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bobcatanger9 · 2 years

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The Historical Past And Culture Of Rice Delicacies In Japan Uncover Oishii Japan

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milenadaniels · 3 years

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Before the Night Fades, 8.6k - POV Outsider on Buck/Eddie double date shenanigans (AO3)

“I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who."

---

Or, EddieAna and BuckTaylor double date and it ruins everyone's night.

The nearly-post-COVID return to normal rush is going exactly as well as management at the Tilted Cactus expected it would, which is to say it’s going as miserably as the waitstaff at the Tilted Cactus expected it would.

The owners lost a lot of money to lockdowns, diminished capacity and the general (extremely warranted) paranoia of co-mingling in public during an international plague for the sake of overpriced appetizers. And despite accurately predicting the business would boom once the doors re-opened, management didn’t feel the need to account for more staff to serve said business.

So despite owing $34k on her student loans (that’s after a generous gift from both her parents and her maternal grandmother), barely being able to afford rent in LA, and the utter lack of career prospects, Mere is taking a break in the backroom, next to the dirty mop bucket, mentally running through her finances before she officially gives her notice.

She can’t quit, she knows that.

Turns out leaving New Zealand for LA with nothing but a dream and the idea that if Taika could do it so could she was not the most future-proof plan she could have come up with. The starving artist thing was so 2010.

But Mere’s made up her mind. She’s not made for this abuse. This is bullshit. She’s going to pack up, go home, and you know, do...something else. She’ll figure it out.

Mere pulls herself up from her indelicate crouch on some empty crates and goes in search of a piece of paper — or a fucking napkin, who cares — on which to write up her official resignation.

“No, in section 3A,” she hears Tomas fake-whisper. He’s one of the few new hires to grace these hallowed halls and still thinks it’s disrespectful to talk shit about customers even in the backroom. Umida, a five year veteran of this distinguished profession, has been trying to disabuse him of this particular nonsense.

“Where the fuck is section 3A, Tommy? We have sections 1 to 9, we don’t have any letters.”

“The new sidewalk sections have letters, to distinguish them from inside.”

“You mean sections 10 and 11?”

“...Mr. Peters said they’re using letters.”

“Mr. Peters can swallow my entire ass. The sidewalk sections are literally right outside the door from 9, why would they not be called 10 and 11?”

“Or ‘Hell On Earth’ and ‘Kill Me Please’, as we call them colloquially,” Mere offers, startling Tomas as she pushes through the swinging door she’d been hiding behind. Patio dining is highly encouraged and an excellent way to dine if one has patios. The Tilted Cactus does not have patios. It has a temporary license to put tables on the dirty sidewalk outside their restaurant, where waitstaff get to weave around pedestrians, dogs, and carts like they’re completing an obstacle course.

“Yeah, those work,” Umida agrees, emphasizing her point with a dispirited index finger in Mere’s direction.

“Okay, whatever,” Tomas says with a pained eye roll. “Can you please just check it out and let me know?”

“What’s happening?” Mere asks. She’s leaving this popsicle stand (ideally, on fire as she walks away slowly into the night) but she’s also starved of both human attention and the inherent drama of the culinary world so she’ll be damned if she misses out on one final showdown.

Tomas takes a breath to steel himself. “I have a bottle of champagne, four champagne flutes, one engagement ring to go into one of those champagne flutes, and a note to deliver it all to table 34 with dessert,” Tomas explains, wide-eyed, throwing his hand back to the prep station where said champagne is waiting on ice next to four flutes and a small ring box.

“Okay?”

“Okay so there’s two men and two women and I have no idea who’s getting proposed to. I’m not even 100% on who came with who.”

“You don’t have gaydar where you come from?” Umida asks in perfect deadpan.

Tomas glares harder, crosses his arms and juts one hip out. “I come from San Francisco. We invented gaydar. I’m saying I’m pretty sure the guys are together, but I’m also pretty sure they’re each with the women they’re sitting next to. So figure that out.”

“Like a double thruple?” Mere asks, now actually becoming curious.

“Like a ‘I don’t know what y’all are smoking this far north but I don’t understand your weird relationship dynamics and I’m still on probation and I can’t lose this job because I can’t move back in with my brother because I will murder him and I can’t be an only child with aging parents in this economy so can you please just go out there and tell me what the fuck is happening so I can throw this ring at the right person and punch out sometime before I ‘accidentally’ fall on the meat clever downstairs?’ kind of situation.”

Umida and Mere share a glance.

“Okay, well, don’t despair, new guy,” Mere says with a pat on his arm. “Save the meat cleaving for the capitalist elite. We got you. Let the pros handle this.”

“What did the note say?” Umida asks. “One ‘e’ or two? We can at least eliminate half of our options.”

Tomas does not check the note to spot whether the note-taker had written ‘fiancé’ or ‘fiancée’. He stares them down and fips the note in his fingers so the text faces them.

“It says ‘finance’.”

“Ah.”

“We’re going to need a more hands-on investigation, then,” Mere announces.

—————————-

Mere goes first, only because Umida was on her way to swap a side dressing for her table when Tomas intercepted her.

Mere carries a jug of water and makes the rounds of the outdoor tables, trying to hold in her visible distaste for the pseudo-patio vibe the owners tried to make happen out here. There’s a bike stand and a taxi stand two feet from where people are trying to have a romantic dinner. Every now and again, the LA traffic gets rowdy and noisy, completely butchering the atmosphere. There’s a shitty speaker funneling in some Frank Sinatra but it really does nothing to help.

But after this mystery is solved, none of this will be her problem anymore.

Like Tomas said, there are two men and two women sitting like cardinal points around a round table. The women are on the north and east ends, the men on the south and west ones. Two of them are brunets, one a redhead, and one a blond. They’re all disgustingly gorgeous.

And that’s all she’s got.

“The ravioli sounds so good,” the brunette woman says, casting a look at the brunet man to her side.

“Yeah, it does,” he says.

“Mm,” the blond man disagrees. “It’s got feta.”

“What’s wrong with feta?” Asks the redheaded woman.

“Absolutely nothing is wrong with feta,” he responds with a superior smile directed at the man next to him who’s preemptively adopting the look of someone ready to hear some bullshit. “Unless you have an underdeveloped palate and are simply overwhelmed by such strong delicacies as a moderately salty cheese.”

“Okay, don’t talk to me about an underdeveloped palate, Pennsylvania,” the other man responds, posturing despite the softness of his eyes.

“Hey, I said nothing to besmirch the great state of Texas. Texas is a wonder of culinary delight. I’m saying you’re...a simple man.”

“Feta’s disgusting and that’s a hill I’m willing to die on,” the brunet says with smug finality, holding the other man’s eyes until they’re both smirking and looking back at their menus.

Well then.

Mere’s a little bummed as she fills the water at table 36. She’d been hoping the mystery would run longer than 2 whole minutes, but these guys are definitely together. So the mystery will only come down to who’s getting eng—

“Thankfully Chris inherited a more refined palate,” the blond man — Pennsylvania — chirps as the last word.

“He did,” the brunette woman chimes in with a playful smile. “He loves my cooking. You both loved that greek salad I made last week, didn’t you? That had feta in it.”

“It did!” the brunet man replies, slipping his hand overtop hers. “And I loved it. So clearly context is a factor.”

Mere almost spills the rest of the water all over the lady at table 38 as she takes in the man and woman mooning at each other. Though if it’s any consolation, the redheaded woman looks as unimpressed as Mere feels.

“Yeah, I have no idea,” Mere reports back to Tomas.

“The redheads are playing footsie under the table now. That’s one couple at least right?” Tomas asks. The two of them are parked behind the bar where they can see through the window outside but the exterior tint prevents anyone outside from seeing them. The bar is still used for pouring drinks but the stools are gone — can’t maintain 6 feet between them — so the staff pretty much have the run of this corner of the restaurant.

“He’s not a redhead,” Mere mutters, looking out the window to catch the action. “It’s like a dark blond. And I don’t know, I’m pretty sure the two brunets are together, but then blond guy’s foot is way into the other guy’s space.” For a moment she’s distracted by just how damn long his legs are. “That’s certainly...familiar.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida declares when she returns from dropping off plates at table 32.

“They’re lesbians?” Tomas parrots skeptically. “I did not get that vibe.”

“I could see lesbian for the redhead, I think,” Mere says. “Don’t know about the brunette.”

“Lesbians come in all flavours,” Umida informs them haughtily. It’s the start of Pride month and her hijab is held together by an “Ally” pin. “You can’t tell someone’s orientation just by looking at them.”

“But you’ve declared them lesbians,” Mere points out.

“Because lesbians are approaching their table and only lesbians know other lesbians.”

“That’s definitely not true,” Tomas reproaches.

“No, she’s right, lesbians coming up!” Mere watches as two more unfairly gorgeous women approach with two young boys in tow. Honestly, screw LA and their beauty standards. The parties look surprised to see each other, but they clearly know each other well. One of the boys stays with the women, but the other one breaks off to join the table.

“No, I mean you can know lesbians without being a lesbian.”

Umida and Mere ignore him.

“Okay, that’s one of their kids, right?” Umida asks. “Lesbians babysitting for date night?”

“He’s got Pennsylvania’s curls,” Mere agrees. "That's the blond guy, by the way, I think he’s from there. Brunet guy is Texas for the time being."

The boy reaches the table and is pulled into a strong hug by Texas, who then directs him to a hug with the brunette.

“Oh, unexpected.” Mere would have sworn he was a dead ringer for Pennsylvania. “But okay, that confirms the hand-holding I saw. We have a set of parents. And unless this is a super modern table, I don’t see the parents being here on dates with other people.”

“Mm, I don’t know.” Umida dithers. “That’s like an auntie hug, not a parent hug. Like if she is the mom, the kid is not happy with her.”

“Wait,” Tomas says.

The boy is wiggling out of Brunette’s grasp and rounding the table to Pennsylvania who’s waiting with a wide smile and open arms, and instead of letting go after, the boy finagles his way onto Pennsylvania’s lap to steal a breadstick. Pennsylvania reaches into the basket for another breadstick to pass to the little boy still waiting with his moms and Mere’s heart tugs a little.

Texas watches on from across the table with unrestrained fondness. His leg shifts to press against Pennsylvania’s who looks up with a smile.

“Boom, gay dads!” Tomas crows.

“And lesbians,” Umida adds.

“Redhead definitely has no part of this,” Mere notes. The woman is smiling but it’s polite and practised, not warm or welcoming. “I guess the brunets could be siblings maybe? Really close siblings?”

Finally, the babysitters make to leave so Pennsylvania kisses the boy’s temple and guides him back to his feet. Texas presses his own kiss to the boy’s curls as he passes, saying something they can’t make out from behind the glass. Brunette gets only a wave as he leaves.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida concludes smugly.

“Okay, good,” Tomas sighs with relief. “So we know who the couples are, now who’s gettin—”

“Um,” Mere interrupts, pointing at the table.

Redhead’s foot is making its way up Pennsylvania’s leg and he shoots her a grin.

“For fuck’s sake,” Tomas spits as he walks away.

“Did you even take their order yet?” Mere calls after him. He doesn’t answer.

———-

Mere gets pulled away because now that she’s not quitting in outrage until this table 34 drama is over, she figures she should actually get back to work. Happily, having not seen her for the last 20 minutes, Mikael figured she had left or died and had taken over her section. She agrees to split half the tips with him and lets herself be pulled back into the tide of madness.

“Got it figured yet, Tim-Tam?” she asks when she passes him near the bathrooms.

“The guys are sharing their orders,” he says despondently.

“That’s not that incriminating. I split my orders with people. I’m not about to pay full price to discover if I like something.”

“No,” Tomas glares before gesturing to the window with disgust. “They’re sharing their orders.”

Tomas stalks away to hopefully take an herbal break to calm down and Mere goes back to the window just in time to catch the insanity. Mere feels Umida come up behind her and tries to suppress her shiver when her “what in all that is holy” skates across her bare shoulder.

Pennsylvania has just finished piling some of his spaghetti on Texas’ plate, which is exceedingly normal. But now Pennsylvania is reaching for Texas' burger.

“He didn’t cut that,” Umida notes.

“No, he did not.”

They have pretty messy burgers at Tilted Cactus, ones that are hard to share because if you cut them down the middle they tend to lose structural integrity. Of course, this isn’t a big concern if you’re sharing already-bitten-into burgers. Which these absolute freaks are doing.

“Gays and lesbians,” Umida declares again, the earlier smugness replaced with an air of disgust.

But when Umida walks away, Mere watches Brunette wipe something off Texas’ cheek and frowns. One throuple and redheaded side piece? Maybe?

————

“I’m struggling with lesbians as a theory,” Mere tells Umida the next chance she gets at the pickup counter. “I want to believe, but…”

“Yeah, I’m doubting now too. They’re almost exclusively talking to each other. But then I realized it was more getting-to-know-you conversation and this would be a hell of a weird first date.”

“Huh, so heteros all around?”

“Well, I also caught on that they’re spending all this time talking to each other because the guys are like in their own world. Finishing each others’ —”

“Sandwiches?”

“Exactly,” Umida grins, unexpectedly delighted by the reference. “So I don’t know. I really don’t envy Tommy.”

“Me either.”

“Hey Manish,” Umida yells out to the other side of the pickup window, “I’m picking up for Lenore but she’s got a two-seater, why do I have four dishes here?”

“Because Lenore can’t write for shit,” Mere says, picking up the order slip and squinting at the scrawl. “These are for table 24, not 29. It’s a four-seater.”

“Alright, well I guess you’re helping me, then,” Umida says with a wink.

Umida is fully capable of carrying four dishes on her own but she’s asking Mere to come with her so Mere’s already reaching for the plates, hoping the blush on her cheek can be written off as heat from the kitchen.

————-

During a slow stretch, Mere takes it upon herself to refill water and wine glasses in section 10.

From table 32 she can hear them talking about elementary school workloads.

“Oh, ah, I meant to let you know,” Pennsylvania says to Redhead, sitting up in his seat. “I can’t make it to the movies next Friday, can we move it to the next week? I should know my schedule by Wednesday.”

“Sure,” Redhead says with a hint of bite to her pleasant smile. “But I thought you had Friday off.”

“I do,” Pennsylvania says, his lips curving into a small, excited smile, “but Christopher won his class’ public speaking competition and they’re doing a kind of show of all the winners for the parents, and it’s on Friday.”

Mere moves around table 34 and heads for table 36 next, but catches the looks of discomfort on every face aside from Pennsylvania’s. He doesn’t realize he’s said something wrong, but the rest of them have.

“Isn’t that just during school hours?” Brunette woman asks.

Texas hesitates before saying, “yeah, but we’re taking him to Universal after to celebrate.”

Out of pity, Mere doubles back to table 34 and reaches for his water glass to fill. People tend to keep their drama buckled while the waitstaff is there. And sure enough, Redhead glances up and paints a tense smile on her face.

“Yeah, not a problem. That sounds exciting.”

There’s a bite to her words, and by the way his shoulders tense and his fingers curl more tightly around his fork, Texas seems to have picked up on it.

————-

By the end of the entrees, most of the staff have caught onto Tomas’ predicament and one by one everyone from the table-bussers to the cooks have gone out for a smokeless smoke break to try to be the one to divine what the hell is happening at table 34.

None are successful.

“This isn’t even like a romantic date,” Mani laments. “Like none of them are that dressed up and they’re talking about like natural disasters and shit. I don’t get a proposal vibe from like any of them.”

“Who even goes on a double date to propose? Who does that? It’s so tacky!” Gabby says from behind the bar where she’s helping herself to a quick nip before she heads home.

“Who still thinks the ring in the champagne bit is a good idea, is my question. It’s a choking hazard!” Mere says. “How romantic to start off your engagement with a trip to the ER.”

Tomas ignores them all. He looks about 10 minutes away from saying to hell with his probationary status and drinking the next hour away straight out of the vodka bottle at his elbow. “I know it’s Pride and I should be representing but I could really do with a little heteronormativity right now.”

—————-

Tomas is stalling.

Table 34 asked for dessert, of course, and when he vaguely floated the idea of champagne, Texas had readily agreed, so this is happening. The champagne flutes are lined up on a tray, the champagne in them is warming with every minute that passes, and he is no closer to figuring out what to do.

“What if I put all the glasses in the middle and they have to pick which one they want?”

“Okay but the person getting proposed to tonight likely doesn’t know?” Mikael says.

“What if you pretend you didn’t see the instructions?” Shania pitches. “As if we can ever write stuff down correctly anyway. Just say it said to bring out the champagne but nothing about the ring being in a flute! Just hand it back to the proposer and let them get it done.”

“You think we don’t know who the proposee is but we know who the proposer is?” Tomas bites. “If I knew that, Shania, I could have just called them away with a phone call or something and asked them who to give the flute to.”

“Geez,” Shania exclaims, hopping off the bar counter to walk away. “You try to help…”

“And then there were three,” Mario announces as he comes back from another completely unnecessary round of filling water glasses outside.

Tomas’ head snaps up from where he’d been staring into the countertops. “What?”

They all rush to the window and sure enough: Redhead is gone.

“I didn’t see her come in,” Mere says, almost breathlessly. If she’d come in to use the restroom, they would have seen her.

“No, she’s gone-gone,” Mario supplies. “Said she had to get back to work but I’m pretty sure she just wanted out. That’s the chick from the news, you know?”

“People still watch the news?” Mere wondered aloud.

Tomas tsks. “Redhead was the least probable suspect!”

“Well we can rule out Brunette and Pennsylvania as a couple, right?” Umida asks, waiting briefly for the gathered crowd to nod. “Okay, so we’re down to the brunets together, or Pennsylvania and Texas.”

“Or polyamorous,” Mikael sniffs. Mikael is trying polyamory. He doesn’t know there’s a bet going on how long he’ll last. It’s a fine relationship style to get into but one he and his jealousy and insecurity issues are deeply unsuited for.

“Apologies, Mikael, or polyamorous. So you have...yeah, 3 of 3 options left for that ring,” Umida grimaces.

“Wait!” So-Hee cries. She’s supposed to be hosting at the entrance but COVID-19 protocols mean people don’t show up earlier than 5 minutes before their reservation so the podium isn’t very backed up. “What does the ring look like? That could be a clue, right?”

They look to Tomas, whose face is blank.

“You didn’t look?” Mere accuses him, though to be fair it never occurred to her either.

So-Hee pounces on the deep purple velvet box without waiting for Tomas to answer.

“Please god,” Tomas mumbles, grabbing the box out of her hands and prying it open with almost reckless enthusiasm.

All six members of staff currently on duty at the window crowd around, many heads bumping together to catch a glimpse. The ring nestled in the box has a slim, dainty band with a solitaire diamond jutting out proudly, with filigree details on either side.

“Oh thank sweet baby Jesus, that is a woman’s ring!” Tomas nearly yells.

“It could be a man’s ring,” Umida protests weakly, almost sad to see the drama come to an end.

Mere’s a little put out too if she’s being honest. But even if they couldn’t tell from the design, the sizing is way too small to fit on either of table 34’s men’s fingers, as So-Hee demonstrates by plucking the ring up and sliding it onto her own tiny finger.

“Yeah, get it stuck on your sweaty fingers, So-Hee,” Tomas protests almost hysterically, feeling his win come into danger. He wrestles it back off her finger and shoves it back in the box before taking a deep cleansing breath.

“Okay, I’ve got a dessert course to deliver,” he says, the picture of calm professionalism as if he hasn’t spent the last hour losing his entire shit.

———-

They should disperse then, but like brothers in arms after battle, all of them feel the need to stand guard as Tomas prepares to deliver the goods.

Some of them, like So-Hee, stand because they’ve foolishly become emotionally invested in the upcoming nuptial bliss.

Some of them, like Umida, stand because they fell in love with their version of events and they feel the need to properly mourn for what might have been.

“They’re co-parenting that boy,” Umida grumbles. “We all saw that! They can’t deny that!”

And some of them, like Mere, stand because they really can’t be bothered to get back to work.

But stand together they do as Tomas plops the ring in one flute and carries the tray out.

“Excuse me,” comes a voice off to the side of their group.

So-Hee, ever the consummate people-pleaser, actually turns to take care of the customer. The rest of them stay fixed at the window. “Yes, sir, can I help you?”

“Maybe? I couldn’t help but notice that young man taking some champagne out.”

“Yes, would you like to order a bottle as well?” So-Hee pokes Mikael. “We’d be happy to bring some out to you.”

“Ah, no,” the man says. “Well, yes. But I’ve already ordered some. I called earlier, when I reserved my table.”

Mere stiffens, her sixth sense borne of years of customer service piquing. Beside her, Umida takes note as well.

“I asked that champagne be brought to the table with dessert, and I left a box...one that looks a lot like the one on your counter there. And I’m sure it’s just a coincidence but I couldn’t help but want to make sure it’s not my ring that just went out to that other table.”

Mere’s wide eyes spring to Umida’s.

“Oh my fuck,” Umida whispers.

Then they’re both racing for the door.

“Wrong table, wrong table, wrong table,” Mere mutters under her breath as she dodges a stroller and a dog walker trying to reach Tomas —

“Oh, Edmundo!” Brunette exclaims brightly.

Umida’s hand braces Mere like a soccer mom in a car.

It’s too late now.

There’s nothing they can do but watch this trainwreck happen.

Happily, Redhead vacated the seat nearest to them so they have an unobstructed view of Brunette’s eyes filling with tears, of Texas’ wide eyes, and of Pennsylvania’s face losing all colour.

From context, Texas is the Edmundo Brunette is so pleased with.

But Edmundo is shaking his head, his brow furrowed. “I...wha— ”

Pennsylvania comes back to himself first, though the smile he paints on his face is strained and frail. “Ah, con — congratulations.”

“Wha— Buck, no.”

Pennsylvania — Buck — stands up from the table like a colt learning to walk, his eyes darting across the table without landing anywhere. “I — ah — I should let you guys celebrate.”

“Buck, no, I—” Edmundo’s voice is firmer now, his hand darting out to reach for Buck, and Brunette starts to catch on that nobody’s getting down on one knee with a flowery speech.

“Edmundo?” she calls, her bright smile dimming.

Edmundo looks torn and trapped in equal measure, and Mere wonders for a heartbreaking moment if maybe he’s as confused about his relationships as the Tilted Cactus employees have been tonight.

With a sigh, and a reminder that she’s out of this place like Cinderella at midnight, Mere falls on the proverbial meat cleaver. Stepping around Umida’s still outstretched arm, Mere weaves herself in front of Tomas just in case there’s any physical fallout, and pitches her voice low so the neighbouring tables will have to strain to listen in.

“Excuse me, my name is Mere, I’m the assistant manager. I am so sorry to inform you there’s been a terrible mistake. We’ve delivered a ring to your table that was destined to another this evening. We apologize deeply for any confusion this has caused and we will of course be comping your meals.”

“It—Oh.” Brunette’s eyes land on the ring on her finger, and her remaining excitement implodes into embarrassment so quickly and resoundly that Mere’s surprised it doesn’t produce an audible sound. The fingers of her opposite hand grip the ring and pause for a moment before slipping it off. There’s no box to slip it into so Mere holds out her hand, the other tucked neatly behind her back.

“Thank you,” Mere says quietly. “Please forgive us for the mistake. We will be investigating what happened so it never happens again.”

“Of course,” Brunette says lightly, forcing some life back into her voice. “I’m sure you didn’t mean any harm by it.”

Her eyes lift then and take in the scene across from her. Edmundo and Buck still standing, Edmundo’s hand wrapped round Buck’s wrist to keep him from leaving, and her eyes shutter once more.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up,” she says politely, rising from her seat and escaping into the restaurant.

Edmundo watches her go but says nothing, frozen still, holding onto the man beside him.

With all eyes more or less off them now, Mere gathers Tomas and Umida and hauls ass back into the restaurant.

————-

The ring is cleaned and inspected by Gareth, its actual owner, who is amiable enough to not escalate the situation further. His fiancée-to-be is none the wiser on any of these happenings — luckily their table, 29, is indoors — so his proposal is still on for the next course. But, just in case it doesn’t go the way Gareth hopes and he turns on them, Mere preemptively comps their meal too and congratulates him before he’s reseated.

On her way back to the kitchen, she grabs Lenore and uses the last hour of her completely fake authority to formally bar her from ever answering the phone again, or taking notes from the phone, or writing anything anywhere ever again. Lenore, having heard about the drama at table 34 and having seen the crying woman rush to the bathroom just now, accepts with little resistance.

And Mere, heart heavy with the weight of what they’ve done to this poor woman, mentally shakes her fist at her own curiosity and need for schadenfreude. If she’d bailed on this place an hour ago, she wouldn’t be leaving with this heartache by proxy.

As if beckoned by her thoughts, Brunette emerges from the bathroom just as Mere is crossing in front of it. She looks better, her tears packed away, and her cheeks only slightly reddened. Mere is about to offer her something — a glass of water? wine? a whole bottle? — when Edmundo steps into view. Mere doesn’t break stride until she’s behind the protection of the pay terminal privacy partition where she can see them but not be seen.

“Hey,” he says softly, his frame pretty loose and relaxed for a man who looked so troubled moments ago.

“Hey,” she returns with a forced smile.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know—”

Brunette cuts him off with a hand. “It’s not your fault. They made a mistake. It happens.”

Edmundo nods.

“But…” Brunette continues, fidgeting with the strap of her purse. “For a moment, it didn’t seem far-fetched that it...might be real, you know? I know we’ve been taking things slow, but we have been seeing each other for nearly a year now. And I thought… I don’t know what I thought, but it...it didn’t seem so far-fetched.”

Edmundo’s shoulders have grown tense, and it doesn’t escape Brunette’s notice. She smiles sadly.

“But then I looked up and you weren’t even looking at me. You were looking at Buck. You were so scared he would leave and that — that just doesn’t make sense, does it? I mean, even if the...the ring was a big misunderstanding, wouldn’t it have been better that he leave so we could talk about it privately? But you were scared, because he was upset… And if he was...I don’t know...upset that you hadn’t told him about this, you could have caught up later and discussed it, cleared it up.”

Edmundo says nothing, but he hangs his head and gnaws on his lower lip.

“But you were scared. Scared of him leaving in that moment. Scared...that he’d leave with the wrong idea? That he’d leave thinking you were — we were... ” Brunette sighs sharply. “I think I’ve been a fool.”

“You haven’t—” Edmundo tries to say.

“No, I have. It’s felt so many times like there’s been a third wheel in this relationship, and I genuinely didn’t realize until now that it was me. And maybe I’m naive but I’d like to think you didn’t realize it until today either. That you’re just as big a fool as I am. And maybe Buck is too.”

Edmundo opens his mouth twice to say something but nothing comes out. In the end, he settles on, “Ana, I’m sorry. I...didn’t realize. I don’t even know if I understand what I realize. But I...I know you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met and you didn’t deserve this.”

Brunette — Ana — smiles again sadly, and if a touch bitterly, she’s entitled to it.

“Thank you,” she says softly, before fidgeting with her purse strap again. “I’m going to go. You’ll...say goodbye to Buck for me?” Edmundo nods.

“Goodbye, Edmundo.”

“Take care, Ana,” he responds.

Ana takes a few steps before stopping and turning. “Good luck. I think…” she shakes her head before repeating, “good luck,” and leaving out the side doors.

Mere unglues herself from the privacy wall and slinks sadly back to the bar where she finds Tomas and Umida already halfway through a glass of red each. There’s a third, untouched glass waiting for her.

“We’re horrible people,” Mere decides. “Brunette and Texas just broke up.”

“We didn’t do this,” Umida protests half-heartedly. “Technically, Tomas did.”

“Ugh, you ass,” Tomas sputters. “The note said table 34, you all saw it. It’s Lenore’s fault.”

“It is Lenore’s fault,” Mere agrees before downing half her glass like a shot. Out the window, she can see Pennsyl — Buck — slumped in his chair, staring at the tablecloth. There’s a fresh bottle of wine on the table, two empty glasses at his and Edmundo’s places. Mere raises a glass at Tomas for the gesture.

“If they don’t end up drinking it, I’m taking it home,” Tomas says, “I already wrote it off.”

That’s fair.

Unfortunately for him, when Edmundo gets back to the table, he immediately pours them both a very full glass.

Buck straightens out in his chair, looking concerned and looking around for Ana, who doesn’t materialize. Edmundo says something that has Buck relaxing but looking guilty. Then Edmundo shuffles closer and puts a hand back on Buck’s wrist.

“Okay, back to work,” Mere orders. “We’ve intruded on this drama way too much already.”

When she finds her way back to the bar some twenty minutes later for a totally appropriate reason, table 34 is empty.

————————

A year later, Mere finds herself sitting on the Tilted Cactus bar counter on a Friday night, legs swinging and popping olives like they’re mints. She ended up not quitting her job the night she intended to. Between the excitement, the drama, and the on-duty alcohol, she was feeling pretty chill about sticking it out at the Tilted Cactus a while longer.

But she ended up quitting two days later when the owner found out about how she impersonated an assistant manager and gave her hell for it. She could have stayed, he wasn’t really going to reprimand her. But listening to him talk down at her while her stomach filled with dread at the idea of having to apologize and walk back into that hell hole…nah. Fuck the Tilted Cactus, fuck the owner, and fuck two weeks’ notice. They weren’t getting a minute out of her ever again.

She took the gamble of taking out more student loans and was wrapping up her EMT certification. She’d be in an ambulance soon enough, actually helping people. Not the dream that got her to America, but one that would suffice for now. Make up enough karma to get her feet back under her.

“The lesbians are back,” Umida announces excitedly in a whisper as she fits herself between Mere’s legs against the bar.

“Which lesbians?”

“THEE lesbians,” Umida returns, pointing out the window.

“Those are two guys, babe. Three if you count the kid.”

“They’re lesbians,” Umida insists, waving her hand to dismiss the kid from her labels. “They have strong lesbian energy.”

“You’re claiming them for your people?” Mere grins fondly. It’s the start of Pride again and Umida’s Ally pin has been traded in for a lesbian-flag coloured hijab secured with the updated BIPOC Pride flag pin. She’s very pretty in pink, right down to the lipstick Mere isn’t allowed to kiss off of her until her shift is up.

“I am, they’re mine. I claim them.”

“Wait,” Mere squints, trying to pin down the familiar feeling she’s getting, “are those…”

“The guys! Eddie and Buck. I told you they were semi-regulars now. And we were right, that’s totally their kid. I don’t know how, especially since we know they weren’t together before that night, but he’s their kid. My money’s on one of them being trans because he’s literally their spitting image combined.”

Mere sighs happily and hugs Umida to her. “Well, I’m glad some good came out of that night.”

“Umida?” a young voice asks from across the bar. In the year since the reopening, a slew of new hires have joined the ranks to replace all the veterans leaving and Mere barely recognizes anyone anymore. She saw Mikael (unsurprisingly single again) a couple of weeks ago but he’s clearly on his way out too. Tomas lasted until his probation was over before quitting. Umida, in no small part because she was the longest lasting employee, was rightfully promoted to the role of assistant manager. Mere still hopes she’ll leave this hell hole soon but in the meantime, at least she’s getting paid. And authority looks really good on her.

“What up, Jerome?”

Jerome pushes his dark blue fringe back and holds up a sheet of paper. “I have a note here to deliver a ring to a table with dessert but it doesn’t say who’s supposed to get it.”

“Oh my god, no, no way,” Mere laughs and tries to push Umida away. “Let me out of here.”

Umida’s arms close around her hips, preventing her escape.

“Calm down. I created a form so that night doesn’t happen again. Jerome, did you use the form?”

“Um, yeah.” He shakes the sheet of paper in his hands. “I mean whoever took the call did. They checked off the table number, and it’s a ‘fiancé’ not a ‘fiancée’, but it’s a table with two guys so…”

“Okay, but there’s a field for the name, did they fill it out?”

“How am I supposed to know who they are from a name though?”

“Oh my god, kid, you schmooze,” Umida says. “You roll up to their table, you lay on the customer service thick and introduce yourself and ask their names. People are idiots, they’ll tell you, just like that.”

Jerome cocks his head in contemplation. “Yeah okay, but no, there’s no name. It’s blank.”

“But you made a form,” Mere mock whispers.

Umida turns on her, her eyeshadow catching the bar lights as she narrows her eyes. “This is not the form’s fault, don’t you blame this on the form! The form has a field for a name! The form provides!”

“The form is flawless,” Mere agrees quickly, running her hand down Umida’s arm soothingly. “You can’t account for user error.”

Umida glares harder before looking up to the ceiling in supplication.

Mere, who has never in her life been able to resist picking at a scab, asks, “what table is it?”

Jerome checks the paper. “34.”

“The cursed table. The cursed lesbians!” Mere gasps, squirming out of the way when Umida tries to pinch her side.

“Well it’s not like the kid is a contender, so it’s 50/50,” Umida points out. “Much better odds than last time.”

“And to be fair, if the wrong guy gets the flute, he can just improvise and propose with the ring in hand,” Mere continues. “Overall, much less exciting drama than last time. 3/10 for me.”

“Thank god. Yeah, let’s do that.” Jerome walks away with his marching orders and Umida turns to Mere. “I have to actually go work. You gonna hang out here?” She’s off in a half hour and they have tickets to the back row of the latest Marvel nonsense.

“I got booze, olives, and an unobstructed view of my favourite drama. I’m all set.” In lieu of a proper kiss, Mere lifts Umida’s hand and kisses her wrist, delighting in watching her girlfriend’s eyes soften. She blows Mere a kiss and flits away to put out fires.

Mere is usually on her phone while she waits for Umida but tonight she watches table 34. The guys — Eddie and Buck, Umida reminded her — are across the table from each other, Eddie is relaxed in his chair but Buck is leaning forward, elbows on the table as he tells their son a story that has him cackling in his seat. They’re not holding hands, but anyone looking can see they’re together. They have ridiculous heart eyes for each other, and from her vantage point she can see those long legs intermingling again, one knee occasionally jostling into the other. Little tangible reminders that they’re there and together.

She saw hints of this that night, and to see it have taken hold and blossomed...suddenly she’s really invested in them having a great night. One of them planned this night out, wanted to surprise the other, and she doesn’t want that going to waste because of a blank field on a form.

Mere’s wearing a dark long-sleeve blouse, not too far off the dress code, so slips off the counter, snags the backup apron they always leave behind the bar and ties it around her waist. One of the newbies whose name she doesn’t know watches her from the host pedestal and Mere raises a fierce eyebrow at them until they go back to minding their own business.

She rinses out a jug and fills it with water and ice and slips back into her customer service posture to make the rounds of the tables in section 10.

“Well now, I recognize you handsome folk, don’t I?” she schmoozes when she gets to table 34, picking up Eddie’s glass first to fill.

Eddie doesn’t place her and she doesn’t blame him, he was under a lot of stress that night. It takes Buck a second but he gets it.

“Oh hey, yeah! Weren’t you — “ Buck cuts himself off awkwardly and casts an eye to Eddie and the kid. “You, ah, gave us our meals for free! Because of the, um, mix-up.”

That’s enough for Eddie to place her, and where Buck relaxes back into his chair as she fills his glass, Eddie goes stock still.

Bingo.

“What mix-up?” the kid asks.

“Ah, they put something in our drink by accident,” Buck lies without lying. “Real choking hazard! So they gave us our meals for free.”

“That’s dangerous,” the kid says.

“It was dangerous,” Mere agrees, filling his glass. “Choking hazard was right. Could have turned a really great night all wrong with a trip to the hospital.”

Eddie’s brow furrows slightly and Mere struggles to keep a neutral face.

“It’s never a good idea to hide things in food. I don’t know why people keep trying instead of just calling us for advice. We have tons of ways to help people with surprises.”

“I completely agree,” Buck says. “We’re actually firefighters and you wouldn’t believe how many accidental choking calls we get.”

Eddie swallows, his eyes looking mildly panicked.

“Firefighters!” Mere schmoozes harder, smiling at the kid as he gets excited again. “Well I certainly feel safer then.”

“Ah, you probably shouldn’t. I was actually one of those calls once,” Buck says halfway through a smile and grimace, pointing to his throat where there’s a faint scar. “Emergency tracheotomy on the floor of a restaurant. But that wasn’t a surprise, just, ah, too enthusiastic about the breadsticks.”

Eddie’s looking decidedly gray now, eyes laser focused on the scar.

“Okay, well I’ll just go ahead and clear these,” Mere says, jokingly reaching for the bread basket until Buck laughs back.

“I’m better now, promise! Small bites, chewed thoroughly!”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she dithers dramatically, nodding to the kid. “If I leave those here, can I trust you to keep an eye on your dad?”

“Yeah!” the kid agrees with a toothy grin.

Buck’s cheeks redden quickly but he’s still smiling, his head ducked shyly in a way Mere doubts is due to her teasing. Eddie, meanwhile, is still looking poleaxed though fondness is fighting its way back in.

“Well, I was just subbing into this section so this will be goodbye for us but it was great to see you guys! Enjoy your evening!”

“Thanks, you too!” Buck says with an easy smile. Eddie manages a “thank you” and Mere has to restrain herself from patting his shoulder as she walks away.

She’s only just returned the apron to the bar when she sees Eddie walk in and head straight for the host before being led to the back.

“Ready to go?” Umida asks, back in her unsensible heels and cross-chest messenger bag.

Mere takes the hand she extends but tugs her closer instead of following her out, before saying the worst thing she’s ever said in her life, “Actually, do you mind if we stick around a little longer?”

“Something good about to happen?” she asks, peeking out the window.

Mere tugs her in closer and leans her chin on her shoulder. “I think so.”

Twenty minutes later, when Jerome passes by with a tray of assorted chocolate treats and two overturned coffee cups, Mere and Umida find themselves bracketed by half the front and back staff. Gossip still spreads like wildfire it seems.

Buck’s overturned coffee cup and plate is the last thing Jerome puts on the table, and as soon as it’s down, he excuses himself. He keeps a professional pace until he’s past the exterior doors and then he’s racing to take a front seat at the bar.

Eddie turns over his cup but doesn’t reach for the carafe, he wipes his hands on his jeans instead.

“Oh my god, he’s so nervous,” Jerome whispers.

“The kid is so in on it,” the host whose name Mere never caught says, and they’re right. Where Eddie’s tensed up, the kid is bouncing in his seat like he knows something’s coming.

“Come on, guy,” a bus boy mutters, checking his watch. His break is almost over.

Mere’s heart is beating hard in sympathy with Eddie’s as they all watch Buck ignore his coffee cup in favor of serving their kid from the tray. Then he signals to Eddie’s plate, who can’t not lift it for the offered chocolate tortes. Finally, there’s chocolate on everyone’s plates and Buck sits back to try a piece of brownie and Eddie can’t take it anymore.

He motions to the carafe and Buck perks up, finally reaching for his cup. But just as his fingers close around it, some idiot’s dog barks on the sideway, calling his attention away. His fingers flip the cup without ever looking at it, or the plate underneath it.

“Oh come on,” Umida moans.

The dog passes with its dumbass owner and Buck puts his cup back down, or tries to, but finds something in the way. He tries again, pushing the intrusion away with the bottom of the cup.

“Oh my god,” is whined in Mere’s left ear and when she turns her head she’s surprised to find not another Tilted Cactus employee but a customer dressed to the nines, pearls and all.

“Ma’am, did you —”

“Shh,” the woman returns, her eyes never moving from the window. Mere turns back too.

Finally, Buck has managed to push the offending items off the plate and settle his cup down and it’s a nail-biting few seconds where it actually looks like he’s going to reach for the carafe and go about his business.

But like a true wingman, the little kid points directly at it, prompting Buck to push the napkin aside and pick up — the ring.

Buck freezes, holding the ring between his thumb and index. His cheeks flush and a smile begins to break over his face before he looks startled and the smile falls abruptly away.

It’s about this time Eddie realizes that proposing by recreating the night they got together was never going to be the best idea when the impetus to their relationship was an engagement ring accidentally sent to the wrong person.

Eddie vaults out of his seat and into the empty one next to Buck, wrapping his hand around the one holding the ring, and bringing his other hand to his cheek to gently turn his head until Buck is looking at him. They can’t tell what he says, but they can watch Buck’s eyes fill with tears, watch as Eddie gestures to their son who’s smiling wide and reaching out for a hand, which Buck instantly provides. His attention comes back to Eddie then, who’s saying something that gets them both looking a little fragile and it’s hard to say if he actually popped the question yet but Buck is surging forward to kiss him hard and fast. Eddie gives as good as he’s getting for a moment before he slows them with small, gentle kisses. And when they finally break apart, Eddie plucks the ring from Buck’s fingers and slides it onto his ring finger as Buck watches, his eyes wide and half incredulous.

Outside, the nearby tables break out into applause, startling the trio and reminding the two men that they are indeed out in public. Eddie acknowledges the applause with an embarrassed hand and waits until they have a modicum of privacy again before taking Buck’s hand and kissing right near the where the ring now sits. He then reluctantly shuffles back into his seat.

Inside, Mere is hugging Umida to her with a strength buoyed by love. Around them, the staff are starting to disperse, some wiping their eyes, some with goofy grins on their faces.

“Young man,” the lady in the pearls says to Jerome, holding out her credit card, “I want you to charge that family’s meal to my card.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s very generous of you.”

The woman sniffs delicately and leaves without another word. Hopefully Jerome knows where she was sitting…

“I’m glad she did that,” Mere says into Umida’s shoulder, “I was going to, otherwise, and I’m a broke-ass student.”

“I would have pitched in,” Umida says, her voice soft and pensive. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Mere agrees, sliding off the bar counter for the last time. “Oh, hold on.”

She gets closer to the window and turns the flash off of her camera before taking a pic.

“I think that’s bordering on creepy now,” Umida says without judgement.

“It’s not for me.” Mere sends the pic off with a note and three ring emojis.

They don’t make it out of the restaurant before her phone dings.

“What does Tomas have to say?” Umida asks with a smirk.

Mere pulls up the text and reads, “Gays and lesbians. Both, at the same time. Never doubting Umida’s gaydar again.”

Umida laughs victoriously, which shouldn’t be as sexy as it is, and Mere lets her drag her by the hand down the street, letting the nostalgia from tonight settle in her chest.

If there’s anything she misses from working the restaurant scene, it’s getting this glimpse into people’s lives.

Yeah, most of the work was gross, obnoxious, or mind-numbing. But every now and again, she got to be a part of strangers’ stories. Got to be there for the happiest days like graduations, or bridal showers. And even the sadder stories could be beautiful sometimes, like when she got to be extra kind to the elderly woman coming into the restaurant alone for the first time in ten years, or watch a family have their last supper together before their kid moves away for school. It’s just all so human and some kind of wonderful.

She hopes her career as a paramedic will have just a little bit of that kind of magic.

#911fic #buddie fics #buddie #my fics #okay this is fic 2 of 2 for pov outsider for me!#completely opposite tone of the last one this is just fun and dumb :P #hope y'all like it!#my posts

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jimlingss · 4 years

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Sugar and Coffee [21]

Chapter 20 - Chapter 21 - Chapter 21.5 OR Chapter 22

➜ Words: 4.5k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

Baking is a mastery. It’s an ability that needs to be practiced and refined. It requires discipline and patience, especially when things go wrong. It’s problem solving and creative with never one right answer. It’s practically magic in a silver bowl, a whisk, and an oven. And Jungkook is the best wizard in this kitchen. He preheats the oven to three hundred and seventy five degrees fahrenheit. Then he cuts parchment paper to line a baking sheet and moves to brush the ramekins with melted butter. Jungkook adds the tablespoon of white sugar and rotates the ramekins until the surfaces are coated in it. Five ounces of seventy percent dark chocolate is put into a bowl with two ounces of semisweet chocolate and he melts it over a saucepan with hot water on low heat. Afterwards, he adds the egg yolks until the mixture stiffens. Jungkook wipes his sweat before he mixes in the tablespoon of flour and butter, reducing the heat to low and adding in some cold milk. It’s thickened after three minutes and he adds salt, a pinch of cayenne pepper as a secret ingredient, and mixes. The bowl is left over hot water while he whips egg whites with a pinch of cream of tartar, adding sugar after a bit to create glossy, soft peaks. Jungkook transfers the egg whites into the soufflé base, folding it in gently one third at a time and then he divides the mixture to bake for a full fifteen minutes. What he’s left with at the end is the best chocolate soufflé on the planet. “What do you think?” “It’s really good.” Aeri politely smiles and you roll your eyes. “You don’t need to feed his ego. He’s been raving about it for days now.” “And you’ve eaten at least ten of them.” Jungkook grins and you mutter incoherently, unable to really protest against the claim that’s all too true. The soufflé is puffed and crusty on top, but still gooey and jiggly in the center. It’s risen to its maximum height without collapsing whatsoever, uniform all around. And the texture is cloud-like, soft with the chocolate taste melting on the palate. It took two weeks to perfect — but the outcome made the effort all worth it. “I call it the ultimate soufflé.” Your brows raise. “The ultimate? Not Jungkook’s ultimate?” “Nope. The ultimate.” He smirks and leans into you. “Want another one?” You hope he doesn’t know that it takes a lot of strength for you to reject. Jungkook’s good at baking. That much is clear. You’re not sure if he’s as good as you are of course, but anything that has to do with chocolate practically has his name on it. His chocolate soufflé is no exception. It’s fucking delicious. Enough that even Yoongi asks for seconds and Taehyung almost starts to cry. But you don’t want to admit just how good it is since his ego’s been boundless these past few days. “How does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?” he pipes up suddenly when you haven’t even said a single word for the past five minutes. And when you tell Jungkook he’s not a chocolatier yet, he laughs and tells you he will be soon while condescendingly patting your head like you’re his pet. As if that wasn’t enough, he interrupts snuggling time by rolling over with a pompous look on his face. “I’m just so happy right now.” “Why?” You’re expecting a corny answer along the lines of — ‘because you’re here’. But instead Jungkook sighs dreamily and says, “I really nailed that soufflé, didn’t I?” It’s annoying. You’re just trying to live your life peacefully but in every shape, way, or form, no matter the context, he just has to bring up that goddamn soufflé like it’s his child he’s so proud of. It’s not like you aren’t happy for your boyfriend — frankly, you wouldn’t mind if he bragged or boasted about it to others. But he’s been constantly chirping about it in your ear. And any complaints from you would just warrant his grins and questions of if you’re jealous of his skills. “I don’t know what to add to my portfolio,” you mention passingly one afternoon after much contemplation. Your boyfriend hums. “You need something with chocolate, right?” “Yeah.” “Well, you could make my soufflé. I’m sure it would help with your grade a lot, but—,” Jungkook draws out the syllable with another sly smirk, “my recipe’s a secret. Sorry, babe. Wish I could help.” In spite of your inner exhaustion and vexation, for the sake of being a good girlfriend, you simply nod and let him have his moment. Even if Jeon Jungkook was being unbearably arrogant and reminding you of why you hated him about a year ago, he was clearly happy with the recipe he worked so hard on and you didn’t want to step on that. He deserves some personal limelight, so you let him have it. But luckily, you don’t have to bear the weight of his smug ass by yourself for long. “Yuna!” Your arm waves over your head. The high schooler smiles, rolling her luggage behind her and meeting with you halfway. Immediately, you engulf her in your arms even when she grumbles and resists. “How was the trip here? You’re not hungry, are you?” “God, you’re like my mom,” she huffs. “It was fine. Hey, Jungkook.” Yuna shifts and smiles warmly at your boyfriend who nods, greeting her as well. “Hey.” “So this is the school you go to?” You grin. “Sure is!” The last time you were with Yuna, she expressed interest in the professional baking and pastry arts program. You didn’t expect that she would actually come visit during the week-long break for a tour but it was a surprise you welcomed. You hope you can take her interest and curiosity and inspire her. “Namjoon and Sejeong packed some cookies for you. They told me to say...thanks….for showing me around when you’re busy and stuff.” “It’s not a problem. I’m happy to.” You smile. “Tell them I said thanks too.” “Taehyung’s joining us,” Jungkook reads off his phone and then pockets it. “Apparently, he’s bored.” You shrug. “Fine by me.” “Who’s Taehyung?” Yuna asks. “Just a friend of ours,” you say to ease her obvious worries of the stranger. The three of you wait a few minutes, getting caught up with one another as Yuna talks about what her last classes were about. But soon after, the tall brunette is strolling over with his hands buried in his white hoodie pockets. His hair is disheveled like he just rolled out of bed and you don’t think that’s too far from the truth. “Jimin ditched me to go on some date with the chick from his classic desserts class,” he whines when he gets in ear-shot distance. “I thought I was going to die of boredom.” “Tough life,” you scoff and don’t notice Yuna who’s frozen next to you. Her eyes are wide on the stranger, gaze sweeping up and down at him. She swallows hard before stepping forward and making herself known. “H-Hi. My name is Kim Yuna.” “Oh yeah.” Taehyung grins easily. “They told me about you.” “Did they? I’m glad.” She giggles and tucks her hair behind her ear. You exchange expressions with Jungkook. This was an awfully familiar situation. “I’m Namjoon’s niece, their boss during their internship.” “I’m Kim Taehyung.” They shake hands and Yuna goes in for the kill without hesitation— “Does your girlfriend know you’re here?” Taehyung is flustered, taken aback by the blunt question. “I….don’t have a girlfriend.” “Great.” Yuna answers swiftly with a big smile. You have to admit, she’s bold. The girl has some guts even you don’t have. And you’ve never witnessed Taehyung this perplexed either. It’s hard to catch someone as spontaneous as him off guard. “How old are you?” Taehyung frowns, an apprehensive expression etched on his features like you’re telling him to touch a gooey substance in the corner of some dirty bathroom stall. “I turned eighteen in May,” she declares bluntly. But Taehyung looks unconvinced despite his slow nod. “That’s barely legal,” he mutters and only you and Jungkook catch it. It’s hard to hold back laughter, but you try your best and interrupt— “Should we start the tour?” You show her around campus, walking through the corridors, directing her where the lecture halls are and what classes are where. You tell her what it was like for first years and you show her the dormitories, the lockers, the dining hall, and the kitchen area. All in the meanwhile, Taehyung sticks to Jungkook’s side like gum. It’s obvious that he’s intimidated by the petite high schooler and it’s an amusing sight. But Yuna is a go-getter and somehow manages to get Taehyung beside her to answer her numerous questions. You and Jungkook fall back, no longer showing her the way and you’re reduced to watching their backsides. “You know what I want to eat right now?” Jungkook turns to you, mumbling, “My soufflé.” Here we go again…. You internally sigh, but maintain a stiff smile. “Uh-huh.” “I should make it for Yuna. She’d be blown away.” “What?” The younger girl twirls around at the mention of her name. Jungkook grins at her. “You like soufflé? I make the best chocolate soufflé here.” Yuna blinks, too innocent to know better. “Really?” “Your soufflé isn’t even that good.” It’s a lie. “I bet I could do it better.” That’s an even bigger lie, but you can’t stop it once it’s spewed out of your mouth. It goes silent. Jungkook stops walking. Taehyung turns around. “You think you can make a better chocolate soufflé than me?” Your boyfriend’s eyes narrow, taking personal offence. You shrug — it’s too late to back down now. “Why not? Can’t be that hard.” Jungkook scoffs with a stupidly smug expression, calling your bluff. “You can barely temper chocolate.” “You underestimate me, Jeon,” you bite back and his lips curl. “Fine. Let’s see then.” // It was a mistake — something said on impulse, after days of irritation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. It came tumbling out before you could know better, before you could think twice about the consequences, but now you’re standing in the kitchen at an impromptu competition. “Welcome to the annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!” “This isn’t annual,” you mutter at Taehyung’s unnecessary extravagance. He corrects himself— “Welcome to the first annual Jeon and L/N competition, everyone!” The word spread like wildfire, but luckily kept only in the group chat. The last thing you needed were acquaintances, classmates, and teachers coming to watch. The guys were noisy enough. And it’s a testament proven with Yoongi coming over, Hoseok sprinting to get here, and Jimin calling to tell everyone to wait for his date to be over. All of it was enough pressure you could handle at the moment. But even Aeri had caught wind of what was going on and decided to come by. It’s clear that there’s still tension between her and Hoseok. You don’t miss the strained expressions they exchange with one another before taking seats on the opposite ends, but you’re glad that they can at least be in the same room as one another. It’s an improvement. A sign of moving on. Yet you don’t dwell on them — not when you have bigger fish to fry at the moment. “Over here we have Y/N who believes she can make a better chocolate soufflé than Jungkook, an aspiring chocolatier who literally took weeks and weeks to perfect this recipe of his to make it the ultimate soufflé—” “Alright, that’s enough,” you cut off Taehyung, the self-designated commentator, before you start actually sweating. Jungkook is competitive. Everyone and their mother knows that. And that fact alone makes you nervous. He might just throw you entirely under the bus and burn your relationship to the ground for the sake of winning. You’re worried — but you don’t show it. You can’t. If he knows you’re fearful, he’ll have the upper hand. So you feign indifference. After all, if there was one similarity between you and Jungkook, it was that you weren’t going to back down without a fight either. You were born a winner and it was going to stay that way. “And to make it more fair and maximize the amount of desserts we get to eat, over here we have Jeon Jungkook who will be making éclair. A pastry made with choux dough filled with cream and topped with chocolate icing. It is a specialty perfected by Y/N, an aspiring pâtisserie chef who dreams of running her own wedding cake catering services someday.” “Two very different dishes that the opposing member has a speciality in.” Taehyung continues to narrate and nods his head, inadvertently making Yuna giggle, “Who can make it better? You’ll be the judge of that.” It’s ridiculous, but you’re not going to cave in or surrender. Not when Jungkook’s ego was insurmountable and you’d never hear the end of it if you gave up. An hour and a half is put on the clock. Your counters parallel to one another while your friends are gathered at the other, ready to watch, eat their snacks and hang around. You momentarily wonder why you never have the privilege of relaxing like them. But you don’t think about it for too long. The moment Taehyung starts the time, you begin. You preheat the oven and begin buttering the ramekins. “How do you feel, Y/N?” Suddenly a whisk is thrusted in your face, almost puncturing your cheek. It’s a makeshift microphone that you push aside. “Fine.” “What are you doing now?” “What does it look like?” You push Taehyung aside, grabbing sugar to coat the dish. “Well alright then.” He laughs and slinks over to Jungkook’s side who’s humming underneath his breath. He’s much too casual as he finishes greasing a cookie sheet and moves to combine butter and water in a saucepan. “How about you, Jungkook?” “Never been better.” The side of his lip is curled. Jungkook’s black long sleeve is pushed up to his elbows to reveal his forearms, and one peek at him is enough to feel your blood boil. It’s obvious that he doesn’t see you as a threat whatsoever. “You think you’re going to win?” “Unfortunately, I do.” Jungkook plays along with Taehyung’s antics, head so far up in the clouds. “Why unfortunately?” “Well, it’s not everyday I want to crush my girlfriend, but sometimes I just have to.” Jungkook twists to you. “Sorry, babe.” You ignore him, too busy glancing at the label and dumping the chocolate into a small bowl with butter. In the meanwhile, Yoongi chews on his chips and scrutinizes. “Are you sure that’s the right kind?” “Fuck off, Yoongi.” It’s not like you haven’t done this before — you’re just not sure if yours can ever beat Jungkook’s. You whisk in the six egg yolks and add a pinch of sea salt until the melted mixture thickens. At the same time, Jungkook is singing under his breath, forming his pastry dough and piping it out onto his baking sheet. You don’t know how he works so fast, but you concentrate harder, ignoring Jimin asking Yuna if she likes the place so far, disregarding Yoongi’s snarky comments and Hoseok’s music that he turns on as background noise. Once you place egg whites and half a teaspoon of cream of tartar in the electric mixer to beat, you’re finally able to take a moment of relief. Jungkook is also at his mixer beating his heavy cream for the filing. “Nervous, babe?” You scoff at him. “As if.” “Alright then.” Jungkook smirks, almost as if he finds your snobbery endearing. You hate how he can see right through you, but you still maintain the facade anyhow. At this moment, he was your rival first and your boyfriend second. “It smells so good.” Yuna inhales. Aeri smiles at her. “That would be Jungkook's choux pastry in the oven.” “Who do you think is going to win?” Taehyung suddenly asks the high schooler, thrusting the whisk in front of her. She smiles gingerly. “I don’t know. Who do you think will win?” Taehyung hums and ignores the protest of his friend when he says— “I’ll put my money on Y/N.” “Want to bet on it then?” Yuna asks, lashes batting back and forth. “Loser takes the other person to dinner.” “What about you, Chim?” Taehyung immediately diverts his vision, pretending that he doesn’t hear her deal. He even disregards Aeri and Hoseok’s stunned expressions of Yuna’s forwardness. “Who do you think?” You add the sugar carefully, one tablespoon at a time until the egg whites hold glossy, stiff peaks. Then you’re gently folding the egg whites into your soufflé base until it’s a light and fluffy mixture ready to be put into the ramekins. But you know it’s too basic. It would never beat Jungkook’s. So in the midst of your inner hysteria, you sprinkle in a teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg. Yoongi, the only person who’s actually watching, quirks his brow but doesn’t say anything. The soufflés are popped into the oven and by then, Jungkook is still working. He’s letting his pastries cool on a rack, his filling already in a piping bag, and he’s busy making the icing. “How do you feel now, Y/N?” “The same.” You shrug. “I know I’m going to win, so…” Your boyfriend lifts his chin, a small smirk gracing his lips. “We’ll see about that.” “You aren’t intimidated whatsoever?” Taehyung asks. “I mean Jungkook’s soufflé was fucking deli—cious. It was like gooey on the inside and so soft, but really crispy on the outside and very, very chocolatey. It felt like an explosion of flavour—” “Alright.” You shut him up and move over to steal Yoongi’s bag of chips, much to his dismay. In the few minutes that you finally get to sit down and rest, you observe Jungkook. In spite of his arrogance, he’s working quite hard. You’re impressed he agreed to make éclairs in just an hour and a half since it usually takes two. But Jungkook works quickly, efficiently, and your eyes can’t help lingering on his exposed forearms, the furrow of his brows, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his pink lips. God. As competitive as you are, a part of you doesn’t even care who wins — you already feel like a winner. The beeping of your oven breaks you out of your daydream. “You should wipe off your saliva,” Yoongi mutters out of the corner of his mouth, knowing full well that you were ogling Jungkook in silence. You glare at the dark-haired man, a silent threat not to say anything lest it becomes clear you have other priorities other than winning. You take your soufflés out of the oven, breathing a sigh of relief when you see them. They all rose. A few with them have cracks and they’re not uniform whatsoever, but it’s more than you hoped for. The aroma of chocolate fills the room, making Yuna antsy in her seat. You begin dusting the top with powdered sugar. “Two minutes left, chefs,” Hoseok warns with a grin, peeking over at Taehyung’s timer. Jungkook is long finished piping his éclairs, already drizzled the chocolate icing over top of it and allowing them to set in the fridge. You step back from your counter as well. “I’m done.” “Same here.” “Finally!” Yuna is cheering. “Can we taste them now?” You’re the first to go since the soufflés are still piping hot. It’s six servings with Yuna receiving the first one since she’s the guest of honour. Then the rest are passed to Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin, Hoseok, Aeri. They dig in without hesitation and you watch with your breath hitched. “It’s really good,” Hoseok says, chewing in his cheek. “I like it a lot.” Aeri smiles. “You did a good job, Y/N.” “Thanks.” Even if you don’t win, you feel great at your attempt. Yuna hisses when it burns her tongue and she hums after letting it cool. There doesn’t seem to be any complaints from anyone. “The top can be crustier. It’s baked well through though,” Yoongi notes pompously after sniffing his spoonful for the past minute to take in the scent. “Not half bad.” “But is it better than Jungkook’s?” Taehyung asks. It’s silent. No one can give a blatant answer. Jungkook is appalled that they even need to think about it. “Give me that.” He grabs Jimin’s and takes a spoonful. Jungkook bites, chews, and his brows furrow. “What...is that? There's something in there that’s weird. Like the aftertaste is off.” In hindsight, cinnamon and nutmeg probably wasn’t the best idea. But you don’t say anything and you plop your hand on Yoongi’s shoulder as an implicit warning not to speak about it. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” It’s your turn to take a taste and the moment it hits your tongue, you know the outcome. It’s miles and miles away from Jungkook’s standards. Your soufflé is good, but not crying-worthy. It doesn’t bring tears to your eyes and make you remember your mother’s home cooking, how you gathered around the table for dessert during warm holidays. The situation only gets shittier when you take a taste of Jungkook’s éclair. The custard is tangy and smooth, pastry crispy and buttery, chocolate icing sweet at all the right places. And all you can think is — what. the. fuck. This guy had to have a cheat code for life. There’s no way he can be so good at everything he does. It’s impossible. It’s unbelievable. It’s unfair. “What do you think?” Jungkook stares at you in particular, trying to gauge your reaction. You swallow hard, managing a half-hearted shrug. “It’s decent.” It’s clear with his smile he can see you’re trying to hide your true feelings. “Want me to save you seconds?” “I’m fine.” You wave your hand at him, despite your heart saying otherwise. It causes Jungkook to chuckle, but he doesn’t push to spare your pride. It’s hard to tell if his éclair is better than yours — but the mere fact that Jungkook hadn’t even had time to perfect his recipe or practice yet made it this good has your knees weak. You’re glad you don’t have him as your competition on a daily basis anymore. “This is pretty good,” Yuna admits, licking off her fingers. Yoongi seems to be enjoying it as well, eating quietly as he studies it. Hoseok is making noises at the back of his throat and Taehyung nods in approval. “Have you only made this once before?” Jimin asks. “Once or twice. Can’t remember.” Jungkook grins and that’s even more impressive. You’re conflicted of being proud of having such a talented boyfriend and being spiteful of him as a rival. Eventually, Taehyung dismisses the two of you for the rest of them to ‘deliberate’ and judge. You step out into the hallway and Jungkook throws his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. “Don’t be too sad when you lose, babe. I’ll comfort you with my golden trophy.” “There is no trophy.” “Hmmm, how about a kiss then?” His nose bumps against you, smiling wide. You feign a pout. “I’ll think about it.” “Alright, love birds.” Taehyung pokes his head out of the door in less than two minutes. “We’ve made our decision.” You gather back together again. All of them are pretending to be very experienced pâtisserie chefs with decades of experience. It’s both an amusing and lame sight — but you don’t comment in case they decide to deduct your points and Jimin grins, reading off the paper he has in front of him. “Y/N, your chocolate soufflé was very moist and delectable. It had the perfect amount of sweetness. We found your techniques to be very competent and proficient. The presentation was great. The texture was very soft and the flavour was very deep. The aftertaste, on the other hand, was unique and different. It caused many to continue tasting to pinpoint what it was. You obviously accomplished what you set out to do and you made a very tasty dessert.” Jimin clears his throat. “And Jungkook, your éclair was alright.” “Y/N wins,” Yuna announces with giddy laughter, arms in the air. “Wait.” Jungkook frowns. “What?” “Me?” You point to yourself, starting to laugh. “I won!” “It was a consensus,” Taehyung spits in the midst of giggles. “This is obviously rigged!” Jungkook protests loudly. “Don’t be a sore loser.” Hoseok shouts and the rest ignore his outcry. Yoongi nods in approval. “Congratulations, Y/N.” You put your hand over your heart. “Thank you.” You didn’t plan this — maybe they were sick of Jungkook’s ego too or maybe they just thought it would be hilarious to see his reaction, but whatever the case may be, you’re glad that they have your back. You lean over to your boyfriend, giving a brief peck on his pouting lips. “This is so rigged,” he mutters, less upset after your kiss. You smile at him and quirk your head to the side. “Life’s rigged, sweetheart. But tell me, how does it feel to be in a relationship with the best chocolatier on Earth?” Jungkook scoffs, a grin spreads into his face. // Informal baking competitions are all fun and games, but it’s not so much at the end when there’s a mountain of dishes to wash in the sink and a whole kitchen to clean. The others have long left after satisfying their sweet tooths, so you and Jungkook have been hard at work yet again. But in the midst of wiping down the counters, your eyes stray to Jungkook’s pastries. He’s stepped out for a moment, so you take the opportunity swiftly by its throat. You lurch across the floor and grab an éclair to eat. But as you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while relishing in the deliciousness, you don’t notice the man creeping up on you. “Having those seconds, huh?” You’re scared shitless, jolting, and you whirl around to see Jungkook with his shit eating grin that just screams ‘I knew it’. You’ve been caught in the act. There’s no denying it now. All you can do is swallow your mouthful. “So you liked it that much? You should’ve just admitted it from the start, Y/N. You know I can read you like an open book—” You grab Jungkook by the back of his neck and pull him in for a smothering kiss, just to shut him up. It’s a slow kiss, one where he cleans the cream off your lips and tastes the sugar on your tongue. It’s ambiguous who the real winner is. When you pull apart, you know you both feel like it. “Happy?” Jungkook laughs, nose scrunched and eyes crinkled. “Very.”

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #jungkook series #MORE FLUFF INCOMING

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szivtalan · 3 years

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Similarly, can you pick 5 numbers and rant about AoKuro please and thank you

Oh hell YEAH

4) - First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

As we know, Aomine was, at the very beginning scared shitless of Kuroko (thinking he was a ghost and such) and in turn, Kuroko thought Aomine was pretty loud and unpleasant at first, but they quickly grew fascinated with each other: Kuroko admired Aomine’s passion for basketball and Aomine admired his resilience and dedication. It wasn’t love at first sight per say, but it was hope at first sight. They knew they had the potential to be something that both scared them and lift them up, and that’s why they crashed so hard when that potential shattered to pieces.

7) - What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?

Aomine’s annoyed with how easily things seem to come for Kuroko: sure, he works hard when it comes to basketball and the things he wants in life, but he’s just so in tune with his feelings. He can say “I love you, but I’m mad at you right now and I want us to solve this” in a way that Aomine doesn’t even feel attacked, and that confuses him because he’s not that in tune with his inner workings. It’s good that at least there’s one of them who can handle a conflict well and knows what’s up, but he feels like he relies on Kuroko too much and feels guilty when his immaturity stands in the way of their relationship. Kuroko, in turn is annoyed with Aomine’s inability to communicate his wants and needs and his tendency to hide when there’s something wrong. He’d much prefer it if Aomine was honest with him, even if he ends up saying hurtful things - at least they talk about it. As for changing, they wouldn’t change the other for the world.

10) - Who drives? Cooks? Does the handiwork? Cleans? Pays the bills? Handles the public?

Driving: Aomine. They’re both excellent drivers, and even though Kuroko is the safer/slower/more patient one, Aomine enjoys it more than him so he’s usually the one behind the wheel (and getting road rage).

Cooking: Kuroko. It’s not that Aomine is a particularly lousy cook, but he is a bit clumsy with stuff like spices and measurements,so he’ll just let Kuroko’s more experienced hands - and palate - move the things in the kitchen.

Handiwork: Oh Aomine is fantastic with tools. If it’s about a broken tap/sink/lightbulb, Kuroko’s more than enough to handle it, but if it’s anything more serious than that, he’ll wait for Aomine to get home and fix it for them. Being curious about the nature and structure of things makes him a natural at dissecting and putting things back together, and also yes, he likes to show off with his masculine skills thank you very much. (I......suppose this is what handiwork stands for #nonnativeenglishfears)

Pays the bills: both of them wtf? Neither of them are millionaires, they do halfsies. If it’s accounting and actually doing the process of paying them it’s Kuroko though, he’s the adultier adult in the relationship.

Handles the public: neither of them. If they have to make an announcement to friends, Kuroko would more likely take the fall but they’re not the kind to stand in front of crowds making big speeches anyway.

16) - Do they keep secrets? Lie? Cheat?

They don’t cheat. Aomine is the kind to keep secrets and lie to Kuroko, and even though he sees right through the lies, he can’t help the secrets like that. They’re usually about how Aomine feels but can’t accurately put into words, or he doesn’t even want to acknowledge: fears and anxiety and guilt and doubt, all the things he imagines he would hurt Kuroko with. It takes him a long time to realize that his silence and his tendency to keep things from him is much, much more painful to Kuroko than whatever he wants to hurl at his head at a weak moment, but he does, and these instances start happening less regularly.

20) - What does their home look like? Their room?

They work part-time during college to save up for a small apartment on the outskirts of Tokyo. It’s charming, small but cozy: the living room/kitchen area is kept mostly clean (courtesy of Kuroko’s tidiness) with just a few sports magazines scattered around. There’s a dog bed in the living room next to the TV where Nigou can nap during the day and one at the foot of their bed (which is not used very often since they usually let Nigou sleep in their bed). The bedroom has fairy lights, something Aomine first labeled ‘gay’ but quickly recoiled when Kuroko expressed his liking for it. The bed is always made on Kuroko’s side and almost never on Aomine’s; they have bedside drawers, Kuroko’s is always clean and empty besides a box of tissues and a bottle of water, and there’s always something(s) scattered across Aomine’s. They have house slippers and whenever someone comes to visit they whip out an extra pair. It’s all cozy and homely and Aomine keeps thanking Kuroko for keeping it that way.

#ask and i shall answer #geometricalien #aokuro #god i love my boys #thank youuuu <3

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pa-panda-heroes · 4 years

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LOV with reader who cries easily? Like, not when it comes to murder, but she’ll be reading a book or watching a movie and burst into tears when a character is sad. Or she’ll see someone else sad and join them?

Ooooo sure thing, dearie! :> also it’s okay I love that you’re spamming me! ^^

~🐼

LoV with reader who cries easily!

Tomura:

This poor boy won’t know what to do!

Obviously he’s seen people cry before, but he’s not the type to really know what to do when someone cries. Same, shiggy So he won’t really do anything to comfort you.

Maybe he’ll just give you the side-eye the first time he’s around when it happens, wondering “what the hell, y/n?” because you’re obviously not in danger or anything. And when he realizes what you’re crying about, he’s really confused. How could something that’s not real like a movie make you cry?

He’s not gonna coddle you, but he’s not against letting you cry into his shirt or hold onto him. He might not reciprocate, he might. Depends on what kind of day he’s had and whether or not he’s feeling cuddly.

He thinks it’s cute that you’re so empathetic, maybe even admires it, and so he’ll secretly enjoy seeing it. Not that he likes seeing you sad or upset! It’s nice for him to have someone around who knows a thing or two about empathy or sympathy. It makes him feel a little normal.

Naturally, he’s going to be a little wary. Oftentimes he’s going to feel like it’s pity rather than empathy or sympathy if it’s directed at him. He wants someone to understand and love him, not pity and feel sorry for him! Even if that’s not the case, he’ll still often read it that way.

Most importantly, since you’re part of the League, he can’t let it get the better of you, so he’ll be really picky what kinds of missions he sends you on.

Obviously he’s not going to join you in your waterwork antics, but he’s not going to stop you either. So long as you’re quiet. He can’t have you wailing in the middle of something important...

Mr. Compress:

It’s going to catch him off guard, but not in the same way as Tomura.

As someone who’s keen in the entertainment department, he’s going to internally wonder if it’s an act at first. Perhaps you cry so that the League will underestimate you and not be hostile towards you. Perhaps you cry so they think you’re a sobbing fool but are actually stronger than all of them. He doesn’t know.

But when he realizes that’s how you are, it’s surprising for him to see raw emotion (or emotion regarded as weak or vulnerable) like that amongst someone in the League. It doesn’t bother him at all, and he’ll at least try to cheer you up.

100% will pull a water bottle out of nowhere to give you because “honey, you’re going to dehydrate yourself at this rate!” And he can’t let that happen.

This man won’t hesitate to pull out tricks and jokes that’ll get you crying from laughter instead of sadness.

If that fails, he’ll probably rub your back and let you ride through it, nodding and humming in acknowledgement if you tell him about what made you cry.

Mr. will make sure you’re okay before leaving or splitting off from you if you’re on a mission, but if time is of the essence, he won’t try very long to cheer you up. You matter to him, but he’s still serious about being in the League.

He’ll think it’s sweet you have such a big heart, and unlike Tomura, he’ll outright tell you, maybe patting your head or taking his mask off to smile at you.

Twice:

You can be damn sure this man is going to cry with you. We all know he has a lot of heart, and no matter how badly his trauma starts up, he’s going to be spilling waterworks alongside you. That’s inherently who he is.

He’s very similar in respect to seeing someone else cry and crying at them, so most of his crying with you is his crying for you, in a way. If he sees you cry, he’ll instantly cry!

Most of the time Twice is going to be too busy shedding tears with you to really comfort you, although he’ll offer some words of encouragement and try to.

If it’s not affecting him as much as it is affecting you, he’ll run for water to give you and possibly a little trinket that’ll lift your mood. Maybe he’ll grab a sugary treat, if it’s included in your normal diet and appreciated by your palate, but he’ll find something else that’s not sugary if you’re diabetic or whatnot.

Suuuper relieved there’s another crier in the League. If something gets him going, he’ll show it to you and you can cry together! I can also see Twice as a happy crier, so he’ll show you whatever made him happy whether or not you happy cry, too. But it’ll make him really happy if you enjoy it with him!

He actually doesn’t like seeing you sad. It’s kind of painful for him to watch, so he looks forward to happy crying with you the most.

If you’re still crying by the time he’s moved on, he’ll sit with you and help you ride out your tears, but I think it’ll be hard for him to think of what to say, so he’ll mostly make cheesy or bad jokes to try.

If you cry more often than usual in a day, he’ll take the reigns and steer you away from anything potentially tear-inducing because he’ll get worried about you. Is there something in particular that’s made you more sensitive? Are you overloaded and stressed from being in the League? Are you okay? He’ll be almost frantic if you cry too much.

Himiko:

Himiko will find it adorable and enjoy seeing you cry way too much. If she feels like it, she’ll show you something to make you cry!

She relishes in your crying face, grinning like a cheshire cat with flushed cheeks as her eyes dance across the tear stains on your cheeks and the reddening sclera of your eyes.

She might mock-cry with you - not to mock you but so that you don’t feel alone in your salty antics. You’re important to her and she’s going so show it in ways like that, to show you she’s right there with you. Even if it’s odd for her to do so.

This girl wouldn’t dare make fun of you for being a “softie” or so open to vulnerability and hell hath no fury like Himiko if someone else does. She won’t hesitate to cut a bitch for making fun of you!

Even if you’re in public and someone glares at you or looks at you funnily, it’ll rile her up and she’ll send a terrifying glare their way.

Her use of pet names will increase tenfold while you’re crying, almost like a loving partner trying to console you - but she’s not. She loves seeing you like that, so she wants to coddle you.

She’ll likely latch onto in any way possible when you start up and cling onto you.

Himiko won’t encourage hydration, but if you ask for it almost every time you cry, she’ll put two and two together and start carrying water with her to give you. Hey, that blood-sucking contraption is good for something!

Dabi:

He’s not going to be so nice. He can be a teasing bastard - rather, he is one.

He won’t coddle you and he’ll tease the hell out of you. “Aw, y/n. What could possibly have you cryin’ now? I thought you quit for the fifth time just a few minutes ago!” Sometimes he’ll come off as downright mean, but he doesn’t mean it that way.

He does think it’s cute, though. To see someone become so vulnerable so easily reminds him how much you stand out from the League. It seems innocent to him.

Don’t expect him to get cuddly while you cry like Tomura or Himiko, he won’t have any of it. He’ll tolerate your crying, obviously, because he cares about you. And unless you’re extremely upset and alone with him, he won’t try to comfort you and build a damn for those waterworks of yours.

He certainly won’t join you, either. He literally can’t even if he wanted to, and it’s just not easy to make him cry.

If your eyes get dry and irritated from crying, you can bet he’ll pass eye drops to you. His tear ducts are burnt, he’s going to have some sort of drops or eye lubricant on him pretty much at all times.

He wouldn’t offer water; instead, I think he’d hand you liquor to get you to calm down and relax if it was on-hand. Does drowning your sorrows in alcohol solve the problem? No. Is it unhealthy? Yes. Does Dabi know all this? Yes!

In all, he’s not gonna downright complain about it, but he’s not really going to do much to stop it. Unless someone made you cry. In which case, he’ll cremate them on the spot.

Spinner:

Already he’s going to want to protect you to prove himself, but if you cry that easily he’ll become really protective!

Ain’t nobody gonna make his s/o cry on purpose. Spinner may not have a destructive quirk like Tomura’s or Dabi’s, but he can hold his own in a fight, and he’s going to prove it if someone upsets you intentionally.

But if he sees you crying at a movie or book, he’ll think it’s precious and he’s 100% gonna flip a switch and be there to comfort you. But that doesn’t mean he’s good at it!

He’ll be flustered because he doesn’t entirely know what to do. He can offer sweet words and gentle pats and rubs, but what else? He’ll up and run for anything you ask for, no matter the time. Tissues? Got it. Water? Okay. A stuffed animal? Here- why didn’t you say so earlier?!

Spinner will probably coddle up to you first, instead of the other way around. He doesn’t want to see you sad and bummed out, so he gets the urge to hold you.

But if you manage to catch him off guard and latch on first, it’ll fluster him and he’ll be a stuttering mess.

It’s not easy for him to be sweet and caring in front of the League because he’s afraid they won’t take him seriously, so when you’re crying in front of them, he’ll try to usher you to the sidelines and calm you down quietly.

He’s happy that his s/o is so empathetic. It gives him a sense of normalcy within the League, and he’s not complaining.

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andawaywego · 3 years

Note

Hi! I have a prompt for you that I haven't seen anywhere else: From my understanding, Jamie and her brothers were separated as kids after going into the system. What would it look like if Jamie were to reunite with one/both of them as an adult (obviously co-starring Dani)? :)

hi! i’m just now getting to this, so i’m sorry, but here it is! i’ve had a few people asking for Jamie reconnecting with her brothers, and it was a bit of a difficult scene to write, honestly. but i hope you like it!

Nerves bounce furiously around her stomach, flutter inside her chest like heavy butterflies—like wind in her veins—and Jamie knows she’s shaking. She tries to channel it into her leg beneath the table, bouncing it up and down so quickly that it shakes her chair, scooting her forward a little.

It’s nothing. That’s what she tells herself. Just an ordinary day. Everything is going to be fine.

Wiping her sweaty palms on the fabric of her jeans, she looks cross the restaurant, seeking something familiar, something comforting. She finds it in the form of Dani sitting at a table near the windows. She has a mug of tea in front of her and she’s holding it between both palms as she looks out at the people passing by on the street. Jamie’s fingers itch a little with the urge to touch her, to get up out of her own seat and go to her, but she doesn’t.

“Jamie?”

The voice is deep—much deeper than she imagined—but warm, familiar. She doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is.

Standing beside the table is Mikey, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket and looking at her with a serious expression she vaguely remembers from when he was just a baby. She looks him over, takes in the clean cut of his light brown hair, the flush of pink to his pale, freckled cheeks and the gentle curve of his nose. If she squints, she can see the Mikey she remembers seeing all those years ago, little and chubby and reaching out for her with grabby hands as his adopted parents carried him out of the group home.

“Mikey,” Jamie says, not a question. “Wow.” She pushes her chair out, scraping it against the floor, and stands before him. He’s much taller than her and she has to crane her neck a little to look up at him. “Look at ya’. God, ya’ done growin’ yet?”

Mikey’s expression falters and then he smiles. “You done shrinkin’ yet?” he asks and Jamie laughs, delighted as the nerves begin to fade a little.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d barely been able to say more than a couple, garbled words in baby-speak. Now he’s teasing her and joking around.

More than anything, she wants to hug him, but she doesn’t. Instead, she gestures to the seat across from her own at the table and says, “If you wanted to…”

They sit down and sit in silence for a few moments, taking in the sight of one another. The waitress comes by and asks for their order, and when Mikey turns his head, Jamie sees it. On the side of his jaw, blooming down his neck, the skin is faintly mottled and jagged. It disappears beneath his neckline and, she assumes, continues down his chest.

An image flashes to mind of him as a baby, skin a livid red up and down his neck and chest. She can still remember the way he’d shrieked and cried and fussed and she hadn’t a clue what to do. She’d just held him in her arms, her own shoulder aching and flaring bright, hot pain through her nerves, and tried to quiet him down.

“I’m really glad you came,” Jamie says abruptly once the waitress has gone, shocking both herself and her little brother with her honesty. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Mikey nods. “Me, too,” he says, then, “I mean, I’m glad too. I...When Mom said you called, I...I was surprised.”

Mom.

His mother, he means. Not theirs.

The one that chose him, not the one that abandoned them both.

Jamie’s leg starts bouncing up and down again. She is suddenly very aware of the people around them. Her eyes flick over to where Dani is sitting again to find that Dani is already looking at her. She smiles. Jamie smiles back.

She turns back to Mikey. “Your mom said you’re at uni?” she says, hoping to open the conversation a little more.

“Yeah,” Mikey says. “I am. Studying accounting there.”

“That’s nice. And you like it?” He nods and she bobs her head in return. “That’s good.”

It’s strange to think of him as a nineteen-year-old. Every time she’s imagined him in the years that have gone by, he’s been a fuzzy shape or else that wailing, bright-red two-year-old that she couldn’t stop from tipping over that pot of boiling water. Some part of her expected him to be angry or perhaps even cold, given all that happened, but he isn’t. He seems happy in the most miraculous way, vivid and compassionate, filled-in colors and steady lines. They’d been blurry children together, sapped of painted edges and anything defining save for all they’d been left to carry for themselves.

She wants to ask him about his life—all of it; every part she’s missed. There are things that she does know about Denny, through the few letters they’ve exchanged over the years, but things are different there. Strained. Maybe they’re too alike. Maybe they’re too different. Jamie doesn’t know.

But she does know that Mikey is her little brother and the young man sitting in front of her—kind eyes and tentative smile; thanking the waitress as she sets a mug of tea in front of him—is a mystery she won’t be able to solve within this first meeting.

“What about you?” Mikey asks. “What have you been up to?”

Jamie doesn’t have a response to that right away. She takes a sip of her lukewarm, giving a noncommittal shrug. “A little here and there,” she tells him. There’s more to it than that, but the palatable version that has less a chance in changing the way he looks at her. “Worked at a house over in Bly for a bit, yeah. Gardening.”

It’s a very short version of the whole thing.

“Gardening?”

She nods.

“That’s nice.”

Silence falls again. They watch one another, the years and distance spreading out between them, lying flat on the tabletop. He has their father’s eyes, her eyes, and there is something in them that settles heavy in her chest. Something like: I know you and I don’t know you and I wish I could fix this.

She wonders what her own eyes say.

Probably something similar.

“Jean and Robert are good to you, though? Everything’s alright?” Jamie asks, unsure as to where the question comes from, but needing to ask. Needing to know.

Mikey nods. He spins his mug on the table. “We’re good,” he tells her. “We’ve always been.”

Jamie’s expression flickers, though she doesn’t notice that it does. “That’s good,” she says. “When we spoke on the phone, Jean seemed nice. Like she’s a good mom.”

Mikey’s eyebrows twitch upwards for a moment. She gets it. He’s not the only one carrying mother issues.

“She is,” he tells her. “I’m lucky to have them.”

At least he’s aware of that.

Across the restaurant, Dani has her chin leaned on her hand, very pointedly not watching. Jamie tries not to get lost in the shape of her profile, the dip of her jaw. It’s strange, but the longer she spends without her, the more she longs to be with her. Everything is still so shiny and new and Jamie is learning, much in the same way she’s trying to learn with Mikey. Trying to figure it all out.

But, in the end, there will always be things she can’t know—things she can’t fix. And there is peace in knowing that. In coming to terms with it.

What she can do: get to know him, ask about his classes, his friends, his interests.

Tell him about hers.

So, they talk. The two of them slashing their way through the overgrowth between them, all that dying green that’s built up in the time they’ve been apart. It aches a little, rattling like loose glass, to take these steps forward together, but they take them all the same.

And that is something, at least, if there can be nothing else.

Eventually, they come to a good enough place to end and then Jamie is standing again, just in front of her brother. Mikey towers over her and Jamie knows that they are both considering what they should do next as they part ways. Their movements have gotten Dani’s attention, though, and she’s watching them now.

“It’s really nice to see you again,” Mikey tells her honestly, far too serious for a boy his age. Affection aches in every one of her muscles at the thought. “Are you...staying in the city, or…?”

She knows what’s coming next and blinks. Says, “I’m...actually, I’m, um...I’m gonna be going to America soon, uh...in a couple days.”

Mikey does something she doesn’t expect then. He beams. “Yeah?” he asks. “Just visiting, or…?”

“Hopefully settling down somewhere,” Jamie tells him. “With, um…” She swallows thickly, heart stretched impossibly thin in her chest and thumping angrily, daring her to finish the thought. But she can’t. Not on her own. “Here, come here.”

She leads Mikey across the cafe then, over to where Dani is sitting and watching them with wide eyes, clearly not having expected to be brought into the mix. She blinks nervously, looking between the two of them, and Jamie settles a hand on her shoulder.

“Mikey, this is Dani,” she introduces. “She’s my, um…”

She doesn’t finish. Isn’t sure how. But Mikey is still smiling, eyes full of wonder at meeting this person who seems so important to his older sister. He reaches out a hand and Dani takes it, shaking it from her seat.

“Good to meet ya’,” he says and Dani smiles back.

“You, too,” she agrees. “Finally.”

Mikey nods and looks over at Jamie, beaming right back. “Finally,” she agrees and Mikey doesn’t look like he’s even considering arguing the point.

______

They make plans. Vague ones. Mikey gives her an address for uni and the telephone number for his residence hall.

Out on the sidewalk in front of the cafe, he pulls her into a hug that she has to lift to her tiptoes in order to meet. This is her brother, Jamie tells herself. A stranger still, yes, but maybe a little less strange. More than a stranger.

Her brother: golden, gentle boy that he is. He’s more than Jamie ever thought any of them would grow up to be, considering and if she has learned nothing else, she will walk away knowing this:

She doesn’t need to be sorry about anything in order to love him.

#damie #damie prompt #dani x jamie #dani/jamie #thobm #the haunting of bly manor #jamie x dani fanfic

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nazyalenskyism · 4 years

Text

Can’t Fall in Love Tonight

Description: A modern Zoyalai political AU. Nikolai is running for office and Zoya is has been his right-hand woman since University. Feelings are finally realized and Zoyalai banter.

A/N: Just Zoya and Nikolai being Zoya and Nikolai. I hope you enjoy, as always any feedback would be lovely, and the first chapter is under the cut.

Ao3: Can’t Fall in Love Tonight

updated: Here are the links to chapter 2 and the final chapter, chapter 3!

Ao3 :Chapter 2

Ao3: Chapter 3

“That’s unacceptable and you know it, don’t you?”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

Zoya resisted the urge to roll her eyes, dear lord, each new batch of interns was worse than the last. They had no backbone whatsoever, and when did it become part of her job to help them develop one? “So, if you know the criteria for all reports submitted to me, why didn’t you check with your supervisor that it had been done correctly? Why would you bring it to me without being sure?”

“I-- I’m so sorry Ms.Nazyalensky, it won’t happen again.”

She nodded curtly, “see to it that it doesn’t. We run a big campaign, and we can’t afford to have little things like this slow down the cogs of the machine. Double check all the requirements next time, because if you don't, there won't be any more chances, nor will you ever find a job with any political campaign again.” The kid, Paul-- no--Patrick, stared at her, his mouth wobbling, trying to find a reply. She’d given him another chance, why was he still standing there, acting like she’d already fired him? She opened her mouth, about to tell him to run back to his station when she noticed glinting gold out of the corner of her eye. Fantastic. The gallant hero riding in to save the poor intern from the stormy harpy. She knew the names they called her, and she didn't care in the least. There was a reason she had her job, and that was because she was the best, not because she was the nicest.

“What Nazyalenksy means to say is that we constantly have to be updated with new incoming information that the format that you learned on your first day was created to save as much time as possible while conveying the information easily. Each individual on the staff has a significant role to play, something that seems as trivial as a document’s format has a big impact on the entire campaign. Your job is as important as mine, Pavel.”

A hand clapped down on the young man’s shoulder as he replied, “really?” in an awed voice, mouth agape. Zoya fought to keep her composure again, these interns were always ready to bow down in front of their boss as if he were a king and they were mere subjects. A few words from Nikolai, a charming smile thrown their way and they were basically genuflecting.

“Well, that’s not entirely true, I suppose. I do have to stand around and look dashing, the most difficult of my daily tasks,” the man said good-naturedly. This was typical Nikolai, when he was in front of the lower level employees, he was a commanding and kind boss. When he was before his biggest donors, he was a charming young man, telling lively stories about his time in university, his world adventures, how he’d sailed around the world in two years, anything that would ensure their support. Pavel stood rooted to the spot, this was clearly the first encounter he’d had with the Nikolai Lantsov, and he looked like he was close to passing out.

“Run along now, Peter, and remember what I said.” The boy hurried away, too scared to tell her she’d called him by the wrong name, turning his head back to catch one last glimpse at Nikolai, paling as Nikolai raised a hand waving goodbye.

“His name was Pavel, and you didn’t have to instill the fear of Zoya into him for his mistake,” Nikolai said, turning his head towards her.

Zoya shrugged a shoulder noncommittally, “now he’ll never make the same mistake again. Where are we finding these new recruits, I swear we weren’t this incompetent when we did this.”

“You, incompetent? Those words don’t belong together in a sentence at all.”

“What about, Zoya’s unparalled talents save her incompetent candidate, Nikolai Lantsov from defeat yet again?” At that, Zoya saw slight tension creep into Nikolai’s stance. She sighed, they really couldn’t go more than an hour without yet another issue springing up, could they?

“Perhaps that isn’t the most fitting phrase,” Nikolai said, tone shifting from easy and relaxed to all business. “Let’s talk in my office.” As he led the way down the hall of their headquarters, Zoya saw people stick their heads out of doorways to catch a glimpse of the golden boy, eyes wide, mouths agape. Zoya didn’t miss the looks towards her as well. Regularly she was their hardass superior who tolerated nothing less than perfection, but whenever their staff saw her go into a room alone with Nikolai, they got ideas that only added to the small, but ridiculous rumors that they were ‘a thing.’ She couldn’t care less, her job was to be his campaign manager during election season, and Chief of Staff otherwise— and so nearly half of her time was spent with Nikolai, heads bent over desks, trying to solve whatever new problem they encountered. Long after everyone had wrapped for the day, they would still be at the office, or retreat to Nikolai’s lavish apartment to continue working. She always went home after these late-night sessions, and nothing remotely scandalous had ever happened between her and Nikolai, but the rumors didn’t seem to care about facts. They were close, they always had been. She wasn’t about to act differently because of a small rumor. Unless their actions would negatively impact Nikolai’s image, she didn’t care. Still, Zoya swept the hallway with a cool glare, she was still their superior, and they didn’t have time to waste watching a man walk down the hall.

By the time Zoya reached the end of the hall, Nikolai was gallantly holding the door open for her, and quickly shut it behind her. She didn’t particularly care for his office, it felt like a watered down, more palatable version of his home office, which was much more eclectic, filled with his personal hard-won treasures, not just that which looked the most interesting and professional. But she supposed, if anyone understood the importance of presentation, it was her. Her blue silk blouse with its delicate silver pearl buttons was paired with a sleek black skirt, and her usual heels were polished to perfection, not unlike Nikolai’s shining black Oxfords. “So, what is it?”

“Zoya. It’s... It’s…” He scrubbed a hand over his face, and she froze, she hadn’t seen him this phased about something in a long, long time. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

“Just spit it out Nikolai, whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

“We have reason to believe that Demidov has a new Campaign Manager.”

Zoya felt her brows draw together, “that can’t be the whole of it, who is it Lantsov?” Nikolai looked at her pointedly and Zoya understood immediately, “no. No. No. Way. In. Hell.” She felt pure hatred course through her veins. ‘Any other problem, we could deal with-- any other problem than this. Why did it have to be this?’ She drew in a deep breath. She had been preparing to face him again for years. Not just to face him, but to beat him at his own game, and she knew that she could. She had learned a lot, grown, and become a force to be reckoned with. She was ready to beat him, and this time, she would.

“Right then, what do you want our next move to be?”

Nikolai looked up at her, his brows furrowed, she was almost sure that he was going to ask her if she was alright, which was the last thing she needed to hear right now. Instead, he shook his head slightly, clearing his face of all concern before drawing out files from his desk drawer. “We have to figure out their strategy. But before that, we have to tell the team. Demidov is definitely bringing his new manager to the charity ball tonight which means we’re all going to have to play nice.”

Zoya snorted, “you can play nice Nikolai, I’ll be doing just the opposite.”

“Zoya,” he caught her wrist as she turned to stand. “All of us hate him, but we can’t do anything in public today. I promise that we will find a way to get rid of him forever, but we’re not going to do anything to jeopardize future plans today, is that clear?”

Her chest heaved, it had taken everything in herself not to let go and scream when she’d realized who Nikolai was alluding to, but she didn’t know if she could manage to do this-- to go through a 6 hour fundraiser while ‘playing nice’ with the man who had ruined all their lives. But she had a job, and that was to carry them through this election, to have Nikolai’s back, to ensure that they did what they could for the people they promised to serve, and she would not let him be the reason she didn’t fulfill her duties. She pursed her lips, nodding at Nikolai, “I won’t do anything to mess things up, but I sure as hell won’t be playing ‘nice’.”

“I would expect nothing less of you,” Nikolai said with a genuine smile, tugging gently at her wrist, “if I wanted someone who would ‘play nice’ I wouldn’t have started working with you eight years ago.”

“You didn’t start working with me, Lantsov, I started working with you. Without my intervention, you would still be in local politics.”

“Semantics dear Zoya. If I hadn’t approached you in the law library, we would have never met.”

“That’s wrong and you know it. We would’ve met when I ran for the head of the student body and beat you for the presidency. I would’ve loved to see you defeated by me. It’s fine, I guess watching you lose board game night every Friday for the last eight years is good enough.” She sat down, her wrist still in Nikolai’s grasp.

“I don’t lose every time,” Nikolai frowned childishly, and Zoya had to suppress a laugh, she knew he was trying to up her spirits before they had to relay the bad news to the others. “I always win the strategic games, like chess, but you unfairly banned them.”

Zoya leaned in, cocking her head at him, “we can’t all be boring like you Lantsov. What’s the point of a game night if half the group falls asleep by 9 PM?”

Nikolai leaned in as well, “it’s not my fault none of you are worthy competitors, if you--” he was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, causing Zoya to pull away sharply, yanking her wrist from him. Nikolai shot her an unreadable look before inhaling deeply, “yes?”

“Mister Lantsov, I have Ms. Safin, Mr. Kostyk, Mr. Yul-Bataar and Ms. Kir-Bataar here, like you asked.”

Nikolai and Zoya shared a look, this was it then. “Let them in.”

---

“Zoya, come on, we’re going to be late unless we leave right now,” Nikolai glanced at his watch, the charity event started in 40 minutes and with the traffic it would definitely take them at least half an hour to get there.

“I’m coming!” Zoya’s voice drifted down from the upstairs floor of his apartment. Zoya lived in a cozy apartment in Hell’s Kitchen that she had shared with Genya and Tamar, but when Tamar had started getting serious with Nadia, she’d moved in with the girl and they’d gotten married shortly after. Now, Genya and David were newly engaged, which meant that David was always over, and so Zoya was spending more time at his place, because as she liked to say, “if I have to sit through one more dinner where it’s just the two of them goggling at each other the entire night, I’ll take out their eyes myself.” After they’d broken the news to the rest of their inner circle, Zoya had asked if she could get ready at his apartment, and when he’d said yes, had gone home immediately to grab her things. He knew she felt unreasonably guilty, that she felt like she’d betrayed her friends by allowing Demidov to hire him, even though she’d had no way to stop it from happening. He knew she didn’t want to have to face Genya alone immediately after they had told her, and he knew that was why she’d sought refuge in his apartment for a few hours before the party. He wanted to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, that she couldn’t change the past, only work with him to better things in the future, but these were things she already knew, and she relied on him to help her to move forward, not tell her what she already knew.

Nikolai looked at his watch again, now they were actually about to be late, “Time to go! Where are you Zo—” Nikolai felt his breath skip. While he’d been distracted, Zoya had begun to descend the stairs, looking ethereal in a silky emerald green dress, her hair loose, tumbling in ink black waves over her shoulders. He felt a bit like a school boy, his breath quite literally knocked from his chest for a moment. Teardrop emeralds hung from her ears, and matching clips held back portions of her hair. He thought Zoya in her favoured blue had been difficult to resist, but Zoya in green was a sight to behold on its own. Had he not been practiced in restraining himself from her beauty, he was sure he would’ve trailed behind her the whole night like a forlorn puppy.

“I’m ready, I’m ready!” She called, hurrying to the door to slip on her heels for the night. “Hold this,” she grumbled, smacking her clutch into his chest as she breezed by him.

“Ouch, you know you could be more gent--”he broke off, nearly gaping. Backless. Her dress was backless. Nikolai looked up to the heavens, it seemed less and less likely that he was going to survive tonight. He shook his head, trying to clear it so he could focus on their task for the night, although he didn’t know how he was supposed to focus on anything else when his Chief of Staff was looking like that. He sighed audibly and Zoya’s head snapped towards him as they slipped out the door.

“What, you’re not looking forward to tonight?”

“No. I am.”

“What is it then?”

“I’m just thinking about how you’ve out-dressed me again. People are going to start thinking I have no sense of style if you keep upstaging me like his,” he replied, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes, “you’re not used to it yet, Lantsov? I’ve always been better dressed and better-looking. Maybe it’s time you up your game.”

“Oh,” he clutched his chest in mock despair, “how you wound me.” Zoya snorted at him before flouncing towards the elevator. He stared after her, he definitely would never get used to this.

---

They’d sat through the initial speeches, the extravagant dinner with its ridiculously small portions and now the dance floor had opened up and yet, they’d yet to see Demidov or the newest addition to his staff. Nikolai had convinced Zoya to dance after she’d spent the better part of the evening making sure Genya was okay, and that Nikolai spoke to all the people they needed to secure as donors, and charmed everyone who came within 5 feet of him. Now, finally he’d been granted a short reprieve in the form of a dance with his favourite harpy.

Zoya felt her pulse thrumming, her adrenaline had been high all night, and she just wanted the night to be over, the anticipation was tugging at her relentlessly. She’d agreed to a dance with Nikolai, and he looked especially the part of a prince tonight. She had to admit to that she’d had a moment of speechlessness when she’d seen him at the bottom of the stairs, the midnight black of his suit a stark contrast to his golden locks, and the gold tie pin and cufflinks he adorned highlighted the gold flecks in his hazel eyes. It was good that he looked handsome tonight, from a professional standpoint only, of course, people responded to beauty, they both knew that. She’d been around Nikolai, been his closest friend for long enough that she had made herself immune to his charms and looks. Still, she fought shivers when he placed her hand in his, the other sitting on the small of her back as he led her into a flawless waltz. As they began to gently sway to the soft string music, Zoya’s mind turned back to the issue at hand.

“Do you see him?”

“No. He’s probably waiting to make a dramatic entrance.”

“Is that what you would do?”

Nikolai hesitated, "I would never be in his position.”

“You’re right. I just wish we knew what game he was playing. Or when he’d show up.” They passed a few moments in silence, both of them drawing closer together, content in the moment, until Nikolai saw a commotion out of the corner of his eye.

“ I think your wish has been answered, Zoya dear.” Her head jolted upright just as the song ended. There, at the grand doors of the ballroom, was Demidov, looking the part as usual, and next to him stood a man dressed entirely in black.

“Here we go,” Nikolai murmured. Zoya took his arm with one hand and grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing server’s tray in the other as they crossed the floor towards the men. Nikolai found David and Tolya’s eyes from across the room and gestured towards the ballroom door. They both nodded and Nikolai watched as they found Genya, Tamar and Nadia. Good, it was best that they all got out of here. Knowing the man, he would try to goad them with mentions of their friends, and Nikolai was not in the mood tonight.

“Mr. Lantsov,” Demidov greeted them cheerfully, clasping Nikolai’s hand in a friendly handshake. “The always radiant Ms. Nazyalenksy,” he smiled, pressing his lips to her knuckles, not seeing the dangerous fire simmering behind her eyes. Only her true friends would ever be able to see how irritated she was by a man she deemed as, ‘having a backbone made of butterscotch pudding.’ He wasn’t fully aware what that meant, but Genya, Nadia and Tolya had agreed serenely when she’d first said it, so he supposed it must make sense.

“Please, allow me to introduce you to my new campaign manager! This is--”

“Aleks!” Nikolai exclaimed jovially, not missing the laugh in Zoya’s eyes. “My goodness, it’s been so long.”

“You know each other?” Demidov said.

“Oh yes, way back in my university days, but I’m sure you don’t want to hear that story, it’s far too long and features several ballads dedicated to my brilliance. It’s rather a production.”

“I prefer to go by ‘The Darkling’,” Aleksander interjected coolly, inclining his head at Nikolai in acknowledgement, and resting his eyes on Zoya.

“Oh,” Zoya started, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing any true emotion on her face. She brought a finger to her chin in mock-contemplation, though no one other than Nikolai and the Darkling would know it. “That’s a strange name, is it French?”

“No, no. Zoya, I speak French, and whatever it is, it’s not French. Maybe it’s Russian?” Nikolai returned, looking thoughtful. Saints, he was a frighteningly good actor.

She shrugged, “funny, I’m fluent and I've never heard that before.”

“Is it not English, Aleksander?” Demidov questioned, clearly puzzled.

The Darkling ignored them all. Instead he turned to Zoya, “Ms. Nazyalenksy, would you honour me with a dance?”

“No.” Zoya enunciated clearly, looking directly at him. Nikolai laid a hand on her arm, a small reminder of their larger plan. His phone buzzed in his lapel pocket, and he glanced at it quickly, a message from Tamar, perfectly on time.

“If you’ll excuse us, we have to take this,” Nikolai said holding up his phone, placing his hand on Zoya’s back, letting her know they were escaping this situation. Demidov nodded a goodbye as Zoya took a final sip from her glass.

“It was so nice to meet you, Alexi!” she laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder, clearly dismissing him as if she were a queen and he were a mere peasant.

“Goodnight, enjoy the festivities Aleks,” Nikolai added, nothing but a polite smile on his face as they turned and started towards a sheltered alcove in the corner of the room.

---

Zoya paced back and forth, “I hate everything about this— how could anyone even think to hire him after what he did?” Nikolai frowned, there was a note of desperation in her voice, very unlike Zoya. He knew the crimes of the man as well as the rest of his inner circle, they had all been directly impacted by him, but he knew that Zoya had never forgiven herself for being young, taken in by his seemingly perfect ideology and being unable to see the rot that lay beneath it all. Others who were older, and arguably wiser had been fooled just as easily as they all had, yet Zoya wouldn’t forgive herself, she held herself to a higher standard, he knew what that was like better than anyone else. The reason he’d told her before he’d broken the news to the rest of his staff was because of this, he knew that neither him nor Zoya would ever let that man inflict anymore hurt upon their friends.

“He did a lot to bury his crimes, only a few people truly know what happened. The general public views them as allegations, not definitive crimes.”

“Why? They’ve seen the evidence.” Zoya snapped, “they can see it every day.” He could see that she was a tightly wound coil after the news and that she needed a distraction.

“Shall we share another dance?”

“What?” she snapped, “Nikolai, I’m not in the mood.”

“Whatever you say, Nazyalensky, but if you don’t dance with me, I’m 98% sure he’s going to ask you to dance next,” he said nodding towards Kirigin, one of many men who constantly trailed them at functions like this in an attempt to catch Zoya’s attention for a second.

“Oh god, my options are you and Kirigin?” Zoya rubbed her temples, as much as she wanted to go home and finish a bottle of wine on her own, she knew they had to stay until the party was over. “Fine. Lead the way Lantsov, but I will be stepping on your toes.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, my ruthless Zoya.”

#zoyalai #zoyalai fic #nikolai lantsov #zoya nazyalensky #kos fic #kos au #zoyalai au

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