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lucy90712 · 2 days

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Not enough- Jude Bellingham

Dating a footballer is fun until he becomes incredibly successful and all of a sudden there are rumours left and right of him dating someone that isn't you. That's what my life is like Jude and I got together 3 years ago now when we were 17 and have been together since but we never made our relationship public because until the summer we were still long distance and didn't want the extra pressure. Having our relationship private has been so nice as it has meant when we do see each other we get to just enjoy being together but it also means we have to deal with rumours of who Jude might be dating. Those rumours never really got to me while Jude was at dortmund but since he's moved to Madrid things have just got so much more intense it seems that every few weeks there is a million new articles and tweets.

Having to read all of this and seeing how pretty all the girls has really started to get to me. All the girls Jude is rumoured to be with are either models or just incredibly pretty which makes me feel awful about myself. All these girls have made a name for themselves in some way yet here I am with my job in a cafe while I try and find a job in the area that I studied. Jude likes to tell me that he doesn't care what I do for a living or how much I make but I can't help but feel guilty when I can't contribute much to the house or get him expensive things like he does for me. I'm also definitely no model I'm definitely not as pretty or as skinny as a model which I used to be ok with but now I don't feel so confident in myself. The other wags are also so pretty I definitely don't fit in with them either which makes me feel even worse about myself.

Jude doesn't seem to have any clue that this is all going on he wakes up goes to training then hangs out with the boys leaving me until late at night so he doesn't see all the rumours or how they affect me. He's not here for the time I spend scrolling through social media or looking in the mirror judging everything about myself. Even when Jude is home he always seems to have something else on his mind so he never really gives me compliments anymore. I'd like to think that he still loves me but at this point I'm really not sure I mean he's young and he's attractive why would he want to be tied down with someone like me he can do so much better. I simply don't think I'm enough for him.

A few days ago Jude went out to celebrate a big win for the team while I stayed at home but the next morning all I could see was rumours that Jude was flirting with multiple girls all night letting them dance with him and since I haven't really spoken to him. I spent all of last night laying awake thinking about everything and I decided that I just think I need to break up with Jude so then he's free to do all the things everyone thinks he's doing anyway. It's hard to decide to end a relationship especially one that has been going on for so long and one you are so fond of but I don't see any other way forward. This is why I've been so distant with Jude because in my head if I didn't talk to him that would make all of this easier.

As always Jude left for training just as I got up for work but by the time I got back he was home which only happened the first few weeks I arrived so it was strange to see him here. Like always I headed upstairs to shower and change and when I came back out the bathroom Jude was sat on the bed waiting for me. I still didn't say anything to him because I'm trying to stay strong until I find the right time to tell Jude how I feel.

"Babe are you ok you've barely spoken to me the last few days" he said

"Yeah I'm fine just been busy had a lot on my mind that's all" I replied

"Please don't lie to me I know there's something more going on I see the way you look all the time I just couldn't figure out what was wrong and now I give up so please tell me what's going on" he begged

"I didn't want to say this yet because I'm still figuring things out but I think we should break up I just can't do this anymore" I said

"Please no baby no I can't live without you whatever I've done I can fix it and I'm sorry just please don't break up with me" he said

"It's nothing you've done it's just me" I said

"Then what is it please tell me if you really want to do this at least tell me why" he said

"I'm just not good enough for you every day there is new rumours of you being with someone else and all of them are prettier and have more going for them than I do and you deserve to be with one of them or to just be free to do what you want" I explained

"But I want you that's what I want I don't want any of these girls nor is there anything going on with any other girl incase that's what you're thinking I like that you live a more normal life you keep me grounded and I think you are the prettiest girl in the world" Jude replied

"Then why are you never home and why do you never compliment me anymore?" I asked

"I-I'm sorry babe you're right I haven't been home much but I will change that I will come home after training and I will invite you to more things and believe me I could sit here for hours and compliment you and I'll do that if I need to" he said

Jude did exactly what he said he started listing all the things he loves about me while giving me kisses. It felt so good to have his attention again it felt like we were back to how we were before I came to Madrid. After he complimented every single part of me he asked if I'd like to go out on a date like a proper date outside where people could see us and I didn't hesitate to say yes. Even if people see us who cares it's about time that we went public with our relationship then the rumours can be true for once. We have talked about going public a few times but now feels like the right time just so we can stop the media getting too far out of control

I got all dressed up in a pretty dress and my makeup and hair all done for once I actually felt really pretty. When Jude walked in he had a white shirt and some black trousers on which he looked so good in. He stopped as soon as he saw me and I think his jaw actually hit the floor which made me blush and that was before he started complimenting me. The entire drive Jude didn't stop telling me how beautiful I looked which honestly made me feel so good about myself.

At the restaurant there was people taking pictures of us walking in which Jude tried to protect me from a bit but we wanted to be seen together. It was weird being in front of so many cameras as I've spent years trying to avoid all of this but now I'm happily letting them all take pictures and stare at me trying to work out who I am so they can get their exclusive headline. The people in the restaurant were lovely though they showed us to our table then left us alone as much as possible which was nice as we were able to have a proper date night together. As we finished dessert Jude showed me all the pictures all over Instagram and Twitter then he showed me a post he had drafted to tell everyone about our relationship and put an end to everything. He had a beautiful caption written which nearly made me cry and all the pictures he had I hadn't seen before as they were ones he took secretly but they were all so cute. He let me click post so that it was my decision to go public then he took my phone and turned it off so we could enjoy the rest of our evening together without having to see what everyone has to say.

#jude bellingham imagines #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #football imagine

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munsonsmixtapes · 2 days

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Sew Far, Sew Good

model!Eddie x fem!fashion designer!reader

summary: your designs are finally being showcased in a magazine, but it turns out that you slept with the model the night before

cw: MDNI (18+) backseat make out session, Eddie sucks on readers tits, reader receives a hickey

Not proofread!

You entered the building, nerves building up in your stomach. You were so excited but nervous to finally see your designs on someone who wasn’t yourself or one of your friends. The rumor was that they had actually gotten Eddie Munson to do it and you couldn’t have been more honored to have the biggest male model wear your clothes.

You greeted everyone you passed and they all returned warm smiles as you headed towards where you needed to be. The place was packed and it seemed like they all had a job to do which made you feel better than everything that was being done was for you and your photo shoot.

After looping around in a circle and asking for multiple directions, you finally got where you had been instructed to go and Wren, the photographer rushed towards you with open arms. Thank god, someone who was a hugger.

“There she is!” She smiled and pulled you into a tight hug has if you had been old friends and you took it, grateful for the gesture.

“Hey!” You greeted, pulling away. “I’m not late am I?”

“Yes and no.”

“Yes and no?” How could it be both?

“Yes, technically, but no because the model isn’t even here.” Of course.

“He’s not?” You didn’t know why you were surprised. He had a very bad reputation including being late to everything including thing like being late to his job where he was getting paid.

“No, he’s not. He’s in his way, but I heard that he was out late last night.” Another thing was that he was almost always getting drunk, even the night before a shoot. What a walking stereotype.

You were about to panic when someone bumped into you, causing you to spill the coffee you were holding. The brown liquid spread all over the floor and you just stood there, making no move to clean it up. You were moved out of the way as someone came with a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess.

You turned around to see who you had run into and you gasped. It was the guy who you had hooked up with the night before. He was the model?? He was Eddie Munson? You couldn’t blame yourself for not recognizing him since both the bar and his apartment had very low lighting. And the beard he had been sporting had been shaved, making him look much younger than he was.

“What are you doing here?” You asked at the same time.

“You’re wearing my designs,” you answered.

“And I’m the model.” Right, of course. You knew that. But everything was starting to feel like something out of a movie. Of course the one time you intend on having a one night stand, it turned out that you were going to be working together.

“You lied to me.” You crossed your arms over your chest and he mimicked your actions, forming his eyes into a glare.

“How?”

“You said your name was Ed.” You felt ridiculous for calling him for something as silly as that, but you just felt like you should have been upset.

“It’s a nickname for Eddie so it wasn’t a lie. And you’re one to talk, you said your name was Daisy.” You supposed you couldn’t blame him for that one, but you only did that for your safety.

“Because I’ve learned to not give people my real name because they get a little crazy.” Eddie only scoffed at that.

“I’d hate to break up this reunion, but we’re running behind, so can we get this started?” Wren interrupted. You turned to her, suddenly remembering why you were there. This was way more important than some stupid spat with someone you didn’t even know.

Eddie was pulled off to wardrobe and you just stood there, seeing that Wren was talking to you, but not hearing the words that were coming out of her mouth. You were too in shock. You didn’t know why, but it was surprising. Out of all the losers you had been with, you had finally gotten someone who had made a name for himself.

All of a sudden, you were being led to wardrobe because they wanted your input on the outfits Eddie was going to be put in and you put on a smile, trying your best to forget the events of the night before. You could still hear Eddie’s moans, his mouth licking and sucking on your cunt, the way he fucked you senseless until you were sure that you couldn’t walk.

The head of the department showed you the rack and let you pick what you wanted Eddie to wear for the first set of photos. You settled on your favorite. It was a black suit covered in black sequins that took you fucking hours to do and it made everyone who had tried it on look like a dream.

You turned away as the woman helped Eddie into the suit even though you were sure that he wouldn’t have minded and the fact that you had seen all of him only hours before. But this was a professional setting and you both needed to be as such even though it was not professional in the slightest to sleep with people you were working with.

Once Eddie was dressed, you turned back around and your eyes lit up. You were convinced that he was able to pull off anything and it was almost unfair. The suit fit like a glove, almost as if he was made for him. It looked so good and you were eager to see what it looked like with the hair and makeup that had yet to be done.

You headed back to the shoot area and waited for Eddie to be ready. Over time, your anger at each other had dissipated and your attraction had only grown. There was something about seeing him in the stuff that you designed made you wet.

He emerged from hair and makeup and you were sure that your underwear couldn’t get any more damp. His hair was teased in a messy look and black eyeshadow was packed into his eyelids with eyeliner lining his waterline.

He moved to the backdrop and Wren headed over to the camera to get things started. Watching Eddie pose, it was clear why he had become such a big name in the industry. He was a natural and it was obvious that the camera loved him.

And he was so complimentary, letting you know exactly how much he loved every single article of clothing. You didn’t even care if he was just trying to flatter you, you were so close to letting him take everything home. It had been collecting dust in your closet anyway.

No wonder everyone was so impressed by him. Maybe the rumors were all untrue. Sure, he had been late, but he had more than made up for it for his behavior. He was so nice to everyone working on the shoot, thanking them for their work and making them laugh.

After a long day and multiple outfits later, the shoot was over and you and Eddie gushed over the photos. His hand rested on your back as he whispered in your ear, being nothing but sweet, telling how much he liked the outfits. So, that was how he ended up taking them all home, promising to wear them any chance he got.

So, the two of you left the building hand in hand, feeling good with the results of the shoot and you lingered at his car, neither one of you wanting to be the one to say goodbye first. You couldn’t. Not when he looked so fucking hot in his makeup, the red lipstick and gloss making his lips so much more inviting. Not when he had a perfectly good backseat that both of you could fit in.

You grabbed him by his shirt and pressed your lips to his roughly, Eddie taking no time to respond to it, one of his arms wrapping around your shoulders while the other rested against your back. You were both so desperate for each other, wanting to take whatever you could. Your hands went to his jaw, moving his head so you could have more access to his mouth as you licked into it.

He pushed you against the car and brought your tongue between his lips and gave it a suck which caused you to let out a whimper which caused a tent to form in his pants. He had wanted to hear that sound since you had made it the night before, the exact noise had been ringing in his ears ever since.

Eddie gave your tongue one more suck which elicited a moan from you, causing him to pull away before opening the door to the backseat. You nodded and slid across the seat, him following you before slamming the door closed. You both kicked off your socks and shoes and Eddie unbuttoned your shirt as he laid you down in the backseat.

“No bra, hm? How scandalous.”

“Left it at your place remember?” He did remember. The lacy thing was still on the floor of his room. “It doesn’t matter, though anyway. It’ll just slow it down.”His lips immediately went to your chest as he gave your tits some love, licking and sucking your nipples, just as he did the night before.

“God, I love your tits,” he said, his breathing labored and his voice raspy. He was so hot that it was almost unfair. He mouth was on your nipple again as he licked and sucked again, warming you up before he brought the thing between his teeth giving it a pull.

“Oh, my god,” you moaned and he bit down harder, loving to hear the sounds that escaped your lips. “Fuck, you really know what you’re doing.”

“I remember what you like,” he winked and move onto your other nipple, pulling it between his teeth and biting down the hardest that he could without actually hurting you. He kissed his way down to your stomach and you thought he was going to pull off your pants, but he didn’t. He just moved his way back before attaching his lips to yours in a bruising kiss.

He licked into your mouth and you wrapped your mouth around it, giving it a suck. He whimpered at the sensation then quickly pulled away, giving you a glare.

“Hey,” he whined. “That’s my move.”

“You’re just mad that I do it better than you.” You did, you really did. He’d let you steal his moves any time.

“Oh, honey, you do everything better than me,” he winked and pulled off his shirt before pressing his lips to yours again, softer this time.

He put his full weight on top of you, his hands grabbing onto yours, intertwining your fingers together. His lips were so soft despite them being chapped and they tasted just as good as they did the night before with the mixture of tobacco and mint. How that combination tasted so good, you had no idea.

Eddie kissed you until you both were breathless and his lips moved down to your neck and he pressed open-mouthed kisses to the skin before giving it a gentle suck, just light enough for you to let out a gasp. Eddie then sucked a little harder and you moaned, maybe a little too loudly, but he was eating it up.

He loved your moans. They were always an indicator that he was doing things right. He has slept with more women he could count, but none of them had ever been as enthusiastic as you had, not even with making out with him. They were all just eager for his dick, but he had admired that you were different from them.

His teeth grazed the sensitive spot and you moaned even louder, his dick getting even harder at the sound. You felt it against you and your pussy got even more wet at the thought of him getting inside you, but you didn’t have it in you at the moment.

“Oh, Eddie,” you moaned and he took that as an invitation to continue, letting his teeth slide against the sensitive spot even harder. “So good.”

He gave the spot another suck, this one, the hardest hi could manage and your hands moved to his back, digging your fingers into the skin. As he licked and sucked, you continued to moan, eventually scratching up and down his back and he was loving it.

Once he felt like he marked you up enough, he pulled you into another kiss, this one softer and sweeter than all of the others. His lips moved against yours, as if he had all the time in the word as his head moved this way and that, wanting to reach every part of your lips that he could.

Eddie then pulled away, the two of you breathing heavily and looked down at you, still loving the way you looked with his lipstick smeared all over you. He’d definitely have to do that more often. That was, if you’d give him another chance. Maybe he’d take you on a date. And maybe if that date went well, he’d be able to call you his girlfriend. He would’ve liked that. He would have liked that a lot.

He laid his head on your chest and your hands moved up to his hair, scratching his head. Maybe if you had played your card right, he’d give you another chance. Maybe he’d take you on a date. And maybe if that date went well, you’d be able to call him your boyfriend. You would’ve liked that. You would have liked that a lot.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #model!eddie munson #fashion designer!reader #model!Eddie x fashion designer!reader

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kookslastbutton · 2 days

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Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | chapter two

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 6.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from Yoongi's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, smoking, mentions of body shaming by Hybe executive, bestie!tae is wonderful support 🥹, light fighting between members (literally crack), Namjoon has a little crush, Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions that make them finally start bonding (a little flirty too, hehe) 😉

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: CHAPTR TWO IS HERE! GOD...the slow burn exists outside the series too with me not updating for two months. I'm sorry guys but TYSM for your patience! I'm VERY excited to release this chapter bc I think Yoon & Oc are super cute, hehe. Okay anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

Yoongi stands with his hands placed loosely on his hip, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. The seven of them had been practicing choreography for their new RUN BTS song nonstop when Jimin called for a much-needed, fifteen-minute break. There’s a part of him that’s thanking the younger for it and another that’s wishing he hadn’t, as every moment left alone with his thoughts is spent decoding his last encounter with you at the cafeteria.

Why had you made such a beeline for the exit the moment he was waved over by his member?

You also completely ignored his attempts to greet you on your way out. He only stopped by the cafeteria to slip an orange in his pocket before returning to his studio. He didn’t mean to intrude or incite that you had to leave with his sudden presence.

Taehyung assured him that you merely left to tend to work matters, which he’d typically sum as hyper-fixation with one’s work as he’s prone to do the same, but this felt different at its core. Your behavior seemed more intentional than that. The last thing he wants to do is misread the whole situation, but he must’ve done or said something to cause your uneasiness.

“Hyung, how did the album meeting go this morning?” A clear voice comes from Yoongi's left as his fellow band member, Namjoon, strides next to him, water bottle clenched in his fist. Like himself, large droplets of sweat dots around the man’s brow. The minor interruption shakes Yoongi out of his slightly dazed state.

“Went well.” He takes a big swish of his own water before screwing the cap back on. “We reviewed everything in three hours and the album looks better than I anticipated. There are a couple of promotional strategies that still need finalizing, but I’m pretty confident about it overall.”

“That’s great, man. __-nim’s been doing good work with TXT for the last few years, so she’s definitely suited for the job. I thought about requesting her help to promote Indigo but the timing of it all didn’t work.” Namjoon’s voice drops an octave at the last part, as if remorseful for more than a missed professional opportunity.

“Ah, maybe your next album hyung,” Jimin suddenly chimes in, slapping the taller man on the shoulder from the side. “I have a feeling you and __-nim would work well together. Think about it, you’re both natural born leaders and you’re smart too. I bet __ -nim has as high of an IQ as you.”

Namjoon’s cheeks flush with the faintest tint of rose as Jimin flashes a knowingly cheeky grin. Yoongi, of course, witnesses the entire exchange, the slightest part of him feeling uprooted by the thought of his band member and new marketing manager suddenly hitting it off. He decides not to comment on the matter, choosing to remain in ignorance instead. This is all speculation, right?

Now that they’re all on the subject of his album though, it gets him thinking that maybe he’s been too narrow viewed regarding the reason for your off putting behavior at lunch.

D-Day’s release has become a consuming priority lately, with everyone involved worked to the bone. Aside from himself, you’ve been bearing the brunt of it. He’s appreciative of course, considering the album holds a deep sense of meaning to him, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to be perfect. A little pushback during the first proposal is natural, yet he did get more resistant toward ideas during this morning’s meeting than anticipated. Perhaps some of his nitpicking was unnecessary, adding to your already heavy load.

Yoongi’s head feels worse the longer he entertains the possibility. He doesn’t want to make the first time working together a complete whirlwind, especially this early. A strong, healthy partnership starts with trust, safety, and mutual respect. The same philosophy can be applied to relationships of varying natures. That reminds him—since when did Taehyung and you become so close? He’s been ruminating over it all afternoon, like a jigsaw puzzle he can’t solve.

It’s odd how little he knows.

“I heard someone mention __-nim over here. I want in.” A small grumble leaves Yoongi’s lips as Jungkook pushes next to him, displeased by how tiny his space bubble has gotten due to the huddle his members have formed around him. Just why the hell is everyone so interested in his new marketing director? That's what he wants to know.

“Can you introduce me to her sometime hyung?" Jungkook pleads. "I’m thinking about releasing an album in the next year and it’d be great if you could hook us up…yknow?”

Oh, Yoongi knows. He knows exactly what this young buck is insinuating, but it isn’t mating season yet and even if it were he will do no such thing as to “hook them up”. Besides, his conscience tells him that you wouldn't be interested in the company of a younger man anyway—not that your dating life is any of his business or anything.

“Get in line Jungkookie, behind Namjoon. He needs her for his album first.” Jimin squeezes down on Namjoon’s muscular shoulders with both hands, shaking him just enough to hype him up. His hands are removed seconds later when he’s told to knock it off.

“That’s enough about this, okay? I’m pretty sure Yoongi-hyung is the only one who actually needs __-nim right now because, in case you dumbasses have forgotten, D-Day is set to release in April,” Namjoon scolds the two with a commanding tone. Jungkook, per usual, remains persistent in his original request and keeps his full attention on Yoongi.

“Anyway hyung, as I was saying, I know your album takes priority so I’m in no hurry to meet her. I can be pretty patient as you know-“

“Heh, that’s a lie.”

“Shove it Jimin, no one’s talking to you.” Jungkook’s eyebrows scrunch together as Jimin snorts helplessly next to Namjoon.

“You shove it Kook,” Jimin counters. “And stop trying to date __-nim! Find your own woman!”

“I’m not trying to date her! She's my noona for gods sake! Do you think I’m oblivious to how the public reacts to idols dating? Also, __-nim is a Hybe employee, not an idol. I can only imagine the type of scandal the media would spin it as.”

“Right, we all know you actually just want to take her to your bed instead,” Jimin interrupts for the umpteenth time. “Our handsome leader, on the other hand, is interested in her professional abilities. We can learn a lot from him.”

“Why are you always trying to start a fight with me Jimin? Is it because I can take you, now that I've been building up more muscle?” Jungkook’s accusations earn him nothing more than a sea of eye-rolls until Jimin lunges himself towards him, puffing out his chest the best he can to size him up.

Namjoon rubs his face with a hand, a clear visual display of his exhaustion. He’s been moderating these stupid squabbles for nine years now. “Alright very mature, biggest boy band in the world and this is what it’s come to? Amazing, congrats to everyone for winning the award for most-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Seokjin interjects, effortlessly shouting over everyone while waving his hands. “My brothers…why are we fighting over here like a couple of peacocks? We are all beautiful in our own, individual ways. Mine, for example, is my handsome face.”

“For the love of god hyung, we’re trying to settle something. Go take your inspirational pep talk elsewhere!” Jungkook bends his knees, swooping down to throw Jimin over his shoulder but he misses when the man starts tickling him ruthlessly.

“St-ah-stop it Jimin!"

“You stop it, you frickin’ brat! Trying to take advantage of our hyungs for your own selfish gain.” Jimin then slaps Jungkook on the ass which does not go unappreciated as Hoseok cackles from the other side of the room. Up until this point, he’s been scrolling on his phone, completely unbothered by the chaos. As Hoseok nears the action, Jungkook delivers a swift kick to Jimin’s rear end.

“Ow, what the fuck Kook?!” Jimin tries soothing the sting by massaging it with his hands. “You little prick!”

“Oh come on, I barely hit you. Gaining sympathy points won’t help this time, plus I see you trying to hide a grin. You think this shit is funny. You’re sick you know that?”

Jimin makes a move to return the kick to his youngest member but ends up hitting a far taller, and leaner subject instead. Taehyung, who just returned from the bathroom, throws a hand over his abdomen and grunts from the sudden impact.

“What is—shit Jimin that really hurt!” Taehyung’s baritone voice echoes off the walls as he winces from the pain. He takes a few deep breaths, then viciously eyes the two brawlers followed by the rest of the room. “What the hell is going on? I heard you all talking about __-nim from the hallway. Yoongi-hyung here is trying to kick off his album and tour, which we are supposed to be celebrating over drinks this Friday, but here you are arguing with each other and who has the biggest dick. Well, you can all put it away because as __-nim’s best friend, and number one wingman, only I’m allowed to set her up with someone and it won’t be with any of you! Sorry hyung…” he looks at Namjoon who appears to have brushed the comment off.

As soon as Taehyung ceases his mini-speech, eery silence sets in. Hoseok is the first to dare say a word.

“Uh, so what’s this about being her best friend Tae?”

“Yeah, I had no idea either.” Jimin quirks his head to the side, awaiting the details.

“Same,” Namjoon adds in a short breath.

“What happened to us, man?” Jungkook pouts at Taehyung, a total 180 from moments ago when he was in an unsolicited sparring match with Jimin. “You used to share everything with me. Now you’re holding out on me. Since when did you and __-nim start hanging out?”

Yoongi’s ears perk up for the first time since all the commotion began, curious to hear Taehyung’s response. He only recently discovered the blossoming friendship hours ago and even then, it was a brief inside look.

“I didn’t think to mention it but yeah, we started talking since her first day at Hybe. I bumped into her on the way into work, early morning for both of us. I expected her to be a bit on the reserved side, considering she was a new hire, but she was quite friendly. The more we talked, the more I felt like I knew her as if a childhood best friend I’d reconnected with.” Pausing, he wets his lips before continuing. “We share a lot of our meals together now, like our lunches during the weekday. Her food tastes amazing by the way. I think she missed her calling as a chef but it’s more than food— it’s a love language, a labor of love.”

“Wow, you two sure are connected,” Hoseok speaks first again, seeing the rest of his members working to process the new bit of info.

“Platonically, yes.”

“This’ll be good for Yoongi-hyung and his album then! No bad blood exists here!” Hoseok shifts his gaze between Taehyung and Yoongi, pleased with the outcome. The older of the two remains speechless, yet it’s far from a dazed expression. Yoongi is instead deep in thought, the wheels turning in his head.

So maybe it’s true that birds of a feather flock together, he hums to himself. The two of you seem to be social butterflies with a vase full of commonalities. He, on the other hand, prefers his solitude. That’s not to say he’s a hermit or anything though. Hybe hosts a company-wide New Year’s Eve party every single year and he’s made his best effort to attend them all. He mainly mingles with his members, but he still makes sure to small talk with other coworkers. Come to think of it, did he even see you at last year’s New Year’s Eve party?

He can’t remember much from the night except Seokjin scolding him for not wishing him a happy birthday the minute the clock struck midnight. He was a bit tipsy at that point. Taehyung disappeared soon after to make his usual rounds, stopping to chat with everyone in his path. Maybe he took off to talk to you during that time.

Okay, he really needs to stop thinking about you.

"Just to confirm, is everyone still on for Friday night to celebrate D-Day?" Jimin pipes. "I booked us a good place to have some food and drinks.

Taehyung nods, "I am, as long as it's not the same place we saw our CFO and his much younger date feeding each other. I couldn't eat for the rest of that night."

Jungkook fakes a gag before replying. "I'm sorry but does anyone know how is he still working here? Guy creeps me out."

"I swear, I couldn't agree more. Just yesterday he made an egregiously body-shaming comment toward __-nim to someone else on the board. She kept a brave front when she told me, but I'm damn tempted to get him removed from his position myself!" Taehyung's nostrils flare as he shares his frustration, fingers digging into his hips.

Yoongi takes a final chug of his water before abruptly tossing the bottle on the floor. A sharp crack resounds through the space, instantly commanding the authority of the room. “Fifteen minutes is over,” he gruffs. “It might be twenty minutes with all the bickering earlier. We don't have time to be talking about this anymore.”

“Come on now," Hoseok says. "Didn't you hear what Taehyung said? Our CFO really is a class-A jerk. I feel so bad that __-nim has to put up with his bullshit, she doesn't deserve it." His eyes frantically search the room, hoping to rally support.

"Don't worry about that asshole," Yoongi assures, "I'll handle it." He strides over to his choreographed position on the dance floor as if a leader in his own right, the rest of the members following in his steps.

"Just don't kill him, hyung," Namjoon says, resting a hand on the older's shoulder from behind. Yoongi merely snorts lightly in reply.

Yoongi is dead tired, his feet feeling heavier the minute he stands from his studio chair. He could have left hours ago, but here it is nearly 9:30 at night, and he's only just leaving the office.

As he shuffles down the hallway towards the elevator, he notices the eerie silence. It's thick, almost palpable. There's not a soul left in the building this late at night. When the elevator doors open, he leans casually against the metal rail, closes his eyes, and mentally retraces his day.

Overall, it was a decent day, he thinks, productive at best. Skipping dinner to work on his album tracks was an easy decision, but he might be paying for it now given the intense growling of his stomach. Despite his songs being considered perfect by his members, he can't help but tweak each one a final time. It's as if his gut tells him there's still a piece missing from the whole.

All at once, the elevator comes to a sudden stop. Yoongi's eyes shoot open, anticipation flooding his senses. Is someone still here? He listens intently, straining to hear any sound over the faint hum of the elevator. After a few moments that feel like an eternity, the elevator doors slide open to reveal an empty, dimly lit hallway. It's the 16th floor. He hesitates for a second, peering into the shadows, but there’s no sign of anyone. Strange.

Just as the elevator doors begin to close, Yoongi hears a distant, unmistakable voice. "Please hold the door!" you plead, your voice strained with urgency. He responds immediately, stretching out an arm to block the door. "Thank you so much," you say, slipping in beside him, your bag thrown over your shoulder.

Yoongi watches as you enter, curiosity in his eyes. It seems you were of like mind tonight, working late and likely burdened by the extra work he caused for you. The feeling of tension is as clear as it was yesterday, lingering as a reminder of the unspoken discomfort between you both.

But then again, there's that issue Taehyung mentioned, looming in his thoughts. He hadn't realized you overheard the horrendous comment his CFO made about you. No wonder you hurried away from him like a bat out of hell yesterday; you knew he knew. He wouldn't dare shine a light on the situation and risk embarrassing you further; no one needs to relive such a belittling experience. Yet, he's wrestling with the right words to say.

"Heading home, Min PD-nim?" You surprise him by speaking first, voice firm with a touch of gentleness.

Yoongi allows a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips, hoping it'll relieve some tension. "I am, it's been quite a day. What about you?"

You nod, shifting the bag on your shoulder. "Same here. Just had to wrap up a few things before heading out."

He hesitates for a moment, noting how you speak as if it were only a few minutes past five or six in the evening. "I understand. I was working in my studio up until now. I should be back up there tomorrow too," he says, then chuckles lightly, "Sometimes I feel like I should just live up there."

You return the subtle laugh and smile softly at him, your light brown eyes catching his dark ones. It feels like the same prolonged gaze you shared upon first meeting, yet now, it's somehow become easier; perhaps a hint of familiarity.

"By the way," he continues, seizing the opportunity, "feel free to call me Yoongi-ssi. I'm not that formal in case you didn't know." He playfully gestures to his casual attire; tan cargo pants, grey plaid button-down, and sneakers.

You seem hesitant towards the request at first, evident from your delayed response. "Are you sure?" you choke. "I don't want to over step my boundaries."

"There's no need to worry about that," he assures. "We're on equal level aren't we? If we're going to be working side by side for the next eight months give or take, I want us to feel comfortable with each other. Please, call me Yoongi-ssi."

"Okay, I might need some time to get used to that," you say, head nodding, "I'll try calling you Yoongi-ssi from now on."

"There's one other thing too," he pauses, "since we'll be working on D-Day's promotion from start to finish, I'll have many of my own opinions. It's a natural instinct for me, but I don't want to be a hinderance. I don't want anyone else giving you issues either, so I'd like to hear your full thoughts on matters, especially when it comes to important decisions."

"That means a lot Yoongi-ssi, thank you. I'm very grateful that you'd allow me to be a part of this and I'd very much like us to have an equal partnership. This is your album though, so I want to make sure it gets the recognition it deserves in the way you'd prefer."

Yoongi glances at the floor numbers displayed to the right of the elevator doors. Any second now and you'll reach the lobby. He wouldn't mind talking longer, but letting you both get a decent night's sleep is the far better idea at this point.

"I trust that D-Day is in the right hands with you, __ssi," he replies. "It's why I recommended that we work together to promote it in the first place. Bang PD was also confident in the idea. We don't doubt your expertise for a second." He pauses when the elevator doors slide open and allows you to be the first to exit. "Have a good night, okay?"

For the first time, you reciprocate the wish with a full, illuminating smile. It's not a professional one, Yoongi notes, its a real one—as genuine and sincere as his words. He takes it as a sign that the tides may finally be turning for the better. "You too," he hears you say before you push through the large revolving doors and step into the cool night air.

In the evenings that follow, Yoongi finds himself back in his studio as promised, a glass of whiskey in hand. He ultimately decided that if he was going to be here until all hours of the night, he might as well have a cold beverage to keep him company.

As he leans back in his chair, swirling the dark amber liquor in his glass, his mind inadvertently wanders to you. Were you downstairs again? Were you here with him? It would seem that given your unexpected late-night encounter in the elevator, the validity of the idea wouldn't be all that wild or far-fetched.

With each passing minute, as the clock inches closer to the late hours, he finds himself circling back to the same thought. It's as if the possibility of running into you has become a highlight of his night.

Just then, a deep and familiar voice interrupts. "Burning the midnight oil again, hyung?"

Startled, Yoongi looks up to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, a sympathetic smile on his face. Despite it being almost 9 at night, his younger member is nothing short of flawless in appearance.

"Yeah, working on my tracks," Yoongi replies, offering a small smile in return. "What are you doing here?"

Taehyung steps further into the room, hand tucked in his pocket. "I wanted to stay late to keep __-nim company, but I'm not sure how much longer she plans on staying tonight. I was on my way out when I figured I'd stop by to see you too."

"Well, thanks for thinking of me. Want a drink?" He offers, nodding towards the nearby whiskey bottle.

"No, thanks," Taehyung declines politely, shaking his head. "I'll let you enjoy your whiskey in peace. Although, __-nim might take you up on that same offer one of these days. She has a strong taste for it, as you do. Anyway, I'm heading out. Don't overdo it with your music, hyung, they're already perfect."

Once Taehyung leaves the studio, Yoongi's previous string of thoughts return to him tenfold.

So you really are here, he muses, and you happen to like the same throat-burning alcohol. Should he venture downstairs and offer a drink? No, that would probably be too much, and he wouldn't want to interrupt you. Maybe if Taehyung were accompanying him, but not alone; he doesn't share enough rapport with you to merit such a spontaneous drop-in yet.

No, he takes another sip of his whiskey, he'll see you tomorrow morning instead; during your morning meeting. But that gets him thinking—he's still yet to decide on whether or not he'll make an appearance on Fallon's show. He’d done it with his members numerous times, but this would be the first time doing it alone. His album would indeed benefit from the exposure, though.

"Damn it," he curses, raising from his seat. "I work my ass off. I work my ass off for it all!" He then sits back down, finishing off the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, the burn soothing his frustration momentarily. With a resigned sigh, he turns his attention back to his music. "Damn it, I guess I'll do it."

If it weren't for his phone notification reminding him of his 10 am meeting on Friday, Yoongi would have missed it entirely. Normally, he never forgets important events, but several late nights in the studio had predictably caught up with him. He feels extremely sleep-deprived today, his memory more prone to blanking than usual. Waking up with a throbbing headache at 5 am, which hasn't dimmed in the slightest, doesn’t help either. Nonetheless, with only ten minutes to spare, Yoongi has no choice but to pull himself together and head downstairs to the conference room.

"Good morning, Min PD-nim," you greet him as he walks through the door. "We're about to start."

Yoongi drags out a chair and takes a seat. You look nice today, he notes quietly to himself. He makes sure to send a small smile your way before returning the warm greeting. "Good morning __-ssi," he says. "I told you we can speak informally didn't I?"

He waits for your response, easily tuning out the startled reactions from the rest of the team. Most high-ranking officials in the organization expected to be addressed formally by those in lower positions, but here he was, openly requesting you to speak as equals. It was almost unheard of during work hours. He was Min Yoongi, after all.

"Right, of course," you reply, "You'll have to excuse me, Yoongi-ssi. It slipped my mind for a moment."

Yoongi watches as you shuffle a few papers in your hand before continuing. "To get us started, I thought we'd discuss the decision to schedule a spot on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon. Will we be proceeding with this?"

"After mauling it over I think it's a good idea for the album. Do we have an idea of when this would happen?"

"Ideally after the album releases and around the time the U.S. tour begins April 26th. I say we aim for early May. Given Fallon's show's high demand, we'll need to get a jump on this as soon as we can." You shift your attention to your digital marketing and promotions team. "So-hyun, can you reach out to the producers and see what strings we can pull?"

She nods, scribbling a quick note on her writing pad. "We'll reach out today. I'll let you know as soon as we get a response."

"Excellent, thank you. I'm glad to hear you're on board with this Yoongi-ssi. It'll be a great way to promote D-Day and attract a global audience. The more smartly we utilize our resources, the better your album will be positioned in the current market." You take a brief pause to flip through your notes again. "Speaking of resources, we'll need to start booking magazine shoots and interviews. I'm proposing we run cover pages with Marie Claire Korea and Vogue Japan."

Yoongi would be taken aback by the flood of ideas and schedules you're firing at him, all within the first fifteen minutes, if he weren't already aware of your level of competency. This is exactly why he chose you, he hums to himself, your preparedness is impressive, but not surprising.

"I presume this will take place next year?" he asks. "During their spring issues?"

"Absolutely. We'll submit inquiries soon to get the ball rolling, but having the shoots completed now would be premature. Plus, it'll take some time before there are any openings with the companies. I think we should be consistent with tour dates and have Marie Claire go out in May and Vogue ready in August of next year."

"Okay, I'm fine with all that but we'll need to have something exciting released now, don't we? I know I start my weekly lives tonight, but shouldn't there be something more we can do?"

"I agree," you reply. "That's why I wanted to propose a brand new idea that came to me a couple of nights ago while I was drafting promotional content. Anytime idols release a new album or music, it gets published on YouTube, right?"

He nods, curious on where you're heading. "Right."

"Why don't we start a talk show with you as the host Yoongi-ssi? It can allow your fans to see another side of you, as well as the general public. We can invite your BTS members as guests where you can discuss music or past challenges that you've had to overcome—the choice is yours. To make it more interesting for viewers, you can have these frank conversations over a glass of whiskey or soju."

"I like the idea," he says, weighing it in his mind. "What would the timeline look like for this?"

"If we move forward with the idea, I suggest December 5th and we continue it for a max of two months. I know that only leaves us with just under two weeks to get started, but creating the set shouldn't take more an a day or a day and a half. We can also easily shoot a 30 to 60-minute video in an afternoon and publish it on YouTube the following week. Of course, a preview of the show will need to go out beforehand."

"Would we be able to invite other guests to the show? Outside of my members, I mean."

"Yes, feel free to invite whoever you'd like. We can start with the member for the first several episodes but ultimately, welcoming a variety of guests from the same or differing industries would be the goal."

"If I may." A member of the social media team suddenly joins the discussion, "I think Kim Namjoon-nim might be a good person to feature first since Indigo releases December 2nd."

Yoongi nods in agreement. "I can ask him."

"That would be fantastic, actually. If his availability is limited, we could have him guest star for the second or third episode instead," you add. "Hoseok released Jack in the Box this summer so we could have him be the first guest as well."

"Do we have a name yet?"

"Suchwita," you answer without hesitation. "It's a play on words with Daechwita."

"Suchwita..." Yoongi repeats, "Time to get drunk." He chuckles at the last few words, amusing the room, but you remain contemplative.

"How about Suchwita...time to drink with Suga, instead? It's simple and has a slight whimsical nature."

"Sure, let's use that," he answers, noticing that you've already begun jotting down the idea. "Yours is better."

Despite the adrenaline from the productive meeting with you and your team, Yoongi still feels the weight of his sleepless nights bearing down on him. His headache remains relentless and he is in dire need of a moment to himself. Once the team disperses, he slips his phone into his pocket and makes his way outside. The crisp, early morning air should offer him some relief, along with the pack of cigarettes tucked in his pocket.

When he reaches the building's designated smoking area, Yoongi takes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag as he leans against the cool brick wall. As he exhales, watching the smoke dissipate into the clear sky, his thoughts drift back to the meeting. The idea of hosting a talk show, "Suchwita...time to drink with Suga," still lingers in his mind. It’s an intriguing concept, and he can already envision the relaxed, candid conversations that could come from it.

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching on the ground nearby.

"Oh, Yoongi-ssi," you say with alarm, obviously startled by his presence. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I'll come back lat-"

"There's no need for that. Join me if you'd like." Yoongi watches as you hesitate to accept his offer, your feet already positioned to head back inside the building. "Seriously, there's plenty of room, and no matter what they'll tell you, I don't bite."

He allows himself to smirk as you carefully move beside him, only stopping when there is at least two feet of space between you both.

"Thanks," you say, pulling out your own pack of cigarettes and lighting one. "I needed a break too."

"Rough morning?"

"Just busy," you reply, leaning against the wall next to him. "But the meeting went well. We should be able to get the ball rolling now that we have a more finalized plan. I'm glad you liked the idea of starting Suchwita, by the way."

"I do," Yoongi says, nodding. "It has a lot of potential and I'm sure Namjoon will be more than happy to help us out. He's a natural at this kind of stuff. I guess it's why he's our band leader."

"You know you're good at all of this too, don't you, Yoongi-ssi?" You pause, taking a puff of your cigarette. "Even when you have a lot on your mind and a packed schedule, you have a knack for making people feel at ease. It's why I think producing Suchwita will be such a great way to connect with fans and other artists—you'll be the host."

He chuckles, appreciative of the remark. "You really think that? That I make people feel at ease? It's not what a lot of people assume."

"Nah," you reply, tilting your head up toward the clouds. "They're just on the outside looking in. Those who know you, who are around you and talk to you, will agree that you're a pretty calming presence."

"Well, I think we're not so different then." Yoongi shifts his eyes to your face, still looking up at the sky, and smiles softly. "So, what made you come to BigHit? Didn't you say you worked for Atlantic Records? That's a pretty good gig."

"Yeah, it was. I learned a lot there, and man, I was thrilled when I got offered the job as a brand manager. I've always loved music, ever since I was a kid. I could connect so intimately with the lyrics. Music is one of the few things that could soothe me during rough times, and it still does today. I'm sure you can understand."

Yoongi nods, intent on listening to your every word, intrigued by your story.

"Anyway, sorry about getting long-winded here" you chuckle. "I ultimately decided to move on when Bang PD reached out and offered me the marketing manager position for TXT. It gave me the chance to be a more integral part of bringing music to individuals who need it most. It's like we say, 'music for art and healing.' I'd never had the opportunity to manage a completely new set of musicians before either, let alone a group. Plus, being on the global marketing team? I couldn't turn it down."

"It makes sense why you joined us then, and I have to say, it's a blessing you did too. Music is a way of communication for me, a way I can best express my story. That includes my past, present, and hopefully future. After hearing all you shared, I don't think there's anyone else I'd trust with handling my album promos." Yoongi pauses a moment, unsure if he should ask the next thing on his mind. "How come we never met before? I mean really meet and talk?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure myself. But things have a way of falling into place when the time is right, I suppose." You're now looking at him, the intensity of your gaze mirrors his own. A gentle breeze tousles a few strands of your hair and for a split moment, Yoongi begins to understand what Taehyung meant earlier when he said it feels like he's known you his whole life, like a childhood friend he'd reconnected with. While it may not be to that extent for himself, there's a comforting warmth emanating from you that leaves him feeling strangely tranquil.

"Given the circumstances, I feel like we should have at least met through Taehyung by now," he slips out. "Or even at a company-sponsored event."

"Why, do you like me that much, Yoongi-ssi? After five days of working together?" Your playful tease catches him off guard, revealing a side of you he hadn't seen before. It's kind of cute-wait, what?

"I-"

"Sorry," you quickly interject, feeling the need to backtrack. "I shouldn't have said it like that."

"Don't worry, there's no need for apologies. And to answer your question, I like you enough." He hopes you can hear the tease in his own tone as he responds.

You both lapse into a comfortable silence for the next few minutes, the only sounds being the distant hum of traffic and the occasional chirp of a bird. He finds all of it soothing in a way he can't quite explain.

After a few minutes, you turn to him, your expression thoughtful. "You know, if you ever need to talk or just need a break, I'm here. We're teammates now."

Yoongi looks at you, his tired eyes softening with gratitude. "Thanks, __-ssi."

You give him a reassuring smile before pushing off the wall. "I'll let you finish your cigarette. See you later? And by later, I likely mean at 9 or 10 pm in our company elevator."

"Yeah, see you later," he laughs, watching as you walk back toward the building. He takes one last inhale, extinguishing the cigarette and letting the remaining smoke escape his lips slowly.

Yeah, he likes you just enough.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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themissinghand · 22 hours

Note

Mind if I could have a SAGAU request? So the player is burnt out from the game. Like completely. Some characters find a way to your desktop and ask "Why haven't you entered Teyvat lately?" After explaining that you still like/love them, they are disappointed but understandable. Problem is, they can't go back until you launch the game. So the characters sort of become desktop buddies (Showing my age aren't I?) and perhaps helping you out in the various other games the player would play or just vibing as you surf the web, make arr, write stories, etc. As for the characters... Aether and Paimon at least, though adding Kazuha, Yanfei, Freminet, Bennett, Fischl, Childe, and Collei would be cute too.

Genshin Impact Desktop Buddies

Summary: In which your favourite Genshin characters miss you.

Or now you have them as your desktop buddies until Genshin Impact is fixed.

Pairings: Aether & Paimon, Kazuha, Yanfei, Childe and Fischl x Neutral! Reader!

Note: Desktop buddies are ancient now lol, but honestly such a cool thing to have back then. Hope you enjoy!

Warning: None, just fluffy goodness.

★・・・・・・★

You’re tired. Like really tired.

Grinding for artifacts, ascension and weapon materials has worn you out. That includes your wallet too.

They were worth it, no doubt about that, but staring at a screen all day every day could tire anyone out.

And yea, you need sleep.

For the first time in a long time, you decided to shut down the game, and take at least a few day break.

It’s not like it would make a big difference right?

Little did you know, it most definitely would.

Just a few days later, not only did your laptop started acting weird to the point where you thought of buying a new one, Genshin also disappeared from your desktop.

Before you knew it, you see little figures that look oddly familiar on your screen…

“Why haven’t you entered Teyvat lately?”

Aether & Paimon

The player spun around, eyes widening at the sight of Aether and Paimon now out of the game, and...hopping around on your screen.

"Aether? Paimon? How... how are you here?".

Aether stepped forward.

"Our Creator, we've missed you. The others are worried. Why haven't you been to Teyvat?"

You sighed, has it already been a couple of days? Also, since when were you their creator?

"I'm just a little tired-” There was a dramatic gasp from Paimon.

“Tired of us? Aether! Our Creator is tired of us!”

“No! I mean, I still love Teyvat and all of you, but I needed a break and I will go back soon." You quickly responded with reassurance, which luckily appeased the floating companion.

Paimon floated closer, which was like a weird zoom on her face, her eyes softening with understanding.

"We get it, but... we can't go back to Teyvat until you' launch' the game." She says robotically, but appeared confused right after.

“Ah, okay. Give me a minute.”

When you tried to download the game via the Genshin website, it stated that there was a website maintenance.

“Creator! What is happening? The world is changing!” While you were frustrated, Aether and Paimon were jumping and flying everywhere around your screen, exploring how tabs open and following your mouse as you click and hover.

Their curiosity made you smile, and you slowly explain how everything works slowly as with each passing second, they marvel at how advanced your world is.

“No wonder you’re our Creator!”

“What’s this!?” Before you knew it, you pulled up multiple websites, and the one you landed on was Disney+.

“Do you want to watch a movie?”

“What’s that?” Aether asked, curious, followed by Paimon’s cute little head tilt.

(You wished you could just squeeze those cute little cheeks-)

“It’s like telling a story, but you get to see it unfold right before you. Here.” You pull up ‘My Little Mermaid’ and they jump seeing the video move, with everyone inside move.

“Woah…it’s like another world!”

Aether seemed to marvel over it, and for a moment, he wondered, maybe, you could traverse worlds too.

Seeing the stars in their eyes made you feel guilty, as if another misunderstanding arose, but you let them be, as their cute little figures sat down and watched the movie.

You too, watched it with them, and for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel lonely.

Throughout the movie, you patted them on the head with your mouse, which the two seemed to like very much.

(And yes, you did pinch those cute little cheeks)

Kazuha

“I’m glad that you didn’t abandon us, Your Highness.”

Never in your wildest dreams did you expect to see THE Canadian Aether, Kazuha, on your screen, bowing respectfully to you.

“Let me know if I can help you in any way. Although my form is…not in the most helpful form, I will do my best.”

You held back a giggle when you saw a shy little Kazuha looking at himself and then at you shyly, and you really wanted to tease him, but you chose not to.

Instead, you pull up your incomplete art project.

Might as well since you can’t download Genshin now and might have to wait for a few days.

“Actually Kazuha, I was hoping you could help me finish my art.” He immediately perked up, a serious expression overtook his shy one.

“Of course, Your Highness, let me know what you want to draw and I can help you!”

“Great! I’m trying to draw a handsome and cute man, he has platinum blond hair…” Slowly, you list one by one, the characteristics of the person you want to draw.

Kazuha learns fast. Soon, he was able to figure out how your art platform worked.

At first, he hesitated, and didn’t want to interrupt your drawing, but slowly, he learned to add in his thoughts and feedback, and guided your mouse to smooth out the lines, and perfect the colouring.

“He has red eyes…”

Calming and soothing, his voice made you feel at peace, just like how you would hang out with him at the top of a mountain somewhere and listening to the game music.

But this time, he was a little closer, where he felt more real albeit still in your screen.

“Your Highness…isn’t this…me?” His little cheeks was dusted with pink as he quickly covered it with his hands.

“It is you.”

“But why…”

“Because you’re one of my favourites, Kazuha.”

It was all it took for him to become shy again, and he began to cough awkwardly as if to mask his embarrassment.

“Thank you…Your Highness.”

Yanfei

“Phew! We were so scared that you left us Your Eminence! But…I suppose we can’t do anything until you open up Teyvat again, until then, let me know if I can help you!”

Yanfei's cheerful voice made you smile as you leaned against your palm.

Then she turned around, as if taking in her surroundings before looking back at you.

“Your Eminence, if I may, may I help you organize your…space?” You blink, and that was when you notice the amount of files littered across the desktop screen, and you realized that from Yanfei’s view, it must’ve been very unorganized.

“Sure.”

Yanfei brightens at your acceptance, and hopped a little to show her excitement.

“Okay! I’m good at this, so leave it to me! Just follow my lead.”

You were gonna clean up your PC eventually, though you did not expect it would be today.

Either way, Yanfei was like a referee and a police, asking questions but also making sure everything was organized correctly.

In a way, Yanfei felt like a Mom asking her child to clean her room.

Even so, it was so cute to see her marching everywhere like a soldier and asking you to organize it in a neat manner.

“Okay, next, let’s organize this folder!”

“Okay-” Before you knew it, you immediately hit backspace.

“Your Eminence…who was that-”

“Let’s move on.” But Yanfei stared at that folder with an intense stare. Did she see it?

With a little nudge and push with your mouse, Yanfei eventually moved on, but she constantly had a smile on her lips.

It was you cosplaying as her for an event.

Yanfei would be sure to tell her friends back home.

Childe

“Well, I’m happy to hear that, Your Highness! But…what were you doing? Away from Teyvat?”

Childe’s smile was a little bit menacing to look at, so you pull up what you were doing before to distract him.

And it did, surprisingly.

“What is this?”

“It’s a game called Valorant.”

You start the game, and once you get prepared, he too was locked in.

With each attack and maneuver, Childe slowly became hyped up by your skill and admired it.

“Your Highness! Why didn’t you tell me before?!” He became to gush, albeit trying to remain civil as he looked between you and your character in game.

“Again.” In the end, he asked (begged) for another show.

This time, you changed your agent to someone else, and once again, showed how skilled you are even in melee, which Childe initially advised against.

But you blew his expectations away.

“Your Highness, can I duel you?”

You blink, before you laugh jokingly, but you knew in real life, Childe would absolutely crush you.

But you leave him be, and instead start another game.

Honestly, Childe would be a great hype man.

Fischl

“Ah, of course! How the stars seem to be against us this time…regardless! With me, Fischl von Luftschloss Narfidort here, there is nothing you need to worry about!”

As expected, Fischl is quite the actor and storyteller as she spews on about how she faced something similar before, something just as interstellar as this.

You don’t mind it, after all, if you did, you wouldn’t have Fischl on your team the entire time would you?

Fischl deserves more love is what you find in the fandom, and while she may be annoying at times, you found her passion admirable, and even a little sad when you think this is her way of happiness.

So you respected that, and listened as she rambled on, and moved as if she was on the stage.

Perhaps…she would do good on stage with Furina in Fontaine.

“Fischl, I do need your help on something.” You asked when she finally finished, and she straightened herself with grace as expected from the Prinzessin der Verurteilung.

“I need your help with my stories. I want you to create elaborate and dramatic narratives for everyone to love.” She froze for a moment, but her grin immediately hid her surprise.

“Why of course, I would be delighted. Allow me!” With just a few seconds to think, she immediately began her storytelling.

With her little graceful steps and hops, she almost dances away, but she doesn’t stop sharing her fantasy story full of magic, fate, and stars.

It was hard to keep up, but you didn’t want to disappoint her, so you did your best to type her word by word.

Luckily, she seemed to slow down to match your pace, as if the two of you were a duet with the piano and violin.

When she stops, you end off the story with a dramatic click, and you match her prideful smile.

Truly, Fischl is a character not everyone can handle, but that’s alright.

After all, you love her for who she is, and maybe, Fischl appreciated that more than anything else.

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carmenized-onions · 1 day

Text

Doing Too Much. | House Call

logline; Appliances can reach their breaking point, when you push them too far. Same goes for people.

[!!!] series history, this is the sixth; First, Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth

[New Thing!!] Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin' added to.

portion; 4.8k

possible allergies; eatin' meat, besides that, we're pretty good actually. did somebody say calm before the storm....?

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (no pronouns, but girl is said a couple times, i believe.)

After this chapter, I'm entering my era of couch hopping as I move to a new city n start a new job. I'm really excited for the chapter after this one, so hopefully I actually get time to write it-- But that's just my lil warning if you're left rereading for like two weeks </3 But I'll def be stalking my activity/inbox so please do yap to me

Monday morning. The next morning after everything. Well, closer to noon than morning, at this point. You’re supposed to have, what, a work ethic this week? After the most insane weekend of your life? No. You’re lazing around and doing fuck all. No matter who calls. Well… Not completely no matter, but like, most people.

When you check your phone, you’ve gotten a text at 6:43 A.M. Unknown number. Ah. Carmen. You put him in as Carmy, and put his nickname as ‘Mister New York’. Listen, old nicknames Mikey ingrained in your brain die hard.

It’s a simple text, deeply un-romantic.

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

Then, four lines of four perfect categories. Flawless. Purple first, even. The hardest category. And then,

‘Morning’

Stupid. Incredibly stupid, to be enamoured, by this. You reply,

‘Good morning!’

‘Connections Puzzle #342’

And then a failed jumble of coloured squares, you get one out of four categories. What the fuck is 'dogleg' and since when has it meant taking a sharp turn? You follow that up with,

‘Fuck you.’

Aside from Carmen, you’ve actually gotten texts from a couple people. Your boss at Eden’s asking if you’re alright. What the fuck did Cicero say? Oh well. You tell him you’ve ‘been better, been worse. Will be okay by next week.’ Perfectly vague, and you still get wired your cheque and tip out. Alright, maybe Uncle J does deserve your free labour.

Speaking of, the next text on your itinerary is from Uncle J, just info for the winter nuptials of Vinnie and Mira. Oh yeah. Three-hundred guests, you remember that part. You also remember him saying it’d be an ‘easy gig’… He did not mention you’d be the only bartender. This is going to be a nightmare. Oh well. You text back that despite it being an open bar you get to put out a tip jar. He just reacts to it, ‘haha’. That sounds like a yes to you.

And then, adorably, a selfie from Syd, wearing the collar and pins you’ve gifted her, under a green sweater. Cutie. You hype her up accordingly.

Besides some texting though, Monday is relatively unbusy. No calls. No emergencies. No businesses knocking down your door for your services. You’re thankful for a break, letting the inertia set in, finally being able to relax after fix after fix after—

Tuesday comes, you get sent another perfect round of New York Time’s Connections around half past six in the morning, along with a good morning text. And again, you fuck it up. You send him your Wordle results this time, as an act of rebellion. You then ask,

‘How’s reworking the menu going?’

‘Hard to say’

‘Ask me tomorrow’

God he’s an awful texter. Horrifically dry. You know you’re down bad beyond a belief when you find that endearing. You spend Tuesday drowning and pruning your plants after depriving them for so long.

Plus working on your art piece for Carmy. You’re pulling out old film photos, a canvas, and a load of bleach—It’s like high school art class all over again— Surprise surprise, the handyman who loves to up-cycle is a mixed media artist. Who could’ve guessed?

While trimming a photo, an exterior of The Beef, a picture frame on your wall falls down behind you, you tut, turning your head to it, chastising the air. “Mikey! It’s a copy, relax! I’ve still got the original print…”

There’s every chance you’re insane— No, you’re definitely insane. But you’re allowed to be, your best friend died, you’re allowed to talk to the air as if he’s still around. Sometimes the timing of doors swinging open for you and things falling down are just too uncanny to not be a ghost.

Wednesday arrives, and again, just after 6:40, Connections results. And the Wordle, this time; plus a ‘Good Morning’. It looks like this is simply just your thing, now. Every morning, the second both of you get up, you send each other puzzles and wish a good morning. You don’t mind that. It’s nice to have a ‘thing’, with someone. With Carmen.

Part way through the day, around two o’clock, you get another text. Two, actually. From Carmen, in quick succession.

‘Are you busy?’

‘Don’t worry if you’re busy. Can call Fak’

You’re quick to reply, frankly deeply offended.

‘Are you fucking firing me????’

‘I’m gonna get ready. Text me details’

While getting dressed, you watch three dots bubble, bubble, bubble… He’s taking forever, just don’t look at it, you’ll get anxious for no reason. No jumpsuit today, you’ve got to switch it up every now and again. Navy cargo pants with the perfect number of pockets and zippers, and an orange Chicago’s Kindest shirt, tucked in. Hm. Looking in the mirror, hickey is still there. Lighter, but there. Foundation? No. You’ll sweat it off and that’ll just bring up more questions. If Syd asks you’ll just tell her you fell down the stairs… On your neck. She's not the type to confront anything remotely sexual anyways.

Speaking of Syd, before Carmen can text you back, she calls you, which is fair— Don’t leave a Carmen to communicate. You stick your phone in the crux of your neck and answer while you pack your utility belt. This feels nearly nostalgic. “What’s fucked?”

Carmen is in the background; you can hear the tail end of a sentence, grumbling. “—Don’t call—”

“My life.” She responds without missing a beat. “And also, Carmy’s stove and oven.”

“Oh.” You squint. “What the fuck happened?”

“Overuse? I actually don’t fucking know, it just stopped working. We plugged it in and out— He even reset his apartment’s breakers. I dunno what’s wrong with it. It’s probably got something to do with him putting his fuckin’ jeans in there.”

“…He what?”

You can hear him in the background, again, clearer this time, grimacing, “What are you doing to me?”

Syd does not mind him at all, continuing, “I know! He’s fucking weird!”

“He’s extremely weird.” You like him a lot. “I’ll be over soon, were you guys like, mid-cooking?”

“Yessir.”

“Christ, alright… I think I have a dual burner hot plate laying around somewhere, you want me to bring it—”

They both speak clearly this time, together, “Please.”

You’ve got a pile of things to give to them anyways, and maybe you miss Carmy’s face. Just a little.

Instead of just buzzing you in, Carmy comes down for you. When he sees you through the door window, carrying a cardboard box, he almost breaks into a full run. He’s somehow opening the door, grabbing the box from your hands, and chastising you all at the same time. “You should’ve left it in the car, I would’ve—”

You step in through the entryway and kiss his cheek, cutting him short. You can’t help yourself, it’s the first time you’ve seen him since and you feel like a giddy teen. The teenage girl in your head is no longer just in your head, she’s fully manning the station. “You’re very sweet. But it’s also not heavy.”

When he continues to be frozen, the regret starts to mount, “Is—Sorry, is that okay to do—?”

“It’s very okay to do.” He manages to reply, with haste. Nodding to himself. “It’s good.” He nods again, then marches off, expecting you to follow to the elevator. You do.

“What floor?”

“Eighth.” He sniffs; you press the button. He stands next to you, looking you up and down. He astutely observes. “Orange.”

“Yeah.” You smirk, looking back at him, “Turns out, businesses can have two colours in their designs.”

What’s a little roasting of fellow small businesses between two not just friends?

“Oh yeah?” Coy, smirking. Oh no. You’ve gotta get the teen off the controls. He tilts his vision to stare at your jacket. Ah. You opted to wear your Carhartt instead of his jean jacket.

“Didn’t wanna give Syd more questions.” She already guessed you’re a sugar baby, you don’t want to wrap Carmen in on that too. Especially since ideally in a month or two he’ll be your boss. Hm. The Bear is going to need an HR.

He hums, nodding. “We’re not telling Syd?”

“What’s there to tell?” You grin, crossing your arms. “You suddenly have free time, Bear?”

He takes a beat, thinking, then just takes a deep frustrated yet amused exhale. “I’m gonna fuckin’…” He can’t think of a threat. “…Get you.”

You snort, “You’re gonna get me?”

“Fuck you—!” “You’re gonna fuckin’ get me, Bear?”

“I—” He tries to hold a straight face, it doesn’t work. “Yeah, I am.”

“Can’t wait.” You nod, grinning, turning back to the doors. “You told me to ask how menu’s going tomorrow.”

“I did.”

“It’s tomorrow.” The door dings, opening on the eighth floor; you step out together. He switches his grip to hold the box in one arm. Alright Biceps, we don’t need to brag here...

“It’s… We’re getting there.” He grimaces. “Syd’s recipes are always… Almost perfect.”

“Ah.” You nod, you know your friend well enough to know where this is going. “And she fucks up one thing hard?”

“Mhm.”

“And when you tell her it’s okay and give her a hand she just feels worse?”

He nods. A touch surprised you’re right on the dot so quickly. “Everything ends up perfect, but I think she’s finding the edits…”

“Demoralizing.” You walk down the hall together, he nods. “I know what she needs, I’ll find an in.”

“You always do.” He hums, you walk just a touch ahead of him, unknowingly walking past his door. He pulls you back by the back of your jacket, making you stumble back into him. This seems to be this villain’s intention; as when you turn around, he’s quick to grab your chin and kiss you.

“It’s very good.” He emphasizes, again, before opening his door and acting like everything’s totally normal and fine. Since when did he turn the tables and make you the desperate one? Son of a bitch.

Ah. Actually, subtract any attraction you had in this moment— He lives like this? Books on the floor, by the window. Jeans on the dinner table, because they were in the oven. The kitchen actually looks alright— You’re almost certain that’s purely for utilitarian purposes while they’re working on the menu. This motherfucker better have a bed frame or him asking you to sleep over would be downright offensive. God, he’s wonderful. God, you’re an idiot.

You find Syd at the table, moping, head in hands. Carmen sets the box down, sitting beside her. You pat the top of her head. She silently moves one of her hands to go over yours. You nod. The silent exchange of girls who know.

“Yeah?”

She nods, grumbling. “Yeah.”

Carmen has no fucking idea what’s happening and he’s never been more intrigued by a near wordless social interaction in his entire life. What? You’re not even making eye-contact. What the fuck is happening?

You fish through the box with your free hand, grabbing a pot. You place it in front of Syd. “Look.”

She peeks through her fingers. A tiny but flourishing nursery pot of basil sits before her. You speak. “You’re gonna hyper-fixate on this basil I’m gifting you, and then you’re gonna crack back into it with the dual burner until I’m done fixing the oven.”

She nods, putting her hands in her lap, “Yes, Chef.”

You pull out a second nursery pot, setting it down for Carmen. “For you.”

“What for?”

“Basil grows like a motherfucker and it’s getting unhinged. I need to start pawning off to people that’ll make good use of it. A-K-A, chefs.” You look at Syd, pointedly, “Talented chefs.”

You hand off the heating pad— Wrapped in brown paper with a card tied to it, to Carmen. “For Nat.” You add, when he looks confused, “Can’t imagine I’ll see her sooner than you will.”

He looks even more confused, when you hand him a spray bottle full of reddish water. It’s one of the good spray bottles, too. Continuous. Carmen wouldn’t know the difference, but you do. “Rosemary. —Water, that is.”

He squints; you clarify, gesturing to your own hair. “You mentioned, losing hair, so— Thought I’d make some, with the trimmings of rosemary I had. Got ginger and cloves in it, too.”

Why have you trapped him in hell? You’ve remembered such a specific off hand from days ago and acted on it? And he can’t express the grandiose level of affection he feels right now? Are you serious? You’re the devil. You’re absolutely the devil. He just coughs out a ‘thanks’.

“And, the pièce de résistance,” You pull out the old ass, boxed up double burner countertop stove. “A stovetop that ideally fuckin’ works. It was my single claim to fame in my college dormitory.”

Carmen’s already opening the box. Sydney smirks, curiosity peaked. “Was that legal?”

“You a fuckin’ RA?” You grin, poking her forehead. “It was not. And that’s exactly why everyone loved me— Didn’t serve them fuckin’ hot pockets.”

The configurations of Carmen’s apartment would be great for literally any occasion besides the current one. The kitchen is narrow, and so, when you pull out the stove to check the back, there’s an estimated no fucking room left for Carm and Syd, so they sit at the dinner table with your stove top. You’d think they’d look like they’re doing a cute hot pot. No. They look like two conflicted and confused twelve-year-olds working on a science project.

So do you, honestly. Wiring is definitely more your speed than plumbing, but if you’re being honest, this is the first oven you’ve worked on without your dad, and you’re having a hard time remembering everything. There’s a lot of embarrassed Googling on your phone, when you're sure they’re not looking. They can’t know you’re even slightly incompetent!

You’re pretty sure it’s just a couple damaged wires, fried from overwork— Easy fix, if you had wire. You don’t. Slightly harder fix. But soldering is your bitch really, you’re in your bag. You look stupid, wearing chunky goggles and a respirator, but you’re in your bag, baby! What’s that one saying? Skills make you hot? That’s not a saying.

But it is true. When Carmen’s able to peer into the kitchen, quickly looking over his shoulder when Syd takes a moment to write a measurement or direction down, you look stunning. Respirator and all. You just look correct there, in the kitchen. His kitchen. So stunning he feels guilty. Do you find it annoying? Constantly fixing errors behind him? Probably. You say it’s not a lot of work, but that can’t be true.

“How’s The Bear, ‘sides menu rework?” You ask, raising your voice in the kitchen.

“S’good.” Carmen. “I’m in hell.” Syd. Not hard to tell which statue is lying, here.

Syd stutters on, “Nat’s takin’ care of baby Michaela— Which is very good and—and cool, actually.”

“But?”

“But we’re back to handling the business side entirely ourselves, for like— The next month. Maybe two? Fuck, are we doing the wedding without her?” Sydney almost burns her sauce, Carmen’s quick to move it off the burner.

He mutters, “Don’t even start to think about it. It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna figure it out.”

“Oh yeah, wedding— Have you gotten your menu yet?” You call from the kitchen, muffled by your respirator.

“Oh my god!” Sydney exclaims, and Carmen is wincing. She can’t tell you things are going wrong; doesn’t she know that? You’ll fix it, if things are wrong. You always fix it. Fix him. You’re gonna put him in your phone as Carmy Bad News. If you haven’t already. Start a support group with Tif.

Syd continues, “They’re so fucking particular and somehow also vague—Like, ‘we want salmon and chicken’ for main course— What kind of preparation? ‘Surprise us!’ Okay, how about roasted chicken—? ‘Mmmm, no, not that’. I’ve been told ‘non quello’ at least ten times in the last four days.”

No, you’re witty. Bad News Bear. Fuck, that’s definitely his name in your phone, isn’t it?

“Fuckin’ nightmare. Y’know, I’m the only fucking bartender? For like three hundred guests? Thank God they’re not asking for a custom cocktail or anything, I’d lose my shit.”

Sydney laughs, and she steps back into her flow easily, reducing the sauce without burning it, now. She looks more serene than she has in days. What? How are you doing that? What are you doing? Are you casting a spell?

“Can you even fucking imagine what their couples’ cocktail would be?”

You groan from the kitchen, laughing in return, “Not you too, Syd! Must you make me work!?”

“C’mon maestro, make a cocktail!”

“Bleh. Uh… They give long island iced tea energy, but it’s a wedding so— Like a boozier negroni?”

“That sounds fucking disgusting.”

“I didn’t say it’d be good, I said it’d be their couples’ cocktail.” You’re both giggling, like school girls. It’s like you said— You become teens, together.

Despite the fact that Syd is making an incredibly complex dish, and you’re fixing an oven—His oven— Ridiculing the other impossible tasks set out for the both of you… Despite all of that, you’re laughing.

Carmen is, what, nearly thirty? A restaurant owner, with a full crew, who attends Al-Anon, and is only now truly registering the power of an unsolvable burden being shared. Not fixed, shared. Talking. Laughing. God, this all comes so easy to you, doesn’t it?

You finish soldering, test each burner, and the oven— All working, thank God. You quietly cheer in the kitchen, removing your respirator and goggles. “We’re good here! Fixed!”

“C’mere!” Syd calls out to you, and so you do. Eagerly. She hands you a fork. Unprompted, she does the thing. You’d missed the OG, really.

“Beef Oxtail, pressed in a Foie Gras casing, seared. Basted in a King Oyster mushroom sauce. Pureed greens on the side.”

“I never know what the fuck you’re saying.”

She pushes the side of your face with the palm of her hand. “Put it in your mouth and chew.”

You want to make some sort of kink joke, but you respect the already struggling man in the room and take a bite. Hm. Hm. You put a finger over your mouth, swallowing. “...Now it might just be my unrefined palate.”

“That’s why we have you try it.” Carmen pipes in. Syd nods, following. “It’s important to know the baseline.”

“…It’s got like,” You hand the fork to Syd so she can try it, while you think. “A bit of a bitter aftertaste? Which might be the… goal?”

Syd spits it out the second it touches her mouth, she shouts your name, your actual name— A rarity. She’s so terrified that she forgets the Walk-In bit she’s been in on all week. “I just fuckin’ poisoned you— Oh my god?! Are you good? That was— Fuck! You swallowed that?!”

She grabs your face like a concerned mother, also maybe to check if you have superpowers, you’re not sure. All you know is there’s a golden opportunity to make another sex joke and you have to hold back. Life is so unfair.

Carmen takes a quick taste, also spitting it out. “I’ve got it, Chef, don’t sweat.” Immediately looking to the drafted recipe card to see where they went wrong.

Syd almost squeezes your cheeks like a stress ball but thinks better of it, letting go, groaning, beyond frustrated at this point. “You shouldn’t have to fix it— I should fuckin’ have it, at this point.”

Carmen's trying to ignore how much he relates to the sentiment. He's not the focus, right now.

“We make mistakes, Chef—” “Syd.” You snap your fingers, pointing to her, interrupting Carmen. “Can you help me grab something, from my car? It’s kinda big.”

Carmen’s quick to chime in, already going to untie his apron, “I can—”

“No!” You look at him pointedly, trying to communicate through look alone. He kind of gets it? “It’s… Girl stuff.”

Syd squints. “You need me to help you carry a big girl thing?”

“…Are you fuckin’ helping or are you gonna poke holes?”

“What are you actually dragging me out for?”

“Technically I do actually need your help grabbing something, it’s just not a girl thing. And it's also not from my car.”

“Oh?”

You walk out of Carmen’s building with his keys, and gesture out to every apartment buildings treasure trove— The spot everyone throws their furniture when they move out and don’t know what else to do with it.

“Bookshelf!” There is actually one pristine looking bookshelf, a cheap one, definitely just something from IKEA. But it’s better than the fucking floor. “I spotted it on my way in, we’re gonna bring it up for Carm.”

She groans, hating the concept of manual labour, but still walks with you and grabs one end anyways. “Why didn’t you make Carmen carry his own bookshelf?”

“Because you need a fuckin’ pep-talk.” You pick the other end of the bookshelf up. It’s thankfully not that heavy. You walk backwards so you can keep facing Syd.

“…I don’t—” “Yes the fuck you do.”

She kisses her teeth, you frown. “What’s up, Adamu?”

“It’s just fucking annoying— I keep, I keep fucking it up. I keep—Keep—”

“Doing too much.”

She gives you a look, ‘are you serious?’, type look. You continue. “You’re doing too much. You’re not cooking like you.”

“I can cook like Michelin—”

“I never said you couldn’t. Watch your step.” You interrupt, walking over a bump in the sidewalk. “You can do star level shit, Syd. But that’s a grade, not a type.”

She kind of reels, at that. You continue, “You cook great complex dishes, you always have, I’ve tried them. But now, you’re all caught up trying to prove some shit, to Carmen, to—to— Who gives stars? The tires guy?”

She laughs, almost dropping the bookshelf. “Yeah, I’m trying to impress the tires guy.”

“Fuck you.” You snort, stepping up the stairs. “What I’m trying to say is, you should make what you want to eat, not what you think you should eat.”

She nods, you stop on top of the stairs, both taking a second to breathe. “…Thanks.”

You nod back, hands on your knees for a second before standing back up, opening the lobby door. “I’ll always be your cheerleader, Syd.”

“More like coach.”

“Can you let me have one hot girl career, please?”

When you get back up to Carmen’s, he’s already grimacing. You and Syd are split apart by the bookshelf standing between you in the hall. “Fuck is this?”

“It was free and I’ll clean it!” You press your hands together pleading. “C’mon, you can even put your jeans in it!”

“Jeans on a bookshelf?”

You turn to Syd. “Better than the oven.”

“I think he’s doing that to dry them.”

“I think it’s ‘cause he doesn’t own a dresser.”

“It’s both.” Carmen clicks his tongue, single-handedly picking up the bookshelf and carrying inside. Alright, does he need to show off this much? Whatever. It’s definitely not making you feel any type of way at all.

You squint, watching him walk further in his apartment, and then to Syd. You speak at the same time. “He stays doing too much.”

As promised, you wipe down the bookshelf, making sure it’s free of grime and roadside pests. Syd and Carmy work together in the kitchen, with a now functioning oven. You load the shelf up with the books on the floor— Thankfully they’re piled into categories already, so you don’t have to bother him about that.

You’re tempted to clean his living room, but that would probably be rude, right? Don’t want him to take it as you saying he’s a slob. But they are taking a while… Alright, you’ll just throw out trash. You won’t fold blankets or pick up dishes or anything. Just trash! No big! He can’t be mad at you for that.

You pile together the garbage, then sneakily throw it out in the kitchen trash can as fast as you can, before he looks. He’ll think he’s just sleep cleaning, or something. “How’s it goin’ in here?’

Carmen pipes up, eyes focused on the dish as Syd plates it. “Good.” Syd holds the plate in one hand, and silently corrals you with the other to sit at the table. You do. She sets it down the plate before you, handing you a fork and knife.

You look up at her expectantly. She shakes her head. “Eat first, this time.”

She looks serious, so you nod, cutting into the dish. It’s different from the last one. Instead of oxtail, it’s pastry. Or at least, a puff pastry exterior. You’re pretty sure it’s Pillsbury, you remember Carmen buying that, the other day, on your excursion.

Inside it, you believe is the beef oxtail, there’s other things, too. Some sort of sauce, some greens— Oh well, no time to bask in the cross section because Syd looks like she’s about to explode. You take a bite. You nod, chewing.

Syd starts, “Searing the duck caused the bitter taste— So instead of- Of searing the outside, I coated it in the mushroom sauce, the greens— Not pureed, this time, for texture. Your basil, too. There’s a crumble of feta, for a subtle tang. And then wrapped it all together in puff pastry, and baked. It’s sort of like, a varied take on a beef welling—”

“You made a fucking gourmet hot pocket?” You swallow, wheezing. The second you say this, Sydney’s focused face beams, laughing, like she’s just pulled off the most perfect prank of all time.

Carmen was so intrigued and focused on Sydney’s explanation, that you watering it down to hot pocket and being right makes his entire system reboot. He cannot stop smiling, aghast. He's been helping Syd make a hot pocket for the past hour?

“I told you to make what you want and—” wheeze “—you make a fucking hot pocket?!” You double down, laughing with her, she’s trying to defend herself but she can’t stop wheezing in tandem.

“I— I can’t fuckin’ stand you!” You snort, covering your face with your arm. “I hate your ass, oh my God, Syd.”

“Did—” snort “What did you think?” She recovers, slowly but surely.

You shake your head, handing her the fork. “It’s sick, Syd, obviously, it’s fucking perfect… Chef.” You tack on at the end, almost forgetting. “I’m not gonna be able to have an actual hot pocket, ever again. You’ve ruined my life.”

She takes a bite for herself, nodding. She does a small cheer, pumping her fist. “Let’s fucking go.” She points her fork at you— Purely on muscle memory, and you both instantly remember the days of her testing out recipes and you pairing them on first taste. She’d point her fork to you like a microphone. It was a fun game between two nerds.

It’s a reflex response for you, even now. “Barolo. Savory, dry, red. A young one, though. Light body. Could also do an Amarone, if you’re not buried in money.”

She hands the fork off to Carmy to try it, then writes the pairings down, mumbling, amusement still in her voice. “How the fuck do you do that?”

“I honestly don’t know. I think I have some wires crossed.”

“Fire, Chef.” Carmen swallows his bite. “We cannot call it a hot pocket on the menu.”

“Then what’s the point!?”

Leaving Carmen’s place is objectively the most awkward experience— But also the funniest. You offer to wait for Syd and drive her home— You’ll need a second to pack anyways while they make their business plans.

When you do offer, of course, Carmen stutters short, almost asking you again to sleep over or at the very least stay late, but saves it, realizing himself.

Syd accepts the ride offer. You pack up and wait for her to be done. When she is, Carmen offers to carry your things down with you both, in which Syd accuses him of thinking you’re both weaklings— He does not have a defense case for this, he has to let you go. You can tell he wants to kiss you at the door, and you do too. Sadly, you’re equally down bad, but he can’t know that…

You say your goodbyes, Syd helps you load your tools and hotplate in the trunk of your car. Your phone vibrates. Text from Mister New York.

‘Look up I’m on the balcony. 8 floors.’

You look up, sure as shit, he’s out there, cigarette in mouth. Unlit. He waves, you wave back. He texts again, in rapid succession.

‘Thank you’

‘For helping Syd’

‘And the oven and the hot plate and the bookshelf (not necessary)’

‘nbd + I think it’s v necessary’ Does Carmen understand acronyms? You’re risking it, here.

‘and cleaning my trash’ Sonofabitch.

‘ah fuck. I don’t think you’re messy!!! I just wanted to help!!!’

‘I know. You’re you. Be safe.’

Oh goddammit, stupid dry texter, saying something so gah. You jump as Syd taps the roof of your car behind you, getting your attention. Watching from a far distance, Carmen laughs, though you don’t notice it.

“Are we going?”

“Yes! Sorry!” You hurriedly pocket your phone, waving one last time as you get in your car. Syd sits beside you in shotgun, her pot of basil sat safely in her lap. You drive off.

You’re half way down the road, when Syd pipes up again. “So y’all are fucking, correct?”

You almost brake check the guy behind you.

“How do you fuckin’ do that!?”

the opening is dedicated to my dear friend and i who have sent our wordle results to each other everyday for the past like year and a half.

Things of note, one - people usually skip the shit up top-- I made a spotify playlist! Listen if you like, I'm not your dad.

Two, I know this is a self insert right, i know what I set myself up for-- Do you know the hell i am in as a syd x carmy girl writing scenes with both of them and it NOT being them? What have I done, to myself? The only coping mechanism I have is imagining in this universe Syd is a lesbian. And that is helping.

The hot pocket recipe-- Who fucking knows, if that would taste good? I think it would? In theory? I fucked with a dish from Daniel NYC, to make it into a bit. Would it work? ....Beef wellingtons do, I can't see why this can't???? Idk man.

Rosemary water w cloves and ginger does fucking work btw. I am part of the so stressed out i lost my hair brigade. Also basil does grow like a motherfucker.

We're seein' a little bit of that tenseness that comes with being in an 'almost relationship' both of them feel like they've got something they can fuck up now. Poor birds. They'll be okay. Probably.

I'm really excited for the next chapter, I don't wanna give shit away, but it's gonna be,,,,,, different. I haven't seen anyone try this kinda formatting on tumblr before, and I'm excited to see what you think. Between my moving and how complex the choreography of it is gonna be, it's gonna be a much longer minute between this chapter and the next, I fear. But listen, you already knew your ass was gettin' spoiled with a chapter every two days. Hehe.

As always, please come yap to me in the replies/inbox/dms/reblogs. I love to hear thoughts!! It sustains me, baby!!

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

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 day

Text

Call a Truce

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: You and Tim have a rivalry that began when you were rookies. Years later, you continue competing in everything you do, even when you're helping Tim get out of a dangerous situation.

Warnings: Tim gets hurt (tased, cut, broken ribs, goes to the hospital), angst, mentions of robberies, fluff! pretty standard Rookie warnings I think

Word Count: 3.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“You’re going to pass your rookie exam,” your TO said on your second day of training. “But there’s one thing I need you to do. Score higher than Bradford.”

And, like that, a rivalry was born.

Years after you started competing against Tim Bradford to be the best rookie, your rivalry has only strengthened. Everyone in your station knows about your competitive natures, but to outsiders and visitors, it seems like you and Tim hate one another. There has never been any real animosity, only competition and everything that comes with it.

“We’re riding together today,” Tim says.

You turn quickly, surprised to see him standing beside you. “What?” you ask.

“I just talked to Grey. We’re riding together, but he wouldn’t tell me why. Something to do with the string of robberies, I presume.”

“And he thought you would need help from a competent cop,” you reply with a nod. “I guess I can make time for that.”

“If that’s what you need to hear to actually try for once. I could find the guy on my own faster than you can get out of the shop.”

“We’ll see about that,” you scoff.

“We certainly will. The first one to spot anything gets a point, making contact gets five, and the arresting officer gets fifty. Deal?”

You look at Tim’s hand and wrinkle your nose in faux disgust before you shake. “You’re going down, Bradford.”

“And you’ll break the fall, boot.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Bradford!” Grey yells. “Let’s go! Roll call doesn’t wait for you.”

You smirk as you step backward toward the door. “Such a bad cop, Bradford. Keep your social schedule on your own time.”

“You wish you were part of my social schedule,” he counters.

“At least you’d have one then. When I have fifty-six winning points, maybe I’ll invite you to the celebration.”

Tim rolls his eyes and follows you inside. He can’t remember the last time he did anything with you that wasn’t a competition. You’re both good cops, though, so as long as you get the job done, your work rivalry isn’t hurting anyone.

“What’s it like?” you ask from the passenger seat.

“What’s what like?” Tim replies.

“Being a control freak that still loses.”

“Cute,” Tim mumbles. “At least I didn’t have to wear long sleeves for an extra month like someone I know.”

“Yeah, Lucy didn’t deserve that,” you agree. “You’re just a terrible TO, so you knew she wasn’t ready.”

“Or maybe she picked the wrong cop to idolize,” Tim snaps.

“Tim? Did you just admit that Lucy thinks I’m a better cop than you?” you ask happily. “Because I knew she had good taste, but I wasn’t sure if you knew that.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a suspect instead of obsessing over how people see you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be driving instead of getting angry because I’m right?”

Tim takes a deep breath and returns his attention to the road. You push his buttons, but he pushes you just as hard. Everything between you is competitive, there’s a deep-seated need to prove that you’re better because of how your TOs treated you in your boot days.

Your phone rings, and you wave Tim off before he can tell you not to answer it.

“Detective Lopez,” you greet, though you say it toward Tim. “How can I help you?”

“Can you come back to the station or are you too busy flirting- I mean competing with Tim?” she asks.

“I can come back. Tim?” you begin.

“Got it,” he interjects softly. He hits his blinker and enters a turn lane to take you back.

“I’ll be there in ten,” you tell Angela.

“Thank you. We got a lead on where the stolen goods may be stashed but we’re shorthanded.”

“No problem.”

Angela ends the call, and you look at the road as you think about the details of the case. Something isn’t adding up. They know plenty about the suspect, but not where he lives or where all of the stolen property ended up. The guy seems homeless.

“Guess she figured out that you’re not going to find anything out here that I can’t find alone,” Tim muses.

“Or she knows that I’ve got a better chance of blowing this case open if you’re not aimlessly dragging me around the city.”

“What’d she say?” Tim asks.

“They found a lead and don’t have enough people to trace it. You can ride alone, as far as they know, so I get to track down tips.”

“I’ll find our guy before you find anything helpful,” Tim declares.

“Yeah, right!” you argue, turning in your seat to face him. “First one to find something that the detectives deem useful wins.”

“Wins what?”

You purse your lips as you think. There are not many rewards left that you and Tim haven’t already competed for. Maybe it shouldn’t be a material item, you think.

“The loser admits, in roll call tomorrow, that the winner is a better cop,” you suggest.

“It would be fun to hear you say that,” Tim says quietly. “Deal.”

He extends his right hand over the console, and you shake it firmly before sitting back in your seat. When he arrives back at the station, you exit the shop and salute him sarcastically before you walk inside. You begin to worry very quickly that the lead Angela called you back for may not be anything. No matter what, you have to beat Tim because you can’t lose.

“Control, this is Bradford, can you get me information on who owns 1219 Larga Avenue?” Tim radios.

“1219 Larga Avenue is leased by Corporeal Corporations,” control answers.

“A shell corporation,” Tim says to himself.

He’s been following a vehicle matching one listed on the case report. It isn’t the suspect’s vehicle, but one of his acquaintances’. Tim parks down the street and watches the house from his side mirror for several minutes. Whoever was driving the car seems to be staying for a while.

“Control, this is Bradford. I’m approaching the house, code 6-Charles.”

“Assistance on standby.”

Tim opens his door and then hesitates. In his uniform, he has no chance of getting close to anyone in that house. He could approach the house next door to gather intel about how many people are inside, but that could spook them and get innocent people hurt. The third option, one he will never admit to learning from you, is to play the part of a stupid cop at the wrong house.

“Officer!” a woman yells across the street.

Tim gestures for her to quiet before he closes his door and walks across the street. “How can I help you, ma’am?” he asks.

“There was this car that kept driving up and down the road yesterday! It was a young boy and an older man, and they would just drive down, turn around, and come back. I live here, my children play here, and if this is going to become a cesspool of gang people, someone needs to do something!” she explains.

“Ma’am, it sounds to me like a man may have just been teaching his son how to drive on a residential street, which is neither illegal nor gang-related. If you see them again, call the non-emergency line and someone will come make sure everything is alright.”

Tim has dealt with his fair share of stupid complaints, but he can’t even be bothered by this one. Not when something malicious may be taking place four houses away. The woman huffs as she turns to go back to her home. Just as she turns off the sidewalk, someone shoots.

Tim dives behind a nearby car and braces himself against the back bumper. Based on the spray of bullets destroying the car, Tim guesses it’s numerous semi-automatic rifles that he’s up against.

“Dispatch, I need that backup! I’m taking heavy fire,” he radios.

A moment later, dispatch calls, “Code 99” with his location. Tim curses; he doesn’t need every cop in the county coming to his rescue, just one or two. The bullets slow, and Tim moves carefully to the edge of the vehicle. Three men stand in the yard, and he aims his gun at the one closest to him. While he’s replacing the magazine into the gun, Tim shoots his leg, and he falls to the ground. The others open fire again, and Tim spins to be out of sight again.

A heavy hand lands on Tim’s shoulder, and before he can react, a knife is pressed to his throat. Everything goes silent as he’s lifted to his feet and shoved toward the sidewalk. The men have taken their injured partner inside, and Tim knows that once he’s in that house, he is as good as dead.

“Look, man, I just came to answer another call. Let me go and nothing happens,” he tells the man pushing him.

“You already called for backup.”

“And they’ll go to the other house, see a shot-up car. The most you have to do is answer the door and say ‘No, officer, I didn’t see a thing.’”

“You won’t see a thing if you don’t shut up,” the man growls as they near the door.

Tim stands up straighter, and when the knife falls toward his chest rather than his neck, he kicks backward and into the man’s knee. The knife scrapes across Tim’s uniform, but he doesn’t feel it as he turns to face the door and grabs his gun. His hand reaches the holster, but it’s empty. Tim looks around and realizes that his gun must be behind the car. He retrieves the knife from the ground and prepares to run for the car, but two prongs from a taser enter his chest before he can, and he collapses beside his fourth assailant. Sirens echo in the distance as Tim fights to stay conscious. The man on the porch squeezes the trigger again, and Tim only feels the first twitch of his legs before everything stops.

“LAPD, open up!” you yell.

You are moments away from punching the door when it swings open. Immediately, you recognize the long-haired man as your robbery suspect. The chances of him being alone are slim, though, so you can’t think about Tim right now, only about getting this man in custody without getting hurt or killed.

“How can I help, officer?” he asks, leaning against the door to block your view inside.

“I just have a question about the car parked down the street,” you explain with a friendly smile.

“All of my cars are here in my driveway. Maybe ask someone else.”

“So, you don’t know who owns the grey sedan with all the bullet holes and a dead body in the back?” you ask, raising your brows.

“Dead body,” he repeats. He looks past you like he’s trying to figure out how that got there.

“The owner?” you press.

“Oh, sure, uh Miguel, I think is his name. Big guy down the street.”

“Thank you so much for your help. Could I just get your name for my report?” you ask.

“Cody Lambert,” he answers, still looking past you.

You’re surprised that he gives you his real name. Your lie about the body in his car jarred him more than you expected.

“And are you here alone today?” you ask.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He shifts slightly, and you can see an empty living room behind him. You have an opportunity, but if you take it and you’re wrong, you may be putting Tim’s life on the line.

“Could you point out which house Miguel lives in? I’m terrible with numbers and directions.” You laugh at yourself to sell your dumb act and pray that it works.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, stepping out onto the porch.

He closes the door behind him, and you waste no time pushing him down onto the ground. You keep his face turned toward the dirt so he can’t yell as you secure the handcuffs.

“You’re under arrest,” you say in his ear. “And if you yell when I pick you up, I can’t promise anything. If you stay quiet, though, I’ll get you the best pro bono attorney in the state. Understood?”

He doesn’t acknowledge your offer, so you drive your knee between his kidneys and repeat, “Understood?”

He groans against the ground before a muffled, “Yes,” reaches your ears. You pull him up and walk him to your shop where it’s parked in front of the next house. As you reach for the radio to alert dispatch, a gun is fired inside the house.

“Too late,” your suspect says as you turn to look.

You abandon the radio on the floorboard of the passenger seat and slam the door. As you return to the front door and kick it in, you keep your gun ready. There isn’t time to waste in a situation like this, and Tim is counting on you. If he’s still here and still alive, that is.

When you reach a closed door at the end of the hallway after clearing the other rooms, you raise your gun before you and kick the door open. It hits the wall with a thud as you step over the threshold. One of Cody’s known acquaintances blocks your path, with a puddle of blood beneath him. You look past him to clear the room, but see what you’re looking for before you finish.

“Tim,” you say when you see him stretched out on a broken twin-sized bed.

“Took you long enough,” he mumbles. “And I won.”

You lean over him as you holster your weapon. He is injured and needs assistance, but his radio is smashed and yours is in the shop.

“Are there more of them?” you ask.

“There’s four.”

Tim hasn’t opened his eyes yet, which concerns you. More concerning, however, is the knowledge that there are two more people around this house. You cleared it, but they could be waiting in the attic or just outside.

“I’ll go call for help,” you tell Tim. “Stay alert.”

As you turn, heavy footsteps rattle the walls of the hallway. You look back to Tim and know you can’t leave him here. Even if you do argue, compete, and tease each other, you’re both cops and you have to protect one another. Plus, you care about him, and it hurts you to see him like this. Carefully, you push the door closed and lock it. There’s nothing in the room to block it with… except for the suspect on the floor.

“Did you shoot him?” you whisper. “How?”

“His gun,” Tim mumbles.

You tilt your head quickly, surprised and impressed, though you know Tim has more training in this kind of thing than the average cop. The guy is heavy, literally dead weight, but you roll him against the door as an extra cover before you sidestep the blood puddle and return to Tim’s side.

“Where are you hurt?” you whisper as you kneel beside him.

Tim hums, and you know he’s fading fast. You murmur an apology before you begin unbuttoning his uniform. When you begin to pull it open, you notice two taser prongs buried in his pec muscles. You pull them out quickly and squeeze your eyes closed when Tim grunts.

With his shirt open, you can see a several bloody spots, a scrape against his chest, and swelling on his right side. Gently laying a hand over his t-shirt, you know that his ribs are broken.

“I need to look, Tim,” you say as you grab the bottom of his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

You pull his shirt up carefully and inhale sharply when you see the bruises littering his torso and chest. The swelling looks worse without fabric over it.

“Can you breathe well?” you ask.

Tim shakes his head, a small movement that you feel more than see. There’s a chance that his broken rib has punctured a lung, and he needs medical attention now.

“Thank you,” Tim says. His eyes are still closed, but you watch his face as he says it.

A few moments later, Tim moves his left hand to catch yours as you look at the scrape spanning his chest. He squeezes your wrist softly and your eyes raise to his.

Tim blinks his eyes open and waits until he finds your face to ask, “Why are you helping me?”

“Tim,” you begin. “Why wouldn’t I? You can’t tell me that you think I hate you because of our rivalry. That’s all it has ever been, competition.”

Tim nods as his eyes close again. “I thought you’d be a better cop than me,” he mumbles. “But I got a promotion first.”

You chuckle, trying to ignore the pressure behind your eyes as you watch him lose the battle to stay conscious. In this moment, you feel something that you’ve never experienced before. All the teasing, and the competition to stay close to Tim, were different than this. The care you show him now helps you to see him differently.

Similarly, though his thoughts are jumbled in a mix of pain and adrenaline, Tim sees you as he never has before. Your soft touches, apologies, and clear care and concern for him awaken something in him. Maybe it’s been sleeping or maybe it wasn’t there before today, but Tim likes having you close like this.

“Promise me something,” you whisper. “When we get out of this, we’ll know that we both won.”

Tim nods, and you carefully remove your hand from his. With your gun, plus the one Tim used to kill Cody’s goon, you climb out of the window to get Tim help and the first aid kit from your shop. He knows you’re a good cop, but without you by his side, he can’t take the pain and the worry together, and he finally succumbs to the darkness again.

“I feel fine!” Tim argues with the nurse. “I can go home. There’s no reason to keep me here.”

“The doctors want to observe you overnight to ensure there’s no long-term damage, Officer Bradford,” she replies. “If you stop complaining, it will go faster.”

You knock on the open door with a bag in your hand, and the nurse waves you inside before she leaves. Tim looks at you from his hospital bed, and you offer a small smile. In the minutes after you left Tim in the house, you called for backup, searched the house again, put another suspect in custody, and got into a one-on-one fight with the last one. Tim doesn’t know just how much you went through in those five minutes that you waited for more backup, and he doesn’t need to. All that matters is that he’s safe and is getting better.

“How are you?” you ask.

“Fine,” he answers, watching the bag in your hand.

“Yeah, it’s for you.”

You pass him the bag with his favorite food, a play-by-play of last night’s game, and a picture of Kojo from the dogsitter. As he looks through it, you decide to tell him what you stayed awake thinking about. You finished filing your report as the sun rose over LA, and then you spent the few hours before you could visit Tim thinking of only one thing.

“I think we should call a truce,” you suggest. “A lot has changed in the last twenty-four hours.”

“I don’t want a truce,” Tim answers quickly. “We push each other to be better. We need that.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Then what do we do? Because I can’t go back to just competing all the time, not after what happened.”

“What happened?”

“If you didn’t feel it, I can’t explain it to you, Tim,” you answer softly, wringing your fingers together.

“You want to be more than competitive friends?” Tim guesses.

You shrug, and he shakes his head.

“I won’t stop competing with you or-“

“Taking figurative shots at me?” you finish playfully. “Better than real shots. I’m fine with not changing that part of our relationship, Tim. Besides, you and I both know that our friends are nosy, and it would be awful if we just started being nice to each other.”

Tim nods, and after a moment, looks at you. He extends his hand toward you, and you happily take it.

“Would you like to go to dinner after I get out of here?” he asks.

“I’d love that. I’m also planning to pass you during the next promotion. Then you can call me Sergeant when you try to tell me you’re better than me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Tim responds. “But I get to pick where we go since I did win the last competition.”

“I saved your life!”

“But I found our guy.”

“Maybe we both won,” you remind him.

A few weeks later, you kept your promise and now outrank Tim. Not for long, you assume, because he’s a great cop with a bright future, but for now it’s fun to remind him that you’re a Sergeant while he’s still an Officer. “Whoever makes the first arrest today gets to pick where we go on our date Saturday,” you say.

“Whatever you want, Sergeant,” Tim answers.

He tilts your chin gently before he kisses you. You sigh in contentment, happier than ever with Tim. When he releases you, you both climb out of his truck and walk toward the station.

“When I get a position on Metro, I get to say it first,” Tim says as he opens the door for you.

“That’s not fair!” you argue, blocking the doorway.

“If you’re scared that it’ll happen too soon, just say so,” Tim taunts.

“Fine,” you agree, offering your hand to shake.

He shakes your hand, then pulls you into a quick kiss.

“Have a nice day, Sergeant,” he calls as he walks away.

“You too, boot.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #the rookie abc #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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zzzzzestforlife · 1 day

Note

Top 5 study methods plz

oooh, this is a good one, i'll do my best to answer well!

Top 5 Study Methods (especially for busy people)

📝 Everything is a List

class schedules

due dates

assignments, projects, exams

all the follow-up emails you need to send to your group members and supervisor and — 💀

at least once a week:

review and organize your masterlist of tasks

budget select items into your schedule

break down list items into the tiniest possible tasks that can be accomplished even in the smallest pocket of time in your most sleep-deprived state

📖 How to Paraphrase — Make Analogies In Your Notes💡

i've never really understood how to paraphrase the textbook in my notes quickly in a way that actually helps me retain the information until i learned this trick from @megumi-fm ❤️

now i make kpop references in my notes sometimes to help me remember relationships between concepts ☺️ (you can also be normal and make analogies between other course materials or not-brain-rot topics 😅)

using this method, i basically never need to review my notes prior to the weekly assessments and when it comes time to review for finals, the analogies are like shortcuts that speed up the revision process so much!

🤷‍♀️ if you need it, you'll remember it

sometimes active recall study methods are important, but other times, you just need to pass a multiple choice exam and it pays to know the difference and study differently to make the most of your time!!

for certain courses, i just read my notes, then take the test with the attitude of if it's important, i'll remember it when the time comes 😌

to be honest, for most things in life, you don't need to recall things out of nowhere, it will pretty much always be in context. so it comes down to having your priorities sorted and acting accordingly to maximize your impact (i.e. 80/20 rule)

💃 How to Focus — Mix It Up

try different techniques from time to time! sometimes certain methods aren't sustainable or get boring in the long-term, but they can be good in the short-term for specific situations to give yourself a quick boost of productivity 💪

🍅 pomodoro — good for when you can't seem to focus for a long time, bad for when you're trying to get into a flow-state

⏰ time-blocking — good for budgeting lots of things into your schedule, bad for your overall sanity when planning on a regular basis

⏪ reverse pomodoro (like a stopwatch game to see how long you can focus for) — has the positive effects of pomodoro without the negative effects, but you can only compete against yourself for so long before it gets kinda boring

👯‍♀️ body-doubling (study with a video or friend) — quality depends on the quality of your video/self-discipline or the discipline of your friend

🏃‍♀️ study while moving lightly (i.e. doing mindless chores or working out) — good for when you feel restless, bad for when your focus is already all over the place

🔁 sometimes the best action is inaction

resetting yourself between subjects, after an evaluation, or even just after a long lecture is so important! it doesn't need to take long either!

have a quick conversation with a friend

go for a quick walk

take a shower

eat something

listen to a favorite song

journal

hope this helps, lovely! 💞

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in1-nutshell · 1 day

Note

Optimus and team's reaction to Maximum Prime. Like say Optimus survived however he lost the matrix and was now chillin as orion pax. I want to see his reaction when he regained a part of himself but lost a part of his daughter. I want to see the team’s reaction when they realize how much the matrix actually takes. Miko tries to reach her through the power of rock music and gets met with a blank stare

This will take place in the scenario were Optimus gets amnesia and Maxima takes the mantle.

Hope you enjoy!

Maxima taking on the Matrix of Leadership

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Slight angst, Cybertronian reader

TFP

The team doesn’t know where Optimus had gone and is slowly falling apart without him.

Maxima is trying to keep the order in the team the best she can.

Jack mentions the key thing that Optimus gave him before everything went down.

Maxima nearly has a spark attack seeing it.

The Key to Vector Sigma.

Maxima goes with Jack to Cybertron to reactivate it.

She refuses to have Jack go to their dead world without some protection.

The plan was simple.

Power the key, get Orion back from Megatron, (maybe spend some time with him), restore his memory with the key, and take a nap.

But since when do plans ever go right?

Instead of powering the key fully, Vector Sigma produced a new matrix.

Jack is confused when he sees Maxima go the robot equivalent of pale.

Even more when she refuses to have him near the object as it followed them back home.

Everyone at the base is surprised to see a new Matrix of Leadership floating around, specifically following Maxima.

Maxima wants nothing to do with that thing and is very open about it.

It soon starts nudging her plating and chassis, as if wanting to get inside.

Maxima running through the base.

Bulkhead holding her shoulder.

“Maxima what’s wrong? What—”--Bulkhead

The Matrix turns the corner and starts floating to Maxima.

“Sorry Bulk!”--Maxima

“Sorry—”--Bulkhead

Maxima elbows him hard in the faceplate, making him drop her to hold his face.

Maxima makes a break for it as the Matrix continues to follow her.

“YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!”--Maxima

“Man, she really doesn’t like that thing.”--Miko

She knows what it’s doing, and she is not going let that happen.

But looks at her team and her spark tightens.

They are lost.

They need a leader.

They need a Prime.

Especially with everyone nudging her to take the matrix until Orion came back.

Maxima had a feeling it was not going to be that simple.

Finally, she relents.

“It’s only a temporary position Maxima. The Matrix will go back to Optimus once he is back.”--Ratchet

Maxima bites back a response.

“Beep! Boop bep boop bop? (Yeah! It can’t be that bad, can’t it?)”--Bumblebee

Maxima sighs shakingly.

“I’ll do it.”--Maxima

The Matrix nudges her shoulder.

She begins to walk to the hallway before stopping.

“Maxima?”--Arcee

Maxima turns on her heels and crashes into Ratchet, hugging him tightly.

Ratchet doesn’t have time to react before she lets go and runs to the Matrix and follows it to another room.

Suddenly the lights and power started flickering.

“Is that normal?!”--Raf

“I believe the merging is happening and that’s why—”--Ratchet

The lights return back to normal and heavier pedestep come closer.

The team looks at the hallway to see a much taller, robust Maxima.

Miko runs up to Maxima’s pedes.

“Maxima! You’re so much taller and bigger and—”--Miko

“Miko.”

“And your voices is deeper and—”

“Miko.”

Miko stops talking as the bot takes a knee to look at her.

She holds out her much larger servo, Miko hops on as she stands up and places Miko back on the balcony.

She turns to the team.

“My name is not Maxima. My name is Maximum Prime.”--Maximum

The team welcomes this new Prime in.

They learn quickly that there is a stark difference between Maximum and Maxima.

The Prime behavior shows in Maximum.

A near replica of Optimus but in a different way.

Miko and the kids are weirded out by this new Prime.

What happened to their friend?

Once Orion’s signature is found, Maximum is readying everyone for battle, inheriting the same talent of speech her father had.

The cons didn’t know what hit them.

Mainly because of this large monster semi-truck ramming into the troops.

Everyone thinks the bots have a new recruit.

Finally, team prime has reached Orion, Megatron, Soundwave, Starscream and a few others.

Orion sees Maximum and feels like he knows her.

This robust bot had many features his daughter had.

Maybe they knew each other.

Megatron and Soundwave felt everything come to a screeching halt.

Their energetic niece had taken the mantle of the Prime.

She was someone else.

Soundwave knows that this isn’t going to work and starts preparing the groundbrigdes for the remaining troops.

He isn’t happy that his niece has taken this burden.

Megatron is enraged.

How could they let a sparkling take on the Matrix?!

Megatron quickly masks his fury and gives her a smug smile.

“It looks like Team Prime has gotten so desperate that they had to rely on a sparkling to—”--Megatron

“Let Orion Pax go now.”--Maximum

“Oh? And if I don—"--Megatron

BANG!

No one was expecting Maximum to kick him in the face.

And that didn’t stop there.

The blasting, punching and kicking continued.

Maximum gave him one warning and one warning only.

Megatron is lucky to have made it out of there with most of his army.

What just happened?

What happened to Maxima?

Maxima is gentle to take in Orion.

Orion gets the news from Ratchet.

He is floored by everything.

That scary bot that dropkicked Megatron was his daughter?

He really doesn’t believe it.

Orion tries to reach her but gets nothing in return.

Everyone wants Maxima back.

“All right Orion, all you need to do is open your chassis like so.”--Maximum

Maximum opens her chassis, showing the glowing Matrix.

Orion opens his chassis.

“Now it should float into your chassis and turn you back into Optimus Prime.”--Maximum

Everyone is waiting for the transformation.

Nothing happens.

Ratchet gets some pliers out.

“I’m going to take that out myself!”--Ratchet

The pliers break on impact.

Everyone is silent.

Maximum silently closes her chassis.

“I need a moment to communicate with the Matrix.”--Maximum

Maximum begins to walk away.

But stops when a loud guitar strung shakes the ground.

Maximum turns and looks at Miko holding an electric guitar.

“Maxima?”--Miko

Maximum shakes her helm sadly.

“I am sorry Miko, but my name is still Maximum Prime.”--Maximum

The new Prime walks to her habsuite leaving everyone in the main room.

For now, Maxima was no more.

Long Live Maximum Prime.

#transformers x reader #maccadam #bot buddy #tfp #tfp x reader #tfp x platonic reader #maxima

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tarjapearce · 9 hours

Text

Bad Teachings (Pt. 19)

Older! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: ANGST ✨. Father daughter dynamics, relationship dynamics, canon character death, mentions of disease, grieving, reclusive behaviors, character study, no proofread, emotional distress.

Summary: Miguel's biggest failure as a father and geneticist.

A/N: Forgive me in advance, but my intention from now on in this fic is to make you cry ✨

Chapter's song:

There were many things that Miguel O'Hara regretted.

Not taking that extra cup of roasted coffee in the morning, taking the wrong turn in the street to head up straight for traffic, meeting that woman in that scientific symposium. Having a relationship with her and...

His baby cried in his strong arms. And it was his cue to feed her.

But this precious bundle of joy certainly didn't belong into that group of negatives. Her lovely strands of hair perched ontop of her tiny head, curious eyes staring at him, like if discovering who that loving voice she heard outside her mama's womb was.

It was love at first sight. Pure adoration a father could deliver to his new child. Her smell, her big brown eyes alike his, the soft cinnamon in her skin, her rich chocolate strands, everything about Gabriella was an absolute gift.

Gabriella O'Hara. The new owner of his heart and the best twenty eight birthday present someone had ever given him.

Her whole hand grabbed one of his fingers and it was enough to put him under her spell. His baby, his purpose and raison d'être of all his efforts, laid in his arms, curiously sleepy, and watching him. Making sure he had all the attention drawn to her with a single look.

Soon enough, time passed, morphing days into weeks and weeks into months, and each month his baby only grew prettier, more adorable and oh so sweet for him. Gabriella's mom was way too happy to not be that involved into the dynamics as she was too busy dealing with the baby blues and changes that kept coming and gave the couple no rest.

Hospital bills, house bills, broken car, pediatrician bills pilling up in the back of the counter, new projects ahead to supervise, the possible threat of being transferred to another unit in the Alchemax hierarchy and the already rocky and feeble relationship breaking even further.

Miguel was a gentleman enough to understand her condition and ease the apparent burden she always kept bringing into the sparse conversations they had, that somehow ended up in heated arguments. And he always made sure for her to understand that Gabriella was no burden. That being her father was an absolute pleasure, he could try and get her to also learn.

But her stubborn heart and mind did not accept nor wanted that. Things were bad as they were and trying to prove her otherwise only depleted his energies as usual, efforts he always preferred to waste on his baby. His Solecito.

Her laugh dissipated those grey and ominous clouds, made out of tension and harsh responsibilities over his head to go away, brightening his skies with endless laughs and hours of fun. Her love healed him.

Gabriella was that motor his life needed. The final push his mere existence craved ever since he got his priorities set.

And now that she was here to stay, there was nothing like loving her.

Miguel loved her scrunched up nose upon him feeding her something she thought smelled funky. Loved her happy wails when seeing him, adored her kicking feet when she was excited and the drooly kisses her baby always gave him before sleep. And adored beyond everything else, the smile she welcomed him with, whenever he came from work.

But he loved even more her smartness on little difficulties he purposely left her to solve. The scientist in him soared and thrived whenever his Solecito completed a puzzle perfectly, or mumbled syllables to stimulate her speak.

His baby was everything. Gabriella was the reason he kept up with her mother's antics. Sadly, the husband material on him wasn't as developed as his father skills.

He was stunted in matters of love, yet he didn't expect the woman's sudden decision to pack up her things and leaving him for someone that actually had time for her.

But in truth, the whole 'You didn't take care of me' excuse was just a ruse to cover her cheating, with a younger man that gave everything she craved and Miguel couldn't give her, as he was way too focused on Gabriella and her raising. It had been going on for a year and he recently had found out, in his thirty year old birthday.

To her surprise, her absence changed little to nothing in the already established dynamics between Miguel and Gabriella. Although the man had somehow gained the sympathies of the group, his reasoning somehow expected the blow.

Gabi's mother had grown quiet and reserved, she always grew silent whenever he got into the same room if she was speaking through her phone, and even though maternity leave had been great, her efforts for connecting with Gabriella had grown little to none.

Her role as a single father had been long assumed even before things grew evidently sour. Yet, for Miguel it was odd.

A good part of him was relieved to not carry the emotional toll since, love wasn't a thing used to describe the relationship. Sure, he had gotten the fellow scientist pregnant and was happy, but he didn't see her as anything else as the mother of his child. Love had taken a permanent vacation from their lives as soon as the pregnancy showed up.

Was it wrong of him to think that way? To see her as nothing but a true burden? Would the people he confided in be horrified to know that he was glad the woman had finally gathered up all the courage, to leave him and his daughter alone?

She wasn't precisely bad to Gabi, but didn't make an actual effort into engaging with her own baby's healthy development. The woman fed her when she was hungry, looked after her but merely out of obligation. But that only meant he could love her twice as much.

Love, food and fun was something Gabriella had at all times. Miguel made sure to be there, recording and creating all those memories that always gave him enough strength to keep going when life turned particularly picky and overwhelmed him.

He didn't trust nannies, except Peter and his back then girlfriend MJ. So he looked up into daycares that met all the requirements he needed to work without a hitch.

Things slowly fell into place, and it became Papa and Gabi against the world.

Many women tried their best to get him for themselves but none truly succeeded. None gave him that good click that he needed in order to let a stranger into his life and risk everything he had so diligently worked on. He wouldn't risk Gabi's uncomfortableness for a slip on selfish possibilities.

He had her already. Gabi didn't need anyone else. Neither did he. Until Tempest made honor to her name and waltzed in, shamelessly into their lives.

How dared she make him feel something? How dared that woman with crazy and odd hair make him fall for her? But oh how dared she making Gabriella love her too?

It all started in one of the few times that Miguel arrived late to pick up Gabi. Traffic always proved to be difficult, but that day was extremely hard to go by.

He found Gabriella giggling and drawing with a pink haired woman, dressed up in her cleaning uniform at school. Leisurely laying on the floor, painting one of the coloring books Gabriella always carried in her backpack.

His little girl wasn't for smiles to anyone, as he always instructed her to be careful with strangers, but the sweet smile in her was undeniable. It was natural, not forced or uncomfortable. Gabriella was having fun with this pretty stranger.

Then, the woman started greeting Gabi whenever she saw her as Miguel dropped her off. His Solecito would run to her, hug her and go to class to nurture her mind. And if he was late to pick her up, Miguel would find them both painting yet another coloring book or reading.

Gabi trusted her. He soon learned.

And he also learned how to give in, and let his guard down. Without realizing, he bad been refusing other women to avoid them hurting his beloved child again like her mother did. His heart still splintered in pain upon remembering the many times Gabriella fell asleep with tears in her eyes asking for her mama.

How could he explain to a three year old that her mother did not want her? That she had left them for good?

But this woman before him, challenged all those filters he had come up with in order to avoid the same heartache in his baby once again. His heart could bear it, but he wasn't putting Gabi's in the line.

Yet, the icy walls around his heart melted, once he found her with Gabi in her arms, cooing her to sleep as she cried.

"I'm sorry, I didn't have the heart to let her cry." Said Tempest in between hushed whispers as she gave Gabi back to Miguel.

His eyes engraved every single little detail of her. Specially on the way Tempest's fingers curled underneath Gabi's thighs to tighten her grip and avoid her falling, or the way her tanned hand rubbed in gentle circles on her little back.

Next thing he knew was him asking the woman for a date, only for her to refuse him. He knew the right to do was to leave her alone, but something inside him and Gabriella asking for her, told him to not give up on her.

---

He didn't. And now a hundred of dates and dinners later, and a year of officially dating, Tempest was living with them in their new place.

The pink haired woman had helped Gabi to paint a giant G on her door, to mark it as part of her room, Tempest also helped her to set up the bed, her space and little vanity for her to play makeup, decorating it with all the ideas she had childishly drawn and explained.

Her vivid imagination always put a smile on her Papa and new Mom. Gabriella loved calling her that since her name came out as a butchered jumble of words. So she settled for Mom.

And Tempest lived up to that name. Always making sure she was properly fed, clean and having her needs met, her homework done. She took Gabi shopping, pampered her, loved her like a mother should.

And his baby thrived in her love. Couldn't it be more perfect?

He proposed. And she accepted with the condition that she'll decide the wedding day. She wanted to enjoy him and his daughter first. Make the best out of it.

And what better way to support her new family than being attuned with what they enjoyed the most?

Tempest had learned the ways Miguel worked so whenever he was too overwhelmed, she'd help him out. She also learned how much Gabriella enjoyed playing soccer, so she got her a new pair of cleats and cheered on and recorded every game she assisted.

Anyone that looked their way would assume she was Gabriella's mother, and before Tempest say otherwise, Miguel always reaffirmed her position. She was Gabi's mom and neither of the O'Hara's would have it any other way.

The return home from that game proved a dream come true. Gabriella won her first game, there were cupcakes and then pizza. Sadly, the elevator in The building was up for repair. Gabi complained about her feet hurting and naturally, Miguel picked her up.

Long fun days would make his feet hurt as well.

He couldn't help but feel a little tinge of concern on the sudden complaint. Gabriella wasn't one for aches, but Tempest's reassuring words always kept him grounded. Anchored to reality with her kind words.

"Of course she'd be sore after playing the whole day, Miggy. She's growing up and almost five!"

Even if his future wife reassured him, his intuition screamed louder. Something within told him to prepare, to always be vigilant as usual. The father in him hoped her pain to go away, even if mild. Pain wasn't something he'd put in Gabriella's bag of feelings on purpose. Because as much as he wanted to protect her from the world, he couldn't do that completely. Some things were simply unavoidable and he wasn't a hero with superpowers.

He did his best, cause what else could he do but that?

"Miggy" Tempest called as she cupped his cheeks, making his gaze to lock on her. Tenderness, compassion and understanding were something he always saw in them. One of the many reasons he adored her. Her own way to say everything was alright.

----

But he knew. He knew those pains weren't normal. He knew the sudden clumsiness taking over Gabriella wasn't normal, her walking on her tiptoes, having troubles for walking up the stairs or even simple tasks as sitting weren't normal at all.

Something in his intuition had tried to warn him, screamed even that something was wrong. That something dern had taken over his five year old baby and he had ignored it.

Not deliberately, but he had ignored it and now he was rushing towards the doctor with her in arms.

Seeing his baby fall and cry in pain as she tried to get up was one of the most painful sights he, as a parent could witness. His heart broke into a million shards when Gabi called for him, scared, confused and pained.

His heart turned into dust upon finding her on the grass, hands curled and legs so rigid, he thought she'd break.

As carefully as he could, Miguel picked up her daughter, breath hitching at every whimper and little cry she exhaled.

"It's okay, Solecito. Papa's here okay?"

But he wasn't okay. This wasn't okay. And the diagnose had to be a mistake.

He wasn't sick. Maybe fucked up in the head as Conchata once told him, but definitely not sick. Not like this.

Duchene Muscular Dystrophy. How on earth did that defective gene reached his family? The data and the many tests done in Gabriella did not lie.

Tempest wasn't Gabi's biological mom, yet...

His heart once again gave such a doleful and angry quiver as soon as that woman came into mind.

How could not he realize sooner? How could he not realize that woman was the defective one? That she was the carrier of such fatal ailment, and had polluted the best thing he had done in his life?

Damn him and his lust. Damn him and his solitude that forced him to seek a companion to mitigate it's effects on his brain. And damn him for not paying attention to the subtle early signs Gabriella showed.

"Daddy?" His baby clung to him, confused as the doctor kept speaking and spilling medical jargon, her eyes watched him with concern, her small hands felt him tremble, despite the stoic facade he was doing his best to not break. His Adam's apple bobbed countless of times.

"It's alright, mi Sol. Don't worry ok?"

If he should've been more vigilant, this could've been avoided. Right?

His hands tightened, loosened, raked over his head, tried to pull some hairs away to see if he could match Gabriella's pain. Yet the doctor's words were little comfort. None of them offered a true solution, just little patches that did their best to cover a monster looming and following now, like a shadow, his little girl.

"We can delay the progress with corticosteroids. Some physical therapy and regular exercises."

The need to take the MD by his crisp white collar and shake him to try and make him understand that his daughter couldn't lead a normal life without feeling pain grew by thousand. Or was he the one unable to swallow that horrid pill?

How could he tell Gabriella that she was sick and she'll get worse overtime and there was no cure? How could he shatter that innocent hope that invested itself with the job of keeping him now afloat? He had to be strong, for her. Even if in his insides he was on his knees, begging and crying to however above to not let his baby go. To not take her away from him.

Tempest, bless her. She asked what they could do, what would happen next and what was the best course of action they could take, her questions were powerful, but her voice was anything but. It came out nervous and shaky. She didn't have to be a super genius to understand how bad it was. Her own journey through rare diseases had been anything but easy, yet she was the perfect pillar to hold a crumbling Miguel.

The doctor's response was the same.

That night, there wasn't the usual raucous and silly meal prepping they had for a ritual, rather solemn and hopeless faces, awash of fear and uncertainty. It didn't set right into Gabi's heart, but part of her little brain, told her to not push, since both of her parents looked at the verge of tears every time they looked her way.

Her Papa looked at her like he had done something bad, and wanted to apologize. And it confused her even more when Miguel held her in her arms like she'd slip away.

"Dad?"

And his throat only tightened even more if possible.

"I won't let you go, mi Sol."

She chuckled at the sillines of his words.

"But you have to, Papa. How am I gonna go to school? or My games then?"

His eyes turned bleary, but he couldn't break before her. The last thing his Solecito needed was another thing to worry about.

"You're right" his sob disguised as a chuckle, "I love you so much, princesita. You know that, right?"

Gabi nodded and stared at his face, wiping his eyes.

"Why are you sad, Papa?"

"I'm not, muñequita, just... grown up things that have me thinking. But I'm alright."

And they did have him thinking, he had sent a letter to every medical research facility he knew, waiting for a response. Waiting for a hopeful breakthrough that could lead him towards a clue on how to improve the medicines and slow even more the progress of the ailment.

In the meantime he could make Gabi's life as comfortable as possible even if that meant an extra effort. Even if that meant long and pricey bills from the hospital in his mailbox every month.

Money was a price he was willing to pay. Miguel would do everything in his power to make his daughter feel as normal as she could again. Even if that meant to be extra hours in the lab, sleepless nights by looking for the best treatments, even if he had to sell his old house to pay for the research.

He used Alchemax's resources to try and figure out a way to delay or stop the monster completely. Sure, the medicines Gabriella took helped her, and so did the physical therapy. Ironically, the five year old girl adored her therapy and the exercises done in them.

But the overachiever inside him had no rest. The perfectionist in his brain remained alert most of the time, even if his body begged him for a sleep.

Tempest had also her fair share of responsibilities, her job, her therapy schedules with Gabriella and her school assignments whenever she wasn't able to go due the intense pains that sometimes took over her legs.

Although the illness advanced slower and the symptoms were milder in females, that didn't mean it was equally devastating.

Gabriella could still go to school, play some bits before the pain started acting up, and neither did Miguel or Tempest or Gabriel, showed her pity. They all made sure to make her comfortable as possible.

Whenever Tempest was too busy with work, Miguel would ask for Gabriel to take his niece to the physical therapy sessions, and after every game, Miguel massaged her feet and sore little limbs to ease her discomfort. But even so, His Solecito never stopped smiling. Never stopped feeding him the hope she'd surpass the twenty five year life expectancy. That she would end up burying him.

They all put strong and brave faces in front of Gabi, but behind closed doors and away from her worried gaze, everything would crumble.

"She is doing fine, Miggy. We are doing our best and she is too."

"It's not enough. I..." He sighed, feeling his chest constricting in such a tight grip his voice came out broken, "I'm losing her, Tempest."

"You are not." Her gentle arms held him from behind as her chin rested ontop of his shoulder, "Remember what doctor said? It advances slower on girls. And who knows, we can go against all odds with it. We're doing a good job."

"If I could... I would find anything to cure her. Anything."

Tempest's heart bled and broke at her beloved's words. How she wished that thing had a cure, because seeing Miguel growing restless, more irritable and volatile before her very eyes, was everything but easy.

Was everything but good. His main focus was Gabriella, and that's something she understood to a perfect T. She had decided for the wedding to be next time Gabriella won another soccer match, but that rare disease attacked and took everyone by surprise. Ambushing the happiness and hope with the gut wrenching news.

Crushing all positive expectance to see her as the ring or flower maiden.

"We're trying, Miggy. Giving our best."

"It's. Not. Enough." He nearly hissed and it was the first crack that peeked over the relationship. Tempest could only sigh and watch him. If she could take it all those burdens from him, she undoubtedly would.

This new Miguel kept making longer appearances into their quivering home.

He barely slept, he barely ate, always in the dining room, figuring out ways to improve the medicines Gabriella received. Always holed up with his girl, telling her stories and spending time with her.

Tempest missed his gentle voice, his caresses in the morning to wake her up, the soft kisses in her cheeks when leaving the apartment and his pet names.

Hearing her own name in his lips made her spine crawl in something unpleasant. Gabriella was his sun and Tempest his moon. But now, none of those stars shone for him. If anything, their shining was dulling with each passing month.

-----

"Miguel," Tempest called, but he only had eyes for his laptop.

His fiancée exhaled and took her bag, ready to pick up Gabriella from yet another session.

"I... I was thinking in a dinner."

His face turned her way, unbelievably annoyed, as if making sure to have heard right.

"To celebrate she's gone through that crisis. We could go to her hospital room and eat there-"

"She needs to rest, not us bothering her right now."

"Please? Miggy?"

"No. Tempest.-"

"I havent seen her in almost two months Miguel! Gabriella is my child too! It's not fair for you to keep her all to yourself!"

" I'm trying to save her life!" His yell didn't make her recoil, but only added more dry bones to the resentment fire that had been slowly simmering between the both.

Unavoidable as it was, his reclusion and lack of communication had put a great strain between both. His need of control had ruined the remnants and traces of all that sweetness they had once shared. He didn't allow her to prepare her medicines, too scared she'd give less than the right dose.

Bit by bit she had been excluded from all those activities she engaged with in hopes to see her more as the illness had just advanced in an alarming rate, bringing with it new unwanted companions. Like cardiomyopathy and lung diseases.

It had been only a couple of weeks Gabi's heart had a crisis, tearing the little communication between both beyond repair. The golden bang in her ring had grown to suffocate her.

"You can only do so much for her, Miguel. That company with that CRISPR Program scammed you. Those people you trusted turned their back on you! But I'm here! I'm still here!. For nearly four years! I've been here!" Her chest rose erratically, violent with contained anger.

"Isn't that enough for you?! We've been struggling with this ever since it started, and I haven't left you or Gabriella!"

"This is not about us anymore, Tempest! My daughter-"

"Our daughter, mind you. I didn't give birth to her, true, and I fucking wish I did! But I've been taking care of that sweet child like it came from me, and it's not fair you don't allow me to see her!"

"It's not that." He seethed feeling the anger and anxiety rising up, the urge to hide in his shame growing exponentially tenfold once again.

"Then what is it?!"

"I don't want you to see her like that!" Miguel's voice broke, unable to hold the pain, frustration and tears. They had grown too big within him that looked for a way to escape.

"I'm a fucking failure, Tempest." He whimpered, broken, "All this fucking knowledge, my job, everything I've worked for is shit! Is useless! Like me, I... I thought that program would help her, would cure her..."

Tempest swallowed hard and took a deep breath.

"I don't want you to see her full of... needles and tubes. I don't..." His voice hung by a thread as fat tears rolled down his weary face, paving a path for the upcoming tears.

"Don't ask me to see her, please. You wouldn't... you couldn't stand it. I can't, but I have to-"

"You don't have to do this alone, Miguel. You don't."

"You think I don't wanna go and have a simple meal with her instead of pumping her body with-" he sobbed, "With so many vitamins that have her arms bruised cause the fucking nurses can't find her veins? No."

He sniffed and wiped his nose with his sleeve, "Or see the terror in her eyes whenever those fucking needles are close to her? My little girl is terrified of needles, Tempest. She's so scared of the doctors, she begs me to... let her come home. She fucking misses you too!"

Tempest cried along with him, unable to hold back anymore. The optimism leaving her body in a go, leaving her bare, powerless to keep up her serene upfront any longer. The news had devastated her completely, but she needed to be strong, for Gabi and Miguel. But now, all those cracks had caved in, exposing the raw pain that had them fighting for almost two years against something they were fool enough to believe they had a chance against.

" You think I don't wanna take her home and play with her?! But now I'm fucking lucky if she's conscious, lucid and yet... I'm losing her." His shoulders slumped and Tempest held him.

His trembling hands anchored to her, shaking and sobbing on her shoulder," I don't want to lose her, Tempest."

The words barely a whisper and half a sob. The man before her wept like a child, and held her as if she was the only thing that would prevent him from breaking even further. His emotions laid bare to her, and she didn't judge. Just held him and kept him together.

Until she was unable to.

----

"Princesita..." Miguel called but naturally, she wouldn't respond, too sedated to even open her eyes. But it didn't stop him from talking to her, even if the only reply was the constant beeping from the machine she was wired to. Reading her living signs.

"I... I know you can hear me, Solecito." He hoped with a faltering smile, "It's you and me against the world remember?"

Miguel gulped when the movement in her chest fell. The oxygen mask fogged in her mouth.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to see Mom, princesa, but I couldn't... let her see you like this."

Even if she ended up hating me and left.

His bottom lip quivered, and he trapped it in between his teeth to keep his voice steady, biting hard enough to make the pain recede for a bit.

"Do you remember when we got those cupcakes to celebrate?" He sniffed and removed the few strands off her sweet face. Although pale, his baby girl remained beautiful to his eyes.

"I've seen a new place I think you might like. They have these... macaroons and stuff you told me once you'd like to eat."

His hand reached for hers and held her with all the care he could muster as the other one wiped his tears.

The cream colored walls of the room made his mind to grow restless. At times, the room he had been into so many times felt like a prison. Like the extension of an asylum that required his presence on a daily basis.

Sometimes that room would be filled with laughter, other times, with his silent cries. The latter had been quite the acquaintance after the crisis that nearly made him rip his own heart and offer it to his baby.

His mind was often divided in preparing to see her like this, full of needles that fed her the enough nutrients as she was too tired and pained to eat for herself. And the other part still refused to imagine a life without her, even in perils of losing her at any moment.

Miguel had used his sick days to be at the hospital for the past weeks. Peter had taken over in some times, forcing him to rest as much as his berated mind allowed him to; visiting and hoping his presence left a smile on his new found niece. Gabi always received him with an effusive 'Uncle Peter!".

Effusiveness that slowly vanished overtime, as the illness advanced throughly. Leaving her with nothing but weakened and laborious smiles.

"You're the best thing I've done in my life, mi Sol." His mouth had the strength to mumble. "And... I wished I'd done better."

The beeping kept steady. Showing the vitals intermittently.

"You're such a wonderful girl, and..." He had to pause and let another quivering breath go before picking himself up again and speak. "I'm proud you chose me as your dad. I love you so much, Gabriella."

The never ending and monotone beep echoed in the walls. His eyes turned, unbelieving at the machine. His breath caught in his throat. Unable to swallow, unable to breath.

No.

How it dared to stop? How that machine dared to stop.

His heart hammered with such strength in his ribcage that he let out a whimper as eyes were full of tears again. Lots and lots of them that escaped without his permission as panic slowly spreaded through his senses.

"Gabriella?" He innocently called, trying to fool his brain into believing it was a simple malfunctioning, machines were defective after all.

But the alarm echoing sent a cold crawl to his spine. So cold he winced.

"You'll be fine, Mi Sol," He sobbed and panted, not willing to let her hand go, as he pushed the emergency button.

"C'mon!" He roared in between pained yelps. His baby girl, escaped through his fingers, and all he could do was to hold her against his chest, weeping and begging her to come back.

"Don't leave me too, please, I beg you. Don't leave me alone. I'll be better!"

He should've gone for the medical degree instead of genetics so he wouldn't have to rely on people. He should've had taken more time out from work, those shortcuts to come home faster and be with her.

"I promise to be a better dad, please open your eyes!"

He should've paid more attention to her complains of discomfort, he should've been better, he should've...

A flurry of doctors arrived, and pulled him out the room, nearly calling security as he refused to abandon again Gabriella's side. He screamed and begged for her, begged her to wake up, to look at him, but his world kept crumbling and all he could do was watch.

Everytime he left the hospital, he made sure to let her know how loved, amazing and a good daughter she was. Because part of him believed it was the last time he'd see her awake and alive. To still have something he could come back to.

But now, none of that mattered. As his baby was no more.

-----

"Miguel?" You called as your hands fiddled with the earrings.

The gala night had finally arrived, finally reached that peak in your agendas. Your hands stopped as soon as you watched him, sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped with his face in his hands.

"Amor?" Your voice called and he sighed, defeated but functional enough to do his tie, although the annoying piece of fabric constricted his neck, it kept him grounded.

"Hm?" He mumbled to then put his polished shoes on.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Just gimme a minute and we'll get going."

He didn't face you, but how could he?

His face was smeared with tears and showing weakness before you, wasn't an option. You didn't need your night ruined by his antics.

He'd find time to let his pain away later.

"Alright."

Despite your apparent calm, the concern had been gnawing your mind.

Like the weather, Miguel had turned colder, a bit more distant, he kept the spark alive, but something within told you it was off. He was off.

His pet names didn't sound as loving as they used to. At first you thought it was due the short three months you had now been living together, wading between you both.

Responsibilities were always a staple in your daily lives, leaving few room for you to connect beyond making love at two am and a couple of sweet words.

And this... gloominess had settled as soon as the coldest months settled in. The usual long after work talks were resumed into sparse conversations here and there before he poured in his work all over again.

And when you brought it up, his replies were always a

"This project is keeping me busy, mi niña. That's all."

But again, you didn't want to turn yourself in another stress factor. But you cared, and cared deeply. More than you should and allowed yourself to admit.

You wanted him to rely on you, like he did with you. You wanted to see him happy, cause you missed his smile. Missed his jerk-ish and loving self that got slowly replaced with this silent, cold and serious copy of the man you mumbled back a También te quiero every time he mumbled it after he emptied inside you and kissed you.

But those kisses felt strange. Like they were on automatic, like if they were given by someone else.

"You know you can-"

"I know." He cut in and put on his suit, "Go get your things, we shall leave soon."

And still, he refused to meet your eyes, too focused on tying his shoes and getting overall ready.

Your hands curled in, tightening in small fist to then breathe and leave.

His hands stopped, hearing your defeated steps echoing the hallway.

Fuck

Pushing you away wasn't something he did on purpose. In fact, it came to him like muscle memory. Yet it didn't mean he enjoyed as it only meant one thing.

It was happening again. His self destructive and sabotaging behavior had made a triumphal return to his life.

And this time, he welcomed it like an old friend.

-----

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