could throw at us. Daniels will be looking for Victor, and maybe for me, I don’t know. When or if he finds him, Smoak will call in backup, and with Victor gone, it’ll be open season for EOs.”

“You make it sound like Vic is keeping EOs safe,” Sydney murmurs.

“In a way, he is.”

“How so?” Victor asks, closing the book in his lap. “Most people don’t even know I exist.”

“Maybe not, but they know someone out there defeated EON, and that there is an EO important enough to keep most of the heat away from the ones that hide their powers or kept living like nothing changed.”

“How do they do that; live like nothing changed?”

“There’s no way to spot an EO just by looking at them,” Victor answers.

“Right,” you agree. “And people have accidents, brain tumors, loads of things that result in death, and then they get brought back. My first year as a cop, I died for nearly a minute before they brought me back, but nothing happened, and I kept doing my job.”

“You died?” Victor and Sydney ask together.

“Barely,” you reply playfully. “But my point is that finding EOs is harder than it seems. So as long as there’s someone like Victor, a known EO, for the NWA to focus on, the unknown EOs have some hope, a sense of safety they can rely on.”

“What about the ones your NWA friends are killing?” Sydney inquires.

“I hate that it’s happening, but there’s nothing I can do right now, Syd. When our time is right, we’re going to save as many as we can, but for now we need to focus on staying alive to create a plan to do that.”

“Seems like a lot of work.”

“Well, not everyone has atom bombs,” Victor mutters.

“Was that another joke?” you ask, turning toward him.

“No.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Vic, Dol needs a walk,” Sydney says, looking at the book you found between two rafters in the attic. “He’s asking for a change, so he wants you to take him.”

“You can raise the dead, not talk to animals,” Victor argues, reading the last unaltered page of his parents’ second book.

“You don’t know everything about me. I know my dog, and he wants you to take him outside.”

“I’ll go,” you offer, chuckling at their antics.

You open the door for Dol, and follow him outside into the California forest. The trees are thick and green, and the new lack of pollution and population did wonders for the wildlife and scenery. Dol barks as he circles a tree, and you smile as you watch him run around, using up the energy he stored sitting beside Sydney.

When Dol is finished, he runs back in the open front door. Enjoying the fresh air and feeling completely hidden, you look up toward the light coming through the trees. The New World Charter headquarters feels like one of the floating cities from an old sci-fi movie: sterile with overbearing leaders; here, you can take a deep breath and be in nature again.

“What’s it like where you’re from?” Victor asks, joining your side.

“It was beautiful. Being outside, patrolling, was one of my favorite parts of being a cop, too. There’s nothing like this.”

“And the rest of the world?”

“The beauty is still there, it’s just nothing like it was before. Vic… I’m scared that even if we succeed, if the EOs take out Smoak and the New World Charter is dissolved, that nothing will really change. People will still be scared of what’s different, and the peace will be short-lived before another dictator slides into the opening left by Smoak. We can’t fight this fight forever.”

“You need a break. Thinking about it, the world and the future, every minute of every day is going to drive you crazy.”

“Which is something you know well, right?”

“Very funny.”

Victor looks up, following your line of sight through the green treetops. He’s enjoying the domesticity nearly as much as you are, but he knows the safety won’t last forever.

“Care for a break from saving the world?”

Smiling as you look down, turning your attention to the NWA’s most wanted ExtraOrdinary, you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

“Syd has been asking to see San Francisco.”

“Shame she didn’t get to experience the crowds and the smell of the wharf when it was actually in use,” you muse.

“A real shame,” Victor agrees sarcastically. “Get your jacket, and I’ll get Syd. Getting some air may even do you some good; maybe you’ll have a plan by the time we get back.”

“You’re the nerd here,” you remind him as you follow him inside. “You start brainstorming and I’ll procrastinate until the night before the due date.”

“I’m not sure that’s wise considering how many lives hang in the balance. An entire race is completely reliant on your ability to find a weakness in the NWA.”

“Haven’t failed a project yet, of ye of little faith.”

“Sydney, get your jacket. We’re going to see San Francisco... what it looks like when it’s completely deserted.”

“I don’t get an invitation?” Mitch asks.

“Someone has to watch Dol,” Victor replies.

“Do you want to go?” you ask.

“Not a bit. Have fun. Bring me a t-shirt or something.”

“Yeah, I’ll look for one that says, ‘I survived the San Francisco evacuation’ or something.”

“Perfect.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Where’s the bridge? No, wait, the wharf! Ooh, or should we go to the square first?” Sydney rambles as you walk through the woods.

“The square?” Victor asks, glancing at you.

“Ghirardelli Square. You’re going to hate it, so if we find any leftover product, Sydney and I should handle it,” you answer with a wink toward Sydney.

“I’m an EO, not an alien, I know what Ghirardelli is.”

“Guys, focus!” Sydney calls. “Where should we go first?”

“Where are we from the bridge? If we get to the bridge and enter San Francisco that way, we can hit everything within a few hours of walking,” you reply. “But, Syd… it’s not the San Francisco you saw on tv or anything. It’s a ghost town.”

“Good thing we’re ghosts, then,” Victor adds.

“You’re telling me there’s no George of the Jungle here now?” Sydney pouts.

“Never should have told her about that movie,” Victor says to himself.

“Syd, just- just be alert, okay? We’re here to have fun, take a break, but it doesn’t mean there aren’t other people here. This is The Stand or The Last of Us, not-“

“Planet of the Apes?” Victor offers.

“Not at all the direction I was going, but sure. My point is that there may be people here, people who are hiding for one reason or another, or just got left behind and couldn’t get anywhere alone.”

“I understand,” Sydney responds, several steps ahead of you.

“Hey,” Victor murmurs, tapping your arm. He pulls his hand away at the sting of your skin on his. “Relax. We’re going to be fine. Then, when we get back to the house, we come up with a plan to take the world back.”

“And you said this wasn’t a movie,” you say, smiling before jogging toward Sydney.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It’s huge!” Sydney exclaims when San Francisco comes into view.

The Golden Gate Bridge is beginning to become visible in the dissipating fog, and the dark metropolis laid out below it seems larger than life. Most people now live in NWC zones, which are big and overbearing in their own way but nothing like the wonders that San Francisco and the likes used to be. NWC zones are locked down, have strict curfews, and are packed with more people than used to be legal.

“Thank you, Vic,” you say as you continue walking toward the bridge. “I needed this, and Sydney did too.”

“We all did.”

“What are the chances we can actually find Mitch a souvenir?”

“In a city like this? I’d say pretty good; even picked over, there’s got to be a keychain or something around here.”

“So, this is what a first date with you was like?” you tease. “Walking around and talking about the mathematical likelihood of finding something worth doing?”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

“Wait, Vic,” you say, grabbing the sleeve of his trench coat to stop him. “You didn’t go on dates? Are you kidding me?”

“Didn’t meet the right person, I suppose. At least not until-“

“Angie, right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Syd is halfway to Canada, though.”

You look up quickly, sighing as you see Sydney looking around a few paces ahead of you.

“Since the mathematical likelihood of me surviving this battle of ghosts and goblins,” you begin.

“Ghosts and what?” Victor repeats incredulously.

“Care to make this my last first date? I mean, my dating record isn’t stellar, but if I have to go out with one good date, I think this could be it.”

“Did you inhale a toxic fungus in the woods or something?”

“I already told Sydney this isn’t The Last of Us. Seriously, Vic, you said this little trip is supposed to be a break, a distraction from what we’re about to do, what we’re up against. So, what do you say?”

“You want to go on a date with me, an EO, and Sydney, an EO I found on the side of the road, in an abandoned city? I thought you said your dating record wasn’t stellar, but if the bar is this low it’s completely dismal.”

“Could’ve just said no, Vic,” you answer, chuckling as you move toward Sydney.

“I- life would have been a lot different if we had met in the old world,” Victor replies. “If this is what you want to remember if this doesn’t go our way, who am I to stop you from actually enjoying part of being a ghost?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Will you stop talking if I do?”

You nod, and Victor points his chin toward Sydney and the growing distance between you and her. Rushing up the hill, you catch up with her and walk beside her, smiling over your shoulder at Victor as you walk across the Golden Gate Bridge into the heart of San Francisco.

“Where to after we cross it?” Sydney asks.

“We’ll turn left onto Beach Street, which will take us straight to Ghirardelli and then Fisherman’s Wharf,” you answer. Victor raises his eyebrows, and you add, “I looked at a map of San Francisco for fourteen hours straight while I was trying to find you. If it’s on a map, I can probably get you there.”

Victor shakes his head, and you fall into a comfortable silence as you walk. Sydney stops to look at Alcatraz, and you return to Victor’s side, smiling as you silently thank him for everything.

✯✯✯✯✯

As you walk out of Fisherman’s Wharf, with an ‘I <3 San Francisco’ keychain tucked in your pocket for Mitch, you ask Sydney what her favorite part was. Victor tries to listen to her answer but feels the unmistakable sensation of being watched. He slows, looking around but coming up empty. The city seems dead, and he hasn’t even seen an animal in the few hours you have spent in San Francisco. When you slow, though, Victor rushes toward you.

You feel it, too, but you recognize the eyes on you. They’re the same eyes you felt after faking EO deaths and the ones you missed after sending Rock away.

“Vic,” you whisper when he comes into view.

“I know. I can’t see anyone though,” Victor answers.

“What’s going on?” Sydney interjects, whispering to match your volume.

“Get her out of here, Vic,” you demand, moving your hand to the gun on your waistband.

“We’re not leaving you!” Sydney replies.

“Syd, this is my part of the fight. It doesn’t have to be yours. Vic.”

Victor nods, grabbing Sydney’s shoulders and steering her away from you. They disappear around a corner, out of sight, and you take a deep breath as you accept that you may never see them again. Tapping the keychain in your pocket, you hope Mitch can forgive you for not giving his souvenir to him.

“I got Vic and Syd back,” you remind yourself softly.

Turning slowly, you stop abruptly when someone steps out of the shadows. He says your name, and you immediately come to terms with dying in San Francisco. Sydney and Victor are safe and can create a plan to save the world, so you succeeded in helping one person.

“Daniels,” you reply. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Not like I’ve been looking for you and the monsters you are so comfortable around,” he says darkly.

“What do you want, Daniels? You will never find Victor Vale, and he will take every single one of you out to protect himself and the other EOs.”

“I’d like to see him try. But, I’m not here for him right now. I’m sure you sent him away, running like a hamster on a wheel, stalled in one place.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“Why’d you leave the Army to join a team of dictators, Brian?”

Daniels chuckles, pulling his gun from its holster before leveling it on you. “You are guilty of treason, punishable by execution at the order of the New World Agency.”

“If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. What are you waiting for, Brian Daniels, retired U.S. Army Ranger-“

“Stop!” Daniels screams.

Smiling, you know you’re under his skin, getting to him by showing him that you know more about him than he knows about you. While he’s distracted by your comments, you pull your gun, holding it between your legs and the crate before you.

“You are under arrest,” Daniels yells.

“I’d like a lawyer,” you reply sarcastically.

Daniels steps toward you, and you lower as you hear footsteps in an alley. Victor is still close, and he needs help getting out unnoticed.

“Go!” you yell as you begin shooting.

Giving cover fire, you keep Daniels distracted as Victor and Sydney disappear into the shadows, where they feel most comfortable. Daniels ducks out of sight, and when the last shot’s echo dies away, he begins laughing.

“You’re a stupid, stupid girl!” he yells. “And you can’t take us!”

You don’t ask, but you wonder who ‘us’ is. Before you can think much about it, several NWA helicopters begin circling. When ropes drop from the helicopters and soldiers descend into San Francisco, you move backward toward an alley opening. If you can keep the army before you, you have an escape route and a chance of surviving. Your chances will never be good again, but the idea that you can run helps keep your hopes up, if only for a moment. Remembering that Victor and Sydney have a head start and plan to leave rips your hope away again. You’re alone, one woman with a half-empty ammo magazine against an army of trained killers.

Pushing your back against a wall, unwilling to be taken out from the back, you smile. You saved one, and that was always the goal. Knowing that Sydney is the one you saved and you were lucky enough to spend time with her, get to know her, and care for her makes what happens next easier.

A soldier rushes toward you, and you fire a single shot, watching as he crumples to the ground. His body armor should have protected him; yes, he would’ve fallen from the velocity of the bullet, but he shouldn’t have folded in pain like that. Raising slowly, you hear a few pained screams and rush to look out over Daniels’ reinforcements.

Every single soldier is on the ground. Most are unconscious, but others are screaming or crying, clearly in pain. You know what causes pain like this, but you also know that he could have done it from a distance if he saw them lower from the helicopter.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We can’t leave her, Vic!” Sydney argues as he pushes her into an alley.

“We’re not, Syd, I promise. But we need to regroup, I need a plan. If we run out there blind, we’ll all get killed.”

“Just hurt him, Vic! He’s going to kill her if you don’t!”

Your voice is barely audible, but Victor catches your taunt, “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it already. What are you waiting for?”

“He wouldn’t have come alone. He’s misogynistic, not blind. Daniels knows what she’s capable of, just as well as we do.”

“He’s hiding something?” Sydney clarifies.

“A big something, presumably.”

Victor begins to speak, but his words are drowned out by helicopters overhead.

“There’s his backup,” he hums to himself.

Sydney pulls Victor’s sleeve, pointing to the end of the alley. A soldier is approaching, and as Victor turns the pain dial, a bullet makes contact with his chest plate. Victor hides his smile, glad you’re not going down without a fight.

Rushing to the end of the alley, Victor extends his pain radius, turning the dial as high as it goes with no warning. Men scream, though most of them lose consciousness before the pain registers.

“Where is she?” Sydney whispers.

Victor weighs his options quickly before pushing the dial again and yelling your name.

✯✯✯✯✯

When Victor yells your name, you don’t hesitate to turn away from the NWA troops and rush to him and Sydney. You run into him, wrapping your arms around him as you hug him tightly.

“Yeah, yeah, glad you’re okay, too, but we need to go,” he replies, awkwardly patting your back.

You nod as you pull back, taking Sydney’s hand and running behind Victor. As you near the bridge, you call Victor’s name.

“We’re going to be visible the entire way across. Those helos are coming back,” you remind him.

“Then tell me what to do,” he replies. “Take a chance and go the fastest route, or stay here longer to find another way?”

“Can you do what you did back there to the helo pilots?”

“Of course, I can.”

“Then let’s go.”

You pull Sydney with you, apologizing as you run across the Golden Gate Bridge. The fog has rolled back in, and Alcatraz looks far more menacing than it did a few hours ago when you came into the city.

“Are you okay?” Sydney asks between short breaths.

“I’m fine,” you promise. “And I’m sorry I brought you into that.”

“That’s on me,” Victor adds, running ahead of you. “But now we have an idea of what we’re up against!”

“Vic died after using his powers for a while,” Sydney tells you. “I was worried it would happen again.”

“That hasn’t happened in months!”

“But it could? Vic, you can’t use your powers if it puts your life at stake!” you argue.

“It’s already at stake! I’ll die if I don’t, but I might die if I do. Besides, I came back every time.”

“That’s not comforting!”

When you reach the tree line, entering the forest, you slow, still moving but taking the chance to catch your breath.

“You didn’t tell me that, Victor,” you say. “I never would have asked for your help.”

“I’m not incapable of fighting for myself and Sydney and Mitch,” he replies, his voice dark and even, not unlike the night you met. “And clearly I can save you at a moment’s notice.”

“That is not the problem!”

“Then what is?”

“I can’t let you die fighting my fight!”

Your chest is heaving, partly from the exertion of running miles without a break and partly from your anger at Victor. He should have told you so that you could find a way to work around it. If he dies trying to save you, then you lose an EO regardless. Worse, you lose an EO that you care about.

“It’s my fight, too.”

“Move, Vic.”

“We’re not done.”

“We’re not moving and there are people hunting us! Move!”

Victor clenches his jaw before breaking into another run. Sydney runs behind him, and you bring up the rear of your team of misfits. Part of you wants to get them to safety and leave, but you know you can’t do this without Victor Vale, not the fight against the New World or living life after. You need Victor far more than he needs you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Mitch,” Victor says as he walks in. “Get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

“What happened to you three?” Mitch asks, his eyes wide as he looks you over.

“Got into a fight for this,” you reply, passing him the keychain.

“I- thank you?”

“Daniels found me. He brought an army to bring me in for treason, but Victor saved me.”

“You saved me first,” Victor grumbles, clearly mad at you.

Mitch raises his brows, silently asking what you did. You shake your head before entering the room you’ve grown comfortable in. All your stuff fits in a backpack you found in a nearby storage shed. Once you’re packed, you sit at the foot of the bed and consider running.

Victor opens your door, steps inside, and closes it again.

“Do you knock?” you ask softly.

“I want you to tell me what that was back there. If you don’t trust me, there’s no reason for you to stay and keep putting Sydney and Mitch in danger.”

“Trust? You want to talk about trust, Victor? When you told me how your powers work, you might have mentioned ‘oh, and sometimes I die for a few minutes after using them.’ Was I just supposed to find out when you collapsed in the middle of saving someone?”

“I didn’t tell you because it’s getting better. Sydney found a fix.”

“A temporary fix from the sound of things.”

“Why does it matter? If it is fixed long enough to survive this war, it doesn’t matter. Either I die fighting or I survive and we find a better option after. Why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“I understand perfectly, Victor.”

“This is a weird way to thank me for saving your life.”

“I am thankful for that. But if saving my life is going to cost you yours…” You stand from the bed and step toward Victor, only a few inches between your chests. “Then let me die.”

Victor’s eyes remain on yours, pale, intense, and unblinking. “The question was about you.”

“What?” you ask, blinking at the sudden change in topic.

“That night that you asked if I’d use my powers on a good person for a better reason. You were asking if I’d let you die, or kill you, to win this fight against the New World.”

Licking your lips, you avoid replying.

“I apologize for not telling you. But if you want complete transparency from me, I’m going to need the same in return.”

“Vic?” Sydney calls from the hallway. “We’re ready.”

“And we’re ghosts again,” you hum, turning to pick up your backpack. “Thanks for the date, Victor. Sorry I ruined it.”

“Still the best date I’ve been on in a while,” he murmurs.

“And you said my dating record is dismal.”

Victor shakes his head as he opens the door for you. He’s grown attached to the domesticity, though he’d refuse to admit it. As he closes the door, separating himself from one of the few things that brought him comfort, Victor sighs.

You can tell that this fight will weigh on him, and worrying about you, Mitch, and Sydney will wear him down before the fight even begins. Laying a hand between his shoulder blades, you ask him to hang back with you.

“I need you to know that I appreciate you for saving me, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to,” you explain quietly, walking behind Sydney, Dol, and Mitch.

“You expect me to just stand by and watch you die? That’s not going to happen,” he argues.

“Vic, I’m a soldier. I made my peace with dying a long time ago.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Victor snaps. “I’m not going to let another innocent person die for this EO debate. I have lost friends and enemies alike, and I refuse to lose another.”

“Friend or enemy?”

Victor glances over his shoulder at you. “Equal.”

“Sounds like a friend to me.”

Victor sighs, internally glad that your personality is returning. He’s sure that you were worried, most likely about Sydney.

Boise. The sudden thought is unwelcome, and clearly not yours.

“Vic, if I told you we needed to go to Boise, what would you say?” you ask.

“I’d ask how you came up with Boise, Idaho.”

“What if I told you a ghost told me?”

Victor puts an arm out to stop you. “Is there a voice in your head? One that tells you where to go?”

“You have it too?”

Victor looks between your eyes and the crease between your brows.

“I thought it was just my intuition or something,” you murmur.

“My turn to ask a hypothetical,” Victor says. “If you noticed a pattern, that the voice was leading you into dangerous situations that somehow turned out alright… would you think they were related?”

“Are you asking me if I think the ghost is leading us where we need to be to win this fight? Putting us in trouble to get out of more trouble?”

“If I was?”

“Vic, I’m with you in this. Drop the hypotheticals and say what you want to say.”

“Whatever this voice is – a ghost, a shared intuition, common mission, however you want to define it – it is helping us. I don’t think our question should be about what it is though.”

“You want to know why.”

“You don’t?”

“That voice has led me straight to you, away from a life that I hated, so I- I guess I trust it. For now, at least. But, yeah, I’d like to know why. You’re forgetting a big one, though.”

“Being?”

“Vic, who is it?”

Sydney yells your name, and you tap Victor’s shoulder before passing him to talk to Sydney. Mitch trades spots with you, moving to Victor’s side.

“I told you that she was trustworthy,” Mitch says.

“You did. One of these days I’ll start trusting you, too,” Victor answers.

“Vic, this isn’t going to be easy. The pain and sacrifice we’ve experienced is only a fraction of what lies ahead of us.”

“I can accept that. I can accept a lot of things, but I refuse to let anything happen to the four of you.”

“And she wants you to?”

“I don’t know what she wants. Besides the old world and freedom for EOs.”

“I’ve got an idea of what she wants,” Mitch teases.

“That you won’t share, right?”

“Right.”

As Sydney talks, you realize that the life you lost in the transition to the New World made way for this one. While it isn’t perfect, you like where you are. Being by Victor’s side, with Sydney, Dol, and Mitch, it’s good, even if it isn’t safe. When the fight is over, though, what happens then?

#to being ghosts.#victor vale x reader #victor vale #vicious ve schwab #vicious

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