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helplesslypurple77 · 3 months ago

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Day 16-Step-Sibling Incest-Chrollo/Reader/Hisoka/Illumi

Notes:

ok soooo, we’re finishing up Kinktober with a bang! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) anyway, this one is gonna be kind of hard to write but im starting it a bit early cause i have a lot of free time today! Btw this shits ooc as hell but idgaf. It's also looooooong, like over 8k words loooooong. Anyway, enjoy

Title is from ‘The Boys’ by Girls Generation

btw art is from pinterest, if its ur dm me and ill credit u<3

....

You find out your mother remarried when her postcard arrives in the mail. It's a short note, and starts out by telling you that she's on vacation in Bali. She goes on in detail about all the cool things she's doing, and you just shake your head, very used to your mothers forgetful attitude. And then, at the end in a little throwaway sentence, she mentions that she got remarried.

‘He's a lovely man. And he's got three boys, Name dear. Try to get along with them, and don't cause trouble!’

You shake your head, annoyed at the entire note. She tells you not to cause trouble? As if you would, you don't care enough about your mother to bother being upset about the news. But she could have at least invited you to the wedding. She probably forgot about you, her only daughter. It sounds insane, and impossible, but you're very used to your mother forgetting about you entirely. You didn't mind anymore. She pays for anything you need, and your life is comfortable, if not happy. But you could live with that.

You stare at the postcard for a minute, taking in the colorful flowers and ocean on the front. The bright colors hurt your eyes a bit. But brothers! You couldn't believe it. You had lived your entire life an only child, and now that was about to change. You felt a bit of tentative excitement fill your heart, lifting your moon and painting a smile across your face. You smiled, pinning the stupid postcard to the fridge. It stood out, the only thing on the entire front of the fridge.

Things are about to change. For better or worse, you don't know.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It's lunch break the next day. You're sitting at your usual lunch table, telling your friend about the postcard, the sun shining down on the uniformed students sitting around in the courtyard of your expensive private school. A brisk breeze whistles through the air, rustling your knee length skirt. You shiver, grabbing your uniform jacket from where you had discarded it, and pulling it back on. Your friend Evelyne, sitting across from you and picking at her sandwich, rolls her eyes.

“Your mom sucks, Name.” She says, popping a green grape into her mouth. You smile.

“Oh, she's not that bad, Evie.” You say, feeling the need to defend your mom, even though she doesn't deserve it. Evie rolls her eyes, pulling at the sleeve of her gray sweater. The school forbids any clothing items aside from uniforms of course, and a jacket or sweater over your white button up. Evie had decorated her sweater with pins and patches, adding a slight bit of uniqueness to the sea of girls wearing similar uniforms. You were too lazy, just wearing the normal dark navy uniforms. Evie was so cool in your opinion. She even dared to dye her hair a brilliant orange red color, which was against the rules. But apparently the school was too busy checking that all the girls' skirts were the correct length, that they missed Evie’s bright hair. Or maybe they didn't care. Evie’s father donated to the school a lot, after all. Evie pulls at her hair, fluffing her bob around her face.

“Seriously though Name, that was so uncool of your mom. First she doesn't invite you to the wedding, and now just dropping three step siblings on you?” Evie says, her voice echoing in the courtyard a little too loudly. You look around anxiously, but no one cares. The brisk breeze blows some leaves off the large tree over your heads, and you watch them tumble down to the ground.

“I mean it's not too bad, right?” You ask, stealing one of her grapes. “I really don't know anything about them, they could be nice!”

“Sure,” Evie says, taking a large bite of her sandwich. “That was still a dick move, though.”

“Maybe,” You giggle, popping another grape in your mouth. “They might—”

Someone clears their throat right behind you. Startling, drop your third grape, and turn around. There's a boy standing behind you. Looming over you and Evie and the table, with long straight hair tumbling down his back. He's wearing the male version of the uniform, without the jacket. You raise an eyebrow.

“Um, can I help you?” You ask. You hadn't heard anyone come up behind you. The boy doesn't say anything, simply looking you up and down with no expression on his face. He has big eyes, like a porcelain doll in the window of a shop. His skin is pale, his lashes long, his mouth a pale pink. He's quite handsome. And then he opens his mouth.

“I am disappointed,” He says, voice even and cold. There is barely any inflection there at all, but his eyebrows furrow slightly as he looks at you. You frown.

“Uh, what?” You ask, confused. It seems like he’s insulting you, but you can't quite tell because you don't even know who this guy is, what the hell he's talking about, or why he's talking to you in the first place. Evie frowns, opening her mouth. You shake your head at her.

“You know, when people usually meet each other for the first time, it's polite to introduce yourself.” You say, trying to smile through the confusion and slight annoyance. The boy tilts his head, hair waterfalling down his back. You're kind of jealous of it, it looks so smooth and straight.

“I am Illumi.” The boy says after a moment. And then, before you can spack, he continues. “Father informed us that we are to live with you from now on. I am disappointed.”

The pieces start falling together, the puzzle solving itself in an instant in your mind. Your mouth drops open, a chill running through your body.

“You're one of my new step siblings?” You ask, jumping to your feet in shock. Illumi nods, frowning slightly at your sudden movement. He's very tall, looming over you even when you're standing right in front of him. You offer a hand, trying to smile. He's been quite rude, but you still give him a few chances to make it up. After all, he has a right to be upset about this situation, after all. His father had just gotten married, just like your mother. You wonder if he was invited to the wedding.

Illumi stares down at your hand, frowning like it's personally offended him somehow. Finally, after your smile starts to waver, he takes it, giving you a quick handshake.

“It's nice to meet you.” You say, really trying to mean it. Illumi nods. He doesn't talk much, just stands there before you, staring deep into your eyes with his big, black soulless ones.

“You are very normal.” Illumi says, looking you up and down again. You raise an eyebrow, trying to figure out if that's a compliment or an insult.

“Is that good or bad?” You ask. You can hear Evie grinding her teeth behind you, like an angry guard dog. Illumi tilts his head to the side, tapping his chin. He moves a bit like a robot, slow, calculated, and cold.

“Simply an observation,” He says, straightening his head. His hair flows distractingly around him. You don't know how to feel.

“Oh,” You say, forcing a customer service smile. “You look like a porcelain doll.”

Evie chokes on a laugh. You know she's rolling her eyes behind you. Illumi’s brow furrows, his black eyes slipping from your own for a moment, to look behind you.

“Your friend is quite loud.” He says, looking back at you like you should deal with it. You raise an eyebrow. This guy is really weird.

“I guess?” You say, running a hand through your hair. “She sounds normal to me.”

Illumi frowns, standing still and straight like a robot.

“The two of you are similar in your normality,” He says. “I shall inform father that I am disappointed in his choice of family.”

He turns, walking away briskly, his hair swinging behind him. You strain your ears, listening for the footsteps that are supposed to be there. You hear none.

“Well, he's just lovely, huh.” Evie says, popping a grape into her mouth. You sit down again, taking a bite of your own food.

“He's quite odd,” You say, taking a sip of your soda. “Reminds me of a robot. Or a haunted doll.”

Evie chuckles, tossing her half eaten sandwich in the trash can with a thump. She grabs one of your apple slices, taking a bite. You steal a grape in retaliation, even though you’ve already eaten half of them. You make a mental note to grab some grapes at the grocery store later.

“Well name,” Evie says, tossing the rest of her trash as the bell signaling the end of lunch echoes through the air. “I hope you're excited to meet the rest of your step-siblings.”

“I don't know, I guess I am a little bit.” You say, tossing your trash as you and Evie start towards your English class. “They can't be weirder than Illumi, right?”

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You might have to eat your words, you think to yourself as you stand in the front entrance of your large house, staring at the three boys across from you. It's been about two weeks since your first meeting with Illumi, and your mother and her new husband had just arrived back from their vacation. It seems the boys had not been invited. You feel a bit vindictively happy about that. Your mother and her new husband barely spared you a few drive by greetings before they vanished into the house with their bags. Leaving you and your three new step brothers in the front entrance. You break the silence, offering your hand with a smile.

“Im Name,” You say, voice echoing in the front entrance. The room stills for a moment, and then the tallest one darts into action. He moves forward, gripping your hand in his cold, pale hands, and shaking it firmly.

“How lovely it is to meet you, Name.” He says, smiling. His yellow eyes dart up and down your body, zeroing in on your uniform, and then your eyes. He runs a hand through his bright red hair, pushing it back off his forehead. It falls back immediately, obscuring his eyes slightly as he speaks.

“Having such a pretty sister is so exciting.” He says, pointed canines flashing in the light. You flush.

“Hisoka,” One of the other boys says, voice a warning. “Stop it.”

The red haired boy, Hisoka, simply smirks wider, slowly bringing your hand up to press a kiss to the top. You flush, yanking your hand away from his plush lips. He tilts his head, pouting like a wounded puppy. The black shirt he's wearing stretches over the muscles of his chest and arms. He's really hot. So are all of them actually. You wince internally. These boys are going to be your step brothers, you aren't allowed to lust after them, no matter how attractive they are.

“It's nice to meet you,” You say, forcing down your blush. Hisoka's smile returns to his face. It looks practiced, rehearsed, fake. This one is dangerous.

“I'm the oldest, you see. Chrollo, the frowny one with the bangs,” he gestures backwards at the boy in question, who simply sighs as Hisoka continues, “Is the middle child. And the one on the end is the youngest.”

“Illumi and i met already actually.” You interject, frowning slightly. Hisoka raises a single eyebrow.

“Oh dear, I hope he wasn't too rude.” He says, smiling apologetically. You resist the urge to tattle, and brush your hair over your shoulders. You're wearing simple clothes, some jeans and a nice blouse. Your mother had texted you before they had arrived, asking you not to ‘embarrass her’.

“Oh, he was fine.” You say quietly, ignoring the way Illumi stares into your soul. “We go to the same school. Do you guys go there too?”

Hisoka chuckles, looming over you a bit. His stare edges towards predatory sometimes.

“Oh no dear, I graduated a couple years ago.” He laughs, arm flexing as he pats you gently on the shoulder.

“Oh,” You say, ignoring the lingering hand on your shoulder. He's very physical. “Would you guys like a tour of the house?”

“That would be lovely!” Hisoka exclaims, spinning you around bodily and gripping your waist. “You're very sweet, darling.”

You smile, ducking away from the hand clutching your waist. It's better for your own sanity. The other boys trail behind you as you exit the main entrance way.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Adjusting to the new living situation isn't as bad as you thought it would be. Your mother and her new husband don't hang around the house often, and even if they do, they usually stay secluded to their wing of the house. Hisoka often isn't at the house for long stretches of time, or comes back quite late at night. It's too bad, he's the most friendly of his brothers. Illumi is home almost twenty-four seven, leaving only for school and the occasional odd errand. Chrollo vanishes, you don't know where he goes. But he's probably still at the house. You think.

It's been a few weeks since you were first introduced to them, but your life hasn't really changed all that much. The two younger boys aren't very friendly or inviting, and you haven't had the chance to talk to them as much as you’d like. It would be nice if you could get to know them a bit better. So that's what you're doing now.

Illumi is probably in his room. He usually goes straight to his room after school, and shuts the door behind him with a slam. All of the bedrooms are in the same hallway, two on each side. Your parents bedroom is in their wing of the house, of course.

You walk up the stairs, steeling yourself for a hard fight. Illumi is a weirdo who can't really carry a conversation well and doesnt want to talk to you, but you're determined to try to be friends with him. Or at least, civil. You even have a plan. Ask for help with homework, and then the two of you could be study buddies. You were in the same grade, which meant you had the same classes. It was a perfect plan! Well, maybe not perfect, but pretty good.

The hallway is dark. You switch on the light with a click, illuminating the metal plates on each door. Your room is next to Illumi’s. Hisoka and Chrollo’s rooms are on the other side. No light shows from under their doors. They're probably out. Illumi’s room has cold bright light leaking into the hallway, however. You dip into your room to change out of your school uniform. Slinging on a tank top and a pair of sweatpants, you grab your study materials and walk a few feet down the hall. Raising your hand, you knock tentatively on Illumi’s door.

“Hey Illumi? It's me, can I come in?” You ask through the door. It's quiet, and for a moment you wonder if he's actually not in. and then he speaks.

“Yes.” He says, quietly, just barely audible through the thick wood of the door. You take a deep breath, steel yourself and open the door.

You step through, cold feet meeting a blue carpet, and close the door behind you. Illumi looks up, staring at you with wide, confused eyes. He’s sitting on the floor with his study materials spread neatly on a low table. You smile.

“Can I study with you?” You ask, hiding your shaking hands behind your back. Illumi blinks for a moment, as if mentally calculating whether or not it's a good idea. Finally, he nods.

“I don't see why not.” He says, looking back to his own study materials. You smile.

“Thanks,” You say, moving into the room and bending down to place your study materials out. Illumi makes an odd noise, like a choke and a cough at the same time. You look up, worried. His face is a little flushed.

“You ok?” You ask, sitting down across from him at the low table. Illumi nods.

“I am fine.” He says, eyes wandering from you to your work to the wall behind you. You shrug, turning to your study materials. The room sinks into silence, broken by the occasional turning of pages and the scratching of pencil on paper. Finally, when you think he's adjusted to your presence enough, you speak.

“Hey Illumi, what did you mean when you said I was normal?”

Illumi looks up from his work, eyes darting past your chest a little slowly and focusing on your eyes. He tilts his head in confusion.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” He says, as if it's obvious. You frown.

“But what does it mean?” You try again, “Like that im ugly?”

“You are not ugly.” Illumi says, voice sounding a bit weird. You flush.

“Oh, thanks.” You say, scratching your chain awkwardly. “Is it that I'm boring?”

Illumi stares at you long and hard, barely blinking. It seems like he's trying to figure out why you're upset. It reminds you of a robot, updating its programming as it tries to figure out what the weird human is upset about. Finally, he shakes his head.

“The words I used were inappropriate. I apologize.” Illumi offers, face still blank. “I simply met you were not the tyrant your mother portrayed you as.”

You frown. You've heard those words before, the insults aren't uncommon from your mother. But it still hurts. Your chest aches as you force a smile.

“Oh, really?” You say, forcing a fake laugh. “What did she say?”

Illumi frowns slightly, watching your face closely. He seems to be scanning for any change, any hint that you're upset. But your poker face is flawless, you've had a lot of practice. Finally, he opens his mouth.

“You were a spoiled brat who would throw a tantrum at a moment's notice.” He says, placing his pencil down on the table. “I was informed you went to my school, so I decided to meet you. You were not like I had been told, and I simply expressed it poorly.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You know your mother doesn't like you that much, or at least never wanted children, but is this what she thought of you? You feel like you're going to cry. You don't want to, you can't cry in front of Illumi. But against your will you feel tear after tear roll down your face. Illumi looks almost helpless as you cry, whipping it away with the back of your hand.

“Are you sad?” Illumi asks, frowning. He looks like he doesn't know what to do.

“Yes, Illumi.” You sob, tears rolling faster and faster down your face. “I'm crying. Have you never seen a girl cry?”

Illumi shakes his head, hand hanging awkwardly in the air between you. He clenches his fingers a few times, then lets it drop down.

“I don't really talk to girls.” Illumi says, staring in confusion as the tears roll down your cheeks. He looks almost adorable in his helplessness. Your shoulders shake as you cry, big fat tears rolling down your face and hitting the fabric of your tank top, soaking the blue fabric a darker blue. Illumi stares, awkwardly shuffling his pencil around in front of him. Finally, you give up.

“You're supposed to comfort crying girls.” You whimper, wiping the tears away as fast as they come.

“Comfort?” Illumi asks, tilting his head. You nod.

“Just give me a hug, Illumi.” You cry, crawling around the table towards him. Illumi sits there awkwardly as you throw yourself against his black covered chest. You cry into the turtleneck he's wearing, muffling your sobs into his chest. Illumi sits straight up, hands hovering awkwardly above your body until finally, when you crawl fully onto his lap, he settles them on your back. His hands are big, and warm. Finally, the tears start to subside.

You snuggle into his neck and shoulder, warm and snug against his surprisingly hot body. In both temperature and stature, actually. He has broad shoulders, and strong arms through the thick black fabric of the turtleneck. You giggle, drawing circles on his shoulders as you wipe the last tears away.

“Thanks for giving me a hug.” You sigh, still burrowing into his warm body. Illumi coughs, the sound loud in the relative silence of the house.

“I apologize if it was a poor hug. I was never taught to give one.” He says, voice rumbling out from his chest. You giggle, shifting on his lap.

“What are you talking about, silly. No one gets taught how to hug.” You say, running your hand through strands of his long, silky hair. Illumi coughs, clearing his throat as you shift on his lap again. The room sinks into comfortable silence for a moment.

“What, have you never hugged a girl before?” You laugh, moving again. Illumi makes a choked little sound in his throat, and shakes his head.

“I told you, I don't really talk to girls.” He says, his voice sounding a bit strained. You frown, pulling away from his chest to look him directly in the face. A faint flush has painted itself across his cheeks.

“Hey, are you alright? You sound weird.” You say, bringing a hand up and pressing it against his forehead. You shift on his lap a bit as you bring your other hand up, touching your own forehead. He doesn't have a fever, at least.

“I am fine.” Illumi nods. His cheeks are still just the palest petal pink, but his ears have started burning pure red among the strands of black hair. You're kind of alarmed. You dont think you’ve ever seen a hint of pink on his face, and now you see so much. You shift slightly as Illumi’s hands fall, grabbing your waist tightly.

“You should get off.” He says, voice warbling slightly. You frown, trying to ignore how butterflies rise in your stomach as his hands clench around your waist.

“Wait, why?” You ask, grabbing his shoulders as you slip slightly, pulling yourself close against him. “I was enjo—”

You stop suddenly as you feel something under your thigh. Illumi looks away, body tensing as you move experimentally, pressing against the thing. It jumps against you. Illumi chokes.

“Are you hard?” You ask, voice loud in the silence. Illumi winces slightly.

“No.” He says, pulling his head back until his hair partially obscures his face. You shift experimentally and are rewarded with his hands clenching down on your waist.

“Illumi you literally are.” You say, biting back a smile. Illumi doesn't say anything. Now you know you should be disgusted. He's your step-brother, after all. But, you can't quite bring yourself to pull away and run to your room. So instead you slide down his thighs, slowly crawling backwards on the floor until you're sitting a few feet in front of Illumi. His face looks dreadfully blank, like he expects you to slap him. Your eyes trace down his figure, taking in his broad shoulders and trim waist, and the bulge in his pants. You really wanna fuck him. But somehow, that seems like too much. Like it's a line you can't cross as step siblings, so you'll settle for this. Reaching your hand out slowly, carefully, you bring it down, stroking him over his pants.

The effect is instantaneous. Illumi’s back straightens, his body tensing as a small groan leaks out from between his clenched lips.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Illumi asks, obviously trying to keep his tone even as you stroke him.

“Thanking you.” You smile, pulling the belt of his sweatpants down. There's a small wet patch on his gray underwear, near the tip. You grin, licking your lips, and pressing your hand against him. Illumi whimpers, and quickly bites the rest of the sound back. You wish he would let all of his sounds out, but you doubt he will. And so you pull him out of his boxers, stroking him gently in your hand. Illumi bites his lips, eyes falling closed as you stroke him. He looks so pretty like this. Back straight and stiff, hair pooling around his shoulders and hitting the ground, cheeks flushed cherry blossom pink. You grin, mouth watering, and bend down.

“Wait, Name.” Illumi protests, his voice slightly hoarse. You pause, looking up at him from your position on the floor. His black eyes are filled with swirling lust and something else you can't quite place.

“Yeah?” You ask, letting a big glob of spit fall from your lips and plop onto Illumis dick. It twitches and Illumis shoulders twitch with it.

“What are you doing?” He asks, eyes locked on your own. You smile.

“I'm gonna give you a blowjob.” You say, and then start taking him into your mouth. He was clearly going to say more things, probably useless things that you don't want to hear, but they dissolve in his throat as you take him as far as you can, using your hand on the parts you can't reach. You make sure to use your hand on the parts you can't quite reach. Illumi groans again, as one hand clenches in the fabric of the carpet, and the other grabs your hair. You humm around him, pulling up and down, doing your best to drive him mad. It must be working, too, because tiny huffs and groans have started to leak out, even though he must be doing his best to hold them back. You can feel him twitching in your throat, probably close to cumming.

You smile around him, pressing a kidd to the tip before eating him down your throat again. Illumi groans, hand yanking your hair a bit as he does.

“Wait name im—”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence before something warm and sticky is flowing down your throat. You do your best to swallow it all before you pull off him, licking your lips. And then you realize what you just did. Illumi looks out of it, his black eyes hazy and confused, his cheeks still flushed. His dick is lying on the hem of his pants, tracking spit and cum on them. He looks very pretty. And then it just hits you what you’ve done. You gave your step brother a blowjob. You jump to your feet, trying to fix your hair. Illumi startles, shoving himself back into his underwear and pulling up his pants. Finally, when the room sinks into silence, you speak.

“Don't tell anyone.” You say, whipping a spot of cum off your boobs. Illumis eyes jump there, and then back to your own. You wait for him to agree, then flee to your room in embarrassment. What the hell have you done.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

So maybe your plan to get to know your step brother didn't exactly go as you had thought. But you were still determined to get to know them. Without the blowjob part, obviously. You sigh, turning a page in your book as you stare into space. The library was your favorite part of your house. The smell of books and lavender filled your nostrils and helped you calm down. The light was golden, pouring over the little seating area you’ve found yourself in. It was a perfect place to read.

Too bad you're not actually reading, just trying to forget the Blowjob Incident™ from two days ago. You sigh, remembering it again and shifting your legs. You hate to admit how much it kinda turns you on. How you just wanna go back and demand that Illumi eat you out. You sigh, crossing your legs again, and closing your book with a slam. Well, the book was boring anyway.

Your socked feet make barely a noise on the hardwood floors as you move back into the tall bookshelves that rise to the sky. Well, the ceiling. The bookshelves aren't that tall but they still feel tall. You slip the book away, and then move down the narrow hallways of books running your hand along their spines. Maybe a smut book will make you a little less pent up. Or more, but you could at least blame it on the book then, and not the Blowjob Incident™.

The smut section of the library was there when you and your mom moved in. Actually, most of the books were. It makes sense because the house has been in your family for generations. You chose not to think too hard about which of your dead relatives had picked out the smut books. You had already read all of them, but you scanned the shelf for one of the better ones.

Finally you spot one, the familiar gold and red cover sitting teasingly out of reach on the top shelf. You stand on your tippy toes, and reach up as high as you can, your fingertips just brushing the bottom. You brace your hand against one of the lower shelves and strain as high as you can. Someone chuckles behind you. And then a warm body comes up behind you, reaching just the last few inches to grab the book from the shelf and recede. You spin, and take in Chrollo, standing in front of you with the book outstretched.

“Here you go,” He says, offering you the book. You take it quickly, holding it against your chest as you flush.

“Thanks,” You say, hiding the title of the book as best you can. Better to be safe than sorry. Chrollo smiles slightly, folding his arms across his chest. He's wearing a fluffy looking sweater. You clear your throat, still standing with your back against the smut books.

“Are you enjoying the library?” You ask, in a hurry to change the subject, so he doesnt start asking questions about your book.

“Yes it's quite extensive.” Chrollo says, brushing a hand through his hair. “I myself have been enjoying the philosophy and nonfiction sections.”

“Oh,” You say, smiling slightly. “Those sections are pretty good, the nonfiction section especially has some pretty interesting and rare books. ”

“You seem to know this library pretty well.” Chrollo says, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black pants. “I assume you’ve read most of the collection?”

“Yep, almost all of it.” You say, smiling excitedly. “I haven't quite got through the cookbook section.”

You love the library. It's such a lovely place to escape too. And besides, your mother never comes in here. She says it's too dusty, even though the maids do a wonderful job of cleaning the entire house. You sigh, leaning back against the bookcase. Chrollo frowns.

“You seem upset about something.” He says, moving a few steps closer. You sigh. Your mothers words still sit a bit heavy in your heart, but you're more used to her cruelty than you should be. It's embarrassing that you're actually more upset about the Blowjob Incident™. But you definitely can't tell Chrollo that. So your mother is getting thrown under the bus. Besides, you're kind of curious to hear what they were told about you.

“What where…” You say, clearing your throat, and trying again. “Well I mean, how much did you guys know about me before you moved in.”

Silence falls for a moment as Chrollo considers you, taking in your body, clothes up a turtleneck, pleated skirt and socks, your face as you avoid his eyes. Then he speaks.

“Oh, not much. At least I wasn't told anything.” Chrollo says almost soothingly, moving forward to pat you gently on the arm as he continues. “I know father told Illumi a bit more.”

You frown, tilting your head.

“Why not you?” You ask, looking up at him. Chrollo stifles a smile.

“Oh, Father and I don't get along.” He rubs your shoulder reassuringly, and you shiver as his warm hand leaves you. “Illumi listens to him. Hisoka and I do not.”

“Oh,” You say, shoving down your confusion and the urge to pry. “Well, did you know anything?”

“Your age and gender.” Chrollo says, patting you on the head with a chuckle. “Is that what you were upset about? Don't you worry, We all had a favorable impression of you the moment we saw you.”

You frown, brow furrowing in confusion as Chrollo steers both of you out of the seas of bookshelves and back into the rest area. You spot a book resting open on the couch, a mug of something warm on the table. Steam spirals into the air, and you sit down on the other end of the couch, watching Chrollo as he picks up the book, sitting neatly in the middle. You sigh, brushing your hair out from behind you and leaning back, closing your eyes. The sounds of page turning fills the air, broken only by Chrollo’s slow, even, breathing.

You open your own book, too embarrassed to change books now. What would you say if he asked why you were exchanging your book? ‘Oops, I grabbed a smut book because I was feeling horny after I gave your brother a blowjob, and I'm too embarrassed to read it in front of you.’ Hello no. Besides, Chrollo isn't paying attention to you, and you’ve already read this book a thousand times. The smut won't turn you on as it once had, you're sure.

You were wrong. Maybe it's something about the fact that chrollo is sitting a few inches away, turning the pages of his own book calmly, or maybe you were just that horny, but you're barely into the smut scene when your pussy starts throbbing. You shuffle on the couch, crossing your legs and clenching your thighs together. You shiver at the little burst of pleasure that gave you and continue reading, body tight and tense. You're barely digesting the words on the page, far too busy being distracted by the warm body a few inches away from you. Chrollo is much more interesting than the stupid smut book anyway.

You look at him out of the corner of your eyes. His hair falls gently, angled down towards the book in his lap. It's some philosophy book, you don't care enough to try to make out the tiny text at the top of the page. Chrollo's skin is pale, sharp against the black of his hair. It's a close shade to the cream white of his sweater. You want to reach out and brush his hair out of his eyes, then beg him to kiss you senseless.

You curse the universe for giving you such hot men who were so close in age to you and lived with you, and then making them your step siblings. So out of reach. You ignore the looming memories of the Blowjob Incident™, and turn a page, trying to focus on the smut scene. But words on a page cannot distract you from the subtle scent of Chrollo's cologne, floating in the air between you. You shift uncomfortably on the couch as your pussy floods with heat, your body begging to be touched.

You're crossing your legs again when Chrollo speaks.

“You seem a bit restless.” He says, pausing before the last word. You slam your book shut, not even bothering to put a bookmark in it. Your face must be flushed, you know.

“I guess.” You say, clearing your throat. You swear you can hear your arousal in your voice, smell it in the air. The room sinks into silence as Chrollo puts a bookmark in his book, setting it down on the table with a soft thump. You clutch yours in your lap, kind of thankful for a hard thing to clutch. Not like that. Chrollo smiles at you softly, his gray eyes glowing slightly in the lowlight.

“Bad book?” He asks, gesturing towards the book in your lap with a nod. You squeak, shrugging.

“Uh, it's fine!” You say, putting it on your other side. You feel like a rubber band pulled tight, about to snap. Chrollo seems to be moving closer.

“I'm impressed,” Chrollo chuckles, scooting closer to you along the couch.

“What?” You say, heart pounding double time as his gray eyes move closer and closer. You scoot backwards until you're sitting with your back pressed against the arm. The book slides off the couch, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. Chrollo chuckles, stopping a few feet away from your knees.

“It's quite bold to read a smut book an inch away from your step brother.” Chrollo says simply, a small smile marking his pale lips. Your mouth drops open.

“How did you know?” You ask, voice a little to breathless for you liking. A flush is working its way up your chest and neck, and overtaking your face. Your traitorous pussy drools arousal on your panties. Chrollo chuckles.

“I memorized the Library layout.” He says, smoothing a hand over your sock covered calf. “I'm sure you did as well.”

You’ve had it memorized since you were a child. But you're very distracted right now by his warm hand as it moves slightly higher on your raised legs, now brushing past your knee. You bite back a whimper, not daring to make a noise as his hand travels higher and higher. Chrollo chuckles.

“We certainly aren't the best step siblings, aren't we?” He says, hand stroking up and down your thigh, tips of his fingers barely brushing the edges of your pleated skirt. His fingers feel hot against your bare skin. You slap your hand over your mouth, and Chrollo smirks.

“What are they going to say?” You whimper through your hand as Chrollo gently grips both your thighs, urging them apart. Chrollo chuckles, tugging down your panties, the last sticky barrier between him and your telling wetness.

“Who, our parents?” he asks, voice still so soft in the large silence of the caverness library. “They're never here. How could they know?”

You guess he's right, you think to yourself as he presses a delicate little kiss to your clit. How could they know, when neither of them pay attention to you. To any of their children, it seems. Your back arches against the couch, hands reaching down to tangle in Chrollo's black hair.

Chrollo eats pussy like a man starved. He eats you out like you're an oasis in a dry desert and he hasn't had a sip of water in years. He buries his head between your thighs, gripping your hips tightly as he licks and sucks you closer and closer to orgasm. You feel like you're losing your mind, tipping so close to insanity. Here you are, engaged in sexual activities with another one of your step brothers. Two out of three. And although you had initiated the one from a couple days ago, this one had been all Chrollo.

You whimper as you feel your orgasm threatening on the horizon, as you tug gently on Chrollo's soft hair and moan his name tellingly into the empty library.

“I'm gonna cum.” You whimper, warning him with a few extra tugs to the hair in case he isn't listening. He only doubles his efforts, concentrating his sucking and licking on your clit and tossing you off the cliff of orgasm like a rag doll. You moan loudly as you cun, body tensing and convulsing as you come undone, tugging at his hair.

It takes you a moment to come back, blinking up at the overhead lights. And when you speak, your voice is hoarse.

“You can't tell.” You say, voice trembling in the room. You wait for Chrollo to nod, and when he does, then you flee again, pulling your panties up and dashing out of the room leaving Chrollo behind you.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You straighten your back as you stand a few feet outside of the doors to the exercise room. You know Hisoka is in there. You know he's there because you made sure to triple check with him, and both his brothers. You need to talk to him. Urgently, one might say, because you're kind of having a crisis, and it's surprisingly hard to get him alone to talk. But the crisis. Maybe it has something to do with the incidents that had happened in the last week. You shiver slightly as you remember them, body trembling as it recalls all of it. You shake your head, straighten your shoulders, and march into the gym with your head held high.

You don't go in here often. You don't like working out, preferring sports to things like gyms and working out. But you know the general layout.

Hisoka is over by the rack of weights. You can see his brilliant hair from all the way across the room, as he does some sort of weight exercise. You move through the room, catching your own reflection out of the corner of your eye in the mirror lining one wall. The room is silent, besides for the sound of your feet on the cold concrete floor, and the muffled music blasting from Hisoka’s headphones.

He hasn't spotted you yet. As you move closer, you watch his arm muscles bulge, completely put on display by the black tank top he's wearing. You clear your throat, begging your already fried nerves and the arousal beating at your gut to calm down.

“Hisoka? Can I talk to you?” You say, trying to be audible over the music pounding in his headphones. Hisoka looks up, meeting your eyes in the mirror in his sharp yellow gaze, and then smiles.

“Ah, Name. I didn't see you there.” He says, placing the weight back in the rack, and pulling his headphones out of his ears. “Come to watch me workout?”

He winks, and you chuckle. He's not wrong, that's what you were doing just then. You shake any traces of arousal out of your face and force a smile.

“Um, I wanted to talk to you about something.” You say, bringing a hand to your mouth. You chew anxiously on your nails, heart pounding a bit too fast. Hisoka’s brow furrows, eyes scanning you up and down.

“Is something wrong, darling?” He asks, moving closer to you, gently grabbing your hand and lowering it away from your mouth. You almost flinch as his hot fingers touch you, as he gets close enough and all you can see is the beads of sweat lingering on his skin. You want to lick them off, oddly enough. His hand is still holding your wrist. He can probably feel your pulse beating double time.

“I,” You start, then clear your throat. “Well, this is kind of embarrassing.”

Hisoka raises an eyebrow, hidden behind his bright red hair. His eyes flicker the length of your body again, taking in your pajama shorts and t-shirt you cut into a crop top. You look like a slob, but he'd already seen you when he got home and you figured it would be weird if you showed up wearing something nicer to have this conversation. You didn't even know if he would believe you, or what he would say. You shake your head, begging your face not to flush.

“Well, recently, i've been trying to get to know Illumi and Chrollo,” You start. Hisoka chuckles.

“Oh how adorable~” He says, patting you gently on your head. He smells of salt and musk and faintly of cologne. “Aren't you just the sweetest.”

You flush, body heating up at the nickname. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Is your hair natural?” You ask, too embarrassed to keep talking. Hisoka chuckles.

“Yes, doll. The three of us have different mothers.” He says, patting your head gently again. “Now what did you want to say?”

“Oh, um,” you stutter again, voice suddenly caught in your throat. “I'm not sure how to say this.”

Hisoka considers you, trying to peer into your soul through your eyes and figure out what's got you so worried. You almost wish he would. Then the words wouldn't have to pass your lips. He's starting to look almost worried. Or as worried as you've ever seen him look.

“Why don't you sit down,” he says. You plop down onto the mat below your feet, sitting with your legs crossed on the cushy material. Hisoka sits down opposite you, smiling patiently at you.

“Have my brothers been bothering you?” He asks, moving forward to smooth the wrinkle between your brows. “You don't deserve to worry your pretty head about those idiots.”

“Oh no, it's my fault too.” You say, shaking your head. Hisoka's hand withdraws, falling back into his lap. You don't know if you want him to touch you more or stand ten feet away. You can't decide which one you want more.

“Well, I think I've been a bad step sister.” You confide, leaning forward a bit. Hisoka raises an eyebrow,

“Oh why would you think that?” He purrs, reaching forward again to smooth a hand over your shoulder. “If anything, you're too good for undeserving men like us, doll.”

You smile, brushing your hair over your shoulder. The gym is empty besides the two of you. You don't know if anyone else is home. Your mother and her new husband are on some favation. Illumi is

“I guess. The other boys haven't complained or anything,” You flush, body temperature rising as you remember the things that had happened. “But, I keep doing things that step sisters aren't supposed to do.”

Hisoka’s face goes blank for a moment. He blinks a couple times, and then a smile appears on his face.

“Whatever are you talking about?” He asks, a fake smile still glued to his face. You flinch, face still flushed. It feels like he already knows what you mean, or has an idea. But he seems like he wants to hear it from your lips. Hear you say all the dirty forbidden things you've gotten up to with his half siblings. You lick your lips and clear your throat. Your hands are trembling in your lap, and you clench them against your pajama shorts, suddenly feeling too naked to be doing this. You don't know why.

Maybe it's how Hisoka is looking at you. His yellow eyes scan your body, taking in each square inch of bare skin on display for his viewing, or the careful way he holds himself. He looks predatory. You hate how it sends a bolt of heat to your gut. You take a deep breath, steady yourself, and speak.

“We have engaged in some sexual acts.” You whisper into the silence of the gym. Hisoka raises an eyebrow, looking mostly unsurprised.

His yellow eyes dart down again, scanning your body as if looking for evidence of what you have spoken into existence.

“I'm afraid you're going to need to be more specific, doll.” Hisoka says, voice light and teasing as if the two of you are discussing something as trivial as the weather. You gulp down your spit, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes.

“I have Illumi a blow job. Chrollo ate me out.” You say, keeping your eyes closed. “What am I supposed to do?”

Silence echoes in the gym for a moment. And then Hisoka chuckles.

“Oh my, what a dilemma you seem to have, doll.” He laughs, the sound echoing in the empty room. You open your eyes, kind of confused.

“You seem surprised.” You say, eyes gliding over Hisoka’s body again before you can yank them up to his eyes. You're already a bit turned on from just talking to him, touching him, being near him. Not to mention thinking too much about the events of the last week.

“Oh, i figured it out as soon as you mentioned sexual acts.” Hisoka says, doing air quotations around the words ‘sexual acts’. He shoots you a wink as he continues. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

“Oh,” You say. He seems very casual about this, very unbothered. You pull your lower lip into your mouth, biting it as you watch him smile unnervingly. “Why aren't you angry?”

“Hmm~” Hisoka hums, eyes darting down to your mouth as you let your bottom lip out of your mouth, probably a bit red from the biting. “I wonder.”

It happens so fast. One moment you're sitting upright, watching Hisoka in front of you with apprehension. And then the next moment you're tumbling backwards, the world spinning on its axis. Your back hits the mat with a thump and you grunt. Hisoka looms over you, a feral light hiding in his eyes as he greedily scans you up and down.

“What?” You say breathlessly, biting back the moan that wants to leak out as you take in Hisoka above you. His hair droops around him in a brilliant red halo. He cages you against the matte softened floor, and you whimper as his thigh finds its way between your legs, pressing up into your pussy.

“My brothers and I are very different, you know.” Hisoka says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your neck. “But I suppose we are similar in some ways after all.”

He nips at your neck and you whimper, body reflexively straightening against his thigh. Your hands reach up to scrabble at his shoulders.

“Wait, Hisoka.” You whimper as he breaths hot and heavy on your ear, pressing hickeys on the skin under your ear. “No marks, they’ll see.”

Hisoka laughs huskily.

“Who doll?” He laughs, pressing his thug against your pussy harder. You whimper, pleasure running a hard line down your spine. You're losing your mind and he hasn't even taken your clothes off.

“Chrollo” You breathe, the name coming out as more of a moan. “And Illumi.”

“Ah, not those pesky absent parents of ours?” Hisoka says, a chuckle in his voice. “Oh they won't mind. If anything, they’ll take it as a challenge. How would you like that doll?”

You whimper, gripping his muscled shoulders tightly and digging your nails into his back. Hisoka grunts, body pressing you deep into the floor. You're trapped, between the matt covered floor and a body of solid muscle. Hisoka reaches down, using one hand to pull the loose pajama shorts off your body, tossing them somewhere behind him. You whimper as he yanks off your panties too, exposing your poor pussy to the bare air and the mean strokes of his corded thigh.

“You're so sexy,” You whimper as he drives his muscled thigh into your clit. You feel like you're going to break, just shatter to pieces right there on the gym floor. Hisoka laughs, heavy in your ear.

“What a slutty step-sister I have.” he breathes, voice deliciously husky. “I wonder. Could you handle all of us at once?”

Your pussy twitches against him, drooling more arousal, leaving sticky trains all over the fabric of his sweatpants.

“Oh god yes,” You whimper, images of it filling your mind. You're too turned on to be mortified as HIsoka laughs, kissing hickeys and bite marks all over your neck. You're losing your mind. It seems your three for three, and all you want to do is to be fucked stupid by your step brothers.

Hisoka chuckles, pulling away to stare down at you with lust driven yellow eyes, almost glowing behind curtains of red hair. And then he shoves two fingers into your mouth.

“Be a good girl and suck.” He coos, driving his thigh against your pussy in regular thrusts, driving you closer and closer to orgasms. You're gonna cum. Soon, you're so close to losing your mind.

You're sure you look like a mess. Your hair is a messy halo around your head two fingers shoved in your mouth, your body twisting and turning on the mat. Shorts and underwear long discarded, grinding your bare pussy on your step brother's clothed thigh. But you don't even care. Hisoka smiles above you, canines sharp in the lowlight.

“You gonna cum, doll?” he smiles. You nod, sucking his fingers obediently, whining around them as best you can. Hisoka smiles, merciful as an avenging angel above you.

“You've been so good, so I'll let you cum.” You coos, leaning the weight of his body on you as he withdraws his fingers from your mouth. You're about to protest, but you don't get words as he replaces his fingers with his lips, sealing your mouth in a kiss as you fall off the edge.

Your body convulses as you cum, grinding down on his thigh until you can't anymore, until you're screaming from oversensitivity and you yank yourself away from his thigh, trembling. Hisoka eats every moan and scream, muffling it with his tongue and his lips. Until finally, he pulls away with a little chuckle.

“Done already?” He coos, wiping the tears and spit from your face with a laugh. “I was just going to call the others.”

...

Endnotes: i hope you guys enjoyed this kinktober ride as much as i did lol. This ones a bit long but i figured we’d better go out with a bang~

#mariannacrxss #helplesslypurple77kinktober #hunter x hunter #hxh smut #hisoka morow #hxh x reader #illumi x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo x reader #hisoka x reader x chrollo #Hisoka/Reader/Illlumi/Chrollo #hisoka smut #illumi smut #chrollo smut

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ramenheim · 4 months ago

Note

Wild that you didn't even check your posts before answering this, but okay. My /tone/ is not going to get nicer, so you'll just have to address the /actual content/ of my writing while ignoring the /rudeness/.

In teal you waffle between acknowledging that specific trans communities both deserve and do not deserve to talk about how the misogyny+transphobia of other ppl Uniquely Intersect to affect themselves— an experience that depends on the incongruence between how their body was perceived at birth (xfm) & how society(+the law) at large perceives their gender *now* [the categories being (cis/passing)Man ; (cis/passing)Woman ; & ThingThatIsWrong (any number of derogatory terms)]. Since only perisex cishet men are meant to wield patriarchal privilege within the hegemonic definition of a Real Man— categorically all trans+intersex ppl are excluded whether we consider it 'fair' or not (or whether we 'pass as men' or not). So there is no reason transmisogyny would exist as the only possible intersecting expression of transphobia to be 'worthy' of being discussed with a name, since all trans genders & intersex variations explicitly transgress against their Assigned Patriarchal Hierarchy and are punished in-line with what it decides You Should Be.

In yellow you literally did the exact thing you're saying "you never said". Trans men would not BE trans if they were not also men— the transphobia directly at trans men SPECIFICALLY hinges on their sexual anatomy being 'inferior' in the eyes of patriarchy & unworthy of Maleness, and therefore are all female interlopers + 'corruptors of the male category' (while also being male interlopers + 'traitors to the female cause'). Transandrophobia*(virilmisia/etc.) is still the intersection of misogyny+transphobia bc the ACTUAL WORLD WE LIVE IN overwhelmingly does not see eg.)Pregnant Men as Real Men & having queer & trans-friendly spaces chomping at the bit to find ~Males~ they can abuse 'for not being women (enough)' has routinely hurt every single trans person who did not Pass as 'feminine enough to be trustworthy' regardless of their gender. It is radfem poison & this site is steeped in it.

In red you expose that, no, you have NOT been keeping up with discussions of antiblackness & intersectionality; bc the antiblack racism that Black men experience is in fact held to be **specifically because they are men who are Black** & their specific experiences with racism can not be disentangled from their gender. Misogynoir (& transmisogynoir) were coined BECAUSE discussions of antiblack racism treated cis Black men's experience as the default 'Just Racism' (whether Black women experienced it or not) and the antiblackness that targeted black women *specifically* was being dismissed as Divisive (which was the exact same thing they heard from white feminists whenever they brought up misogyny that was uniquely directed at them) and not worthy of name or discussion (by EITHER group they *allegedly* had to support them— see: transmisogynoir needing to be coined in direct response to transfeminists doing white feminism 2.0).

The rest of your post is not better thought out or particularly compassionate to trans ppl's actual lived experiences irl, frankly. Saying "idk the ~implied~ etymological vibes are bad [bc you erroneously think you can seperate out the andro from the trans; by fundementally misunderstanding what an Intersection is] and also anyways it shouldn't even need a word to gather under [thereby silencing trans masc community discussions & contributing both to furthering transmasc erasure AND reinforcing the anti-feminist bias of treating 'male experiences' as the neutral default & not its own thing] what is this, oppression olympics?? [dismissing+trivializing discussions as just 'Divisive ID Politics' that are already covered under Other Bigotries]" is significantly more insidious than you realize; and I'm not greeting that mentality with ~kind platitudes~.

------------

‐----------

TL;DR – ONLY PERISEX CISHET MEN ARE THE STRUCTURAL BENEFACTORS OF PATRIARCHY.

STOP PENALIZING TRANS PPL FOR THEIR ""PERCEIVED ADJACENCY TO MALENESS""/""PERCEIVED DISTANCE FROM FEMININITY""�� NO ONE HERE BENEFITS FROM BEING TRANS ONCE IT'S KNOWN THAT'S WHAT THEY ARE.

* R E A D * BLACK GENDER THEORY *BEFORE* USING ITS TERMINOLOGY.

* THIS POST IS NOT ABOUT TRANSFEMINIST THEORY *

I'd like to remind you that "Man" should not be treated as the Default Human Identity— all men have an Intersectional identity inclusive of their gender; that they aren't women/etc. doesn't mean their gender doesn't factor into how oppression axes impact them.

You seem like you missed out on the Masculinities section of Intersectional Feminism— you should fix that before misinforming people on what intersectionality (as a tool for feminist analysis) is used for by claiming that Privileged Positions (white/cis/male/etc.) are somehow not their own "Intersectional Identities" bc they "aren't oppressed".

i very much don’t think that men are non-oppressed? i know that men are oppressed by the patriarchy, in ways that are subtle and often overlooked. men as a whole are oppressed on a societal scale, because the patriarchy oppresses all that are in it. men who are in some way marginalized— queer, non-white, neurodivergent, physically disabled, etc— will have to face this oppression in tandem with the other identity (or identities) for which they are marginalized. this is a fact, and not one i have ever tried to deny?

please don’t put words in my mouth like that. also, in the future, if you disagree with me on a subject, just say that and approach me in good faith. when you come into people’s inboxes with accusations like this (especially on anon), you’re just going to make them want to go on the defensive. i’m not one to get in online arguments, especially not over topics that i explicitly stated i dislike discussing, but being this aggressive with people isn’t going to get you far if you want them to actually hear what you have to say.

#antiblackness #soooo sorry you have to deal with my 'abrasiveness'#but also don't immediately fucking pivot to 'I never said that ever but also I agree with it' followed by tone policing #'tumblr fucking STOP drinking the Misandry!!!GrrlPwr!!! radfem kool-aid' challenge failed for the 15th+ year running #I love being in lesbian spaces & I hate the constant cycle of 'we made lesbian women's seperatism but GOOD this time we prommy'#and what is 'good' about the new iteration is there's a new target of 'sufficiently man enough' to harass out of their own community #same as the other {No He-Him Lesbians No Lesboys No Trans Lesbians No MSpec Lesbians No b4b Lesbians} misogynistic 'male-exclusion' stints #& eventually this ideological ~trend~ is going to be seen with the exact same embarassed 'I never did that' attitude of exclusivity policin #anyways trans theory is made fuller with the 'transandrobro' analysis of powerjacketing & malgendering #intersectionality is entering pop-SJ levels of Not Being Engaged With Critically & is gonna be another Black theory term worn out by misuse #<- the reason behind my tone btw; CRT&cancelled &woke all got fucking misused+twisted by 'pop-theorists' whose new usage supplants the OG #definition— bc the ppl using the terms seemingly refuse to seek out the actual texts+discussion spaces that coined them #tag rant #longpost #shitty feminism #transmisogyny #transphobia #queer theory #virilmisia is even coined by a wellknown transfeminist years ago on twt; so you have no excuse to dismiss it on the basis of 'bad gender ID #transfeminist theory is important; and part of engaging in theory is being able to re-evaluate its conclusions + interrogate its assumption #in an effort to both reaffirm its truths & correct its blindspot biases #like. transmisogynoir has NO REASON to be as ignored in transfem online circles as it currently is—#but the virulent+pervasive antiblack racism on tumblr has cultivated its echo chamber of white feminism & blusky doesn't seem any better #fuck musk for killing twitter; so much was lost

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nyxs2 · 2 months ago

Text

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 4/?)

Suffocating slowly, you can't tell if it's the gas enveloping you or Silco's grip tightening around your throat. The choice is yours to make.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 4,8K

Warnings: use of sedative gas, slight hints of reader's past, emotional manipulation, death of secondary characters being referenced, attempted murder, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel. Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Hear me out: Silco wearing a gas mask just like Jinx in episode 6 of the first season… just keep that in mind. Heavily inspired by episodes 6 and 7 btw. Just to be clear, don't romanticize his lines, at this point Silco still has a distorted and obsessive vision. No smut today because we need to develop some good old angst, but don't worry we'll get back to normal programming in the next chapter. And yes, the protagonist, in this case you readers, has a past. But you will only find out as the story progresses.

You were a woman on a mission.

Your footsteps echoed rhythmically through Zaun's narrow, filthy alleys. The sound of your boots striking the ground reverberated in your head like a war drum, announcing your arrival. You moved forward without hesitation, without asking for permission, without sparing a single glance at the faces around you. They stared, and you knew it. You could feel their curious, distrustful eyes glued to you, murmuring among themselves, but it didn't matter. Not this time.

You never liked drawing attention. You always preferred to stay in the shadows, invisible, and that was one of your mottos: "don't be seen." It always worked well—until now. But in that moment, it felt as though every step was a shout, every movement a challenge, and you had no intention of hiding today.

Between the moment you fell to your knees in front of that bloodied necklace and the early hours of the morning when you collapsed into bed, exhausted from reliving your last conversation with Kate—a conversation you didn't know would be the last—something inside you broke. It wasn't a simple break. It was a tear, a deep cut in your very essence. The pain of loss, mingled with raw fury, was a burning fire consuming any rationality.

Grief didn't bring tears. You felt its weight like a stone crushing your chest, but no tears came. There was no room for them. Only a deadly silence that now transformed into something stronger, something uncontrollable.

In the stages of grief, denial had given way to anger, and it was driving you.

Your face was set, neutral, but your mind could be likened to a grenade pin about to be pulled. Your fists clenched, your shoulders tense under the weight of the coat you wore—a coat that wasn't yours but carried the scent of something now fueling your courage.

Silco's coat.

It wasn't made for you; it hung loosely on your shoulders and the sleeves were too long. But, strangely, it felt like it belonged to you now. Every fold, every detail, as if the fabric itself had been shaped to herald your arrival. It didn't matter that it was misaligned or drew attention. You wore it as a statement.

If Vander could see you, he'd probably give you the biggest lecture of your life. He'd accuse you of being reckless, of acting without thinking, of repeating the mistakes he'd spent years trying to correct. You could almost hear his voice, firm and grave, echoing in the Last Drop as he placed a glass of that sweet drink he always made in front of you. But Vander was dead, and the dead don't get disappointed.

Your stride was interrupted when your shoulder collided with a burly man standing by a stall of questionably sourced weapons. He stopped abruptly, glaring at you with an irritated expression. He made a move to grab your arm, but the motion froze halfway through. His eyes landed on the coat.

And then he hesitated.

It wasn't just him. It felt as though Zaun's alleys themselves had paused to observe you. The symbol you bore on your shoulders—the symbol that coat represented—spoke for itself. Everyone knew to whom that garment belonged. And everyone knew that no one, absolutely no one, wore something of Silco's without a clear reason.

The man stepped back. Others averted their gaze, some whispered among themselves. But you pressed forward, ignoring them.

Your destination finally came into view, each step bringing you closer to the entrance of the Last Drop. The place, once so inviting and familiar, now seemed more menacing than ever. The green lights pulsed on the façade as if trying to scorch your retinas—far too extravagant for your taste. You rolled your eyes. It was as if the very place needed to shout Silco's name through its décor.

"Egotistical." you muttered to yourself, feeling a smirk of derision tug at the corners of your mouth. He didn't even need all that ostentation; after all, no one would dare question his power or accuse him of compensating for some insecurity. Silco didn't seem to have those kinds of apparent weaknesses, and that was exactly what made him so dangerous.

As you stopped in front of the door, one of the guards immediately blocked your path. The man raised his arm in a sharp gesture, enough to make any ordinary person step back. He was massive, twice your size, with muscles that seemed to strain the fabric of his shirt. But you weren't the restrained version of yourself anymore, the one who would hesitate or retreat before any intimidating figure to avoid drawing attention to herself. No. Dealing with Silco had taught you one thing: no matter the size of the predator, you need to learn how to bite back. You needed to be as dangerous as him. Or at least pretend to be.

"We're closed." the tattooed man declared, his voice deep and loaded with menace.

You sighed, theatrical, as if he had just bored you to death. "If you hadn't warned me..." your voice dripped with sarcasm. As you spoke, your eyes assessed him carefully. Something about him seemed... familiar.

The guard frowned, impatient. "Then get lost!" the sharpness in his voice might have been intimidating, but there was something else there. A hint of hesitation that didn't escape your notice.

"Oh, I think I remember you..." you tilted your head slightly, letting a sly smile curve your lips. "Yes, I do. You were one of Silco's men sent to the brothel, weren't you?"

The man stiffened, exchanging glances with his companion beside him. You stepped forward, closing the distance even more. He backed off slightly, which only increased your satisfaction. Being associated with Silco had its advantages, after all.

"Well, as you might know, he and I are... quite close." your voice was barely a whisper, but it carried weight and intention. "And even if I can't see him today, it's only a matter of time before he comes to me."

You pretended to examine your nails as if he were beneath your full attention. Every movement was calculated, a meticulous performance designed to fray his nerves. "Now, I can't help but wonder how he'd react knowing one of his men stopped me from paying a surprise visit... He'd be so... disappointed."

You raised your eyes slowly, peering at him through your lashes. The smile on your lips was sadistic, almost cruel. It wasn't the real you—not even close—but the mask you wore seemed to do the trick. The tattooed man swallowed hard, visibly shaken.

"You know, right? It's not wise to disappoint men like Silco," you continued, letting each word hang in the air like a veiled threat. "The consequences tend to be... unpleasant."

The man hesitated, his gaze flickering from you to the coat you wore and then to his companion beside him. The tension was palpable, and the silence that followed was almost as satisfying as the victory that came next.

"Take the stairs to the second floor," he finally relented, his voice slightly unsteady. "He's in the office, last door down the hall."

"Good," you replied with disdain, already turning to walk through the entrance. Before continuing, though, you paused and glanced back over your shoulder. "Oh, and make sure no one interrupts us."

Your voice was cold, imbued with an authority that wasn't yours by right but one you stole with the ease of someone who had learned to survive among wolves. The guard nodded, still hesitant, but stepped aside and shut the door behind you.

You let your gaze wander through the bar, a creeping discomfort snaking up your spine like a sly serpent. Everything felt out of place despite being right where it belonged. As if someone had stripped the soul from the space, leaving only an empty shell devoid of warmth or life. The Last Drop had once buzzed with the communal energy of Zaun—now, every corner seemed consumed by shadows that whispered how misplaced you were here. You were a puzzle piece left over, trying to fit where there was no longer space.

Still, your eyes searched for echoes of the past. The turntable, the pool table in the center, the spot where Vander's gauntlets used to hang near the bar. But those details were now distant memories, almost unreal. It was hard to believe that the last time you'd been here was three years ago, when you said goodbye to him. Vander, with that warm smile and his damned bear hug, had made you promise you'd come back to Zaun. What a bitter irony. You'd returned. But he wasn't here anymore.

When a pang of sadness threatened to surface, you clenched your teeth and forced your legs to move. You climbed the stairs quickly, refusing to let your thoughts drown you. The place was empty, perhaps because of the time of day, you thought. Everyone knew criminals preferred the cover of night, and the morning silence made each step you took echo louder than it should.

You stopped in front of Silco's door. For the first time, you hesitated before knocking. This was a point of no return; whatever happened in that room would alter the course of your life forever, though you couldn't tell if it would be for better or worse. Like everything in your life, it was a risky gamble you were willing to take.

Two knocks, followed by a muffled "Enter," were the last sounds you heard before pushing the door open and stepping directly into Silco's lair.

Silco's office was a flawless extension of his personality: stylish, shadowy, decadent, and steeped in a subtle theatricality that seemed to bury old traumas beneath layers of sophistication. The walls, painted in dark tones, absorbed more light than they reflected, and the few points of brightness came from meticulously arranged objects on his desk or trinkets scattered throughout the room. It was as if every piece had been chosen to construct a personal fortress, a space where he could simultaneously conceal his scars and display his power.

The greenish light streaming from the window behind his desk served as the main source of illumination, casting the room in a cold, almost icy atmosphere, with hues that seemed to seep into your very bones.

You found him at the heart of his domain, seated in his chair like a king upon his throne. His posture was impeccable—his back pressed against the chair, one arm resting casually at his side, while the other held a set of files. He seemed completely absorbed in the documents, but as soon as he registered your presence, he lifted his gaze with a calmness that was almost insulting. What truly caught your attention, however, was how his eyes roamed over your body, taking in every detail like a collector assessing a prized piece. He was subtle, as always, but you knew that look all too well. Beneath the mask of indifference, there was something deeper, more intense: the fire of his possessiveness burning behind those irises.

"You made quite a scene coming here." his voice reverberated off the walls, low and controlled, but with a weight that made your skin prickle. There was no overt irritation in his tone—just an observation he seemed to find almost amusing. "Especially dressed like that." he gestured vaguely toward the oversized coat you wore, the heavy fabric hanging awkwardly off your frame. "If your intention was to draw attention, congratulations. You succeeded."

"As if you care..." the retort slipped out effortlessly, polished but devoid of any humor. You remained standing, still debating whether the moment called for a direct attack or if you should continue with the dance of provocations. "People were already whispering about the 'whore' you took for yourself. I just gave the rumors a face."

Silco's eyes glinted with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. He tilted his head slightly, like a predator sizing up its prey. "It was reckless."

"I don't deny it." you shrugged with the nonchalance of someone who couldn't care less, taking a few steps forward over the carpet that seemed to swallow the sound of your movements. "But in the end, nothing would've happened to me, right? I know you sent your men to escort me. They're not exactly subtle."

It was pure bluff. You had no proof that Silco had actually assigned bodyguards to shadow your every move without your knowledge, but it was a safe bet. He seemed intent on maintaining absolute control over every aspect of your life, directly or indirectly. And even if you were wrong, it didn't matter.

For a moment, his eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition passing across his face. He knew you were bluffing—of course, he knew. Unraveling lies was an art he had mastered. But, curiously, he didn't challenge you. He allowed you to keep that advantage, perhaps more intrigued by your audacity than inclined to argue.

"I take precautions," he finally said, his voice as firm as the steel that held Zaun together. "Zaun is no place for recklessness. Especially for someone who insists on testing the limits."

You crossed your arms, feigning indifference to the implicit threat. "And don't you live by testing limits, Silco? Seems a bit... hypocritical, coming from you."

The provocation had the desired effect. Silco rose slowly, every movement calculated, as though pondering the best way to deal with your defiance. The chair swiveled slightly behind him as he made his way toward you, circling the desk with the grace of a predatory feline. Leaning against its edge, right in front of you, his proximity made the air thicker. Without even touching you, his presence seemed to fill every corner of the room. Your heart pounded in your chest—perhaps from fear, perhaps from expectation, or something else you refused to acknowledge.

"I know my limits." his voice was barely above a whisper but carried the weight of an unspoken threat. He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly while keeping his gaze locked on yours. "And I assure you, I know exactly how to hold them. The question, dove, is: do you know yours?"

You rolled your eyes in disdain.

"Don't lecture me about limits, Silco. Not after the damage you caused." your voice lashed out, brimming with restrained fury, though the subtle tremor in your hands betrayed you. Every fiber of your being screamed to close the distance between you, to make him feel at least a fragment of the pain that consumed your chest. "You killed her."

"I did." the response came so simple, so direct, that it seemed to rip the air from your lungs. There wasn't a trace of regret in his voice, no shadow of remorse in his eyes. It was as if he had admitted something trivial, like the day being overcast.

"You're not even going to deny it?"

"I gain nothing by denying something you already know." Silco seemed disinterested, even bored, as though the entire scene was just another interruption in his meticulously planned day. He studied you, but not cautiously. "I gave her a chance."

You laughed, but the sound was hollow, cruel—a desperate attempt to mock his words. "A chance? Let me guess: you gave her the privilege of choosing how to die, right? The options: crushed by your brute or burned alive in the fire you started yourself."

Silco remained impassive, as though your words had slipped off him without leaving a mark. If anything affected him, it was well hidden. In fact, he seemed... satisfied. Satisfied to see you unravel, to witness the internal war you were waging against yourself. "I gave her a chance," he repeated, his voice low, as if explaining something simple to an impatient child. "I would have killed her that day, but I respected what you said. If she had let go of you, I would have left her alone. I am not the irrational monster you imagine me to be."

He uncrossed his arms and stepped forward, the sound of his shoes echoing in the silent room. The proximity made your heart race, but it wasn't fear. It was something more visceral—hatred, perhaps. Your gaze burned, but his was pure ice, an impenetrable force that seemed to crush any opposition. "I don't control the feelings others have for you." he continued, his voice laden with an almost suffocating intensity, "But I can control who gets close. Your friend, Kate, made a choice."

You stood firm, but the weight of his words pressed down on you. "She chose you." His declaration was final, a verdict. "And that was her mistake."

Silco stared at you with the same resolute expression you had learned to despise and, in some ways, admire. He wasn't lying—not this time. It was hard to accept, but you knew that beneath the layers of manipulation and cruelty, Silco possessed a brutally objective honesty. He spoke the truth not because he cared to be honest but because it gave him an advantage. He knew the impact his words would have.

The ache in your chest intensified. The conclusion was bitter: Kate had died because she chose you. She chose to trust, to love, or perhaps just to believe there was something in you worth the sacrifice. And that choice destroyed her.

"Don't blame yourself." Silco's voice was lower now, almost as if he were trying to offer some form of comfort. But his words, no matter how carefully chosen, found no place to settle within you. "Eventually, you'll understand this was for the best. It was for your own good."

You stared at him, your breathing heavy, your chest rising and falling in a rhythm that betrayed your effort to stay in control. He didn't see the error in what he had done. To him, everything was calculated, justified, as if the ends always justified the means.

"For my own good?" Your voice came out incredulous, even shocked if you analyzed its tone. Silco didn't respond. He only looked at you, as though daring you to continue. The silence was unbearable, and you felt anger rise like a wave ready to break. "You destroy everything you touch, Silco. No matter how much you try to mask it with promises of control or security. In the end, you leave nothing but ruins behind."

He didn't blink, didn't look away, maintaining that glacial indifference that seemed so natural to him. It was as though your words were just a distant hum, insignificant, incapable of penetrating the fortress of his composure. But you knew. Deep down, something had been struck. You saw it in the way his gaze hardened, if only for a moment, like a slight crack in a marble surface. You didn't know exactly what your words had touched, but you knew they had left a mark. And even so, he remained unshaken, fixed, silent, as he stared at you with that overwhelming intensity.

"Just like you."

His words shattered the silence with an almost tangible weight. They sounded vague, but you understood. Oh, God, how you understood.

You instinctively stepped back, as if distance could soften the blow you'd just received. Your heels hit the coffee table, causing something to fall and shatter on the floor. The sound of breaking glass reverberated through the room, but it felt like a distant echo, unimportant. If he had slapped you across the face, it would have hurt less than that. Because they weren't just words—they carried a knowledge you had forced yourself to forget long ago.

The question escaped before you could stop it, almost a whisper filled with disbelief: "How do you...?"

He didn't answer immediately. He only tilted his head slightly, his eyes analyzing every nuance of your reaction. Finally, he responded, with that infamous tone of casualness that made your blood boil. "I have my ways."

It was a deliberately vague answer, and the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips confirmed it. A small smile, almost imperceptible, but laden with satisfaction. He knew exactly what he had done. He saw the impact of his words, saw how they carved a hole inside you, and he savored it. Just as you had wounded him moments before, he now returned the attack. And worse, he relished your reaction.

"I know more about you than you think, dove."

Silco took a step closer, shortening the distance with the precision of a meticulous predator cornering its prey. There was something predatory about his movements—calculated, yet fluid—as though he had all the time in the world to ensnare you. Your body froze, rooted to the spot. It was as if the floor had turned to cement and you had become a statue. Your mind screamed frantic commands for your legs to move, but no muscle obeyed. You were trapped there, staring into the headlights of an oncoming train.

"Out there, it's full of people who would use you and discard you without a second thought." His voice was low, almost a whisper, yet each word carried a weight that seemed to crush the air around you. He tilted his head slightly, his narrowed eyes studying every nuance of your reaction. "You know that. You've been discarded before."

He spoke your name slowly, every syllable laden with an unsettling intimacy. It wasn't the nickname he usually used but your true name—and it hit like a weapon in his hands. For some reason, it felt even more intimidating, more personal, as though he were dismantling any layer of defense you might have had.

"I am the only one who has truly protected you so far," he continued, taking another step toward you. The greenish glow from the window fell across his broad shoulders, outlining his silhouette in a way that made him seem even more imposing. The interplay of light and shadow obscured parts of his expression but highlighted that piercing orange iris like a beacon drawing you toward the abyss—dangerous and yet irresistibly captivating. "The only one who sees your worth. Who understands what you're capable of."

He stood directly in front of you now. The greenish light enveloped him fully, casting a distorted halo around him. The sight should have made you shudder, but instead, you found yourself mesmerized by the corrupted celestial image before you.

"I am the only one who knows exactly what you need."

Silco was a serpent, sinuous and treacherous, slithering gently around you while tightening his coils, slowly and methodically squeezing the breath out of you. You knew you needed to break free, to shatter this venomous cycle, but something always held you captive. It wasn't love, nor any twisted imitation of the feeling. It was something darker—a torment intertwined with obsession. A bond that consumed you, toxic and painful like a razor's edge slicing through your skin. And yet, you allowed yourself to be cut, drawn to the danger, to the chaos.

To him.

"Why me?" Your voice broke the silence, taut with tension, like a rope ready to snap. "You could have anyone else."

Your gaze flicked downward for a moment, and then you saw it. Silco's gun, resting within reach in its holster—a solution gleaming like a beacon through the fog of conflicting emotions. Your mind screamed that this was your chance. One movement. One shot. And it would all be over.

Silco tilted his head slightly, following your gaze. "You've already answered your question, dove."

His smile was dangerous, filled with certainty and malice, yet he made no move to push the gun away. He seemed perfectly aware of where your eyes had landed, but as always, he played the game on his own terms. Then he raised his hands, placing them around your face with a disturbingly gentle touch. It was an intimate gesture, almost reverent, but laced with power.

"Anyone but you." his voice was low, a whisper laden with a disconcerting truth. You didn't know whether to believe him or to run. Silco's gaze locked onto yours, hungry, as if he could strip your soul bare and devour whatever he found. There was something primal in his eyes, a raw desire that threatened to consume everything around him.

"You have it in you." the statement came out almost like a prayer, but there was something darker beneath the words. His eyes roamed over your face, attuned to every flicker of emotion, as his thumb traced a slow path across your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine. "No one challenges me the way you do. No one makes me feel alive the way you do."

The world seemed to shrink until only the two of you remained. He leaned in, close enough that your lips almost touched, but not quite. The proximity was suffocating, his every breath mingling with yours.

"You wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger on me, would you?" his words were low, tinged with a dark amusement, while his eyes gleamed with a twisted delight. "So, tell me..." he tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely curious about your answer. "Where would you aim? The chest, or the head?"

It was those words that triggered something in you—a switch that should never have been flipped.

The world slowed, as if time had been captured in a slow-motion sequence unfolding right before your eyes. A fragment of reason, and something else you hadn't felt in ages, broke through the chaos in your mind, commanding your body for one fleeting second—the single second of adrenaline you needed to act. Instinct took over, focusing solely on eliminating the threat in front of you. That familiar tingling sensation sparked in your eyes, a sensation you hadn't felt in years. There was no stopping it now.

With one hand, you shoved Silco hard, pushing those burning hands away from your skin, while the other reached for the gun strapped to his holster. You barely registered the sound of him hitting the wooden table—that was all you needed to aim precisely where he stood.

Silco was right, after all.

You didn't hesitate.

The sound of the gunshot exploded in the room, loud and deafening. The recoil jolted your arms, and the echo reverberated like thunder in your head. For a moment, everything was silent except for the sharp ringing in your ears. Your fingers loosened, and the gun slipped from your hand, clattering to the floor with a metallic clang.

You felt your nose begin to bleed, the sensation of the recoil never pleasant, but it wasn't until the tingling in your eyes subsided that you realized they had closed. An involuntary reaction, an attempt to refuse to face what was about to happen. As if shutting your eyes could somehow erase the consequences.

Slowly, almost as if afraid of what you'd see, you opened your eyes. But what you found wasn't blood or a fallen body. It was a thick green smoke hanging in the air, swirling ominously. Before you could react, the substance invaded your nostrils, burning your lungs with a heavy, suffocating sensation. You tried to cover your face with your hands, but it was already too late.

Whatever the smoke was, it acted almost instantly.

A violent cough overtook you. Your body convulsed, your lungs ablaze as you desperately tried not to breathe in more of the noxious fumes. Your knees gave out, and you collapsed to the floor, your legs unable to support your weight. Everything around you began to spin, and a crushing sensation engulfed every fiber of your being. Your vision started to darken, the world around you fading as you fought futilely against the creeping unconsciousness.

"A shot to the head. Quick and merciful..." Silco's voice echoed distantly, muffled, as though it was coming from a dream. "How fascinating."

You thought you were hallucinating. Maybe it was just the smoke, warping your perception, but then you saw him. Silco's imposing figure emerged from the green haze. He walked slowly, each step resonating like a drumbeat in your head. The gas mask covering his face was confirmation of what you should have suspected: he had planned everything. From the very beginning—every word, every provocation, the gun most likely tampered with—it had all been calculated to lead you to this exact moment. You had fallen into his trap.

He crouched in front of you, observing in silence. When your body finally gave out, unable to resist any longer, and your mind faltered, your resistance shattering like broken glass, his eyes were the last thing you saw before slipping into unconsciousness.

Even on the brink of oblivion, you were aware when he pulled you close. Silco's arms, surprisingly warm and firm, enveloped your limp body with a strength that was both possessive and oddly comforting. There was something cruelly gentle in the gesture, as if he were cradling a precious object that was rightfully his. You felt the faint touch of his fingers gliding through your hair—a distorted, profoundly wrong caress, yet somehow... familiar.

"You're safe now, dove."

Part 5

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#arcane #arcane fanfic #arcane silco #minors dni #no beta we die like silco #reader insert #silco x reader #silco x you #smut

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lost-seal · 3 months ago

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I wanted to analyze all the bedrolls in mouthwashing. Why? Because something is bothering me so I'm reaching out for opinions. SPOILERS FOR THE GAME, btw.

Now I haven't searched through the whole game for every single instance of a bedroll, I'm just looking at the main ones we see. Any images are screenshots from a video so sorry if the quality is bad.

Swansea's

His is surrounded by bottles (can't tell if empty or not), and is outside Utility. Most likely so he can guard Utility better. Interestingly enough, this was the bed that Daisuke was placed on after the vent incident. I guess Swansea had no more reasons to guard Utility anymore, or even sleep for that matter. Plus I think it's closest to where they found Daisuke. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Anya's

Her's is next to the Polle statue. I read a theory that she put her bed there because it goes off automatically when someone goes near it. That way it alarms her and potentially wakes the others up if someone gets too close. I think that's very plausible, and makes Jimmy breaking it sad.

Another thing that caught my attention is that she's sleeping away from Jimmy. I don't know the term, but like, her head is furthest from Jimmy while her feet are closest. Once again, maybe so that she really hears Polle when someone gets too close.

Daisuke's and Jimmy's

(because they're so close together I might as well mention them together)

This one makes me feel the most anxious, given what we know about Jimmy... He's also close to Anya's too, but not one toss-and-turn away like he is with Daisuke. They are so close that when Jimmy wakes up because Curly's cries are echoing through the halls, you can hear Daisuke breathing without needing to get up. Not snoring, no, small shallow breathes through the mouth.

Which also means Daisuke is a mouth breather but let's not get side-tracked.

They sleep next to each other before AND after Swansea and Anya's talk. Which either means that A) Anya didn't tell Swansea about what Jimmy did to her and her current situation, maybe instead discussing how she thinks Jimmy was the one to actually crash the ship. B) She did tell him and Swansea didn't tell Daisuke because he thought Jimmy wouldn't do that to him. That's all sorts of messed up, especially when we know he's much younger and is easy to manipulate if you say the right words. As we learn how Swansea was able to keep Daisuke away from helping with the foam, he doesn't tend to question things if it's from someone he views highly (With Swansea > Jimmy in the hierarchy).

It makes me feel nervous about what could have been, or even possibly about what's already happened and we'll never learn about it.

Also Daisuke sleeps with his boots on. What. Why? Is it dev reasons? Wild.

All in all neither Anya or Daisuke should be close to Jimmy there's so much space there please move away.

#mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing

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pomefioredove · 2 months ago

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HIII DOVE:DD this is my first time requesting but, may i pls have a sugar cookie #18 with whipped cream & choc drizzle? ty!!

(btw your works & writing are totes immaculate i just want u to know that & i hope ur doing well!!)

thank you so much!!

order #18; sugar with whipped cream and chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ nothing nice to say

tropes: exes to lovers, royalty AU characters: lilia additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not yuu, fae!reader word count: 500

"Well. This is awkward,"

There's a smile on Lilia Vanrouge that begs to differ.

You press your lips together. The words on the tip of your tongue are sour, after all.

Hundreds of years after your betrothed left you at the altar, and that's all he has to say.

"A pleasure to see you again, Vanrouge," you lie, quite obviously.

He either doesn't notice, or doesn't care.

"Please! No need for formality," he says, draping an arm around your shoulder and making himself comfortable at your side as if he has any right to be within even an inch of you, and-

You take a breath. Apathetic. Mature. You don't care about him.

"We're all old friends here, aren't we?"

"Acquaintances, perhaps," you correct him as politely as you can manage.

You're different now, after all. Older. Wiser. No longer the silly, emotional little noble you were in your youth.

You will not let him break down your walls again.

"Acquaintances," Lilia repeats the word, as if feeling it in his mouth. "Well, we don't need a label for it. So, how's life in the western woods? How're the, uh... swamps?"

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "You might as well say what you mean, and save us both the breath,"

Lilia feigns offense, putting a hand over his heart. His scoff echoes off the stone castle walls.

"Can a man not ask about swamps?"

You refuse to dignify that with an answer, and he pouts. It's a strange look on him. Gone are the days of the haughty General, it seems.

Finally, he sighs. "It's been four... five hundreds years since we last spoke. Forgive my curiosity- I only want to know how life has treated you, my dear,"

That term of endearment sends a chill up your spine. Who is this man? Surely not the same one you were betrothed to, once.

You cross your arms. "...Well. And you?"

Lilia pouts again, now at your vague answer, the lack of gossip.

"Well... enough. I've been kept busy, you know. Children,"

You can feel your embrace tightening around yourself, fingers digging into your forearms.

"You married, then?"

"Hm...? Oh, no," Lilia chuckles. "I did not sire them, if that's what you mean to ask."

You relax. An odd relief, to know that you were his last attempt at romance.

"...My apologies for assuming, then," you say. "News does not reach the west so quickly."

"I know,"

You hate that. You hate that he remembers things, that he remembers you, and that for all you're putting into looking mature and unbothered, he can tell you're not.

Lilia had always had a way with you.

Has a way with you.

"You look just as beautiful as the day I saw you last," he says in a whisper. You can't come up with a way to respond to that.

He's standing beside you, your arms merrily linked together now.

"Well, come along. We can't keep the Prince waiting, can we? I'm sure he's very curious to hear all your stories about what I was like as a boy,"

You scoff, but still, something about him...

You may hold a grudge, but it's been long enough. A few hundred years of the silent treatment should be plenty.

Reluctantly, you smile.

"You know I'll have nothing nice to say, right?"

Lilia returns your grin and pulls you a little closer, your bodies almost touching.

"I'm counting on it, my dear,"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

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oneatlatime · 10 months ago

Text

Sokka's Master

pleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegoodpleasebegood

Strange choice of master but we'll see where this goes.

The meteor shower animation is quite meditative. I wouldn't mind it as a screensaver.

How to describe something exceptional to your blind friend: "You've never not seen anything like this." It's amazing the quality put into even the tiniest of throwaway jokes.

Are meteor strikes flammable?

I love how whenever Sokka's disappointed he gets noodle arms. A surprisingly consistent characterisation.

Momo butt skate.

Iroh. The fuck?

ok. So he's playing a part for the guards. Why?

Pretty.

Funny to think about, but as a former WWE character, Toph's probably had more hero worship than the Avatar.

Lots to say about this! First, I stand corrected! i honestly thought that Sokka would be immune to this specific insecurity by virtue of him not being a bender. I was wrong! Second, I love how, as soon as Sokka expresses that he feels that he isn't as talented as the rest of them, the others respond by listing his actual, invaluable talents, without which the group would be completely at sea. They don't respond with "no you're perfect!" they respond with "no one can read a map like you can" and how he keeps their spirits up with jokes. They're not using false praise. They are using specific facts. I love that an episode that looks like it's going to deal with a character feeling down on themselves establishes from the get go that the character is invaluable, actually. So often, the 'low self esteem stock episode' puts the affirmation of the character's value at the end. Which means the viewer spends the whole episode being convinced that the character in question might actually be useless. Here, we're told from the start that the character is invaluable - the problem is that they do not perceive themselves to be so. Quite on the nose for a show that deals so much with identity.

OMIGOD IT GETS BETTER!!!!!!!!!!

Validating Katara sweeps in and a) validates his feelings, while b) clearly explaining that his self-perception is not in line with how the others see him, which c) doesn't invalidate a) !!!!

Katara has such emotional intelligence when she chooses to use it.

Nuanced intelligent discussion of the complexities of emotions and self-perception in a Sokka episode I am so happy I am blessed the gods are shining on me today I'm sitting here twirling my hair and swinging my feet and doodling hearts on the corner of my journal

SHOPPING!!!!!

btw that's the same face he makes when he says SUKI!!!

"Reinvigorate my battling" this boy. just. this boy.

He lasted a lot longer than I would have with nun chucks.

Aang the Happy Meal toy.

Some say that Halberd is still spinning today.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present: the 45 degree Sokka.

Some Foley artist had the time of their life with this weapons sequence.

Why thank you for that exposition, Mr. Exposition. Now walk away and we'll never see you again.

Toph does NOT move ONCE this whole scene and it's ever so slightly freaking me out.

Toph tells you she learned from Badgermoles and no one wants to discuss this further?!? We're going to gloss over that?

So this episode has a training montage theme.

Sokka goes freestyle on those door knockers.

That's one hell of a castle. Must be dark in there though. Tiny windows.

Which explains the several hundred candles. This show. Set up with one hand; slam dunk with the other.

This guy's reciting Sokka's s1 introduction on Kyoshi Island.

Sokka: Actually. I am a dumb. The Master: Sold.

The face of someone who is definitely picking up what you're putting down.

It's been ages since I watched the episode, but is some of what the Master saying here about swords an echo of what Zuko says to the kid in Zuko Alone when he's decapitating sunflowers?

A Sokka-less Gaang. Depressing and they know it.

The way Katara's voice actor says "oh everyone's a critic" is gold.

Multidisciplinary education vs. kid who's never been within a mile of the box he's being told to think outside of. Fight!

Yikes that was a meaty hit. Does Sokka have a nose left?

They're wearing beehives on their heads.

Was Sokka always this short?

The greens in this episode are such a delight.

The way he says "I'm finished!" Sounds like "Am finished" and you can actually hear the smiley emoji he throws in.

He's good.

What do they FEED him?

Sokka's voice actor had a great time this episode. All the voice actors had a great time actually.

Sokka invents the La Z Boy

Katara inadvertently invents a fandom war by attempting a joke.

They're all so useless and it's wonderful.

That was all only one day? That's a lot of outfit changes for one day.

"You mess things up in a very special way." Compliment? Let's go with compliment.

Sokka is so very Sokka this episode.

A reason to live is coming!

*thundering herds of shippers in the distance*

That's clever. The inciting incident gets smelted. Haven't seen that before.

This whole Iroh gets buff montage has been completely dialogue free on Iroh's part. Crazy levels of inner peace, that he'd doesn't need to snark back at the guard.

Seriously. What are they FEEDING these children. Also how is that door that shiny.

Sokka really has it in for those door knockers.

Apropos of nothing, the clouds in this episode are all so yummy. All these soft slate colours and misty layers.

Meteoric iron is actually a thing, right?

Ok but aren't mold made swords crappy?

HI YUE

I love how they managed to made a crafting montage where the character who does the least work is the one who looks like he's working the hardest.

"I saw a heart as strong as my garden decor"

"No it certainly wasn't your skills. You had none."

Creativity, versatility, intelligence, meat, sarcasm.

You've known him like two days and you can already tell he's more worthy than any man you've ever trained? Sounds like you had poor taste in students.

"No. This is my fight. Alone." Bro you are going to DIE. The first time you held a sword was two days ago. You might need the avatar on this one.

Guard who never shuts up actually kind of has a point here. He's a dick about as usual, but it's entirely possible that the rank and file of the Fire Nation army view Iroh's actions as a betrayal. Does anyone remember in Star Wars movie number 7, or maybe 8, when that Trooper sees Finn after he's switched sides and yells "traitor!" and it's the best part of the movie? Yeah, like that.

This episode throws the concept of linear time out the window. In two days, Iroh gets swole and Sokka masters sword fighting.

Do you think Sokka's realised yet that this is his final exam?

Yummy yummy clouds.

One in a million pocket sand shot.

One in a million stick placement.

So this master is like a sword spirit or something. He can't be human. There's no way he could get the scabbard to fly on perfectly without seeing.

"Try Lee, There's a million Lees. There's a tea shop in Ba Sing Se that has a super cranky waiter called Lee."

This guy's just this side of committing treason and I love it.

I see this Master is a devotee of the 'Hakoda school of shoving outrageously over the top compliments into Sokka's thick skull in the hopes that 1% of them will stick.' I approve.

This last scene has gorgeous hills and skies but you'll have to take my word for it because I've hit the image limit.

Sokka's been inducted into the super secret boy band!!!

He saved space earth for Toph! He's so considerate! He's fuelling the ships!

Let's compromise and call it space dirt instead.

Final Thoughts

This episode every two minutes: Sokka, you are currently flawless and you're about to get better. Me: Yes. Yep. Yeah. Seconded. I concur.

I like it! It's great! It's 24 minutes of the writers and characters fangirling over Sokka! Of course I like it! It made me criminally overuse exclamation marks! What else can I say?

Hands down my favourite episode is Bato of the Water Tribe. For Sokka's story, this episode is Bato of the Water Tribe part 2. Of course I'm going to love it. This episode was lab grown specifically for me.

Now let's see if I can say something about this episode that isn't poorly disguised squealing.

I love how the characters respond to Sokka saying he's not special with an evidence-based refutation rather than blanket reassurance.

I love how shopping cheers up Sokka. I love how Katara knows that shopping will cheer him up. This must be something she's learned since the show started. I don't think there were malls in the South Pole. So Katara was paying attention when Sokka and Momo went through the bag saga.

I love how much the master is baffled yet impressed by Sokka. He seems almost charmed by this breath of fresh air. I think it's hilarious that, when Sokka first approaches him, he's expecting early season 1 Sokka. He'd better send Suki a thank you card.

I also really like "The way of the sword doesn't belong to any one nation." It seems obvious to us, but in a world where there are weaponisable skills that are quite literally inseparable from the nations their wielders inhabit, it's probably something no one in the Gaang has ever heard before.

Obviously the episode is a little rushed - half hour kid's show and all that - but it's still pretty crazy that you can apparently impart a solid basic knowledge of swordplay in two days.

Toph going all tsundere is funny, and makes Aang and Katara unapologetically desperate for Sokka's company twice as funny as it already is. Toph's like "whatever" and the other two spent the day making a welcome home banner.

I love how Sokka's happiness is always so loud and shameless. It makes it contagious.

This episode highlights what Sokka's actual strengths are, by instructing him in what he thinks his strengths are. If that makes sense? Sokka is brain, which he's finally starting to realise by attending brawn lessons.

He's also heart, and I'll die on that hill.

Iroh getting swole was honestly just a thing that happened. No comment really, except it was interesting to have a reminder from the guard that a character we perceive as the good guy is currently perceived as the bad guy by everyone but us. When the Fire Nation does inevitably get defeated, a whole nation is going to have to reset their worldview and that will not be an easy process.

More like this please!

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #sokka's master

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remnantglow · 1 year ago

Note

hi! i was wondering if you know of any nonbinary sci-fi authors? i'm taking part of a storygraph challenge and one of the challenges is to read a scifi novel by a nonbinary author so i thought maybe you'd have a rec! thank you and hope you have a great day <3 (btw do you still have the link to the doc you had of all the vintage lgbt scifi novels? thanks again!)

DO I!!!! :DDD

Sarah Gailey - The Echo Wife (domestic scifi thriller with gone girl vibes)

Ada Hoffmann - The Outside (cosmic horror)

S. Qiouyi Lu - In The Watchful City (mosaic novella with stories that range from scifi to fantasy)

Ness Brown - The Scourge Between Stars (scifi horror ala Alien, good for some low brainpower horror thrills) CORRECTION: while ness brown goes by they/them pronouns, i don't think they've actually confirmed if they identify as nonbinary, my bad!

Avi Silver - Pluralities (bit hard to categorize but i'd recommend this one if you'd like a weird scifi novella with gender and transness as a main theme!)

Neon Yang - The Genesis of Misery (science fantasy with mechas) (i haven't read it yet, but i'm a huge fan of neon yang's other work!)

Rivers Solomon - An Unkindness of Ghosts (generation ship scifi) (another one i haven't gotten around to yet, but it's by all accounts exceptional - though, note, very heavy from what i've heard - and i really enjoyed the author's fantasy novella The Deep)

and a couple more whose work I haven't read, but who are pretty high on my to-read list:

Emma Mieko Candon - The Archive Undying

Nino Cipri - Finna

Merc Fenn Wolfmoor - So You Want to be a Robot and Other Stories

Xiran Jay Zhao - Iron Widow (tbh i've heard some mixed opinions abt this one, but it is also undeniably the most popular book on this list)

Bogi Takács - The Trans Space Octopus Congregation: Stories, Power to Yield and Other Stories (i also wanna shout out eir reading blog, which has an absolutely incredible list of resources, including the trans and intersex fiction and poetry timeline and the neopronouns in fiction timeline!!!)

as for the vintage LGBT scifi doc: why yes of course. here it is in all its 150+ book glory <3

#thank you for asking i love an excuse to make a rec list!#huh. lists that make u realize there is like a disproportionately high amount of mecha scifi by nonbinary authors

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theonemeathead · 11 months ago

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Spy x Reader, "Lovers Rock"

angsty songfic because i lauve tv girl so much. sorry for the lack of posts btw! tws for throw up, drinking. reader is gender neutral, enjoy! :3

Awkward, is how you would describe the circumstance.

Another victory, celebrated at a local bar full of cheap booze and loud music. And, normally, you would be there too, laughing and dancing the night away with the rest of your rowdy, drunken friends. Yet, you craved the quietness of an isolated night, and what better opportunity than to have the whole base to yourself until the return of the rising sun when the morning, unfortunately, returns?

Are you sick of me?

And just as you were beginning to get settled in for the night, the ringing of a wall-phone echoed through the empty halls. Sighing, you stare, contemplating for a second. Against your better judgement, you answer it, the bustling atmosphere immediately overwhelming your senses as you reluctantly raised the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Yo, it's Scout. Listen, ya need'a get here ASAP. If Spy stays any longer, it's not gonna be pretty, I can guarantee ya that."

Would you like to be?

The clicking of his line ended with a low beep, leaving you with no choice but to give up your chance at a peaceful night to, yet again, babysit a grown man. You hung up, frustrated, quickly throwing on some clothes and grabbing the keys to a spare breadtruck.

Which leads you to your current situation.

It had been a pain in the ass, getting Spy into the vehicle. He repeated that he was fine, that he was 'an adult' and could 'make his own decisions'. Yet, the slurring of his speech, the way his pupils dilated, it was apparent he was one drink away from ruining his suit.

"I promise you, I am... okay?" he sounded unsure, as if he couldn't remember the correct words to piece together. Spy hardly ever got tipsy, let alone where he's at now. It was concerning.

I'm trying to tell you something.

"No, we're going back to base," you insisted, pressing your foot on the brake as you slowed to a stop. You looked over, observing how he had taken his overcoat off and folded it over his leg, his tie messily hanging undone around the collar of his dress shirt, a few of the buttons undone revealing greying chest hair. He looked so handsome in the illuminating redness of the stoplight.

"I don't need you to take care of me, I am able to do it myself." He shifted in the uncomfortable leather of the truck, bracing as the car started moving when the light flickered green.

Something that I already said.

"Spy, you're very clearly far from sober. You couldn't walk in a straight line, let alone stand up on your own—" You started, punctuating your words with a tone of agitation. "—What's the matter? Nobody's ever.... Well, I've never seen you like this."

The air hung heavy. He stayed silent, opting to try and force the conversation to end. You shook your head. One night, alone, and now you were stuck in a car with the most arrogant asshole on the team. You took a deep breathe, speaking up again.

You like a pretty boy.

"I just— I want you to know I worry about you, Spy, okay? I don't care how naïve that sounds, but if you needed me to ever pick you up and take you home again, I would," your voice was small, almost meek. You glanced over, noticing how his steel eyes scanned you for insincerity, as if he was deciphering if you were lying or not. Your eyes briefly locked, causing you to avert your attention back to the road, encased by the darkness of the night.

"Je ne comprends pas—"

"In English, please."

"Ah, forgive me. I am afraid I don't understand you, mon chér." His accent was heavy, almost indecipherable. The roughness of his voice was therapeutic, in a way. There was an almost hoarsness to it, even though he sounded oh so sweet. One of the many things that you couldn't seem to get out of your head.

With a pretty voice.

"I don't understand you either. I wish I did." You and Spy had been close, the closest he had been to someone since his last wife, over two decades ago. Yet, one day, after sharing a glass of wine, he flinched away. Something changed. He shrouded himself in a cloak of mystery, once again. Except, this time, it wasn't alluring or intriguing, it was frustrating and so very painful. He had convinced you that there could be something more, a burning spark of something gentle and fleeting. Yet, he refused. "You really hurt me that one night, Spy. I'm sure you know that, too."

"I've hurt a lot of people, chér. That's what I do."

"But it doesn't have to be that way. We could've—" you stopped yourself, feeling a familiar sting beginning to form in your throat. The last thing you needed was to cry. You stopped talking altogether, opting to turn the radio up instead. Old love songs looped on the radio in an endless, hellish loop that seemed to be designed to torment you and only you.

Who's trying to sell you something.

Veering left, you drove slowly through the blanket of fake landscape, pulling into makeshift garage. You turned the car off, the engine coughing as it finally keeled, the damn thing wasn't worth a crap anyways. You slid out, walking over to the passenger side. Spy had already gotten out and had upchucked in the nearest trashcan. Good thing he had leaned forward. You saddled up beside the older man, wrapping one of his long, skinny arms around your neck and supporting him with a firm hand around his waist.

Something that you already have.

You pushed open the heavy, steel doors, the coldness of the metal searing at the soft and warmth of your flesh. Spy had almost fallen over twice now and you had barely walked 5 feet altogether. You sat him on the couch of the living room, watching as he seemed dazed about his whereabouts.

"Stay here, I'm going to grab you a glass of water," you gently told him. He seemed to get it, nodding his head slowly to answer you. You took a glass from the cupboards. The material felt heavy in your hands, as if no other cup had held as much weight as this one. The reality of the situation hit you. You would pick him up, bring him home, take care of him, make sure he was okay... but would he do the same for you? Would Spy, a trained assassin with over 20 years of experience, be able to get over himself to be tender with you—for you?

But if you're too drunk to drive.

You returned, handing him the glass. You watched as he clumsily brought it to his lips, getting more liquid on himself, rather than drinking it properly. Sighing, you opt to hold his head back, using a steady hand to aid him in drinking. It was almost silly, the sight. He was in his late 40s, struggling to do something as simple as take a sip of water.

And the music is right.

You hooked yourself around him again, this time escorting him to his quarters. You had to venture through his smoking room, a place you had come to resent since that night he pushed you out and away. You felt a painful ache as you watched the lone record player in the corner; The record player you would both listen to Paul Anka and Frank Sinatra on. You had reached the large, mahogany door that led to his sleeping arrangement, along with a personal bathroom that he had paid Miss Pauling under the table to implement.

She might let you stay.

You sat him on the silken linen of his bed, watching as he seemed to embrace the soft fabric of the sheets. You kneeled, taking his shoes off. And slowly but surely, you had gotten him down to just a pair of briefs. He seemed too buzzed to care, or, perhaps, this was an act of trueting you, otherwise you were sure this act would be filled with French protest and various other quips. You had folded his suit and put it away, sitting the dirty clothes on a near-by chair. You, gingerly, took a white wifebeater and a pair of red-striped pants and slid them over his thin body. You traced every scar the Respawn machine never seemed to fully mend, taking the time to admire how he turned and twisted beneath the tenderness of your hand.

But just for the night.

Lastly, you pulled at his mask. He seemed to have sobered up in milliseconds, a hand flying to grab your wrist. He didn't have a furrowed brow or anything scornful, but something that threw you off completely; Fear. He had been sober enough this whole time to realize what you were doing, sober enough to stop you if he wanted to, yet he didn't. You pawed at it, yet again, his grip loosening slightly. Spy lifted his head up, allowing you to pull it off with more ease. You gently tucked the fabric into the bedside table, where he kept a spare revolver just in case; 'The Ambassador', he called it.

And if she grabs for your hand.

You sat on the edge of the bed as he laid behind you. You turned slightly, your body facing him now. Reaching a hand up to place it against the bristles of his clean shaven face, you stroked at the aged skin. His cheek bones, high and defined, sat nicely against his long face. You gently trailed your fingers up to his forehead, subconsciously counting the wrinkles that had formed over the years. Your hands traced down the hook of his nose, sloping down fully until your fingers rested against his chapped lips, which were normally soft. You had both been uncharacteristically silent through this whole ordeal and it was apparent the reason why; You both knew what would happen. That dwindling spark that lasted for even months after was still there. You felt it and you know he did too.

And drags you along.

"Mon cœur—" he broke the silence, gaining your attention. "Every night, I regret it. I miss our talks, our secrets."

Immediately, you felt a wave of nausea and anxiety. He looked up at you, taking your hand from his face and holding it in his own boney one. He rubbed gentle circles across the back of your hand, squeezing your fingers slightly as if he were going to lose you if he let go.

She might want a kiss.

"What did I do wrong?" The way you said it broke his heart. Your voice shook with so much emotion, it could've rattled the Earth to its core. The way your eyes had grown glossy from approaching tears, your lip quivering slightly to hold back a waterfall of sobs.

"Nothing, ma petit chou. I was..." He hesitated. Still under the influence, he marched forward, vulnerable and, for the first time in years, nervous. "I was afraid."

Before the end of this song.

"I loved you, Spy. I love you, still." You blinked, a couple of tears spilling down your warm cheeks. He clicked his tongue, taking his free hand and wiping them away as he sat up to face you. He brought you closer, pulling you forward and resting your head upon his chest. His heart was beating fast and erratic, from nerves or liquor you couldn't tell.

Because love can burn like a cigarette.

"I... I love you too. Please, stay with me tonight." It sounded pathetic coming from him. But, yet, you slid your shoes off and you turned the lamp off. You laid against him, hearts thrumming in rythm as he finally drifted off into what was some of the heaviest sleep he'd ever had. You had gotten past those walls, once again. Thankful was an understatement for how you felt. You knew Spy was complicated, someone who couldn't allow slip-ups or complications, it could cost him as much as his life.

And when he awoke the next morning, groggy with a pounding headache, with you clutching onto him as if he would leave in the middle of the night, Spy knew he had done at least one thing right in his drunken stupor. All he hoped for, now, was your forgiveness.

And leave you alone with nothing,

And leave you alone with nothing.

#tf2 #team fortress two #tf2 x reader #tf2 fandom #spy tf2 #tf2 spy #tf2 spy x reader #spy tf2 x reader #x reader #i love tv girl if u couldn't tell #angst

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 5 months ago

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I’m reading John Ganz’s When the Clock Broke (which is outstanding btw) and there’s a passage he has about William H Parker (the chief of the LAPD during the Watts riots, and mentor to Daryl Gates, police chief during the Rodney King riots) that i think is fascinating and illustrative of why attempts to use ~facts and logic~ against reactionaries can be so ineffective:

In Parker’s opinion, any tool to maintain control and order was justified, including racial profiling. “At the present time, race, color, and creed are useful statistical and tactical devices…If persons of Mexican, Negro, or Anglo-Saxon ancestry, for some reason, contribute heavily to other forms of crime, police deployment must take that into account. From an ethnological point-of-view, Negro, Mexican, and Anglo-Saxon are unscientific breakdowns; they are a fiction. From a police point-of-view, they are useful fictions and should be used as long as they remain useful.”

although i cannot get an exact date on that quote (Ganz cites a recent book partly about Parker as his source and I do not have access to that book currently to cite their citation), it is worthwhile to note it had to have been said in 1966 or earlier, as Parker died in 1966. that would mean it was 20-ish years before that icon of “respectable conservative” thought, National Review, would uncritically publish a book review by Joe Sobran that called scientific arguments against the reality of race ridiculous, a view echoed by William F Buckley. Parker states in the 1960’s, significantly ahead of his political allies and even many of his enemies, the (obviously correct) view that race is an ethnological fiction– a social construct, if you will– but that had zero impact on his actions. These fictions are useful in maintaining hierarchies and the status quo, and thus will remain in place for as long as they serve those purposes.

The material reality of these things is less significant than their use and the worldview underpinning them; they need these things to be true, and so they must act upon them as if they are true regardless. Reminds me a great deal of Milton Friedman’s The Methodology of Positive Economics, or much of Leo Strauss. The maintenance or (re)introduction of hierarchy to social systems requires the maintenance or (re)introduction of structuring fictions and mythologies.

I don’t point out this right wing tendency toward a sort of solipsistic idealism to say that explications of material reality are useless; rather, it should not be a surprise that the reactionary will take and leave the world as it is whenever needed in order to maintain the world as they believe it should be, and any attempt to combat them that focuses primarily on debunking is often just punching smoke.

(The right are not the only ones who do this, of course, and ideology is necessary in one way or another to interpret anything politically, but I do find this specific prioritization of myth to be far more common and explicit in reactionary political theory)

all of you know that though so there’s no real point to this post. just talking out loud about a book i’m reading i guess

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g0tmilkx3 · 2 years ago

Text

FOOLISH

Things were normal after their breakup. Well normal for them.

Carmy doesn't have the balls to tell his family he and Syd broke up.

Warnings: MINORS DNI, Arguing, Angst, Past Relationship, Toxic Relationship, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Possessive Behavior, Unprotected Sex, Jealousy If You Squint, Alcoholism, Marijuana Mention

Divider: firefly-graphics.tumblr.com GIF: trainstationgoodbye.tumblr.com

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N:

I tried to remain as true to the characters as I could. That's why there's a toxic relationship tag. You and I both know what would happen if those two got together. The title is based on Foolish by Ashanti btw. Sorry in advance for any weird formatting. Tumblr is being weird but it's Posted on AO3 with the correct formatting.

The sun rose as it did any other day. When the birds sang and car horns cried to break up the melody, Sydney Adamu hustled to The Bear. Through the labyrinth she knew as Chicago she found a place that brought her relaxation and excitement. A place that raised her blood pressure while simultaneously bringing it down to a happy medium. She and her business partner slash idol (slash ex), worked tirelessly to curate the perfect dining experience. Well almost perfect. But, from Sydney's experience, they were near perfection.

A colorful knitted cap sat upon her head, her braids draped down below. With each stride, the blond tips would bounce against her back and shoulders creating a rhythm that stayed in tune with the music blaring from her AirPods.

°⋆ I’ve seen you with the lights off I’ve seen you and you think you love me I’ve seen you with your hat off I’m dreaming of a time you knew me ｡⋆

Wind swooshed around her, dirt twisted before her sending dust to scratch her eyes. Water tip-toed the rim of her lids.

°⋆ So baby, is it all you’ve got? Tell me if you got some more-ore I’m thinking of some time off, off. I’m dreaming of a time when you knew me ｡⋆

No matter how many times Chicago hurt her, she just couldn't leave. Brandished over her heart, a chain that anchored her to the city. A gold chain that she found hidden in a velvet box that was gifted to her by her ex-lover on her last birthday. Wearing it still felt stupid now, but she could never bring herself to remove it. Fleeting memories from her youth reminded her of who she once was. So strong-willed and outspoken.

°⋆ Some things never seem to fucking work ｡⋆

While she still retained much of her buoyant personality, it was becoming harder and harder to remain strong. Sanguine her lenses once were, now not so much.

“Eighty-six the foie gras chefs!” Carmy echoed, not taking his eyes off the sizzling slice of filet mignon in his skillet. He scooped up melted butter and herbs before pouring them over the scorching meat. A concentrated red stream of blood trailed down a crevice embedded in the meat.

“Yes, Chef!" The brigade echoed back, in a cultish chant.

"Eh, it was experimental anyways.” Syd shrugged continuing her prep of the day’s veggies.

Carmy chuckled sparing a glance at her as he plated what he'd just finished preparing. "And kind of illegal."

“Are we still eighty-six-ing the-“

“Rum cake? Yes, Marcus is out today and we just don't have the coverage” He cut a small piece off of the beef and neared Syd. His voice became small as he reached her bubble. "There's a surplus of prepped dessert he made last night."

“Marcus? Out?” She took the piece of steak Carmy held out for her into her mouth without missing a beat. An involuntary moan bubbled out of her throat. “You’re unreal,” She could swear a pink tint spread across his cheeks, but he turned away to grab the plated dish before she could examine it any further. “I was just talking to him last night, what’s up?”

“His mom.” Carmy stepped aside as each member of the kitchen staff stopped by to steal a piece of his latest dish. Their eyes remained connected despite the intrusion of the staff stepping in and out of their line of sight. “I didn’t ask too much he sounded bummed.”

“Fuck, I should talk to him.” She frowned down at her station finding that most of what she needed prepped was prepped. “T, I did the veggies can you please get on the broth?” She called while wiping down where she'd just been working.

“On it Jeff!” Tina got to work as Syd made her way to the back alley removing her blues on the way.

“Syd? I'll be right back Mom.” There was static breaking his voice up before he came through clearly. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey chef is everything alright? Carm was vague as usual…” Her eyes found the clear blue skies, there wasn't a cloud in sight. The expansive scape reminded her of his eyes. How he could convey so much to her in silence. So much goddamn information was stored in his eyes. Hidden away behind a sorrowful gaze that would forever follow Syd. His intense stare would probably follow her until the end of time. Those weren't eyes you so easily forgot.

It was a beautiful day, yes, but she had a hard time appreciating it. There was a jet gliding across the sky. She watched it ease across the pretty blue backdrop, leaving white exhaust behind it.

“Yeah my mom, she has a fever and a fever for you and me isn’t a big deal. But a fever for her…” He grumbled something she couldn't quite make out. Despite their distance, she could still feel the amount of stress he was under. He was her family. Everyone at The Bear was her family and each of them had unique relationships. “So I just decided to hold down the fort and make sure she’s doing all right.”

“Right, right” Syd turned just in time to see Carmy walking out the back door, cigarette in his mouth. Their eyes met briefly making her falter in her words.

“Still there, Syd?” Marcus asked as a timer buzzed in the distance.

“I am,” She turned away, ignoring the burn in her cheeks. “How about I come by after work and bring you what the fam had today?”

“You the one!” He graciously exclaimed. “I gotta go, but alright just call when you're on the way.”

“Peace.” She shoved her phone into her back pocket and whipped her head to find Carmy already looking at her. Pounding just beneath her ribcage, her heart inflated with anticipation. The hair trailing the nape of her neck stood on end as goosebumps rushed up her arms. Their space remained shrouded in silence. How much time had passed? Seconds to minutes, minutes to who knows. They were rarely one on one these days. It was easier to navigate the sludge they'd gotten themselves into when other people were around to break the tension up. She wanted to leave but her legs remained still. There was something hiding. Something waiting to come out. She just felt it. So she stayed, listening to the industrial sounds of the city. The jet was now long gone, but its roar still hummed quietly beneath it all.

Carm's cigarette smoke floated past her. She quirked an eyebrow at her business partner who huffed while shaking his head. He hands her a cigarette to her which she hesitantly took. Despite not being a smoker. They needed something to break the ice these days and it sucked. In the kitchen, it was like nothing ever happened. Like they never fell in love, like they never broke up, but outside of the kitchen? Forget about it.

“Just got off the phone with my mom.” He ran a hand through his hair making it impossibly messier. "You don't smoke." He deadpanned plucking the cigarette from behind her ear and putting it behind his.

“You seemed bummed, didn't want to make it awkward.” She hesitantly chuckled before quickly looking at her feet. “Must've been heavy, the conversation with your mom. I’ve never known my Carmy to stop prep an hour to open for a smoke break."

“Your Carmy.” He muttered under his breath, hiding it behind a chuckle. "Yeah, well she has that effect on me." He stomped his cigarette out, feeling traces of guilt. Syd was never too shy to tell him exactly how she felt about cigarette smoke. She didn't mind weed though.

"Meat delivery was wrong... again." She mentioned trying to find anything to continue their conversation.

"We gotta find another fucking vendor." He cracked his knuckles, now that his cigarette was gone he needed something else to satisfy his vice.

"We do. But the guys we work with now are reliable." The two shared a look. "Semi-reliable and cheap. So we're stuck with 'em."

Another stretch of uncomfortable silence followed. More avoidant glances. More shuffling.

If only he just said what he wanted, she thought to herself. If only he'd release her by simply saying what he needed to say. She wouldn't (no) she couldn't leave without finding out why those baby blues of his were so downcast so pleading and so, so broken. But Carmy was even more stubborn after their severance, they barely knew each other these days. But this felt huge. It felt big, she could feel it vibrating that invisible cord between them. Disturbing the constant hum they sustained, even after everything.

"What'd your mom say?" She finally let her curiosity win.

There it was. His eyes flashed with something akin to fear and his lips twitched. He fidgeted even more. He was always in motion. Moving, moving, moving. “She asked to meet you y’know?” He rubbed a hand down his mouth, slowly nodding his head. He stared out in front of him, at nothing in particular. But she could see his anxiety beginning to bleed into his irises. She could feel it too and god she'd do anything to make it stop.

“You didn’t tell her?” Her thoughts were interrupted by that revelation. For the first time in a long time, she stepped into his space and caught his gaze. “Carmy it’s been weeks.” She stopped short. "No, months! Like two whole months!"

"Almost two months." He corrected earning him one of Syd's signature eye rolls. “I know, I know.” He sighed trying to drop her big brown eyes but it was proving impossible. Each time he'd find the ground or a spot just past her shoulder their shared magnetism would beg his attention. Forcing him to bare his soul. “Look, only the crew knows. Richie just got back from vacation and I guess I just never see Sugar enough to mention it."

Carmy was still in denial that he and Syd had reached an end before Richie left. He spent the early days in a dreamlike state, hoping that he'd blink and everything would be back to normal. That he'd wake up and everything wasn't on fire and she'd look at him with the love she used to and not the resentment that now replaced it. Once he came to terms with it, Richie was gone and Sugar was far too busy to stop by, with the fresh addition to the family and all. The staff noticed but they didn't say anything. He wasn't going to say anything either. Tina realized what occurred when she saw their mirrored shame. Eyes avoidant and chemistry nonexistent. The family felt their disconnect as it trickled down to each and every one of them. Ebra was the first to slice the tension one day after closing.

"Tensions heavy." He called from a far corner of the kitchen, after a painful bout of awkward silence. "Trouble in paradise?"

Carmy's eyes met hers as she hesitantly dragged her gaze to him. If they told them it'd make it official. It'd make it real. Fuck him if he didn't want this shit to be the worst nightmare of his life. His throat was dry when she looked around the room. His heart pounded when she clasped her hands together and uttered the revealing truth.

"Me and Carm have decided to keep our relationship strictly professional for the betterment of the business." She sagged her shoulders. "Happy? Now come on let's get it chefs, we all wanna get home right?" She didn't look back at Carmy as she grabbed her cleaning utensils and escaped to the walk-in.

"Chef!" They called behind her. Tina's frown followed Carmy as he entered the walk-in behind Syd.

"Really?" He complained angrily. "Wh-wh-what are you doing? Why are you doing this to me?" His eyes searched hers. "That's how you choose to do it, Syd?"

"How the fuck else were we going to tell them? Sit them down one by one in our office. 'Oh yeah, your bosses aren't fucking each other anymore. Prepare your stations for a walk thru', that's real professional!"

He raised his voice, frustration boiling over. His face was hot with a thin sheen of sweat over it. The cool air of the walk-in did nothing to help. It only made it harder to breathe. Her angry eyes only made his breath shorter. "Anything but that!"

She sighed taking note of his erratic breathing. Once upon a time, she was the one that'd calm him down, now she was the source of his worries. How quickly the fucking tides change.

"Look, Carm I'm sorry." She avoided rubbing her closed fist over her chest. It felt wrong now. "I didn't mean for it to be messy, but we've been tiptoeing around each other for weeks they were bound to find out."

She brushed past him exiting their bubble. The eyes of the staff greeted her plunging her back into reality.

"Do you guys want a picture? A straight-to-DVD recording? Or what." She deadpanned before shouting. "Let's go!" She stormed to her station finishing her tasks.

This all happened after Richie left, a few weeks back. It wasn't like Carmy to just go and call up Richie during his time off. Call him for what? To give him the good news? Carmy didn't want to bother him with something so trivial and high school. "I haven't had the time to tell my family about us. Sugar took it upon herself to tell Mom about our first anniversary coming up and now… now she wants to meet you.”

Her eyes narrowed in skepticism.

Okay, so he wasn't being entirely truthful and he's pretty sure she knew it. He intentionally hadn't told anybody. He didn't want to. It'd make it feel too final. He and Syd breaking up just didn't sit right with him and he wasn't sure if it ever would. Sydney, however, didn't have a problem telling whoever. She was taking their breakup like a champ.

She frowned contemplating exactly how they got to this point. It began how any work romance started. Fleeting glances and red cheeks. Accidental touches that soon lingered. One too many hangouts that lasted way too long. One too many drinks led to a passionate and intense hookup. Then the inevitable downfall. Too much time spent with one another. Going to work and seeing each other, going home and seeing each other, seeing the best but the worst in each other. Uneven work distribution eventually began interfering with their personal relationship. They thought they could work through it, that was until it started affecting the workplace and their dynamic. One too many complaints from the staff of a hostile work environment and that was it. One of them just had to stop it. It was Syd who called it quits first, she knew Carmy would drag his feet and draw it out for a lot longer than it needed to be. Carmy didn’t have the energy to beg her to stay but his eyes said it all. She thought they fell back into step. Back to a neutral place, nothing deeper than coworkers. But every now and then they’d catch each other’s eyes or he’d get just a little too close to her and it was all so real again. But they knew better than to go back there.

“We were together for less than a year-“

“I’ve never been with anybody for a year…” He interjected in a matter-of-fact tone. “Sorry, my family they just, they’re happy that I found someone to put up with me. It's sort of a big deal for them." It would've been a big deal for him too if only they'd actually made it a year. "God they’re gonna have a good laugh when I show up to dinner alone.”

Syd frowned looking back up at the sky. “My point is, I don’t think it should be this hard for us. You know disconnecting from each other….”

“We’re business partners.” He lamented. “We disconnect The Bear fails.”

“This place is never going to fail.” She shakes her head looking back down at him.

“I don't know Syd. Everything I touch...” He looks at her with a familiar echo of fear in his eyes. “Everything I touch fails.”

She watched him crack his knuckles, hands shaky, before walking back inside leaving her with her thoughts.

As promised after closing Syd made her way to her best friends' house with enough food for three.

"From what I've seen, that family is unwell." Marcus lightly jests. "I mean if Mikey is any indicator..." He widens his eyes trying to convey just how hectic the Berzattos were.

"Trust me Marcus I know." She sips her third glass of wine of the night. "I just wish I didn't care so much!"

"Carmy was your best friend once upon a time," He reminded, ignoring her eye roll. "Roll your eyes all you want sis. You two dated for a year, it's normal to still care about him a little bit."

Too bad she cared about him a lot. Maybe too much. "Yes, but enough to be his girlfriend for one more night just so his family doesn't rip into him?"

"I mean," He shrugs. "It seems."

"It'd be a bad idea right?" More semi-expensive wine slid down her throat. "It'd be bonkers to go along with this, especially after the whole ordeal."

She was referring to her 4 weeks of crying on Marcus' couch, in sweats post-break-up. She was always sure to clean up nice and put on a smile when she went to work, but Marcus was there through the worst of it. He'd never seen her look so small, so vulnerable as she did the first few weeks after they called it quits. She'd lay her head in his lap and cry and cry until she fell asleep. When she wasn't crying she was talking about what she could've done, what he could've done. Which led to anger and then to the inevitable crying. She'd spend the mornings before work throwing up, it only just stopped a couple of weeks ago.

"Look, I don't want you going through that again. But you seem to really want to help out Carm and what's one night?" He poured her more red wine. "You're over him right?"

She gulps down her wine instead of answering. Maybe it was the wine but she could feel water gathering in her eyes. The air conditioning blew past her cooling the tears and making them all the more real. She shook her head, annoyed with herself for crying over him, STILL.

"Fuck! I'm sorry." Marcus rushed to her side and pulled her into a hug.

"No, no it's" She laughs through her tears as she wipes the fresh ones away. "It's the wine I promise."

"I'm still sorry for you know asking that." He replied. "Especially this early on."

"It's okay, friend.” She shakes her head and sniffles as she pulls away. "It's been some months, I should be able to talk about our," relationship. "situation without crying like a little bitch."

"I don't think there's a time limit on getting over someone you loved." He replies sincerely ignoring her previous self-dig. "And if you ask me two months isn't enough time to get over anything."

"Almost two months and good thing I didn't ask you." She teased, tugging on her coat. "I gotta dip but thanks for this."

"Do you know what you're gonna do?" He follows her to the door noticing the stumble in her step. “You can stay the night if you want.”

She leans slightly to the left, eyes hooded. Her face crumbled with each passing second, the tough facade tumbling down. “I’ve decided what I’m gonna do.” She drops her shoulders. "Have an extra pair of sweats waiting though."

"Yes, Chef." He salutes weakly as a worried frown grew on his face. Watching her struggle to slip back into her Crocs helped him make up his mind. “Okay buddy you’re sleeping on my couch, come on.” He easily guided her back to the couch.

”Grab the sweats!” She shouts behind Marcus as she laid back on the cushioned surface.

“When is it?” Her words were hushed but clear. 3 o'clock on the dot had arrived and sleep evaded her still. She tossed and turn until her phone was in her hand and his number was being dialed. It was now or never. There was no way she was going to do this sober.

Of course, he’d pick up, the insomniac. “What?” He held his phone against his shoulder as he stirred his boiling ramen.

“The-the thing." She supplies, although with no explanation her words were useless.

"Syd, I don't-"

"When am I meeting your family, who isn’t Sugar.” She explains. "The dinner."

"Ah, I get it now." He stops what he was doing and turns away from the stove taking his phone into his hand. "You're drunk."

"Okay and?" She scoffs, "Look Carm, I decided that I'll lend you a hand now so later when I need a recommendation you'll help me."

"I'd help you, either way, Chef."

"I bet." She blew a raspberry. "So, when is it, big guy?"

"When is what?" He shot back.

"Carmy" She whines his name the way she used to. It made his heart pound and a smile spread across his face. It made his conscious mind melt away, replacing his thoughts with Syd, Syd, Syd.

It made him feel vulnerable and his voice got all soft and mushy, he'd feel embarrassed if he didn't enjoy how she made him feel so much. So, with a tone only reserved for her, he made her a promise. "Sunday night, 6. I'll swing by yours on the way."

"It's a date!” She says without thinking twice. “Or no it's not a date!"

"Drink some water and get some sleep Syd." He tutted fondly as he silently wondered when the urge to take care of her would go away. "I'll bring you some soup in the morning."

Before she could respond the dial tone interrupted her thoughts. "Asshole." She muttered affectionately before tossing her phone on the coffee table and nodding off to sleep.

True to his word the next morning he handed her a warm Tupperware container filled with his signature hangover soup. They both managed to show up before any of the other staff did. Despite sleeping over at Marcus' she managed to get up by five so she could go home, change, then hustle to The Bear.

“Did you-“

“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head. “Syd come on I know you’re allergic to sesame seeds."

She shrugs chuckling to herself as she uncovered the warm cloudy liquid. The aroma wafted past her reminding her why she trusted Carmy so much with her career trajectory. "We can all be victims of forgetfulness."

"I'd never forget something like that." His words were heavy. Weighted with what they both knew but didn't want to say.

Instead of a day filled with a familiar waltz the ex-lovers shared, their routine was filled with affliction. Damaging the very foundations of what helped the kitchen run so smoothly.

"You two are weird," Richie whispered to Carmy during their cigarette break. "Did uh something happen? You two aren't you know... tweedle dee and tweedle dum-ing it today."

"We uh we-we..." He breathed wanting so desperately to tell him exactly what was going on but he couldn't. The staff obviously hadn't shared the latest gossip with him and Carmy was grateful for the rush that kept them busy for much of the day. After tonight he would but not now. "Just nervous about tonight."

"Listen I already spoke with Donna, it's gonna be small just us. We're only popping open two bottles of wine."

"It's not the wine I'm worried about it's, it's." He pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. Weary of the conversation already. "I never wanted to mix Syd in with that side of the family, of me. What if she sees mom and what she does to me and she-she just leaves" He lets all of the air he'd been holding out. "What if she decides this place isn't worth it" that I'm not worth it "and she leaves for good?"

"Carmy, you're so much of a know-it-all prick I sometimes forget that you have no experience with women." He laughs then took a long drag from his cigarette. As if Carmy's dumbfounded expression alone stressed him out. "What the fuck are you talkin' about?"

"You're not listening cousin-"

"I am. Syd isn't going to up and leave you after meeting your shitty mom- no offense." He redundantly remarks. "If she was gonna leave she would've a long time ago. The girl loves you."

"I don't know...she, we-we arent-" The confession tasted bitter in his throat, the words were on the tip of his tongue when Richie interrupted him.

"She does, every relationship has its rough patch. Some last longer than others." He muttered, blinking away the memory of his once happy family. "She's nervous too according to Sugar."

"Really?" The hopefulness in his voice made Richie scoff at his naive cousin.

"Yeah, Syd's been asking her advice and shit about what she should wear and what Donna's favorite color is. The works."

Carmy exhaled feeling the tightening in his chest decompress. "You sure?" The hopeful lilt in his voice made his cheeks burn, but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

"Yeah kid, really" He blew a raspberry. "God I hope I'm never as gone as the two of you. Just foolish." He muttered the ladder part of his sentence to himself.

“A dress?” He tries not to let his eyes linger on her long legs, the same legs that wrapped around him night after night, but he failed. He noticed her outfit choice when he picked her up, but it took a while for him to muster up the courage to say something about it.

“I wanted to wear something different.” She tugged at the hem. “Too short? You know I'm not a dress person.”

“No, no” He finally left her legs and met her eyes. “You look perfect.”

“Bear!” His mom swings the door open and pulled him into a hug, tears already kissing her eyes. “You look so handsome, and you combed your hair?” She teased tugging at a strand. She turns to Syd, tears welling up once again. “And look at you.” She holds her hand eyeing her up and down. “Carmy goes on and on about those pretty brown eyes of yours but he did not do them justice.” She pulls Syd into a hug as Carmen darts his eyes around looking for an escape route.

"I brought you flowers." She hands the Berzatto matriarch a purple assortment of flowers.

"Wow," She eyed the bouquet admiring the color. “Oh Bear, she’s,” Donna shakes her head. “She’s gorgeous, your babies are going to be just beautiful” She turned away and entered the bustling house before he could speak. The soft sounds of Frank Sinatra drifted past their ears as the door swayed behind her.

“Sorry,” He quietly winces.

"Don't apologize," Syd hesitantly intertwines her fingers with his. "That's what any mom would say to her son and his girlfriend, remember?" She raised an eyebrow.

Carmy let a shaky breath go, gently wiggling his fingers in an attempt to calm his nerves. "Right, I just. I think I need a second outside."

Syd frowned before tugging the door closed and turning towards her counterpart. Her hands rested on his sweater-clad shoulders, forcing him to direct his full attention to her.

"Carm, just relax. It's just a dinner, we can leave whenever you want." She frowned when he shook his head, eyes blinking rapidly.

"M-my family, my mom. Everything is fucked... you-you see what happened with-" He couldn't say Mikey's name right now. It'd break him and he wasn't going to cry in front of Syd. She probably already thinks so lowly of him, after everything he put her through. He still felt indebted to her. "And I just don't want you mixed up in that."

"Well, good news! I'm black and I like to mind my business so we're golden. Now let's go inside, it's getting chilly." Carmy surprised himself with laughter making Syd crack a prideful smile. She grabbed his hand once more finding it a lot less shaky.

The dining room table was grand, littered with masterfully prepared dishes. The gift of cooking obviously ran in the family. Each of them took their place at the table. Syd's eyes trailed the room, beginning at the head of the table and moving counterclockwise. There was Donna who was on her third glass of whiskey followed by Sugar. Sugar's eyes were worried as she looked at her husband, Peter, who held their new addition in his lap. Next to Peter was Carmy who hadn't looked up from his plate yet. At the end directly across from Donna sat Sydney. She was a natural against the brut energy Donna gave off. Across from Carmy sat Richie who was going on and on about some MMA fight, his mouth filled with pasta. Sydney commented on it twice in disgust. Following Richie was Fak who wasn't invited but heard about the dinner and just decided to show up with some girl who seemed to mirror his energy.

Things continued smoothly as time lazily dragged behind them. The much-awaited grand finale usually took place during dessert. Donna was soon to amass their attention. Carmy braced himself as they all dug into their desserts. A nervous glance was shared between him and Natalie.

The lack of conversation could be heard. Silence in the Berzatto house was always so, so loud. The Berzattos were not quiet people, even Sydney knew nothing good lay ahead.

"So Sydney!" Donna began fondly, now beginning to consume her seventh glass of alcohol. She'd begun mixing brown and white two cups ago. "I want to know more about you, who is Chef Sydney the girl who stole our Bear's heart, and put up with him for a whole year!"

She could feel the shift in Carmy's energy, which naturally threw hers off but she quickly recovered.

"I'm from here, erm Chicago. And I've loved cooking since I can remember." She gives the blond woman a tight-lipped grin.

"Short, sweet, and to the point!" Donna chuckled, loudly. It went on for a second too long. "You gotta tell me, what's your secret for dealing with a basketcase like Carmy Berzatto? Because I tell you.."

An awkward silence descended down the table until it reached Sydney, who brushed it off easily. She glanced at Carmy, his eyes avoided hers as discontentment filled them. Upon closer inspection, she could see anger beginning to turn his face red. "Actually, it's been pretty easy." They matched eyes before she confidently turned to Donna. "He's an amazing person. He's attentive and caring he always takes time to listen and he's a big softie beneath all of that... machismo" She teased. lightly. "I've never worked with a chef so dedicated. So gifted-"

"Gifted?" Donna quirked a brow, almost mockingly.

"He cooks like... like nothing I've ever seen before, well 'tasted' before. I don't think he's ever made a bad dish in his life. It's what made me fall in love with him." His smile was small but present. It was reserved, only for her to see.

'You mean that?' He just barely tilted his chin.

'I've got you.' She gently nods once.

“Our big successful chef.” Donna interrupted their silent discussion. Sydney turned to her as her smile morphed into an unwelcoming snarl. Where fondness slept envy roared alive. “Too big to come and say hi to his mama bear.” Her fork clanked against her plate. The sound was reminiscent of swords being drawn, ready to head into battle.

”Hey, Donna could you tell me the tiramisu recipe?” Richie attempted to steer her attention away. "It's good as hell! Fak pass me the dish-"

”Ask bear!” She grinned at him. “It’s Mikey’s recipe the one he came up with alongside Carm!”

The table sat still, each head hesitantly turning towards Carmy. Richie found the table while Sugar attentively examined Donna. Peter examined Sugar, their babbling baby in his arms blissfully unaware of the building tensions. Sydney didn’t know why but Carmy looked so small. Not like himself. Her hand reached for his under the table, his touch made her shiver. Slowly, she pulled his hand to rest in her lap, cupped within hers. She placed her other hand above his cocooning his hand in her warmth and protection.

He sighed deeply as he looked into Sydney’s encouraging brown eyes. He remained looking at her as he spoke. “Mikey loved using half heavy cream half coconut cream. We figured it out one day when we didn’t have enough heavy cream," He finally gathered the strength to face his mother. "It came out perfect and we never changed.” Appreciative sounds filtered around the table.

“Oh, Carm.” Donna's laugh grew until it drowned out the room's quiet chattering. Her laugh dangerously teetered towards the sound of crying. The longer it went on the more Syd questioned if she was actually laughing or crying. Donna's hair covered her face and her hands trembled as she vibrated with sarcastic joy. “You are so special!” She clasped her hands together sending an echo around the room. “So special that you missed your own brother's funeral!” Her throat churned out louder and louder gurgling laughter until she fell into a coughing fit.

"Here Mom let's drink some water." Sugar handed her the cup of water Donna refused to touch all night.

"I don't need water!" The liquid splashed Natalie's legs as it fell to the ground under Donna's hand. "Go be useful and start the dishes!" She waved her hand behind her, not bothering to spare Sugar a passing glance.

Carmy exited the table, escaping from the world he so desperately wanted to leave. Donna was none the wiser, the alcohol content in her blood had exceeded normal levels and only her words were important in this moment. Each face surrounding the table was shadowed by the light of her vigor. Her stage was set and she was not going to let the moment pass without earning a standing ovation. Sydney turned to Sugar who darted her eyes in the direction Carmy went, silently telling her to follow. Which she did.

He sat on the steps of the house face buried in his hands. Without looking up he stuttered out. "P-please just leave, you shouldn't" He shook his head looking out at the street in front of him. "I never wanted you involved with this part of my life. Now you see why."

"Carmy." She slowly squeezed next to him, gently grasping his shaking hands almost instantly stilling them. "You are not your mother." She ducked her head catching his red eyes. His lashes were wet and his face flushed. "You're you, you're one of the best chefs at the best restaurant in Chicago if you ask me."

That earned her a chuckle, which she enjoyed. Warmth radiated through her chest when he grinned at her, despite his tears.

"How do you always know what to say?" He knocked her knee with his.

"Because, Chef, you're my Executive Chef I'm supposed to know you inside and out."

That seemed to sober him up and dry his tears. He'd forgotten that they weren't where they used to be. Not at all. Still, the words she used to effectively end their ten-month relationship replayed in his mind when he'd sit alone with his thoughts for too long.

"I think we just need to set some boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He repeated incredulously, tilting his head. "What do you even mean by that Syd?"

"We can't be together and run The Bear together, it's not working."

"Syd, you sound-"

"I sound what Carmen?" She narrowed her eyes challenging him.

"Afraid." He replied honestly. "You're just afraid, but that's okay because I am too." His hands wrapped around hers, pulling her closer to him with a gentle tug. Brown and blue watched each other, their noses brushed. His lips ghosted across hers and they tingled at the feeling. She was feet away from him when he blinked again, pulled from the haze they often created when in close proximity to one another.

"I'll clean out my drawer tonight." She left out the door before he could argue. He watched her go. That was all he could do. She left him, his lover, his soulmate, the one thing he thought he'd gotten right... she left him.

"Earth to Carmy." She snapped her fingers pulling back his focus. "Dude you gotta stop staring at me like that." She teased but he saw her throat move alongside a nervous gulp.

"Sorry, I just..." He shrugged. "I'm just happy that you're in my life still after" He waved his hand. "After everything. You're the only sure thing I have."

These were the times Sydney felt her defenses were down. That all of the hard work she put in to get over him was simply a farce. A mask she wore to avoid the deep-cutting pain that their separation left her with. He just had to look at her, sick those intense eyes on her and she was suspended in his delicate grasp. He was saying so much. Professing his love, apologizing for whatever, begging her to come back. She felt it all, she read it all just from a simple gaze. She hadn't realized her eyes had fallen closed until his nose brushed up against hers, and her lungs sucked air in begging for the burning to stop. She could feel gentle bursts of air tickling her glossy lips and he'd begun to feel a hint of stickiness rubbing against his.

"Carmen!" Donna burst through the door ruining what they'd just created. The rest of the dinner table was in tow. Their faces were worried, they'd obviously been trying to talk her out of going outside. But Donna was a Berzatto and you didn't tell a Berzatto what to do. "I just came to apologize." She stumbled forward as Carmy stood to his feet to catch her. "I ruin everything." She sniffled, mascara-dyed tears trailing her face. "I'm sorry Sydney." She turned to the stunned girl, nearing her to pull her into a hug but Carmy grasped his mothers' arm pulling her back.

"Let's go to bed ma." He began leading her back inside without another word.

Syd watched them go, feeling pangs of sadness in her chest as Carmy and Richie helped her to bed.

"Claire said she was sober the last time she came to dinner." Fak's friend, Kelly, whispered her statement to Fak but Sydney heard. Sugar knew that Sydney heard because her eyes widened along with hers.

"Wait, Claire? As in Carmy's ex-whatever?" Syd questioned as her brow twitched, the warmth that spread across her face was due to something other than nervousness now.

"I feel like I said something I shouldn't 've." Kelly's eyes widened as they bounced between each of them. She awkwardly cleared her throat before slowly turning away and walking back to the dining room.

"Hold on, come back-" Sydney started to follow her but Natalie stopped her.

"A few weeks back Carmy brought Claire to dinner," She informed her before quickly adding, "He said it was innocent and they just randomly ran into each other."

She shouldn't care. She really shouldn't. They weren't together anymore and this was all fake. He had his own life and he was obviously living it. She had her own life and she had to start living it sooner or later. It's her fault for thinking highly of a man with deep-seated mommy issues anyway.

"It's fine." She pressed her lips together in a thin line. If Sugar was Carmy she'd be poking and prodding her for additional information. She'd see right through her mystique and ask what the fuck was up. But Sugar was not Carmy, she accepted Syd's answer and went back to the dining room.

The man of the hour walked back in, his face drained of energy. Richie patted his back before leaving for the living room. She wanted to be angry at him, but fuck he still held the key to her heart and he refused to return it. The fucker.

"Let'g go." He said just above a whisper and they went.

The car ride was quiet, aside from Carmy's outdated radio that played early 2000s pop through static. It wasn't until he pulled up to her house that the silence was sliced open.

"Okay, what is it?" He shifted gears and turned to her.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She crossed her arms. He kept secrets she could keep secrets too.

"Sydney..." He huffed. "Please, just tell me, it's been a long day."

"Fak's friend said that Claire was at dinner with you and your family a few weeks ago?"

He paused pursing his lips. "Yeah, we uh ran into each other and-and she's a family friend so" He shrugged.

"Right, right" Sydney slowly nodded, her patience was running thinner by the second. "So, just a silly question!"

Carmy braced preparing himself. "What's up?"

"Why didn't you just bring her to dinner? I could've fucked off and spent my night with someone else. With Marcus or-"

"Marcus?" He cut her off. "What is it, are you two together or something? I've noticed how close you two have gotten." He challenged. "Funnily enough it was right after you left me."

"That's none of your business Carm!" She rolled her eyes, deciding to not dignify his accusation with a response. "I'm just saying, next time bother her with your odd jobs. I'm sure she's great at jobs!"

“Look nobody twisted your arm, okay?” He ignored her crude joke, voice raising only slightly. But in the tight space of his car, the smallest inflection made all the difference. He knows better than to raise his voice at her. “You willingly came."

“You might as well have twisted my arm! You put on that forlorn face. The one that makes you look like a wounded puppy-“

“Nice” He scoffs. “Really nice. Look just go, get out of my car.” He reached across her and opened the door. Her perfume clogged his nose and all he could do was think about how angry the smell made him. How she took it away and dangled it above him day in and day out. How she didn't even leave so much as a t-shirt with her lingering scent. One he could press against his face and inhale on the nights he missed her the most. He couldn't stop thinking about how someone else was enjoying her scent instead of him. How someone else got to see her more than him and listen to her ramble on and on about cooking and anything else that popped into her head. He couldn't help but feel bitter, it should be him.

“Yeah, whatever” She slams his door and rushes towards her apartment. On days like these, she wished her dad was behind the door waiting for her with his comforting smile. Ready to soothe whatever ill feelings she was experiencing. But when she unlocked her door she was met with darkness and silence. She was alone.

She’d just taken her shoes off and thrown her purse on the kitchen island when she felt a shift in energy. The air was thick and a creek sounded from the front of the apartment. He sighed heavily, it emanated from the cracks in the door. He knocks softly as if he didn’t want her to hear.

She stared at the partition, internally debating on what she should do. Perhaps if she stood as still as a statue, he’d surmise she was in the shower or didn’t hear him and leave.

“Come on Syd I know you’re there.” His thick accent made his words stick together.

“Weirdo.” She muttered sauntering to the door and swinging it open. Ugh, there goes those eyes again.

“I heard that” He brushed past her and into the dimly lit apartment. “Look, I-“ He shakes his head, placing a closed fist over his chest. They hadn’t done it in a while. It felt way too intimate after their breakup. But drastic times called for drastic measures. He must've known how easily that'd make her turn to mush. “I’m sorry. Sorry I yelled and guilted you into coming to dinner and for being shitty in the car-“

“Woah woah woah slow down Carm” She meets him further in her home, clicking on a soft light. The golden glow created a halo above his head. “You call that yelling? I’ve endured much worse from you.”

“Unfucking believable! “ He throws his hands in defeat. “Can’t you just be quiet for like 10 seconds while I apologize? “

“Oh, this is an apology“ She points to nothing in particular. “It's great Carm, keep going!” He released a heavy sigh through his nose. Her brown eyes reflected the light and softened her hard gaze. Her deep skin glistened under the low lighting making her appear enchanted. Like something out of a Renaissance painting.

“God, you’re insufferable and stubborn." How could someone so breathtaking get under his skin like this?

She ignored the clarifying beauty he naturally possessed, nothing was going to distract her from what she needed to say. “You’re neurotic and have anger issues! Maybe take a therapist to dinner next time.“

“I wish I never fucking hired you!” He yells.

“I regret ever walking into that shithole!” She fires back.

He breathes taking in the gravity of her words. “So, that’s really how you feel?”

She ignores his inquiry because no she doesn’t feel that way. She counts the day she walked into The Beef as one of the best things that ever happened to her. But he didn’t need to know that. “Look I was waiting for the right time to tell you but," She takes a deep breath, preparing herself. "I’m leaving.”

“What? The Bear?” He felt like he’d just been gut-punched “I don't understand. You can’t leave?”

“I’m leaving, Carmen.” She stands her ground, on trembling legs, but she still stood her ground.

He blinked a few times feeling tremors of anxiety climbing his arms. “W-when?”

“Next month.” Her voice cracked. "I was offered a great position in LA and I'm staging there soon. Look, I've been scouting CDC's and I found a reliable one. He's hard-working and... Carm?"

He hadn't realized he was shaking until she gently touched his forearm. He jumped away as if her touch burned him. Their uneven breathing filled the room with sound. The distant sounds of cicadas screamed outside and the air conditioning clicked on before she decided to continue speaking. “Carm say something?”

“You can’t leave.” He repeats which made Sydney rolls her eyes.

“I thought once upon a time that I’d never leave. That you… that we’d have The Bear as our baby forever but,” She blinks back tears, she’d die before he’d get to see her cry. “Things change and people change. Plus you just said you wish you never hired me."

“So this is it?” He mutters giving her those pleading eyes again. “That’s just it for us?”

“Yeah,” She slowly nods, brushing her hand over his. No matter what went on between them they seemed to have a force between them. Pulling them closer and closer without either realizing it. "This is it, I'll be out of your hair in a month.

“This can’t be it, Chef,” He says mere inches from her face. His eyes trail to her lips that sat waiting for him. “Look, I-I need you.” She could only gulp feeling the intensity of the situation set in. After their breakup things were sore for a while but they had lives to live. They never had a chance to double back, to have one last hoorah before lights out. "Sydney. I thank god every day that you walked into The Beef and accepted that position. I don't want you out of my hair."

“You don’t need me-“

“I do need you.”

"The Bear was always yours."

"It's ours. I can't imagine sharing it- this, with anybody else. Sydney." He slightly shook his head. "Don't do this, baby."

Maybe it’d undo all of the work they put into trying to hate each other. Trying to forget about the other's touch or the feeling of their lips on each other. But they could no longer deny what they wanted to do so badly. His hands still felt right around her, pulling her closer. His lips still fit perfectly against hers. She still loved to jump up into his muscular arms and wrap her legs around him. He preened at the feeling of her back in his arms like this, kissing him like nothing ever happened. She sunk into the soft foam of her bed as he laid her back and proceeded to climb over her. His mouth hovered over hers, hesitantly he opened his eyes in an effort to read her. The girl who stole his heart (and one day his last name) was still so hard to read. But at this moment she was open her eyes were honest. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Carnally. His yearning was near animalistic at this point. Not being able to kiss her and taste her for seven and a half weeks was making him go crazy, but here she was. His fix, waiting for him to make the next move.

"Syd, I...I don't want this to be just sex." He confessed. "I want you back. I'll do anything, I'll change anything. Just please, don't leave me." Her brown eyes flashed with something he couldn't put his finger on but her smile made his heart flutter. Her hand was soft as it gently ran over his ear and neck, despite the burns and cuts she endured over the years. He recalled her once saying shea butter kept her hands soft. She always smelled of it and this time was no different.

"Let's just enjoy this, yeah?" She leaned up kissing him as her arms pulled him against her body. His mind yelled at him to stop talking and enjoy the moment, but how could he if she was just going to walk right out of his life after?

They touched and kissed and rubbed against each other until Syd found herself on top of him. Her heat pressed against the stiffness that pressed against his jeans. Her sounds were intoxicating when his hands gripped her hips and controlled the speed of her gyrations. Over and over again she ground against him chasing sweet pleasure. He could stay like this forever. They both knew that. He never came in his boxers until she walked into his life and sat in his lap. She pulled away, desire in her eyes as she worked to open his jeans.

"Boles de Picolat." She says as her warm hand wrapped around him and began moving up and down.

"Fuck" He groaned. "Are you seriously thinking about the menu, now?" He panted already seeing spots. He hadn't had sex or even masturbated after their breakup, so he was embarrassingly close to coming from less than ten strokes of her hand.

She slinked down his body and made him curse god as her warm mouth sucked him in. His eyes rolled when his leaking tip pressed against the back of her throat. Her velvety smooth mouth swallowed him down as her throat gagged from the spurts of come dripping out of him. "Sorrysorrysorry" He wasn't sorry. His hips twitched as she continued worshiping him, he was still hard and ready to feel her all over.

"I didn't want to forget." She giggled innocently, his dick still twitching in her hand which made Carmy feel all types of hot. He gently grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him so he could kiss her. He tasted the saltiness of his release lingering on her tongue, but he didn't mind. "Also don't apologize. The point is to come." She yelped when he rolled them over. His shirt was the first to go followed by her cardigan. Her dress came off as he leaned back down to kiss that adorable smile off of her face.

"How many?" He questioned as he kissed down her body. He could smell her arousal mixing with the mango and vanilla of her perfume. He kissed her clothed valley, feeling just how turned on she was through the lacey fabric.

"How many what?" She questioned.

"How many times do you think I can make you come?" He used his finger to push her panties aside so he can finally taste her. He moaned like a little bitch when her tangy cream melted on his tongue.

She whimpered, trying her hardest to keep her legs open but it was becoming harder with each pass of his tongue. Her thighs were pressing against his ears, vibrating in no time.

Like the ocean kissing the shore, he rolled his tongue over her swollen bud relishing in the high pitch sounds mewling from her mouth. He loved her like this. She walked around The Bear like she was the toughest thing out of Chicago. Never taking time to relax and rest. But Carmy knew just how to sedate her. He knew how to turn her brain to mush so she had no choice but to relax under him. He hadn't realized he'd forgotten to remove his rings until his fingers were knuckles deep inside of her, but by the volume of her moans, she didn't mind. She constricted his fingers as he pressed over and over against that sweet spot within her. He pulled back to observe at her pulsating entrance mesmerized at the beauty of her body. God why the fuck was he jealous of his own fingers. Her hips jerked and her cunt pulsated rapidly as her first orgasm washed over her.

She didn't have time to fully recover. When she blinked he was lining himself up at her entrance, his red, leaking tip rubbing her over throbbing clit.

"Carmy,-" She began, tone unreadable. As it usually was. She was always so worried. He cut her off by shoving his fingers soiled with her pleasure into her mouth. She deserved to experience how good she tasted.

"Sh, just enjoy it." He slowly pressed into her loving the dazed look that overtook her face. She nodded obeying his command as he began gaining pace. He removed his fingers when she moaned filthily head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Fuckfuckfuck" She breathed already feeling another orgasm climbing her body. His pace accelerated pulling her leg a bit higher on his hip so he could fuck her through her second orgasm.

"That's it" He encouraged against the shell of her ear. "Let go, love." His groan matched hers as she squeezed him, writhing through another orgasm. Her moans were growing louder and louder as he continued fucking into her at the same pace. Her thighs were touching her belly now as his hands held her legs up. A simple glance down at his hands commanding her body made her sensitive rose throb with pleasure. "Again, already?" He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Fuck you-" Her words were cut off when he adjusted his angle and found some hidden button that made her words slur into unintelligible stuttering. He grinned watching her let go again, this time pushing him closer to the edge.

"You're so beautiful" He panted feeling his orgasm creep up his body. "You're my beautiful- fuck- my beautiful girl, all mine." He let an embarrassing noise echo through the room as he released long white stripes inside of her. She met his thrusts wanting to draw his orgasm out as long as possible. His throat was raw as he gulped down air trying to regain his composure but tremors of his release were still running through his body like an electrical current.

Later that evening they lay beside one another in her bed. She rested against his chest and he inhaled the sweet smell of her hair feeling his heart burst. Then something hit him.

"Earlier you started saying something but I stopped you," He could hear the tiredness in his voice. "What were you going to say?"

She hummed drawing a circle on his chest with her finger. He kissed her forehead. Since he'd gotten her back in his arms he couldn't stop adorning her face with kisses. "That I uh...I was just gonna say, I love you."

He figured. It still freaked him out how well they knew each other. "I love you too."

#sorry about formatting tumblr fucks everything up #thats why i posted on ao3 #should there be a part two?#maybe titled unfoolish (iykyk 👀)#the bear #the bear fx #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto #ayo edebiri #carmen berzatto #jeremy allen white #the bear spoilers #sydcarmy #chefs kiss #the bear fic #carmy x syd #syd x carmy #carmen x sydney #sydney x carmen

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