#actually really nice to get a little writing going through my system

[g4rvez-r3id]

The Holiday: Part One

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Synopsis: You and a random woman online do a home-exchange for the holidays after a hasty breakup with your boyfriend. You’re enjoying the quaint little cottage you’re currently staying at in D.C. when all of a sudden, a strange man is knocking at your door. The man claims he’s the brother of the woman’s place you’re currently staying at and needs a place to stay for the night since he’s had far too much to drink. One thing leads to another and well… things get complicated from there.

Category: Fluff, Smut

Warnings: meet cute, reader just went through a breakup, mentions of alcohol cosumption, a lil ooc!spencer? post-prison spencer reid, spencer has a sister named caroline for the sake of the plot, spencer is a cheeky little shit, kissing, smut warnings: soft!dom spencer, titty sucking, fingering, cunnilingus, whimpering (spencer reid core), a lil dirty talk, riding, uses of ‘darling’ and ‘angel’, creampie— that should cover it!

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! so i was watching “The Holiday” the other night and it had me thinking: i could see this happening with Spencer Reid hehehe so here’s what my brain conjured up! it’s going to be following the plot of the movie but ofc things are gonna be a bit different! also, happy holidays and merry christmas! i hope y’all do like this hehe <3

It was snowing in D.C.. You’d never actually experienced snow before, considering you actually lived in L.A., where the sun was shining 24/7. It was a big leap from the weather in California, that was for sure.

But you didn’t mind. Mid-December, you expected the weather to be the way it was now, snowing and icy. And you pretty much liked it. You felt more at home out here than you did back in L.A.. And the more you thought about it, what did you really have back at home anyway?

You’d just broken up with your long-time boyfriend, who cheated on you with his assistant. And after verbally admitting to it and fighting with him about it, you’d kicked him out. (As you rightfully should). But after the interaction with him, you’d realized he was right about one thing. That one thing being that you always buried yourself in your work. And it’s not like it was easy not to get out of it, you were a writer, for God’s sake. You loved writing more than anything in the world, more than him. And he had an issue with that.

So, in spite of that, you’d decided that you needed a Christmas vacation. And you’d tried one of those home swap websites to find a place you could temporarily stay in for the holidays. And you’d found one belonging to a Caroline Reid.

You’d talked with her a little bit before deciding to agree to the home swap. You’d discovered she’d had a brother who also lived in D.C. and that he’d possibly pop in every now and again to see how things were going. Something about how he worked for the government and that he’d wanted to be sure that you were who you said you were and not some weird 40 year-old guy who stole underwear. You’d found out he was older and he was very protective of his sister and of course, you understood that. You almost wished you had a brother that was like that, but your apartment was in a gated community and it was pretty open. You’d also had an alarm system, knowing who was coming in and out of your community at all times.

So, you’d agree to the home swap for two weeks. Starting from the 16th of December to the 30th of December. The flight from L.A. to D.C. wasn’t long and you’d found the place alright.

A tiny cottage home that smelt of lavender and sea salt. The fireplace, looking as if it’s been used thoroughly, it’d felt oddly like home. Or at least a home you’d wanted growing up. You’d always been in L.A., never opting to go anywhere but home and this change was seemingly nice compared to your studio apartment in L.A., you suddenly felt bad for Caroline, having to leave such a beautiful home to gather at a studio apartment in L.A..

You’d taken a few days to get used to your surroundings, only leaving the cottage to go to the store and buy your snacks and sparkling cider for the night (since you hated wine). You only planned for night-in, watching whatever TV show was playing for the night. Eventually, you’d fallen asleep watching a re-run of The Nanny, cuddling up in a fetal position with the blanket you’d bought from home.

You were woken with a startle as you heard a banging on the door and you stood up quickly, looking around for anything in the room you could use as a weapon and opted for the giant book on the floor that could easily smack someone in the face and knock them unconscious if need be.

You walked down the stairs of the cottage and heard a voice outside followed by the banging. “Caroline? Caroline! Are you home?” The voice asked and you furrowed your brows and stupidly asked — “Who is it?” You dumbass! You’re not supposed to reveal that you’re home to the intruder! Unless that’s what the intruder wanted, you really need to stop listening to true crime podcasts.

“It’s me! Open the door!” The voice responded and you were beyond confused. “Hurry up! It's freezing.”

You hadn’t recognized the stranger’s voice and yet you continued to shoot yourself in the foot as you had asked again — “Who are you?”

“Caroline, open the door or I swear I'm gonna end up urinating all over your front porch—" You gasp, tossing the book on the couch and without even thinking, you open the door and in front of you is stood a tall man.

His chocolate brown hair pushed out from his neck, his stubble perfectly framed his face and his sharp jawline that looked like it could cut through glass. His perfectly plump, pink lips apart as he looks right at you, his hazel eyes gazing right at you in surprise. And all you can do is stare right back. He was dressed in a long black coat, black slacks and black loafers and a purple scarf around his neck to top it all off. He was kinda dressed as a professor now that you really looked at him, kinda looked like one too, the way he presented himself five seconds standing in the doorway.

And here you were, in patterned pajama bottoms, a white top and a grey cardigan, completely underdressed.

“Oh,” The man spoke. “You're not Caroline.” He turns towards you and crooks a small smile. “Or if you are, I'm much drunker than I realized. I'm so sorry. I-I wasn't expecting you.” His gaze never leaves your eyes as he backs away from the door for a moment.

“Well, I wasn't expecting you, either…” You trail off, not knowing what to call him. She’d probably settle for that attractive guy who used “urinating” instead of “taking a leak” on the front porch.

His eyes widen as he holds his hand out, “Oh, sorry! Uh, I’m… I’m Spencer Reid,” You take his hands going to shake his back. You can’t help but glance down at his hand, the veins on the back of it, making you gulp for a second. “Caroline’s brother.” He stated.

“Oh! Right!” You exclaim, totally forgetting that Caroline had informed you of her brother probably popping in every once in a while. She just didn’t happen to mention that he was hot! “I’m Y/n L/n, your sister informed me you’d be popping in sometimes.”

The man you now know as Spencer snaps his fingers and nods, “Yeah, forgive me, I’ve had a… bit too much to drink so it slipped my mind that she wouldn’t be here. My apologies. But do you mind if I… use the restroom?”

You flinch and back up so he can walk in the house, “Oh, of course! Come on in.” You probably shouldn’t have let him in. He could be a killer for all you know. It was something about him that just seemed… welcoming in a way.

He’d quickly gone into the bathroom downstairs and you’d spent a good minute fixing your hair to your liking so you could present yourself in a way. It wasn’t everyday a cute guy walked into your home (for the week at least), you wanted to at least look a little good.

“So, from what my sister has told me so far, she’s staying in L.A.?” He asks after he exits the bathroom and into the living room, where you find yourself doing anything but looking at him. “Yes, she’s staying at my studio apartment there. She, uh, listed this cottage on a home exchange website and I found it. We switched houses for two weeks for the holiday. So, I’m here and she’s… there.”

Spencer hums, “People actually do that?” You shrug in response, “Apparently.” Spencer looks at you and thinks to himself, “I just… I’m sorry, I told my sister that it could possibly be dangerous for her to do that and yet she’s just too stubborn. She’s like our mother in that way, it seems.” You nod at him, not knowing what to say to that.

There’s a brief silence before Spencer motions towards the couch. “I’m sorry, would you mind if I sat down? I, uh, was out tonight with my colleagues and I… I guess I’m feeling just a bit dizzy.” He tells.

“Oh, of course, go right ahead.” You tell and he plops on the couch and sits up, looking at you. “Also, again, I'm sorry about the intrusion. Although right now, I may not appear it, I am, in fact, Caroline’s respectable older brother. But on the rare — or I guess, lately not so rare — occasion that I frequent the O’Keefe’s and get inordinately drunk, my little sister puts up with me so I don't get behind the wheel.” He explains and you nod in understanding. “It’s a pathetic explanation, but, unfortunately, it's become a bit of a routine, really. I swear, I’m not usually like this but… yeah. Like I said, it slipped my mind that you’d be here instead of you, so… I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms. “Oh, no, you’re all good. I was just, uh, having my own little… girl’s night. I'm, um, not quite myself right now. I-I came here on a stupid whim, really.” Spencer nods at you as the silence fills the air once more.

“Oh, sorry, I’m a terrible host. Would you like something to drink? Glass of water? Tea? Sparkling cider, maybe?” You ask. “Uh, sure.” He nods and you nod back at him, going to the pantry to grab two glasses and fill the cups up with sparkling cider.

You walk back into the living room and hand him his cup, your pointer finger connecting to his for a split moment. “So, Y/n, is it?” He asks and you nod, “Yes, that’s me.”

He mumbled your name under his breath, seemingly like the way he said it. And you did, too. “So, Y/n, I assume you’re not married?” He asks and you furrow your brows — “Why? Do I look not married?” You chuckle awkwardly, wondering where this was going.

“No, it’s just…” He sits up more as he takes a sip of the sparkling cider. “I don’t know if my sister told you but I’m a profiler for the FBI and that means that I study human behavior and one thing I noticed about yours is that you seem to carry yourself pretty well so far. Your body language tensed and you got defensive when I assumed you weren’t married so I assume that’s a factor into your relationships and you don’t trust people often. But you let me in when I could’ve been a total stranger that’s lying to you, so I may be off my A-game here. It may also be the fact that your pupils dilated when you looked at me and you’re curling in on yourself, meaning you may find me attractive.” Your cheeks heat up and your eyes widen at that. Damn, he was good. “And that’s totally okay, I don’t know what you may see in me, but I’m flattered. And you’re also not wearing a wedding ring, but… by the fact that you said you’re not quite yourself at the moment and that you cowered and looked away for a second when you said that, I’m also assuming that you just got out of a relationship. Am I correct?”

You simply blink, completely dumbfounded at his whole “profiler” thing. You can’t help but stare and clear your throat and he can tell you’re uncomfortable with it. He shakes his head and shuts his eyes as if he’s in pain. But mostly he’s cringing because of what he said. “I’m sorry, I… I do this a lot. I just… ramble and ramble and ramble. I’m trying to be better at it, honest.”

You shake your head and shrug, “No, it’s okay.” You look at him. “You’re actually very spot on. Uh, I just broke up with someone. Before I left.” He nods at this. “He… cheated and well, my guard is back up. I came here to maybe… I don’t know, get a change of scenery for once? But now I’m realizing that I actually have no idea what I’m doing and well, I guess I just… feel alone in a way.” You realize you’ve just rambled about yourself and shake your head as he gawks at you and you chuckle it off, “Bet you're glad you knocked on this door.”

Spencer looks up at you, not laughing along with you but instead speaking softly, “I am, actually.” The way he said it made it seem like he actually meant it. You stare at him before looking down at your hands, playing with the loose thread on the ends of your cardigan.

“So,” Spencer spoke again. “Would it be alright if I stay? I'll be gone before you even wake up. I promise you will never lay eyes on me again. It might suck for you now that I think about it, considering you find me attractive.” He told and the heat rushes to your cheeks again.

“Okay, one: I do not find you attractive—” He interrupts you. “Funny how I brought it up before you didn’t deny this.”

“And two,” You continue. “It’s okay if you stay. I actually prefer it now that I know you’re not someone who wants to murder me.” Spencer nods at you, “Technically, you’re more likely to be murdered by someone you know so considering you’re not home at the moment, you’re safe.” He tightens his lips as he looks up at you.

You narrow your eyes at the man and study him, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a strange man?” Spencer thinks about it for a moment, “A lot, actually, yeah.” You purse your lips in a smile and catch yourself gazing at his hands again as he places the glass cup back on the table.

“Uh, let me get you a blanket.” You offer and suddenly you feel like an idiot because you don’t even know where the extra blankets are. And judging by your face, Reid can tell you don’t know where they are either. “Oh, uh, in the cupboard on the left.” He tells and you nod at him, going towards the cupboard you see surely enough on the left and of course, there are blankets inside. He’s probably been there often to know where the blankets are. Of course, he does, he’s Caroline’s hot older brother.

You walk back in the living room and see that he’s standing and he’s holding his hand out to grab the blanket from you. Somehow, you must’ve lost your footing because you ended up tripping over the carpet and into Spencer’s arms. “Here you go— whoa!”

You were lucky that he acted quick, otherwise you would’ve landed on your face but instead you landed on the plush of his chest. “Whoa! You okay?” He asks softly and you look up at him, considering he’s way taller than you. He gazed into your eyes and you his and you could see up closer that his eyes had a little green in them.

The way he held you in his arms for a moment, like you would break if he gripped your arms harder. You weren’t sure if you ever wanted to escape from his grasp. And without even thinking, he leaned closer and pecked your lips. The kiss was soft, simple, like he almost didn’t mean to do it.

Spencer closed his eyes as he winced, realizing that he shouldn’t have done that — but God, you wanted him to do that again. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Uh, good night.”

He begins to slug back to the couch but you grab him by his bicep. He may look a little lanky but his bicep is strong and firm. What you would do to get him to hold you in his arms and just— whoa. Don’t get there, brain.

You suddenly find yourself speaking and chuckling awkwardly as you loosen your grip on his arm a bit. “Do you think you could...” You close your eyes and correct yourself. “Would you mind, um, trying that again?”

Without another word, Spencer tries again and this time, he lingers and the kiss spurs off fireworks in your head. He pulls away and all you want to do is dig your fingers in his messy mane and never let your lips leaves his until it becomes a chore to breathe.

But you frown for a moment and find yourself pondering. What the hell are you doing? Spencer seems to notice this and tilts his head to meet your eyes.

“Bad?” He asks. “Weird.” You correct and chuckle to yourself once more, “Kissing a total stranger.”

“Really?” Spencer asks. “I do it all the time.” You look at him. Of course he’s experienced in this. I mean, look at him!

“Here, let me try.” You take a deep breath and kiss his lips and halfway through the kiss, you realize your eyes are open the entire time. It’s probably because of the fact that you didn’t want to miss a second of it. And honestly, who could blame you?

Spencer backs away after the kiss and you scrunch your eyebrows together as you realize that was kind of an awkward kiss. “Maybe if I closed my eyes.” You say and Spencer nods, “That’d probably be best.”

You do so, close your eyes that is and Spencer looks over your features and decides to try something himself. Carefully, he places his oddly cold hands around your cheeks and leans in, ghosting his lips over yours as he breathes into your face and you feel his lips kiss your cheek and the area near your nose and suddenly, you feel warmth way below as he finally kisses you on the lips.

His cold hands contrasted with your warm cheeks and you feel shaken with pleasure and you look deep into his eyes once you open yours and he already watching you.

“You know, given that I'm in a bit of a personal crisis and I find myself in a total stranger's home and also considering that you showed up and you're, like, insanely good-looking and you probably remember me anyway, I'm thinking… we should have sex.” You offer and his eyes widen at your forwardness.

You’re not usually like this. You’re never this forward and you’d never suggest this to a total stranger but there was something he inhabited that you just found sexy. And you wouldn’t care of the consequences and you didn’t really know him so you didn’t need to date him to secure your needs, you just needed a release from the stress you’d been under the past few days. Dealing with publishers for your newest book, scheduling interviews among interviews, the whole thing that happened with your now ex-boyfriend. This could be good and it’s not like you’re entirely desperate. All you really need is something.

“If-If you want,” You clarify, hoping to God you didn’t just freak this man out into not staying at his sister’s place for the night. “Just say the word, I can go lock myself back up in my room for the night and we can pretend this never happened.”

Spencer chuckles to himself and he looks at you as he quirks an eyebrow upwards, “Is that a trick question?” He asks. But you look at him, dead in the face and he can already tell you’re being serious about this.

“No, I'm being honest. And not that this matters, but I've never said anything like that in my entire life before.” You tell. “It's just that this whole knowing that I'll never see you again thing is kind of exciting. I mean, this is what a vacation's supposed to be, right? You're supposed to vacate your life, do the unexpected, and you are definitely unexpected.”

Spencer smiles a bit as he shakes his head, “You’re making me feel cheap here.” He said and you laugh along with him once you realize he found it funny. You pull a strand of hair behind your ear as you add on, “You're funny, which is also like a bonus. In my book.”

Spencer leans forward, wanting to kiss you once more but you push on his chest a bit as you add, “Are you sure you’re going to be stable enough for this? I know you said you’d had a couple of drinks tonight.” Spencer smiles a bit, admiring your chivalry and not wanting to take advantage of him when all he wants to do is take advantage of you. He also finds it sweet, not wanting to do it when he’s vulnerable but he’d only had two drinks tonight and well, he can be a lightweight sometimes.

“Trust me, angel, I sobered up as soon as I saw you.” He spoke and your heart skipped a beat when you heard him say ‘angel’. Your cheeks are probably heating up again.

You smile and he leans in, kissing you once more. But you push him away once more and start talking once more. “Oh, also, I should warn you.” He looks at you in wonderment. “I’m… I'm not very good at this.”

He furrows his brows as he asks, “This being?” You look at him and blurt out — “Sex.”

Spencer scoffs as he looks at you up and down. “Okay, now that cannot be true. Who told you that?” He asks.

“The guy that I was dating, uh, mentioned it once or twice and a girl does not forget a comment like that.” Spencer leans forward to kiss you again, possibly just to shut you up but it really doesn’t work because you back away and continue, “I mean, how bad could I be? I mean, sex is pretty basic, right?” You look his way and scrunch your nose together, “Have I talked you out of this yet?”

He shakes his head endearingly and gazes at you. He must think you’re a mess, that he couldn’t possibly sleep with you because you were just “too much”. You’d been told that your whole life. But internally, he finds it oddly assuring that he’s not the only rambler here. He actually kind of like it. It’s not something he’s used to from someone else, mostly because he’s always the rambler.

“Strangely, not at all,” Spencer answers and then looks down for a moment. “Let me ask you this,” He licks his lips. “How do you feel about foreplay?”

Your heart stops and suddenly you’re looking anywhere but him now and you shake your head, “Uh…” You don’t really know how to respond to that.

His eyes widen, “Have you… not—?” You shrug, “I have, it’s just…” You pause. “It wasn’t great. The guy I was with… he didn’t like doing it and well, I’ve spared myself from dealing with that because most guys don’t know what the hell they’re doing down there half the time so… I guess I just… haven’t done it.”

Spencer’s lips part and he’s shocked at the discovery. He’s in complete shock of the fact that you’ve never really done it with a guy that knew what he was doing. It was completely baffling to him. Who wouldn’t want to? You were gorgeous and from what he gathered in the short time, you were also amazing. And by the way you made yourself feel small, somebody else did that to you. And his heart broke for you.

“That guy that you were with?” Spencer began. “I think he’s a real loser because a real man would like that.” You find your cheeks heating up again. “Y/n, you are quickly becoming one of the most interesting girls I've ever met.”

You smirk as you finalize your decision and stand up, sultry walking towards the stairs and looking back at him and find that his gaze has gone towards your ass. “Look at you,” He smirks, a mischievous glint in his eye as he narrows his orbs at you. “You're already better than you think.”

With that, he stands, following you to your room and as soon as you close the door, he’s on you. His lips capture yours and you moan as his hand makes its’ way down your stomach and then in between your thighs.

You whimper in his mouth as he sticks his hand in your pajama bottoms and through the waistband of your underwear as he rubs the point where you need him the most. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at my hands earlier.” He says into your neck and your eyes roll to back of your head.

“Spencer…” You moan into the air and his lips are all over your neck as he then picks you up and lays you down gently on the bed, like you were fragile and needed to be handled with care.

His lips travel from your neck to your chest as he opens up your cardigan and reveals your breasts covered by your top. His eyes nearly pop out of his head when he realizes that you’re not wearing a bra. He pulls your top down and exposes your boobs — to which he fondles one of them and begins to suck on your nipple. His hand travels farther as he sticks a finger inside your hole as you gasp out — “Oh, my God!”

The stimulation, plus the fact that he’s sucking on your boob right now makes you want to cum. “I want you to cum like this for me, please.” You’d do anything for him so you will your body to give in and to release.

You feel your core throb as you came hard around his fingers and whine as he pulls his fingers out. He sucks on your juice off his slender fingers and you stare at him, like he’s an angel of sorts. He is an angel. And how you wish he could be your angel.

“You okay, sweet girl?” He asks softly and all you can do is nod at him. “We can stop here if you want to.” You shake your head, pulling him by his crooked tie and say — “Oh, darling, we are just getting started.”

With a smile, he kisses you once more and you both begin to take off each other’s clothes. You help him take off his dress shirt and slacks as he helps you out of your cardigan, top and pajama bottoms. Suddenly, you’re both naked in the bed and he turns his gaze down to your dripping pussy.

He looks at you with lust-filled eyes and asks, “May I?” You just nod but that’s not enough for him. “I need words.” You nod again but this time you add a meek — “Yes.”

He smiles as he gazes down. “I’m gonna take good care of you, sweet girl.” You watch as he slowly goes down and his hot breath fans over your pussy lips before he dives in for a kitten lick. You shudder and he quickly notices this with a sly chuckle, “You’re shaking. And I’ve hardly touched you.”

You moan, not wanting him to draw this out any longer than you want him to and he smiles, he could tell you want this. He could tell you need this. And goddamn it, he’s gonna prove to you that you’ve gone too far without this and you’re not going to keep going long without it so long as he could help it.

His mouth wraps around your clit, drawing figure-8s with your tongue and suck as he does so. You find yourself gripping the sheets hard as he continues to go down on you. “Fuck,” You deliciously mutters into your pussy. “You’re so sweet,” He drawls. “Your ex is a fucking loser if he thinks that this is a waste of time because darling, you are exquisite.”

You feel every moan into your pussy he’s making as you look down at the sight and your eyes connect to his and all of a sudden, you’re cumming once more. You shake in his hold as you close your eyes in pleasure as he stays in your sweet nectar until you’re done.

He looks up at you, as if he’s mesmerized by the sight itself of you releasing. You look back down at him and see his eyes, still blown with lust and reach down to run your fingers through his hair. By the doozy look in your eyes, he can tell you really enjoyed that. “Did I do okay?” He asks with a small smile and you chuckle as you look towards the ceiling. “That was…” You take a sharp breath. “Wow.”

Spencer laughs a bit as he climbs up your body and leans over you. “There’s plenty more where that came from.” And that’s when you turn your body around so that you’re over him now. “Oh, trust me. There is.”

You maintain eye contact with Spencer pump a few strokes on his cock before settling his head towards your entrance. “And you’re still okay with this?” You ask, a whiny tone sheltering your voice and Spencer swears he might cum on the spot just with you doing that. “Oh, I’m very okay with it.”

“Yeah?” You look down but only for a moment to guide himself into you and you rest your hands on his shoulders as you sink down into him. He throws his head back in pleasure as you finally feel all of him and you feel so full.

His cock throbs in your wet pussy and he gasps out — “Oh, you feel so fucking… perfect, angel.” You bite your lip to hold back your moans as you begin to move yourself up and down on him, rocking your hips to you liking and his hands rest on your thighs, gripping them tightly, holding you up against him.

“How do you feel, angel?”

“So f-full.”

“That ex-boyfriend wouldn’t know what to do with a perfect pussy like yours.”

His forwardness made your eyes roll to the back of your head as he began to thrust hard into you with his cock.

“Where do you want it, angel?” He grunts and you know that it’d be too intimate, to have him mark you, claim your body, paint your insides with his cum but you’d been so far gone, you basically begged him to cum — “In-Inside.”

“Oh, you want it inside?” Spencer asks and you nod, biting your lip hard. “You want me to breed you? To claim you? Because I will.” His words send you over the edge as you work yourself on his cock even harder. “Cum for me, darling. Please.” A whine escapes his lips and you finally feel a coil snap inside of you as you cum for the third time tonight on his cock.

You feel a warmth inside as he paints your insides and you collapse again his body as you both pant. He feels your hot breath on his neck as he holds you close to him, his hand sprawled out on your back as he rubs your flesh, as if he’s somehow calming you down from your high.

Your eyes are closed but you feel as Spencer carefully pulls out of you (and he watches as his cum drips from your pussy and he’s mesmerized by the sight of it) and sets you down next to him, holding you to his chest and keeping you there. You feel his heart rate beginning to slow as you rest your head on his chest.

“Wow,” You start. “That was…” You take a deep breath. “Exciting.”

Spencer looks down at you and he furrows his brows, “I gave you three orgasms and that was just… exciting?” You can hear the smirk in his voice and you look up at him, “Okay, it was…” You ponder on a word. “Spectacular… hot… sexy.”

“Spec-hot-exy,” You form a word. “Is that good enough for you?” He shakes his head at you as he chuckles. “Are you okay?” He asks and you nod, “Yeah, I’m perfect.”

“Okay,” He says, sitting up. “Don’t get too comfortable because you do need to pee and we do need to clean you up. I just had sex in my sister’s bed and I know she’s gonna kill me for it.” He helps you up, steadying you as he walks you towards the bathroom and cleans you up.

And as he does so, you stare. And you just keep staring because even though this was a one-night thing, you can’t help but wonder what it may be like to actually be with him. Would he still be this gentle? Would he still be this caring? Because this would be enough to make a girl fall in love. And if Cupid heard your thoughts, he’d shoot another arrow just to make you even more head over heels than you are now. But you shouldn’t be thinking what you’re thinking, not at all. You just broke up with someone for Christ’s sake. But it didn’t mean you couldn’t have a little fun while you were still in D.C..

After the holidays, you could go about your life, forgetting who this man was and just remembering him as the guy that just appeared at your doorstep and wowed you into sleeping with him. You were never gonna see him again, why not have a little fun while you were here?

You weren’t sure if this would end with anyone getting hurt, but all you knew is that you’d take advantage of the time you’d have, here and now.

[deus-and-the-machina]

ffxiv garlemald discourse is so funny because people will go "ugh people just cant stand it when things aren't black and white" and then you look at how the empire are portrayed in stormblood and shadowbringers and its like hm. that seems like a pretty intense and accurate display of violent imperialism to me! Wow I wonder why people in this day and age may find it hard to feel sympathy for them or even hate them on principal. god its such a mystery.

the games like 50/50 to me on how it tackles these themes because I actually like the garlemald arc in EW, I think it has a lot of horrific and powerful scenes depicting how self destructive fascist propaganda and beliefs are, but I also think it doesn't go far enough on some fronts. the garleans' xenophobia is most notably and obstacle to getting them to accept the contingent's help, which is what they're there to do,

but there's never an admission of harm from any garleans on the uuuuuuuuh massive amount of war crimes the nations around them are still suffering from they're just kind of like "we misjudged you...but you actually wanted to help us all along" like yeah thats great now can we get you all some deprogramming because you keep talking about returning to your prime and glory days and I think we need to unpack some stuff you really SHOULDNT return to. im not even really talking about EW proper but the patches where things are a bit more chilled out and people are recovering.

It feels like they wanted to have their critique of imperialism and also have things end with the beauty of human connection and reaching out and these things just don't mesh well because hey a lot of your modern day audience is not gonna like having to treat people yelling xenophobic things at the cast and your character with kid gloves after you showed them hours and hours of the awful things these people's beliefs have done. especially in the present day hoo boy.

[takamoris]

Stealing this image from twitter and bringing it over here, because holy shit, some of the clowns I have been seeing talk about the game lately.

[absolutedestinyapocalypsse]

i love how as you read more into tlt, the ninth house seems more and more normal. Like if i'm at an immoral evil government competition, and i use human fat as soap and animate skeletons to do menial labor, i'm gonna LOSE if my competition is the third house, represented by ianthe "who HASN'T eaten human flesh and fucked a corpse" tridentarius. My weird skeleton thing seems normal, suddenly. Well-adjusted, even. It's recycling. They're using resources in a sustainable way. Normal and regular and productive for a post-climate change apocalypse universe.

People go on and on about how Muir drops you into gtn hearing from the person who knows the least about whats happening, and does not hand hold the reader through the crazy shit that occurs, and that's all true. It truly is a crazy writing decision to make your first pov character come from the universe's equivalent of amish fundamentalists. But the reader is actually done a huge favor being dropped into the ninth house first, because we already understand that space is cold and what catholic nuns are, and what goths look like, and what lesbians are. Very little time is wasted in the first chunk of gtn ripping hair out of your head wondering what the fuck is going on, because for all of its strangeness, the ninth house is already the most familiar thing we're gonna get.

Because THEN we learn that this whole universe's medieval chivalry system is designed to groom people from CHILDREN to not only be exploited and used as human batteries for necromancers, but to LIKE it. to wax poetic about it. to confuse it for love, to write fucking academic papers about it! Then we learn about planet flipping, an act so horrific and violent it turns the planet's soul into a massive vengeful monster capable of killing GOD. Like what do you MEAN the animals "change"? Is this why noodle has six legs? I would MUCH prefer to wear skeleton makeup and repent forever if the alternative was to witness my family dog grow TWO EXTRA LIMBS because the planet he lived on fucking died. Suddenly, living in the asscrack of a planet where no light gets in seems like a sweet deal when the whole solar system is lit by a sun that MAKES YOU GO CRAZY. The ninth house's WORST sin, killing 200 babies to make Harrow, a waste of resources and an act so terrible it haunts Harrow for the entire span of her life, is like a BLIP compared to the death count Jod's empire. God even hears about it and he's like, no big deal! The cohort probably kills that amount of people in a DAY.

And its ALSO tragic because you realize that all of this trauma and abuse that Gideon goes through is not really because of the ninth house at all. It's really just an individual skill issue that she wasn't treated with compassion. Nobody hated her because she's jesus or a bomb, nobody even KNOWS she's a bomb. It's just Priamhark and Pelleamena being deeply guilty and scared people that motivates her treatment, and absolutely nothing else.

They did something bad, and they know it, and Gideon survived it, and they can't kill her to cover it up, and that's IT. They killed themselves for pride, because they were afraid of the consequences of their actions (both the baby killing and Harrow opening the tomb) coming back to bite them. You can argue this is the catholicism of it all, and I wouldn't say you're wrong, but compared to the cavalier system, where exploitation is in the very lining of the house's institutions, the ninth house is really removed from the space empire's blood factory. This is compared to the fourth house where they have tons of children to be CANNON FODDER to join the cohort at fucking 14, compared to the eight house uncle nephew fuckery, even the fifth house which actually does seems nice to live on but also seems to have the fourth house in some sort of fucked up political bear hug??? (maybe the fourth house has so many kids in order to fight the fifth's battles? which is EXACTLY what jod's whole empire is about; politely stirring your tea and acting nice while you destroy everything) compared to ALL OF THAT, the cruelty that Gideon faces is really more a bug of the ninth's system than a feature.

There's nothing baked into the culture and everyday life of the ninth house that necessitated that cruelty; in fact, for such a pragmatic and resource-scarce place, it's WEIRD that a strong able-bodied young person was treated like a waste of space and resources. It could just have easily not happened, if Harrow's parents had been different people. Maybe they were products of their environment, but so was Harrow, and she values Gideon's life SO MUCH that she'd literally rather carve out parts of her own brain than exploit her. Gideon grows up knowing really NOTHING about cavaliers, so remote from the horrors of the empire that she develops an idea of what the cohort is from porn magazines. And in a lot of ways, that upbringing was desolate and terrible, and in a lot of other ways it literally DID NOT HAVE TO BE.

Gideon's MAIN THING is that she wants to be useful, to be needed, to be loved and it SUCKS that she couldn't even get it in the one place where she was actually an invaluable resource, where the death empire had the weakest reach. Gideon can't even blame her lack of love on the fucked up chivalry system like everyone else can because it JUST WASNT REALLY RELEVENT!?!?! This is like if i rolled up to the trauma competition and everyone else was raised in a nuclear warzone by wolves or something and i grew up in like, the suburbs and was raised by teachers and i somehow STILL WON. truly what the fuck guys.

[butchvamp]

i finished Harding's quest... whew... i don't like Harding. or i should say i don't like how nice the game treats her. she gets all of the emotional beats around the lore revelations while the elves are left to go kick rocks.

i pointed this out previously in another post, but the dwarves (and Harding specifically, and thus by extension Andrastians, too) get so much more sympathy from the game than any of the elves. you can clearly see it just in these two screenshots-- compare dialogue choices when comforting Harding after the reveal about the Golden City (and also important to note that the game assumes my elf is Dalish multiple times before this choice, but for some reason i can suddenly make her Andrastian):

versus the first real discussion you get to have with Bellara about the truth of the elven gods:

Bellara implies that everyone is right not to trust the elves, actually, because the elven gods (the same ones that enslaved her people btw) are bad and we should all feel bad about it.

and Davrin is unfortunately distanced from the Dalish, remarking that they're too traditional and stuck in the past (a racist trope that Dragon Age really loves for the elves), and only seems to care about how the elven gods make elves "look bad." we do get to see Davrin reconnect with one of the members of his clan later, which is a sweet moment that shows us a new side of him, but it exists more so to push along the griffon storyline than anything to do with Davrin (a problem i find quite annoying when it comes to Davrin's writing... they care more about Assan and "turlum" than him or his feelings. but that's a different post)

when we finally get to Heart of Stone, Harding has her big, emotional confrontation with a titan, and gets granted the memory of the titan's loss and all of their pain. she says some Choice lines, here.

who is thriving? the elves that were enslaved en masse by the Evanuris? the elves that are still enslaved and live in alienages? that are wholly, systemically oppressed throughout Thedas? then to follow it up with both of these lines, spoken to an elven Rook:

and i understand that this is the titan speaking through Harding, and we can be generous and say that they are addressing the Evanuris, and not elf Rook personally. but. uh. why doesn't my elf get to Say Anything. it's repeatedly insinuated that everything is the elves' fault, that the elves should feel guilty and that they should be held responsible for what happened to the dwarves (and by extension, the blight and everything bad that's ever happened including what's happening right now), and that they deserve to suffer because of what "they" did to the titans.... and there's no option to challenge this line of thinking at all.

and it's really frustrating that none of the elven companions are allowed this kind of emotional catharsis with the Evanuris. up until that one (bad) dialogue with Bellara, all of Bellara's comments/her reactions to the gods are treated as comic relief. none of them get to grieve their gods like Harding is allowed to grieve the titans-- they're not even allowed to be as angry with Solas as Harding is in some scenes. even Andrastians, in that one single dialogue choice, were afforded more sympathy and grief than the elves in this game.

it's a baffling choice, considering the plot, that elves are given so little grace or consideration. and i do think part of it has to do with the way this game has tried to distance itself from previously established lore as well as scrub itself clean of anything morally dubious-- it's all black and white and the game needs someone to blame, so the elves are bad because the Evanuris are bad, nevermind all that other stuff, because see, the elves actually deserved it all along! i don’t even think it’s unreasonable that Harding may have these feelings (even if they’re racist lol) but the fact you just have to accept Blame and the narrative never challenges her or Bellara’s guilt or Davrin’s apathy and instead just agrees with all of them and forces Rook to agree as well is shitty and takes it from “this character feels this way” to “the game is implying that everyone feels this way, and also that they’re right.”

it's really unfortunate because i do think this reveal about the titans and why the dwarves can't dream or use magic is exciting, it could cause some compelling conflict between the companions (but that's not allowed in this game at all unfortunately and you especially Cannot be even slightly rude to Harding, ever). and i do like the idea of her quest and what they're trying to convey here-- confronting this old, repressed trauma, and finding a way to reconcile with it and move forward.... but not at the expense of the elves, who also suffered massively at the hands of the Evanuris (and continue to suffer. right now)

bioware has been criticized repeatedly about their depiction of the Dalish, their indigenous coding, and even the mages, too, and i really do not understand what they were thinking with this, because it's just racist (and exactly what people have repeatedly criticized them for). this is why a lot of "fantasy racism" fails. you can't write a marginalized group as being responsible and deserving of their own oppression, that's not how it works!

[luvkyu]

makeup ( hong seunghan )

seunghan needs help doing his makeup

content : 1k words, male reader, fluff, boyfriend!seunghan, gamer!reader, light kissing, reader calls sh baby

note : i needed a break from working on the mingyu fic so here's some fluff :) i also wrote this in second pov - i usually write in third but i think i might start using second more!

"help."

seunghan dropped a bag of makeup in front of you, a few items spilling out onto your desk.

"with?" you asked. he frowned when you didn't look up from the game on your computer. you seemed tense and focused in your dimly lit bedroom, wearing your expensive looking headset.

"you do makeup better than me," seunghan explained, nudging the bag toward you. "i'm meeting some people at a club tonight and i wanna look good."

"hey guys, i'll be right back," you spoke into the mic of your headset. seunghan smiled triumphantly. he could hear the faint groans and protests from your friends, but you paid them no mind and looked up at your boyfriend from your seat.

"what people?" you asked. you poked around in the bag a little before looking at seunghan again intently.

"eunseok and sohee. and they said there's some other people coming that i haven't met before."

you nodded and smiled at him. "that sounds fun."

seunghan nodded eagerly, "yeah, i'm excited!"

you liked seeing seunghan all happy and jittery. he didn't go out very often unless it was with you, so you enjoyed seeing him make more friends.

"let me go get my brushes."

seunghan nodded again, watching you walk off to the bathroom. he could still hear the voices of some of your friends talking through the headset that now laid on your desk. he grinned and put it on while taking a seat in your chair.

"hi guys!"

"is that seunghannie??"

"yes, hi!!" seunghan smiled widely at the sound of shotaro's voice. after almost four years of being with you, he'd grown to love your friends.

"thanks for taking y/n away from us!" anton joked sarcastically.

"sorry, what can i do? he's obsessed with me," seunghan replied.

"and who wouldn't be obsessed with you, baby?" you chimed in as you came back to the bedroom.

seunghan smiled at that response. his eyes widened a little when you were suddenly right in front him as he sat, your eyes gazing at him lovingly. you leaned down farther toward the mic while keeping your eyes on him.

"i'm actually just gonna log off, guys. i'll talk to you tomorrow," you spoke. the complaints and shouts of your friends were disregarded as you gently took the headset off of your boyfriend. you could practically hear his heart beat through his chest beneath you, making a tiny smirk curve on your lips. you finally broke eye contact to look at your computer instead. you closed the game and turned the system off completely.

"you didn't have to leave, it won't take long to do makeup," seunghan assured. he grabbed the sleeve of your shirt and tugged on it with a frown, but you shook your head.

"i was getting tired anyways."

"mm, okay.."

"so what do you want me to do?" you asked as you began setting up. you sat on the edge of your bed and pulled the chair he stole from you closer.

"i was thinking something kinda subtle-ish, but i like all the pretty details you do."

you smiled, "alright, i can do that then."

seunghan sat and watched you begin to lay a thin layer of foundation on his face. he felt like he was in a trance. he found you mesmerizing.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you asked quietly.

"sorry, i'm just.." seunghan felt himself blush a little. "you're really hot," he blurted out.

you stifled a laugh and continued to blend the makeup onto his skin.

"says you?" you counter back.

"shut up." seunghan smiled and looked down, a reflex of his when he felt like he needed to hide himself.

you gently took his chin and lifted it back up. "i need to see your face, baby."

seunghan nodded and closed his eyes. he let you continue your work for a while while he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. it was a nice, comfortable quiet in your bedroom. seunghan loved enjoying the little things like this with you.

when his eyes opened again, they were locked on you instantly. his gaze shifted to your lips numerous times, but you were paying too much attention to the makeup to notice. eventually your face inched closer to his, and he took the chance to place a quick kiss on your lips. you were a bit taken aback, but immediately broke into a smile.

"listen, are you here to make out or get your makeup done?"

seunghan laughed at your question. "is both an option?"

"no," you replied. "because once we start kissing too much then you will not be going out tonight.."

seunghan watched as you leaned away from him on purpose. he smiled mischievously and ran his hands along your thighs.

"well that's fine too! i don't have to go out tonight."

you shook your head and chuckled. "no, you haven't hung out with your friends in forever. go out and have fun."

he pouted dramatically. "you won't be worried about me meeting new guys?"

"nope."

"what?? i have so much rizz game, you should be worried."

you snickered at his bickering efforts before giving in and awarding him with one more kiss.

"i'm not worried because i trust you."

seunghan shut up at those words.

"okay, that's really sweet.." he muttered. "but what if i wanna stay home with you now?"

"tell you what," you said. "you go out and have a good time with your friends. drink, take stupid pictures, meet some new people. i'll even come pick you up if you really want to leave early. and then tomorrow, we can do whatever you want."

seunghan sighed. "promise?"

"i promise."

"fine."

"good," you replied happily. "all done now. go have fun, baby."

"thank you, y/n."

"of course. call me if you need anything, okay?"

seunghan nodded with a dorky smile. "and you call me if you start to miss me too much."

"oh, i will, hannie. don't worry."

seunghan grabbed his bag and pranced off to leave your shared apartment, but not before rushing back to kiss you one more time.

[carmenized-onions]

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him. 

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck. 

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?��� He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all.  “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

 You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee. 

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink. 

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups. 

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where. 

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.  

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy. 

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off. 

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence. 

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed. 

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

[heaven4lostgirls]

Can you pretty pleaaassse write for regulus black x reader angst

Where they were friends and got along really well and because they're both pureblooded there families arranged marriage for them. But then regulus gets paranoid and starts to think badly of you and thinks that you were only ever nice to him so that your parents would arrange marriage. And he thinks that you hold the same awful pureblood beliefs as both of your parents and he is afraid to say anything about it incase you tell his family that he doesn't really believe that muggles are lesser. Then regulus is quite distant and mean in your marriage and he eventually comes to his senses when he realises how upset you are and how much his distance hurts you and he can hear you crying yourself to sleep

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

warning: angst, regulus is a bit of a dick but he comes around ! miscommunication (i’m sorry✊)

summary: request above

authors note: hi! sorry this took forever, i’m really bad at keeping up with requests but i hope you enjoy this, i always say im hoping to get back into writing but it’s always touch and go, my mental health isn’t great a lot of the time and uni just piles on so much more, hopefully you guys understand ! 🫶🩷

regulus wasn’t used to people sticking around, he had been abandoned by the only person he ever truly cared about and left to fend for himself. which was why he assumed when news of his engagement to you was announced by his parents, at a shared dinner party for the sacred 28, you two would simply…co-exist. never fully acknowledging the others presence yet acquaintances at best.

what a shock to his system it was when he grew to know what a wonderful person you were, never abrasive or hostile like his parents, never boastful like most of the pureblood families he knew, instead you were the embodiment of everything he never knew he wanted, a calm to the raging angst inside of him he couldn’t quell after sirius had left, and that alone left him scared more than any of his parents threats to present him to the dark lord as a servant.

you two had formed a quick friendship due to the circumstances surrounding your fast paced engagement, you were set to marry next august and your engagement had only been announced in april. regulus had no problem performing his duties to his family, however this one came with little to no reluctance from either of you as feelings of love and respect blossomed from the friendship you two shared.

however, as time passed, regulus could slowly but surely feel his walls he had fought so hard to build up, crack. he couldn’t fathom why someone like you would feel so comfortable around him, how you somehow managed to worm your way under his skin like no one ever could, not even sirius.

except as time flew by, he had somehow found some of that “gryffindor courage” as james potter always declared, to tell you about his feelings, emphasizing that if you wished, he would never bring up again if you did not reciprocate and you two would still move forward together into marriage as friends.

to his surprise, you were much more welcoming to his feelings than expected, you two had shared a small kiss as you leant your forehead against his and claimed “i was just waiting for you to see me.”

since you two were already a couple in the eyes of the public, the only people he had really had to tell was your shared friends. as expected, they all reacted joyfully to the news and you both carried through the rest of your year no longer pretending to be in love, but actually falling into it.

however, at the beginning of your 6th year, you could tell something had shifted between yours and regulus’ dynamic. no longer was he patient and comforting, instead he was judgmental and fast to anger. some part of you knew it had to do with his parents but you didn’t have the heart to push your questions onto him.

as time passed you watched as he distanced himself from you, pushing away your touches, rejecting your offers to hang out, blowing you off when he would eventually agree. you could only handle so much of his behavior before you eventually broke when telling your friends.

“i don’t know what to do anymore, it’s like walking on eggshells whenever he’s around because im scared of him snapping at me for breathing too loud” you vent to your friends as you place your hands on your eyes to try keep the tears at bay.

“how longs this been going on y/n?” pandora asks softly as she shares a concerned look with lily. you blubber out as answer that sounds like “a couple of months” as tears leak past your palms.

“i can’t keep doing this” you emphasize to them both, “and you know i can’t break up with him because we still have to get married-“

“break up?!” lily questions surprised, “you can’t be serious y/n.” she says as she places a hand on your shoulder.

“i think you need to talk to him” pandora says again as she smiles softly at you as you look at her with tear filled eyes.

“…what if he doesn’t want me anymore?” you whisper, too afraid to say it out loud in fear of it coming true.

“oh love” lily coos as she drags you into a small cuddle with her and pandora, “you’re gonna need to ask him to know that y/n” she whispers as she rubs your back.

you sigh heavily and nod before looking at the both of them. “okay” you concede as you try and form some sort of a plan to confront regulus, your anxiety spikes at the thought of him not wanting your relationship anymore, you couldn’t imagine a marriage with the man you loved where his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

the next day, you planned to corner regulus at the library before dinner but as you walked up to his table, you heard the voice of not only regulus, but barty as well.

“reg, you know you’re hurting her by ignoring her” barty says with a sigh as you pause behind a bookshelf near the table to eavesdrop.

“you know better than i, that i can never be with someone who thinks the way she does…its disgusting” regulus says with a sneer but you can hear how disappointed he is by the statement.

disgusting? he thinks i’m…disgusting? what is he even talking about? you don’t think you’ve ever done anything remotely bad enough to be called disgusting.

“how do you know she thinks like them?” barty implores and you hear regulus sigh, “you’ve seen how she acts when the sacred 28 talks about the muggles” he says and you frown, part of being a child of one of the sacred 28 meant you had to act your part, regulus knew that better than anyone else. so why was he suddenly judging you and telling barty about your issues when he couldn’t even give you the time of day?

“i don’t know if i can marry someone like her” regulus says again and your heart drops. someone like her, you repeat in your head, every insecurity you ever worked through, comes back in tenfold from that sentence alone. you stumble on your feet from the flashes of tears and heartache from all your deepest points of sorrow.

you shake your head and straighten your back before reminding yourself, if he wants a true pureblood wife, that’s what i’ll be. quiet, docile,…perfect.

your wedding approaches faster than you can imagine, dress fittings, bridal party dresses and events all pass with a blur. never fully there, you encompass a state of numbness.

regulus and all your friends notice how you slowly fall into the facade you usually have in front of your parents, instead this time, it never breaks in front of them.

regulus waits for you to come to him, to seek his comfort like you have so many times before, but it never comes.

he spends his nights worrying about you, questioning if it’s something he’s done, you’re still sweet and loving to him, just…more hollow than you were before.

you embody the perfect pureblood princess and he couldn’t hate it more, he hears from people around you how you’re not sleeping, always coming to class in a perfect face of makeup everyday when you usually only used skincare, in beautiful dresses for hogsmead days when you used to use comfortable clothes.

he tries to talk to you, to question why you’ve somehow flipped the switch out of nowhere, but they go unanswered.

the day of your wedding, he can see past the makeup, your sunken in eyes and red eyes. he still places a soft smile on his face as you stare passively into the distance, never making eye contact with him while saying your vows.

the distance between the both of you grows larger as he starts to believe that this was the life you truly wanted, a prince and princess, a couple born out of need not out of love, arranged perfectly to fit the narrative of pureblood royalty.

however, one night he falls asleep later than usual and hears you cry into your pillow, small pleas of being good enough for him as your body shakes with small sobs. he resists the urge to reach out to you in fear of you not recieving his touch well.

he lies awake as he hears you say, “i’m not like i was before, please let him love me now, oh merlin please” you whisper with clenched hands and eyes that leak tears. his heart breaks at the thought of you existing to please him.

he had seen how his mother had done the same for his father, how she turned cold and abusive with no comfort and love from her partner, how she pushed her self hatred onto her children. how that pushed her eldest son to run away.

he spends the next week racking his brain for what he could’ve done for you to think that way before he realises that the summer after his 5th year, his parents had implored him never to give you anything more than the bare minimum because nobody could be trusted. he remembers pulling away from you and pushing you away in fear of you using him for his fortune.

the idea that his parents had made him internalize that you would never love him just for him, you were moving into this marriage not because of your shared love but because of necessity. his heart drops out of his chest as he realizes all of this must have translated to you and that he now had a lot to make up for.

he plans out meticulously how to get his wife back and slowly but surely, he does. it starts with small things, a single flower that you had told him once you liked the smell of on your nightstand, a pair of earrings you remarked look beautiful when window shopping. a handwritten letter telling you goodmorning and his favorite things about you in your bag before class.

your initial confusion morphs to anger at the thought of changing yourself all for him to want you to go back to the self he called repulsive. you don’t respond to his initial attempts to woo you, but as weeks and months pass, he doesn’t give up.

he speaks to you, really speaks to you, asking you about your day, how he can help you when you’re not feeling well, what you need whenever he leaves the house, small compliments about your cooking or how the colour of your dress matches your eyes.

you two start sharing small good mornings and good nights when going to bed, which then translates to small hand holding or shared touches between each other. the ice around your heart slowly but surely starts melting whenever he’s around, you quickly become accustomed to his quick kisses on the cheek whenever he leaves the room or house.

he holds you at night as he whispers sweet promises of never letting you down again, grasping your face to look into your eyes whenever he compliments you to let you know how much you mean to him.

your heart is now warm and full at the thought of his presence, no longer a shell of yourself, slowly but surely healing with his sweet actions.

[you-call-it-a-dude]

Call It What You Want

Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

Summary: You went to high school with Regina George and she is now your neighbor in your college dorm. She, of course, pretended like she didn't know you at first. Until she got some alcohol in her system.

Pairings: Regina George x gender neutral/fem reader

Warnings: internalized homophobia, feelings, school lol, swearing

Notes: Hi, yes. So this is my first time writing for not only Regina George but also for like reader POV. If it's any good and something people enjoy, I will do more of it. Hopefully you like it, but if you don't that's totally cool too. Thanks for reading either way.

------

You had managed to, for the most part, avoid Regina George your three years at North Shore High School. You transferred there your sophomore year, your mom taking full advantage of your dad's Evanston address when you got in trouble once at your public high school in the city. You didn't even actually do anything, but both your parents prioritized your future college education too much to let even a thought of bad behavior ruin it.

You made it through high school pretty unscathed. You laid low, had your small group of friends and kept to yourself.

You witnessed the rise and fall of Regina George in real time. You felt bad for her almost. Yes, she was a major bully, but the one time you overheard her dad yelling at her at a parent teacher conference kinda made some things make sense. She also didn't really target you with her bullshit.

Well, okay, someone wrote in the burn book that you were a carpet muncher and would call you a gay slur here and there, but you've been called worse things. People in that book were certainly called worse things.

Senior year was relatively quiet after Cady dismantled The Plastics.

Regina had taken up soccer, which was actually a really terrifying thought given the neck injury she sustained. She was good though. Good enough to get into University of Illinois, Chicago with a partial soccer scholarship.

But of course, her parents writing a big fat check may help with that.

She didn't even need the scholarship. You don't even know how she got away with getting it.

You also were accepted to UIC. You worked harder than Regina did academically, had some of the best grades in your class, did all the volunteering and extracurriculars, and you still didn't get close to the same amount of money offered in scholarships that Regina got (and didn't need).

You were angry when you found out about her almost full ride, but it was a big school and you were almost certain once you were graduated you wouldn't even be giving Regina George ,or anyone from that high school aside from your best friend, a second thought.

Seeing her at orientation seemed like just a coincidence. Watching her get her keys to the same dorm you were staying in had to be a fluke. Passing by her room, the room that happened to be next to yours, just seemed like you were being punked.

You got yourself settled while waiting on your roommate. You had been speaking with them throughout the summer and know they're coming from Colorado and also know they wouldn't be coming until tomorrow because they texted you. So you were taking advantage of this time to get yourself sorted without having to rush or anything.

You left your door open while you got yourself unpacked, a bunch of people coming by to introduce themselves to you or stop in and talk.

There was a soft knock and you turned your head, expecting to greet another person. Instead stood Regina, leaning against your wall with her arms crossed.

"Hello." You greeted, sounded a little surprised.

"Hi, I just thought since we were going to be neighbors I would introduce myself."

She almost sounded nice? Pleasant?

She also clearly did not recognize you. Yeah you trimmed your hair a bit and dyed it slightly darker, but nothing extremely different.

But this also really helps solidify just how invisible you were to her in high school.

You had two routes. You could bring up the fact that you actually know each other and make it weird, or just introduce yourself.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I'm Y/N."

"Regina. No roommate?" She pointed to the empty side of your room with her head.

"Coming from Colorado. So long drive." You scrunched up your nose at the thought of how long that drive was and she hummed in acknowledgment.

"Are you from around here?"

"Uh, yeah. The city, northside. You?"

"Evanston, so basically from the city."

"Ahh, you're one of those people." You chuckled.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She scrunched her eyebrows up, clearly getting defensive.

"You say you're from the city but you're from the suburbs. That's all I meant." You said softly, watching her face soften when she realized you weren't actually insulting her.

"Most people don't know where Evanston is, so." She defended with a small smile.

"Unfortunately for you, I do." You smiled back at her.

"Are you going to the freshman mixer tonight?"

"I didn't even know there was one." You answered truthfully.

"Mkay, you're gonna come with me then. I'll be back at like nine?"

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and saw it was only like 11am and you quickly realized the long night you've gotten yourself into.

Or that Regina had gotten you into.

"Yeah, that sounds cool."

"Awes. See you later then." She slapped your doorframe once before leaving.

But you didn't miss the way she turned and let her eyes linger on you for just a few seconds longer than what's considered socially acceptable.

---

You spent the rest of the day unpacking and getting settled. You went off campus for lunch then took a walk to get some refreshing frozen lemonade from a popular place near by and drank it while you made your way back to your room.

Regina was still setting her dorm up to her standards. Her door was open and when you peaked in, she was standing on a wobbly chair trying to tape posters to her wall.

Of course she got a single room.

"Need help?" You took a sip of your partially melted peach lemonade and knocked on her doorframe to get her attention.

"Yes, please. That would be great." She said, sound exasperated.

You held out a hand to help her off the chair, but she ignored it. Opting to just brace herself on your shoulder instead. You scratched your head and assessed the situation. You weren't really much taller than her, but your arms were longer so that could work in your favor.

You looked around for somewhere to set your drink before she took it from you to hold. You stepped on to the death trap of a chair and did your best to hang the poster. It was of an artist you had never heard of, but you wouldn't be opposed to new music if she was any good.

You pressed the corners of the poster against the wall and moved out the way. Regina thought for a few seconds before asking you if it was possible to 'pretty please' move the right side up like a quarter of an inch.

You did your best to gauge a quarter of an inch, and your best was thankfully good enough because Regina was satisfied with your efforts pretty fast.

She reached her empty hand up to help you off the chair and you hesitated at first, but took it. She stiffened her arm and gave you a firm platform to put your weight so you had support when hopping down.

Did part of you kind of expect her to let you fall? A little yeah.

"So, what are my chances of getting you to build something for me, too?" She asked sweetly while she handed you back your drink and you took a sip, your dry throat feeling relieved already.

"It depends what it is."

"It's a stupid metal shelf thing." She stepped aside and over the metal parts scattered across her floor.

There was an attempt made, so you at least know she tried before asking.

"Yeah, that looks easy to me. Do you have the instructions?" You handed your drink back to her and kneeled on the floor, rifling through all the pieces.

She set your drink down on the desk and handed you the instructions, sitting down on the floor next to you with her legs crossed.

This shelf wasn't too difficult to build, but it was definitely frustrating. The pieces were in the right spot but they just weren't fitting. Regina complained about how her parents bought her such cheap stuff and didn't even stick around to help her build it. It wasn't like they had a long drive home ahead of them.

She kept apologizing for asking you to help her with stuff or for the shelf being too difficult. She said many times that if you couldn't get it she would just throw the shelf away and not to worry about it if it didn't work out.

You reassured her that it was really okay and you were happy to help. That there was no need to throw out a perfectly good shelf. After a few pinches to your skin, a few scrapes from jagged edges, and a lot of swearing later, you managed to get it built for her.

You didn't expect her to be as involved as she was. She was handing you pieces, going over the directions with you.

You stood up and picked up the shelf, turning it up right so it was standing correctly. She stood up after you, eyeing the shelf with her hands on her hips and nodding.

"That looks perfect. Thank you so much, really."

"You're so good, happy I can help." You picked up your now melted lemonade and took a sip, trying not to be visibly upset over the fact it was no longer frozen.

"Did you get that on campus?"

"No, it's a few minutes away. Really close by. You didn't know that, city girl?" You teased and bit back a smile when you noticed the small blush to her cheeks.

"I was going to offer to buy you a new one, but since you want to be mean I'm taking that offer of the table." She crossed her arms with a small pout and the overwhelming urge to kiss it away scared you.

"No, no. I wouldn't accept anyway. It was like halfway gone. No biggie, honestly." There was an awkward pause between the two of you. "Um, was there anything else you needed help with? Or should I go?"

"You can go now." She said in a tone that felt like a war flashback or something. "I'll swing by your room to pick you up at like 8:45."

"Do you still want me to go?" You asked, because honestly her tone was suggesting otherwise.

"I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't." She defended, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Okay. I'll see you later then."

---

9:15pm and you were sitting at your desk dressed and feeling stupid. Because of course Regina was still going to very much so still be Regina.

There was a knock at your door and you waited a second before answering it.

When you opened the door, you keep your face neutral and unimpressed. Which was actually extremely difficult to do because Regina looked breathtaking.

"Yeah, I know. I'm late. Also, you look hot." She commented and it immediately made you feel self conscious because you couldn't gauge if it was genuine or not.

You thought you looked good, but Regina had been notorious for giving out fake compliments.

"Thanks."

"So you agree? You think you're hot?"

Jeez, talk about a war flashback.

"I do." You answered without missing a beat, but your insecurities were threatening to crawl their way out of your mouth at any second.

Regina pursed her lips and nodded in approval at your response and you slowly let out the breath you had been holding.

"Let's go then."

---

Regina abandoned you the second you guys got to the mixer. Which you half expected. You quickly realized that this was not an official university organized event, though the 9pm start time should've made that clear ages ago.

Another indicator being that they were at a frat house.

Alcohol was flowing, students from all different grade levels were mingling.

You grabbed a cup of whatever alcoholic beverage was concocted and got to mingling.

You talked with a few people that you found out you would be sharing classes with, which was cool.

After about an hour of mingling and drinking, you found your way to the front porch and parked yourself on their porch swing and just did a bunch of people watching.

A cat with a collar came and sat next to you, purring and nuzzling against you. You had no idea if it belonged to the frat house or if it was a stray that just frequented the area. The collar said her name was Roach which really made you thing she belonged to the frat boys, but an off campus address on the back put those fears to rest.

"You found a cat!" Regina slurred, stepping out of the house loudly. Her heeled boots clicked against the floor of the porch and she slammed the door behind her, completely shutting out the thumping noise of the party.

"Yeah! Well, more so she found me. Her name is Roach."

"Ew." She hiccuped and made her way over to you, sitting next to Roach. She angled her body and rested her head on your shoulder. "I have to tell you something." She slurred again, reaching down to let the cat sniff her hand before petting her between the ears.

"Sure, what's up?"

"I remembered you and I pretended like I didn't." She lifted her head up to look at you. "But you're a sneaky bitch too because you did the same thing." She poked your cheek with her index finger until you turned your head away from it.

"You talked to me first. I wasn't going to bother you." You admitted, getting a little frustrated.

"Why? You didn't want to talk to me?" She asked, sounding almost disappointed?

"I didn't think you'd want me to. Then I thought it would be really embarrassing if I said I remembered you and you introduced yourself to me. So I just didn't say anything."

"I didn't want you to tell anyone about who I was in high school." She rested her head against your shoulder again. "I just wanted to start over."

"I'm not going to say anything." You said quietly, a little disappointed that the only reason she tried befriending you was to do damage control.

"I feel bad about it."

"About what?"

"How I treated people." She sniffled, clearing her nose. "I'm sorry about what I wrote about you."

"It is what it is." You shrugged. "It's not like I hid my sexuality or anything."

"You didn't. It made me jealous."

Your ears perked up at this admission. You didn't know whether or not to press on or drop the subject. Whatever amount of alcohol she drank was giving her loose lips and you aren't actually sure how much of this information she actually wants anyone to know.

"You don't want to talk about this sober?" She shook her head against your shoulder.

"Talking about it sober is hard."

"Your parents not accepting or...?"

"My mom? Maybe. Probably. My dad? Absolutely fucking not." She took your drink from your hand and downed the rest of it.

"We don't have to talk about this anymore." You offered while she was downing your drink.

"I'm gonna get another drink." She began to get up, but you pulled her back down"

"Hey, no. Come on. Just stay here with me and Roach." You motioned to the purring cat between you both. "I don't want to lose track of you or the cat. So just stay."

Regina sighed and leaned back against the back of the porch swing. She bit her bottom lip and looked up at you.

"What if we brought the cat inside with us while I got a drink." She offered, giving you a silly little smirk that made your heart somersault.

"I think it's too loud for her in there." Roach let out small meow. "See, she agrees." You scratched under her chin, trying to ignore the way Regina was staring at you right now.

"You were always so nice to us."

"What are you talking about?"

"When I let Gretchen drive my car one time to get us lunch and she got a flat tire in the school lot and you helped her change it so I wouldn't get mad at her. You talked her out of a panic attack because she was so afraid of me."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that." You lied.

"Or when Karen was upset after the Christmas show junior year because I was just so cruel to her about her body count. Which wasn't even high. I saw you bringing her that stupid red and green caramel popcorn that the cafeteria was selling for the show."

"I saw her crying, I thought it would cheer her up."

"You also gave me ice when they dropped me on my face and you tried taking care of me."

"I was working backstage and nobody else wanted to help you. Though, I do recall being called a shitty name or two when I did that." You teased.

"I know. I'm sorry. Like really fucking sorry. I was just...projecting."

"I know." You reassured.

You sat in silence for a few minutes, watching people come in and out of the house. Regina adjusted next to you and you put a protective had on Roach and scooted her closer so Regina had more space to move.

You could feel her staring at you. It made you anxious because who knows what she was thinking about.

Regina shifted again and before you can even register her movements, her lips were pressed softly against the sensitive skin of your neck.

"I always thought you were so hot." She mumbled against your skin, her tongue poking out slightly to taste you and her right hand coming up to cup your neck.

You froze for a few seconds, getting lost in the sensation of her lips on your skin, before your rational thoughts kicked in.

"Regina." You said calmly, pulling her hand on your neck. "You're drunk." You laced your fingers with hers and rested your joined hands on your lap.

You watched her stare at your hands, fully expecting her to go off on you or to say something cruel in her drunken state.

Instead, she swiped her thumb over your knuckles and hummed a small approval to herself.

Then a cluster of rowdy frat boys came fumbling out of the house and she let go of your hand faster than anything you had ever witnessed before.

She wiped her hands on her pants and stood up with such ease that it made you question if she was ever even that drunk to begin with.

"I'm gonna get another drink. I'll find you when I'm ready to go."

[fairlyang]

i neeeeeed more loser!katie my mind is actually rotting and it’s because of her

I loved loser!katie so bad and wanted to write a part 2 since I wrote it in december- leave it to me to dust off an old ass draft😭😭 im so sorry for the long ass wait anon

Loser II 🏹

w/c: 2.5K

pairing: loser!katebishop x f!reader

tags: 18+ smut. masturbation, fingering, she is knocked tf out, or so you think, she wakes up, secretly watches you, voyeurism, such a perv, getting caught, 2 pervs (freaky ass frogs!!), mutual masturbation, finger sucking

part one | kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

what indeed did change were your thoughts towards kate. Not in a bad way at all but hearing her moan out your name while doing something so intimate just had your brain thinking a bit.

you had always thought she was an incredibly attractive girl but for her to think of you that way seemed almost insane, out of nowhere.

until you started remembering her attitude towards you lately and it clicked.

she liked you too.

you never thought what started off to be a small little crush on your roommate, now close friend, would be reciprocated back.

so of course you had to calm your growing nerves after what you just heard by masturbating as well.

surely it solves all problems.

you had already taken your dress off and put on one of her shirts she once let you borrow that you never returned and she never asked for back.

she was too nice to ask you to give it back but also she’d give you anything you wanted with the snap of a finger.

she secretly loved how pretty and cute you looked when wearing it but too bad she got shitfaced and had a body shaking orgasm that she immediately fell asleep and won’t get to see it.

since she was luckily, a heavy sleeper, you also figured why the fuck not.

so as you spread your legs wide and ran a hand up and down your thighs, the back of your mind couldn’t help but wish, pray, that she would wake up just to see you masturbating in her shirt.

she’d probably lose her shit and there was nothing more you’d love to witness than that but those loud snores that left her mouth were a dead giveaway that that would not be happening.

nonetheless you figured you’d make yourself cum because just the thought of how she was pleasing herself was getting to be too much for you already.

you still couldn’t believe she reciprocated those same feelings back and were in complete shock but the alcohol in your system was working overtime to forget about feelings for a second.

you began by rubbing your clit in slow circles over your panties but to tease yourself a bit. you quickly felt your arousal seep through the light fabric and you realized how it took nearly nothing for your body to respond.

you then decided to just go for it over waiting. and who had time to edge?

with your left hand you move your panties to the side then with your right hand going down to feel your wetness with just one finger.

it only took one dip for your finger to be soaked so you just move two fingers to your entrance then slide them in with ease.

you bit your lip, grabbing your body pillow and pulling it as close as possible to your body as you slowly moved your fingers out then back in. You spread your legs wide and start to fuck yourself but being mindful of how loud your wetness could be.

even though Kate is dead asleep right now, you didn’t want to take any chances.

though deep down you really wanted her to wake up.

so you took your chances anyway and started off by letting out quiet moans at first to see if her sleeping body would react.

she didn’t.

you turned your head to the right to see her sleeping peacefully and your eyes stayed on her bulging biceps that were tightly hugging her body pillow.

your eyes rolled back as you fucked yourself faster just imagining her on top of you, arms above your head. there was just something about her muscles that made your head spin.

especially when you had the luck of her asking you to go to one of her archery tournaments and you were so out of it just paying attention to those damn arms over her skills.

it was the one and only day she didn’t wear her purple archery jacket and instead had on a black tank top because she had gotten there late (as per usual).

you could tell she was just working out only based off how absolutely sweaty she looked. Her baby hairs were glued her to forehead and her ponytail low over her usual one that would be in the middle.

the tank top fit her so good that once she started you weren’t even looking at her shooting the damn arrow, just focused on how the bra she was wearing made her tits pop and how chiseled her collarbones were as she shot it.

she looked so fucking good that day you may as well have been drooling all over the floor with your friends teasing you about it when she made a bullseye that you didn’t even get to see.

since then you’ve had somewhat of a crush on her, always trying to refrain from flirting because you didn’t want to make her uncomfortable but after what you witnessed, things for sure would change for the good.

now you were the one that was so desperate and pretending she was the one finger fucking you. you started going deeper, imagining that’s how she would do it.

you didn’t know how the hell you were going to bring this up in the morning without sounding like an absolute pervert and maybe if she caught you now it’d be easier to explain.

but her loud snores being the only sound in the room crushed those dreams.

you looked at her again, staring at her lips and wondering how they’d feel on yours. looking down at her hands and subconsciously letting out a moan, she only shifted.

then she let out a muffled moan and you stopped. your eyes grew wide and you felt like dying of embarrassment.

but that was it. she didn’t move.

that’s when she stirred in her sleep and you watched carefully, for any signs that she'd wake up. luckily that was all she did and you were in the clear, for now.

you started pumping your fingers inside you again and that’s when kate’s brain decided to form an all too realistic wet dream. you were moaning her name.

these usually took over her dreams at night but this one felt so real. her consciousness waring off and she heard actual moans in her eyes.

she kept her eyes closed and laid still as she listened carefully. she could hear you trying to be quiet, something she was used to but this was different.

that’s when she heard the noises coming between your legs and it sent a shiver down her spine. she felt her heartbeat in her chest and she was so conflicted on what to do.

there was no fucking way she was gonna be able to sleep knowing you’re masturbating with her in the room and no way she was going to pass up this opportunity to hear you.

maybe it was the slight voyeur in her or maybe it was just her taking advantage of the fact that this is her only chance but she had hear you.

meanwhile you closed your eyes and turned your head to the left as you bucked your hips up while fucking yourself. you gripped your pillow, trying hard to keep quiet but the thought of kate being between your thighs was so strong and you were losing control.

you let more moans slip from your lips, some just of pleasure and others of her name because you felt like being bold.

as soon as kate heard her name leave your mouth she nearly screamed in happiness. but she kept her mouth shut because otherwise her cover would be blown and she had to hear everything.

she decided to open her left eye slowly because she was greedy and wanted to see you. the light of the bedside table lamp was all the light in the room and after her eye got use to it, she was able to see you.

gripping a pillow for dear life while you finger yourself but her eye focused on something else first.

you were wearing her shirt.

you were wearing her shirt.

her other eye shot open and she bit her lip to keep quiet because she was on the verge of absolutely losing it.

your eyes were closed shut and you were letting out occasional moans without a doubt thinking she’s still fast asleep.

once kate heard her name again, her right hand snaked down to her boxers, slipping it inside where she was met with a pool of arousal. not at all surprising since she came hard and now with this sight, of course she was going to be even more soaked.

she quickly slipped two fingers inside and tried to match your pace just from how your body was moving with the pillow. she grabbed onto her pillow as tightly as she could, mostly praying it’ll cover the noises of her wet pussy because she didn’t want to risk you hearing her.

luckily the pillow did cover the noises that came from her end of the room but not much from yours — which was good news in her books.

she was still clearly able to hear how wet you were and it was making her lose her mind. not only was this somehow not a fucking dream and you really were moaning her name but she was watching you fuck yourself while doing it.

she’s not sure what she did to deserve this, her wettest dreams coming true but lord was she grateful for it.

maybe you making out with that girl meant absolutely nothing.

maybe there was a chance that you liked her back.

“fuck katie- just like that-“ you whimpered and bit your lip afterwards but the damage was already done.

kate was struggling to keep quiet so bad, her body began to shake and her cheeks were getting red. she was struggling so badly, she accidentally let out a moan and it was game over.

what little dignity she had was gone and you’d probably ask to be switched roommates. her head was going a hundred miles an hour through all the possible outcomes that would occur that she didn’t even realize that you did not stop.

as soon as you heard her, your eyes shot open and you turned to look at her. she was spacing off, thinking it was the end of the world but was technically still looking at you so you were looking at her pretty face while she was in an identical position as you.

you didn’t stop fingering yourself and just looked over at kate, who had her own hands down her boxers. what a fucking view.

you cleared your throat and she snapped out of it, now looking into your eyes with anxiety filling her body. you have her a small smile and joked, “seems we both have confessions to make huh?”

kate looked at you in shock, not believing where you were going with this because it still felt like she was in a wet dream.

“that doesn’t mean we’ve gotta stop though…” you murmur and pump your fingers deeper, “i’m almost close.”

“fuck- is this really happening?” kate mutters, mostly to herself but you just chuckle and nod.

“mhm. i mean we both did drink a bit but no way we’d be having the same dream right?” you tease and she nods.

“well i uh.. um- fuck this is hard.” she stammered and gulps.

“how about we focus on one thing then worry about the rest after?” you suggest and she quickly nods.

you grab your pillow and set it aside because there was no reason to hide anything. kate followed your lead and did the same.

she then was able to see how you’ve been fucking yourself and didn’t stop. her mouth was watering and she wanted to go to your bed so bad to take care of you but fought against it.

she matched your pace once again and instantly let out some moans making you moan too. her eyes went back up to your face just to meet your eyes already looking at her. her face burned even more and you gave her a wide grin.

“didn’t think of you to be so much of a perv katie..” you teased making her scoff.

“you’re wearing my shirt!” she called back and you shrugged.

“it’s my shirt now.” you say and giggle.

“but i also got here right as you were finishing… might’ve heard a familiar name come out of your mouth…” you say breathlessly, feeling your arousal drip down just thinking about it again.

kate’s face was burning red, she was so embarrassed but then realized, “so you heard me? and what decided to go to town too?”

you kept quiet, lightly biting your lip while kate chuckled and smirked, “whose the perv now?”

“technically you still beat me.” you mutter and kate waves you off, “no shot.”

“you were just watching me play with myself…” you murmur and she laughs, “fine! we’re both pervs, are you happy?!” she jokingly exclaims and you just grin, nodding.

“good because i can’t believe this-“ she says and is cut off by a moan.

you whimpered and buck your hips up in desperation, kate’s eyes roll to the back of her head as she hears your sweet noises, “you sound s-so good-“

then kate moans and you were going back and forth just moaning for each other and hearing intently to the other’s moans.

your panties were beyond soaked now and your legs start shaking as you feel your orgasm about to hit you. the eye contact with kate was so intense, her blue eyes bored into yours as her body was also warning her of her incoming orgasm.

you went as fast as you could, chasing after your impending orgasm when you could hear kate doing the exact same and you just looked into her eyes while you both are hit with hard hitting orgasms.

you both let out loud mewls and whimpers, riding out your highs as you look at each other in adoration and hazy eyes. you slowed down and attempted to calm your breathing down but your heart was pounding.

kate quickly went to the rescue as she slipped her fingers out slowly then pulled her hand back from her boxers before quickly getting out of her bed and hopping onto yours.

you moved over making space for her as you slipped your fingers out with a plop. she nearly moaned but kept it inside.

you lazily bring your fingers up to her mouth, looking at her expectantly and kate obediently opens her mouth as you slip them inside her mouth. she sucks every drop of your sweet juices, savoring everything you had to give her — while looking directly into your eyes as well.

you pull them out with a loud plop and you grin. that’s when kate brought her fingers up to your mouth and you quickly opened your mouth and even grabbed onto her wrist. you took her fingers all the way down to her knuckles and this time she did moan because the sight was beyond better than any sex dream she’s had.

you push her wrist away after savoring every drop of her, and immediately realizing you’re gonna need to taste properly tomorrow. but for now you settled into her arms, making yourself comfortable against her chest as you listen to her heart beat louder than yours.

[leighsartworks216]

To Be Warm And Comfy

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I was only going to write down this little idea before I took a nap... And then I ended up writing the whole thing

The crochet theme actually came out of nowhere for me. I cannot crochet anything more than a chain to save my life, but I do loom knit from time to time

Warnings: self-deprecation, low self worth

Word Count: 776

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Slotted between his legs, you rested your back against Astarion's chest. His arms coiled around your waist and held you close, while he pressed his nose into your neck and peered over your shoulder. With practiced hands, the yarn slid through your fingers at the perfect tension, hooked and worked together into rows of perfect stitches.

He'd never seen anything quite like it. During his living years, he focused on intellectualism and law, not crafts. And during his servitude, sewing and embroidering came about from necessity, though he did still enjoy them. This was incredible. He couldn't stop watching as you worked in smooth movements to crochet your little project. You wouldn't tell him what it was, but he was content simply to watch.

For several weeks, this became the nightly pattern. You'd lay back in his arms while he held you, watching you work away in silence or with idle chatter. When you finished for the night, you'd set your project aside where it wouldn't get damaged, he'd gingerly bite into your neck and take his share, and he'd lay down with you as you drifted off to sleep. Usually he stayed, if he'd had enough to eat during the day and didn't need to sip on some boar or squirrels. Sometimes he would read while you crocheted, sharing his favorite bits with you. It was nice. Peaceful.

You told him, one night, that you were almost finished. He'd watched with rapt attention then, studying the way you fastened off and weaved the excess yarn back through the stitches. He'd realized almost a week ago that it was a sweater, but it was almost a marvel when you held it up by the shoulders in front of you both to show it off.

He kissed your jaw with a gentle squeeze around your midsection. "It looks wonderful, darling."

You hummed, smiling brightly. "I'm really glad you think so." You sat up and turned in his arms. He didn't fight to keep you where you were, though he certainly missed the solidness and warmth you provided. You held it out to him. "Put it on."

He frowned, confused. "Don't tell me you spent weeks making that just to give it away?"

"Of course I did, now put it on."

"I'm hardly worth the effort," he scoffed. He did not accept the gift. His expressions mixed oddly - light-hearted joy, befuddlement, self-deprecation - all flooding his system and overwhelming him. He simply could not grasp the fact you'd go through all the effort for him. "Surely it would look much nicer on you!"

You sighed, understanding and long-suffering. "Tell you what, if it doesn't fit or you don't like it, I'll keep it. Deal?"

He sighed, too. He'd hardly be able to refuse it once he put it on. But you nudged the sweater in his direction again, and how could he say no?

You watched with a wide grin as he slipped it over his head and slid the sleeves along his arms. It was... really nice, actually. Warm and soft without feeling constricting. It fit him perfectly.

"You're always so cold," you explain, wrapping your arms around his waist and relaxing forward until your chin was against his chest. "So I made you this. You can wear it when touch is too overwhelming, or if you feel too out of it to cuddle. I just want you to be warm and comfy."

He chuckles breathlessly, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. "I'm sure I'll be very comfy in this."

His undead heart ached. You went through so much trouble. He'd seen you struggle to find enough of the same yarn, watched you cuss and groan every time a stitch fell or when you had to undo a section because you miscounted. He'd held and massaged your hands when crocheting began to wear them out. 

And still you persevered. For him. You even ensured it would fit a little loose, so he wouldn't be claustrophobic. It was... a lot. To have someone go through all this trouble.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you up until he could give you a proper hug. He nuzzled his cold nose into your neck, and he sighed. Softly, sweetly - completely relaxed.

"Thank you." He bit his tongue before he could ask if you were sure, if he really was worth the effort. Surely, by making the sweater, you'd proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was. "I shall cherish it always."

"I love you," you coo sweetly by his ear.

He must look like a fool with how wide he's smiling. "I love you, too, dear."

---

Tag List:

@hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @olitheghostboy-blog @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars

[carnatus89]

Shen Qingqiu triple trouble!

So, System Possession AU of @artsarasp is going through, stuff let's say. Angsty stuff. So of course my mind was like.

Let's make shen triplets!

The situation is, Shen Jiu has his fatal Qi deviation, Shen Yuan dies by choking on food and all is normal. But, some error occurs, and both Shen Jiu’s and Shen Yuan’s souls are in danger of disintegrating from the Qi deviation. The System notices this and tries to fix it, forcing the soul to generate a body to occupy from basically thin air. But there’s a problem, since there’s two souls that are now generating a body, meanwhile the original body is still functional, though has been metaphorically dragged through the mud. Thus, both Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan materialize with new bodies while the System is absorbed into the spare body.

So now we have three Shen Qingqius. And the System is Not Happy.

Neither is Shen Jiu to be honest.

Shen Yuan somehow convinces both the System and Shen Jiu that they should pretend to just be brothers, make some bullshit about trapped consciousness to fool the peak lords, while he wacks his brain to try to avoid death or punishment from the enraged System. Which can still give both points and punishments. The problem is that since he got the short end of the stick in the body lottery, he has to be very careful of exerting the body’s limits, so he can’t get agitated. And giving punishments is very agitating. Shen Yuan is basically trying to make the System care. If Wall-E can love, so can the System, wouldn’t it be better for the story if he becomes an active member? It would also be better to leave the story to develop itself organically, think about all the character development! So the protagonist can have a more round support cast! If he read something like that, he wouldn’t have criticized so much the papapa scenes since he could just focus on that! What do you think System-bro?

Meanwhile Shen Jiu is very conflicted, since these, what, fakers? Clones? Some type of demons? Are stealing his face and seem to have some ulterior motive, but both seem eager to ‘help him’ somehow. Granted, the blue eyed freak is creepy as fuck, a fake cherfulness that all his instincts scream to get away from, but he’s mostly… nice. The definition of the word, at least. The other fake is snarky, doesn’t really back down from a verbal dispute, and, while infuriating, it’s more real. Safer, in a way, more honest. Besides, the blue eyed one is useful when trying to find synonyms while writing or finding the name of a song he couldn’t remember well. They can stay, for now.

System is actually scared. They saved the scum villain character, but made a bigger problem while also becoming… vulnerable. How could they make sure the story functions if they have a weak and frail body? They are forced to play along, become a more direct support to the characters to make sure they stay in line. But [User02] seems to have other ideas, and while they must punish him, they really can’t without suffering themselfs. The original scum villain for the most part follows the script, but he also seems perturbed by their presence, which is fine. All is fine, they should be able to fix it.

Somehow.

The three of them are mostly the same in appearance. The major difference that the peaklords catch on is the mark on the forehead (I don’t remember what it is called). Shen Jiu has a lotus flower painted, Shen Yuan has a dot while the System has an empty circle, resembling a zero. Both Shen Jiu and the System have their clothes correctly, while Shen Yuan doesn’t really know how any of his layers of clothes work, so he fastened the belt around everyone, even the outer robe. Finally, the System has their hair tight to their head, Shen Jiu has it a little loose to let it flow but staying neat and clean. Shen Yuan just, tries his best. Finally, the System’s face is kinda cartoonish, they make faces that shouldn't be possible, stretching his smile wide and making their eyes a little too big. Both Shens don’t mention it much, they just say they’re special.

I don’t know what came to me to do this shit, but now’s here, deal with it.

Spanish rambling when this idea just came barreling through my brain.

[aviradasa]

Hi hi again ! I just wanna say I ABSOLUTELY ADORE the chubby reader x Larry n' Sal hdcns you wrote !! It's very nice and comforting, and really made my night - I can't stop re-reading them :') . THANK YOUUU 👹🖤‼️

Anyway, I was wondering if you could do something similar to the chubby reader hdcns, but with an ADHD!reader ? Just some Larry n' Sal with an adhd having gf hdcns ! Pls & ty, ilyyy <3

(also, if you're not comfortable with writing these, or don't know abt the symptoms of adhd [with depression & anxiety symptoms, bc it's a big struggle for me personally lol], no pressure abt writing these hdcns !! Remember to eat and stay hydrated <333 !!!)

Heyyy I actually loved writing this as I've struggled for years with depression as well and me and my family have been unsure if it's Adhd or autism since I was a kid lmao So here is

Larry,sal x Adhd!Girlfriend!Reader (separate)

Sal:

Sal is really good with you

He's a really calming person to be around, so if you're really struggling that day, he's got you

If you're too hyperfocused and forget to take care of yourself, he will find a way to pull you away without bothering you. Even if it's just for a bit so you can eat or something

But if you have trouble focusing? Well, sals next to you and talking you through whatever you're trying to to.

He will even help you.

One day, you started frantically cleaning your room. Pulling stuff from the drawers pulling the stuff out from under your bed. Unloading your desk.

But then once you saw the amount of stuff, you kinda froze up. not sure where to even start.

You were honestly so overwhelmed you almost had a breakdown, but then sal walked into your guys' room, looking confused as shit asking you what's going on.

He waited patiently as you explained, and then he sat on the ground with you and started helping you organize everything,talking you through the process the entire time to keep you from getting more overwhelmed.

He's a damn angel

And once you guys got done and the room was back in order, you guys put on a movie and just passed out

If it's a day where you can't seem to sit still. He won't try to stop you.

Naw, he's saying ok come on, let's go to the apartments and run around checking on the ghost.

He doesn't try to hold you in place or stop you he tries to encourage you to do what you need to in a healthy way.

Also, if losing or misplacing things is a struggle for you, that's fine, don't worry.

Cause either he knows where it is or he's looking for it with you. And sometimes, when he sees something in an odd place, he will just grab it and put it where it should be.

And then when you need it, you don't have to go on a scavenger hunt.

On days where you can't seem to drag yourself outta bed or you're just not doing good with racing thoughts

He's with you. If you both have class that day, he will coax you out of bed,

and while you guys are driving there you guys will talk about it, and if you can't put it into words, he will just tell you stuff to get your mind off it

If you don't have class, he will lay with you, and you guys will just put on a show and chat, which makes you feel a bit better

He's like your other half at this point, and it's nice to have some calm when things get crazy

Overall, you both have a pretty good system, and if he's having issues, you help him out too, so it's a pretty win-win you

guys are great together

Larry:

Well, now Larry, I think, has a bit of it to but a little different. He's more on the hyper focus end.

He will get to painting or playing a game, and he's not moving from that spot until it's done, and if you are also hyper focused at the same time it can start off good but then can get a bit unhealthy

It's whoever comes out of it first that will snap the other out of it

But if you're having trouble focusing, he will do his best to help, but let's be honest, you both will probably end up distracted

One day, you were trying to work on a project for one of your classes and you were stuck because you had so much to do and didn't know where to start.

So you tried to put on some music. We'll that didn't work too well because now you're sitting there watching MTV music videos.

By the time Larry got back, you were spaced out at the screen with your project forgotten sitting next to you.

He asked you what it was, and when you told him, he asked if it was done and you ended up explaining that you got stuck.

Well, he sits down with you and takes a look at it and also kinda blanks. Then you guys started talking, and the conversation ventured off, and yall ended up rushing it the night before.

At least he tried lmao.

Now, if it's a hyper day for you guys and you're running around trying to do a bunch of stuff, he will probably roll a joint and give it to you like.

Smoke this.

After you do, it can have one of two reactions

1 you actually slow down and are able to chill for a bit, or 2 it just makes you wanna go on an adventure.

If it's the second you guys end up in a gas station getting snacks and then heading over to sals to bother him and his girl it's cool they don't mind lol.

Now, when it comes to misplaced objects it really fucks with larry. Like I said in my general Larry HCs, he's messy but in an organized way.

So if he's digging around trying to find a certain paintbrush and he ends up finding it in the living room instead of in his art area he it really fucks with him.

But he's not mad he's just more confused and like what the fuck I didn't put that there.

And if he asks you and you don't remember, then you guys jokingly blame the ghosts. You both know it probably wasn't them but it's a Lil inside joke.

Now, for days, you can't get up, he stays with you. He's either in the same boat or he just feels bad and understands. Sometimes, he will lay with you, and you both might smoke and talk to each other. Or he will put on a show or music and paint while you do you.

It's just nice to know he's there and that he cares.

Overall, you guys got a lot going on, but you guys manage it as well as you can and what's important is that you do it together 🖤

[capquinn]

Curious on your take on what Quinn would do if one of the kids was born during the season? I know it’s their job but I felt so bad for Conor having to leave almost immediately after. Especially being captain that’s even bigger. But Quinn seems so family first that the thought of leaving his little one and his wife who can barely stand and get dressed without his help for almost everything is so heartbreaking for him.

Oh my god you're about to get me started, sweet nonny! Because whenever I write about dad!quinn my mind always wanders back to Conor and his wife when they had their baby boy. I can't even imagine what it must have been like for her to labour without him by her side because he had (he volunteered but still) to play a game and then for him to go on a 2 week roadie a couple of days after with a newborn baby back home would've been difficult for him to do.

I think Quinn would really struggle with the balance, especially in moments like those.

Funnily enough, Bug is actually born right at the very end of the regular season, which feels like a small stroke of luck in an otherwise hectic time. It’s still not ideal —he’s juggling the final push before playoffs with everything that comes with becoming a dad for the first time — but it’s miles better than if she’d arrived in the middle of the season or right at the start.

But if she had been... in a perfect world, where the team didn’t rely on him as much as they do, he’d get a few days — maybe even a week — just to be fully present, to focus entirely on the birth, on you, on Buggy. It's not perfect but at least this way, there’s a tiny bit of breathing room.

In a not so perfect world, he would’ve been absolutely torn because he’s so family orientated and deeply committed to his team, and he’d feel this immense pull in both directions, like no matter what he chooses, he’d feel like he's letting someone down. Even if you’d told him a hundred times over that you’re fine, that you understand the reality of his job, and that you’re surrounded by support — he’d still grapple with it. The mere thought of not being there for the moment his baby comes into the world, or even just leaving you to labour without him by your side, would weigh on him in a way he wouldn't be able to shake.

He’d never complain outright — Quinn isn’t ungrateful in the slightest. He knows exactly how fortunate he is to be living his dream, doing something he loves every single day. On ice or at home. To be a captain, to be a husband, to be a father — those aren’t just titles to him; they’re everything he’s ever wanted, the kind of responsibilities he’s dreamed about for as long as he can remember. But with the people closest to him, the ones who really know him, he’d let a little bit slip — just enough to vent when it feels like the pressure might crack him open. Because trying to be all of those things at once? It’s no small thing, and there’s no guidebook on how to juggle them all, especially when his job doesn’t come with the luxury of proper parental leave. There’s no real space carved out for new dads in his world, no way to hit pause on being captain so he can just be dad for a little while.

Even then, his venting would just be him quietly trying to work through his feelings because, yeah, he’d be frustrated — not with anyone in particular, but with the system, the situation, and the sacrifices it demands. It wouldn't be about wanting special treatment; it’s about the impossibility of trying to give everything to two worlds that don’t always align. And even in those quiet admissions, there’d be this unshakable understanding — he gets it. He really does. It’s just… hard.

I wrote a little something a while ago about how he'd balance being a first time dad and being captain here but focussed on the nice stuff if you'd like to read <3

[alegendoftomorrow]

The Gift

Summery: Fives and the 501's civilian medic are friends and possibly more if they weren't in the middle of a war. After another long day with far too much pain for the both of them, Fives finds a way to bring a little holiday magic to your lives, even in the middle of a war zone.

Characters: Arc Trooper Fives x Fem!Reader (no use of y/n)

Words: 2,947 Words

Warning: Injury (very minor), brief peril and canon typical violence, mentions of loss, grief, war, injuries, slights angst. Mostly teasing, slightly suggestive (just hinting at it).

A/N: This is my entry for the incredible Life Day exchange hosted by @cloneficgiftexchange . Thank you so much for always hosting such fun events that push me to get out of my comfort zone and write again. This piece is for the awesome @arliganzey I really hope you like this fun little adventure I went on. It was my first time writing for Fives and I hope I captured his essence for you :)

“You know we cannot keep meeting like this.”

You freeze halfway to reaching into your rapidly emptying medic bag. Groaning through hard pressed lips as you spin in your chair to see a very cocky smile pulled up on a very familiar face.

“People are bound to start talking.”

“Fives,” you groaned. Pinching the bridge of your nose and counting to…. well, five before you risk looking back up at the arc trooper leaning against the doorway. Suspiciously standing off his right ankle.

You already know there’s going to be a story. There’s always a story with Fives. Before you knew any better you used to think he was getting hurt just to come and see you. Now the war has dragged on for longer than you were prepared for, and you’ve buried far more men than it feels like you ever save. Seen more planets and systems torn apart than you ever thought possible. Things like crushes and love seem like silly things reserved for storybooks rather than your day-to-day life.

Doesn’t mean it isn’t fun to flirt back with the man who walks through your door almost once a day with some injury or another. Battle related or not.

“What is it this time? Echo dare you to jump off the bridge or did Jesse kick your butt sparring again?” You asked. Standing from your desk and walking over to an exam table. Raising a brow when Fives doesn’t move from the doorway.

“Can’t I just come say hi to my favorite medic without there being an injury?” He asked. In a tone that almost sounded innocent, and perhaps a little hurt that you’d suggested such a thing.

You flashed him another eye roll and crossed your arms. “You can but, Kix isn’t here right now.”

Fives actually snorted at that. Dropping his arms to his side and doing his best not to limp on what was clearly an injured ankle. “Kix is not my favorite medic.”

“Mhm why’s that?” You asked. Already moving down to undo the plastoid armor he wore over his boots when he hoped up on the table. Ignoring the warmth that spread over you when you looked back to see Fives grinning down at you with his hands tucked behind his head.

“Because he doesn’t look half as pretty as you do,” he said with a smirk. “And he’s not as nice to me as you are.”

Now it was your turn to snort at him, Maker he is insufferable, you thought. And the best part of every day, another part of your mind added rather unhelpfully. You went back to examining his ankle before you said something ridiculous. Taking off his sock and hissing through your teeth at the purple bruise already spreading around his scarred ankle.

“Maker what happened here?!” You asked. Looking up at Fives again with genuine worry this time.

He waved a hand dismissively and puffed his chest up a bit in a way you’d come to learn meant he was hiding pain and quite proud of something he definitely shouldn’t be proud of.

“I came here with a blaster bolt to the knee a few rotations ago. How is this worse?”

You started at him blankly for a minute. Simply blinking up at him and hoping your silence made something click in that incredible thick head of his.

It did not.

“You were shot in an active war zone running to give Captain Rex cover. I honestly expected worse than that. However, we have been flying for three days with no enemy contact. So, you shouldn’t have gotten so much as a cough up here; yet here you are sitting here with a twisted ankle. So, I ask again. How did you get this?”

The smile slipped a little from Fives’s face as he actually looked a little…. embarrassed? Was that something he was capable of feeling? You watched as he bit down on his lip and fidgeted slightly with his shoulders seeming to try and buy time.

“Really, it’s not important. I was…. doing something for someone else and my foot slipped okay? It’s not a big deal,” he said. Very adamantly not making eye contact with you.

You rolled your eyes and threw your hands up in surrender with a sigh. “Fine don’t tell me. I hope this someone was worth it.”

“She is,” Fives said. There was a sincerity in his voice that caught you by surprise. Giving you pause and making your breath catch as he looked at you with something that was almost soft. Something you didn’t dare name floated between the shades of honey and earthen brown of his eyes.

“Right. Well…...good.” You stumbled out. Moving away from the table and back to your medical closet to get some bacta and a wrap for his ankle. Trying hard not to meet his eyes again. The ones you can feel boring a hole through the back of your head as you set his ankle.

He doesn’t even flinch once while you work on it. Even though you’re certain this must hurt, he just sits there and stares back at you while your hands make quick work of their task.

“Alright, that should hold for now. Do you want to do the song and dance where I tell you to stay off it and then you tell me something about being a hero of the Republic who can’t take breaks and must soldier on for the good of the galaxy?” You asked. Crossing your arms over your chest and raising a brow at him.

Fives grind like an idiot again and laughs. Maker that sound… You wish you could bottle it up and keep it with you when he went away again. Listen to it on repeat when the nights pressed in to darkly.

“That’s a terrible impression of me,” Fives laughed. Snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I thought it was very accurate,” you snip back. Your tone bears no bite though.

Fives smirks wider like a loth cat that’s gotten into the cream. Swinging his legs gracefully back over the bed and gripping the edge in a way that makes his biceps flex under his blacks. Not that you’re looking. He leans in a little closer and it takes all of your willpower not to lean in towards him too.

“What’s your excuse then Doc?” He asked lowly.

You tilted your head and furrowed your brows. “My excuse for what?”

“For not resting,” he said. “You said it yourself, I’m a hero of the Republic, but you….”

He trailed off and reached a hand up to tuck back a curl that had come loose from the updo you had it in. Your breath catching in your throat as you swallowed tightly under his touch. Rough fingers brushing so softly over your skin you wanted to melt.

“You need to rest too. The whole ship would fall apart without you.”

You might have laughed if he wasn’t looking at you so seriously. Like he meant every word of it. It made something warm and fuzzy creep up into your chest. Something that felt dangerous and far, far too real.

“I’ll rest when you do,” you bargained.

Fives shook his head. “No, I cannot allow that. I know exactly what that means. You’ll come in here and pretend to lay down then get right back to do work.”

“I could say the same for you,” you shot back. “So how do you suggest either of us rest then?”

The smirk that crawled up his face as he flicked his tongue out to lick his bottom lip almost made your knees wobble.

“Well, it seems we have no choice but to rest together,” he said. Like it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at him. “What?”

“That way I can make sure you can’t get up to do work, and you can make sure I don’t walk on my ankle.”

Your mind reeled for a moment still all the possibilities that scenario presented before you recovered yourself enough to smirk back. Leaning back on your heels and staring back eye level with the arc trooper with a glint of playfulness in your gaze.

“You know if you wanted to sleep with me, you could have just asked.”

Fives looked taken aback for a moment. He recovered much too quickly though and leaned forward a little more. His breath ghosting over your cheeks as you stood your ground in front of him. Heart racing while his eyes moved over your face, taking in the details like he was trying to memorize you.

“If I asked now, would you say yes?” He asked.

“I—” whatever you were about to say was cut off by the loud screaming of alarms that startled the both of you apart and jerked you out of moment of peace.

“That’s the attack sirens,” Fives warned. Jumping off the bed and hoping towards the door as he pulled his boot back on.

“We can’t be under attack,” he replied. Rushing to the com link in the wall and punching in the code to Captain Rex’s channel. “We haven’t seen any vessels since we left— “

A sudden explosion sounded distantly and the whole ship lurched to the side. Your hands gripping into the handles on the wall to steady yourself while cabinets and shelves clicked locked, so their contents didn’t go everywhere.

“Apparently the separatists don’t know that,” Fives grumbled from the doorway. Looking down the hall both ways once before turning back to you with a brilliant smile that felt far too out of place for this moment. “Don’t worry I’ll handle this; you just sit here and look pretty and we’ll finish this conversation when I get back.”

He winked and then was gone. Running as fast as his weak ankle would allow. You wanted to protest every word he’d just said. Wanted to run after him, yell at him to be careful, maybe smack him for being so cavalier with his words, but he was gone before you could even get his name past your lips.

Be careful Fives.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~(Many Hours Later)~~~~~~~~~~~~

We were lucky this time,  that’s what Captain Rex kept saying.

The separatist vessel had only damaged the cargo holds on the lower levels before the captain and his men were able to destroy it. General Skywalker’s plan somehow once again working despite sounding ludicrous to you. You were lucky the casualties had been minimal, but the injuries were heavy. You would have to restock before your next engagement. As it was, you’d already patched supplies together for those less injured than others.

Leaning back against the hallway wall you slid all the way to the floor and pulled your knees to your chest. Leaning your head forward to rest there and forcing yourself to breathe deeply so you didn’t fall apart out here where anyone might see you.

Footsteps approached slowly from your left and you half hoped they’d keep walking. Let you wallow in peace and quiet, but the uneven footfalls stopped just in front of you and a voice cleared their throat above you.

“Hey…you alright?”

Fives.

Jerking your head up you blinked at him through your watery eyes. Staring at his grease smudged cheeks with parted lips. He was breathing heavier than normal and still standing off his foot as best he could. His blacks were stained with blood and smoke, but he looked mostly unharmed.

“You’re, okay?” You asked. Voice trembling.

Fives grinned. “I’m always alright. I’m a hero remember. Heroes can’t die.”

You rolled your eyes and made some kind of half sob half laugh sound. Wiping your eyes with the hell of her hand and sniffling a little.

“Hey, come on love no tears.” He crouched down and grinned softly. Reaching out and brushing the tear that dripped down your cheek gently. “It’s okay. We lived to fight another day, more of us than usual at that. That’s something, and more will live because of you. Yeah?”

Without thinking you leaned into his palm and nodded softly. Closing your eyes and focusing on his words. Clinging to them tightly.

“Besides, you’re in the presence of a hero who saved the day and is about to make yours better,” Fives added proudly.

You laughed at him and shook your head. Blinking your eyes open to stare at him again. The lights giving him a halo around his dark hair. Making his tattoo stand out a little sharper against his skin. “How exactly are you still this cocky after everything?”

“It’s who I am. Come on. Up you go.” He grabbed under your arms and pulled you to your feet.

“Mhm does that hero line ever actually work on anyone?” You asked following after him while he kept his arm wrapped securely around yours.

“I don’t know, I’ll let you know later.”

“You are unbelievable,” you groaned.

“That’s the running theory,” he replied proudly.

Following him down the halls of the ship, letting him lean on you a little more as his ankle began to ache worse, you let the pair of you fall into an easy silence. Even if you were a little nervous about where you were actually going, you didn’t have the energy to ask.

“Alright we’re here. Close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so,” Fives said. Stopping the pair of you in front of a plain dark door.

You looked at him with a raised brow. “Fives is this is an elaborate plan to scare me I’m warning you I—"

His laugh cut you off. Throwing his hands up in a surrendering motion as he shook his head. “I promise, I promise, we’ve both been scared enough for one day. Just cover your eyes. You’ll like it trust me.”

You hesitated only a moment longer before closing your eyes and covering them with your free hand. Feeling Fives take your other hand and weave his fingers together with yours, the door whooshed open, and a warm burst of air hit you as he tugged you forward. Your feet following after him without hesitation. You trusted him, even if he drove you crazy.

“Alright, open your eyes,” he whispered from behind you.

Slowly you lowered your hand and opened your eyes. Gasping at the scene spread out before you.

“Fives….”

Strings of lights blinked in multicolored drops that had been hung around wide windows that showed off the thousands of twinkling stars blinking like spilled jewels across the ebony sky. Looking around the rest of the room there was a small table sat in the middle of the window. The two chairs were tied with bright red ribbons and a small box sat in the middle wrapped with blue paper. Soft holiday music played from some kind of hidden speakers and there was holographic snow drifting down the walls.

“I don’t…. I don’t understand,” you said. Spinning around to face Fives who looked a little sheepish with his hand lifting up to rub at the back of his neck.

“You do so much for everyone here. Keeping us alive and healthy. You care, really care, where most people just…. don’t. I remember you telling Echo your favorite holiday when you were a kid was Life Day but that you hadn’t gotten to celebrate it for a very long time. I had the guys help me research it, so I knew what it was and then I set this up for you,” he explained. Shrugging a shoulder like this wasn’t the most amazing thing anyone had ever done for you. Like all the hours and credits, he must have spent to make this little bit of joy come true wasn’t the most incredible gift ever.

“I know it’s a few days early, but you looked like you needed this today. So, I um….” He trailed off and let his hand drop back to his side. “Do you like it?”

You can’t even bring yourself to answer. Forgetting how tired you are and how sore he probably is, you rush forward and launch yourself into his arms. Gripping him tightly as he stumbles back to catch you. Wrapping you up in a hug just as tight.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?” He teased. Lips brushing beside your ear.

“Yes!” You said into his neck. “I love it Fives. Thank you. This is… this is the best thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

You feel him smile more than you see it. His arms flexing around you tighter. “You’re welcome love. Happy Life Day.”

“Happy Life Day Fives.”

Pulling away you smile up at him wider, tears brimming in your eyes for a whole different reason now as you reach a hand up to cup his cheek. His fingers curling around your wrist as he turns his head to kiss your palm lightly. Maybe love isn’t just for fairytales and storybooks. Maybe there is hope left in this war after all.

“Fives?” 

“Yeah?”

“Did you roll your ankle putting up the lights?”

He sighs dramatically and then bursts out laughing. Scooping you up into his arms and spinning you both around as best he can before setting you back down and kissing you chastely. The softest press of his lips to yours before he’s pulling away again and winking down at you.

“It was worth it to see you smile,” he said.

You shake your head at him one more time before rising to your toes to kiss him back just as softly.

“My hero.”

“You’re mine too love.”

[lamprophonia]

》 [ yandere!Jock. ] 《

masterlist.

yan!jock x gn!reader: introduction. 1273 words. reader referred to as 'you'. cw for general yandere behavior.

DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE.

elijah steele is the best goddamn actor in your school.

the theatre kids could learn from him, honestly, because there is no way in hell anyone else could have convincingly pulled off what he did: pose as the nicest, most helpful and kind student in the entirety of the sorry shithole that is eastview high for four years straight.

to literally everyone, elijah is so sweet it's almost vomit inducing. the school's golden boy — smart, nice, strong. best player on the football team, co-captain of the swim team, and part of the basketball team for good measure, helpful, always cheery, and he got good grades.

even amongst his peers, he was always considered the most straight-edge one; still, he was pretty much universally liked. he was genuinely friends with everyone, never judging or turning anyone away.

what's not to love?

well, probably the fact that all of that is a lie, an ever on-going act. a carefully crafted persona, custom made to hide the fact elijah steele is a colossal prick.

it's honestly almost too easy for him. help teachers out here and there, talk to the right people, go to the right parties, and play on some teams, and boom, the entirety of eastview wrapped around your finger. he's made high school a game for himself, and he has been winning for four years straight.

elijah's obsession with you didn't kick in right away. he saw you and was... eh, rather neutral. he decided you were pretty enough, and homecoming or some other stupid dance he didn't actually care about was coming up, so he needed a date to look good. you were just a pawn, after all, no different from anyone else. an accessory — good-looking and non-threatening enough.

no, the obsession started when you rejected him.

worse than reject him: you saw through the finely crafted veil he's always putting on — through the smile that's as fake as it is charming, the tone of voice that's almost a bit too nice — you saw through it all, and didn't hesitate to let him know.

and oh.

it hurt.

with a few words and an unimpressed look, without even realizing it, you broke elijah's game. you weren't playing along. and hey, he might be a prick, but he's a prick with feelings. a lot of very conflicting feelings, as it turns out; he's dealt with rejection before, but never when it came to relationships.

he probably should have seen the hurt he felt when you rejected him as a sign of what was coming, that being the growing obsession he can practically feel developing. you made him feel something other than smug superiority and mild annoyance. it wasn't anything pleasant, sure, but it was new. the week after that little encounter of yours, you were literally the only thing he could think about.

at first, it was a mixed bag. elijah was confused, weirdly hurt — he discovered he didn't like feeling either of those much — and angry. mostly angry. that was the only emotion he was really familiar with of those three, so he thought he would be able to use it pretty easily. he does football after all, he'd just tackle whatever poor sods that were unfortunate enough to be going up against him in practice and get it all out of his system. easy, right?

it wasn't easy.

he nearly dislocated a guy's shoulder before realizing that his usual method for dealing with his feelings — channeling them into brute force — wasn't working, which only made him more confused, which in turn only made him angrier. so used to being in control, elijah didn't know what to do with himself for the first few days.

fortunately for him and the rest of the eastview football players, his anger, hurt, and confusion subsided after maybe a week and a half, giving way to another unfamiliar, but much more welcome emotion: fascination.

you still occupied his thoughts constantly, but he finally got a break from the all-consuming contempt he felt. instead, he regarded you with intrigue, a curiosity. it was then he decided he had to learn more; you were an obstacle, a challenge. another part of the game.

he just had to figure out how to beat you.

in some strange way, elijah was excited. this was going to be hard, sure, but his mind was already hard at work, and he was sure it would eventually be rewarding.

and hey, most importantly, this was new! his rage turned to pure goddamn delight at the idea of someone who finally isn't drooling all over him. it's so fun! like a specimen for him to study, aren't you, darling? finally, he has to work for someone's favour.

once elijah comes to this... decision? realization? he gets started pretty much immediately. he knows now that the overly sugarcoated golden boy persona isn't going to work for you. he's going to need a new strategy, and he's giddy to get to work on it.

with negative hesitation, he starts stalking you. honestly, he probably starts stalking you before he actually buckles down and starts trying to win you over; at some point in the bafflement that comes with you not immediately falling for him, he just starts to follow you around from a distance, almost absent-mindedly making notes on your schedule, your friends, class mates, teachers... he decides to double down after that, though, deciding that if he's serious about beating you, he's going to have to up his game.

that's when he starts actually following you home, taking note of your family and your behavior outside of school.

the second thing he starts doing is shadowing you outside of stalking. that meaning, he starts sitting with you at lunch, making friends with your friends, switches classes to have them with you, and joins your extracurriculars; and he does so with the most smug, shit-eating grin on his face.

he starts talking to you as if you were one of his friends, and even though you knew that elijah was probably less nice than he seemed at first glance, you didn't realize just how starkly different his real personality is from the persona he puts on.

elijah starts to treat you more genuinely, in a way. he talks shit about his friends to you, bitches freely about all his classes and coaches. it's a distinction that would feel sweet, if not for the cognitive dissonance that comes with watching him be all smiles with someone right after he told you he hates them.

because here's the thing — now that elijah knows you're not fooled by the overly sweet and helpful guy he pretends to be, that his polite golden boy act won't work on you like it does with everyone else; now, he can stop pretending.

it's freeing. hell, it's almost more fun that way.

he wants to win with all of his cards out on the table. every nice, kind he does to make you like him will be colored by that tension, that dissonance, that confusion.

of course, elijah would never admit it, but slowly, as he makes friends with you, his obsession with you turns romantic. his intrigue turns to sincere care and affection. he doesn't realize it until he sees someone flirting with you — or worse, you flirting with someone — and jealousy hits him like a fucking brick.

he's left to collect himself, once again feeling hurt, angry, and confused at his own thoughts. he didn't even like you. you were supposed to be just a game, a challenge, an obstacle.

what the fuck was happening?