#but it has been. nice. to kinda write it all out.... :')

[carmenized-onions]

Something to Do. | Catering

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

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

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

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For you, I would.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

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

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

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

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?”

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

Sydney groans, “No!”

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

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

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

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

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are we?”

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

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

“Comin’ right up—”

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm?”

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

“Christ!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

What.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

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

“You didn’t bite me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Figured you’d need one.”

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

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

“You can sit, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have questions?”

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

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

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

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

“What’d you say to him, then?”

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

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

“Salmon or chicken?”

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

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

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

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

‘Who said?’

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

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

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

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

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

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

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

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

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the tsunami.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

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

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

“Then why’d you say it?”

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

“Normal way?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t owe me shit.”

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

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

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

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

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

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

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[lushrue]

im absolutely enamoured with your writing, especially the hockey 141!! but omg, simon saying that ‘he didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t land a jump and injured yourself’ makes me desperate to know what would be their reaction if the reader did actually injure themself either during training or an actual competition?

oh, they would for sure be at various levels of freaking out. all four of them are making their way down to the ice as soon as they can, no matter if it’s a competition or just one of your training sessions.

price would be the most level-headed, i think. after all, his team gets hurt all the time on the ice, usually worse than the twisted ankle and sprained wrist reader ends up with. still, it’s you we’re talking about, so it’s a bit harder for him to keep his composure. he’s going into first aid mode, testing your range of motion and asking where exactly it hurts. probably screaming at somebody to get you an ice pack to keep the swelling down. “can’t move it all the way to the right? alright, dove, just hold it still for me.”

ghost is kinda paralyzed. he’s not really good with injured people, never has been. he’s more of a “brush it off and keep going” kinda guy. but when it’s you, he’s resisting any and all attempts to downplay it. there’s the slightest twinge of pain when you put weight on it? nah, you’re staying seated until he can carry you off the ice. he’s for sure gonna treat you like you’re dying. “everythin’ feel alright, lovie? don’t worry, we’ll get ya some help.”

soap is by far the most panicky out of all of them. he’s on his feet as soon as your ass hits the ice, yelling for you without a care for who’s watching. that’s his bonnie, ye ken? it’s almost funny, the way you’re telling him to calm down when you’re the one who’s injured. he’s torn between palpating the injured area to gauge the severity and treating it like broken glass. finally, you manage to snap him out of it enough to get him to help you off the ice. “can ya walk, bonnie? can ya feel yer legs? oh…it’s not that bad?”

kyle is a nice balance between ghost and price, giving you some tender care while keeping a level head. he’s reassuring you, especially if you’re teary-eyed from shock or pain. he’s the most gentle with you, his touch feather-light over your injury as he takes it in. the first thing he does is get you warm, helping you limp off the ice and get settled on the benches. all the while, he’s cooing comfort in your ear to keep you calm. “i know it hurts, pretty. ‘s alright, kyle’s got ya.”

[mikgreo]

Hiya! Love your posts so so so much ♡

I was wondering if you could do how haikyuu (or jjk) men react to finding out the reader has a kink for being fucked in front of someone else 🫣

Tysm! Anon x

“curiosity killed the cat.”

haikyuu headcanons.

a/n. ty nonnie for requesting!! ive never thought about writing something like this but it made me excited to see what i could come up with, i had fun writing this! take care nonnie <3!! i might do pt.2 :3

chars. oikawa, iwaizumi, kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, atsumu, osamu, suna.

syp. haikyuu characters & exhibitionism! +mini scenarios.

tags. exhibition, voyeurism, p/v, degradation, praise, petnames, pronouns or gender not mentioned but reader has a kitty & boobies, and use of babygirl/girl, manhandling (bokuto), edging, overstimulation, recording, whatever i missed..

oikawa!

rough jealous sex, teases you alot, might share you depending on the person, makes you moan out his name while the other person makes you cum, tried to get you to go to a kink club but you denied (“y/n-chann!! it’ll be fun!”)

he never thought you, or anyone else, were the type to initiate stuff like that, he was always just used to casual sex with his partners. but when he mentioned how “you probably want iwaizumi to see you like this, huh?” and felt you tighten up around him, he knew exactly what to do, he called iwa to come see a particular “show.”

“k-kawa!! s’too much.. sl-slow dowwwn~..ng-nghh!~” you whined out as oikawa thrusted deeply and roughly directly on your g-spot countless of times. “you like iwa-chan watching you get your back blown out, huh? you dirty fuckin’ girl, t’is what you wanted hm?” he slapped your ass, “after all yer stupid ass swayin’ and bendin’ over infront of ‘em you kinda asked for it, you slut.” he glanced over at iwaizumi, who was sitting on oikawa’s desk chair watching you two, face dusted in red and pink hues, sweat beads falling down his forehead. “come, its yer turn iwa-chan~”

iwaizumi!

def has vanilla sex, he likes to show that he can make you feel good by his hands, nice and soft, wouldnt share you but would make you speak out on how good hes making you feel

iwaizumi wasnt really used to anything like this, he was never the type of guy to have multiple girlfriends, let alone be sexually active. so whenever he found out from oikawa that your friend mentioned you were into that stuff, he didn’t know if he should ignore or act on it. but the more he thought about it the more frequently he found himself masturbating in the bathroom at the thought of him pleasuring you infront of another man. so, he decided to act on it.

“mmm, just like that, babygirl. keep rockin’ yer hips on my fingers js like thaaat.” iwaizumi had you on his lap infront of oikawa, who was sitting on iwaizumi’s gaming chair. legs pried open, glistening wet cunt on full display, you shamefully moaned at the circles iwa had been rubbing on your clit and your entrance. “tell ‘kawa how much you want me to fuck you with my fingers, doll.”

kuroo!

rough sex, open to threesomes (depending on the person), makes the third party record you two, edging/overstimulation final boss

lowkey wasnt that fazed about it, he’s been through some kinky people that he ended up ghosting/breaking up with because the kinks were overstepping boundaries, but he thought yours was quite doable. definitely got turned on once kenma told him you had said you were into that stuff. so he promised kenma he’d buy him the newest pc if he cooperated with his plan.

“oh yeahhh, look up at the camera just like that baby.” kuroo said behind you, as he was thrustinf his fingers into your seeping hole. he had you on all fours while you gave kenma a blowjob, as he recorded you all. “mmm…!!~” you mumbled onto kenmas cock, which he shuddered at. “you cummin’? i told you, cant til you make kenny here cum first, sweetheart.” this went on for 3 more hours..

bokuto!

rough-nice sex, fucks you dumb for sure, very prideful in his abilities and makes you you dont hold your voice back, make you make eye contact with third party, either really nice or really mean no in between, but i live for unknowingly and unwillingly rough bokuto so

kinda awkward about it, you were like his third girlfriend, and first ever actual serious once, adrenaline hits him and he ends up having his whole team watch him rail your poor small body. bokuto had learned alot from kuroo and oikawa about sex, so he decided this was a good opportunity to demonstrate his newly found skills. he asked his teammates to come over to his apartment, got them all to drink some beers and well..

“i know youve all been eyeing, y/n over here. so ill show you who she fuckin’ belongs to, but don’t hesitate to stroke yer dicks while you watch me absolutely fuck her dumb!” bokuto manhandled you into doggy, grabbing your arms and pulling them behind you back, thrusting in and out of you as deep as he could, whispering profanities into your ear. “fuckk, you like how der getting off to yer cute ass moans, huh? cmon.. be louder for them, let em know who’s responsible for this. fuck yeah, babygirl, t’day is alll about you.”

akaashi!

soft sex, would only let bokuto or tsukishima be the one watching you two, would worship you and brag about you to the other person while he fucked your brains out, overstimulation def, kinda gets a little toxic if the other person interacts.

akaashi was lowkey awkward about this too, but remained nonchalant, he had a talk with you to see if you would let bokuto be the one to watch you two, promising he wouldnt let him interrupt or touch you without your consent, he told you he had never been into any type of extreme kinks, so he apologized if he ended up deciding this wasnt for him, but swore he would try to make it work just to make you feel good.

“cmon princess, you can do better, why’re you getting shy on me now, hm?” he placed his hand on your head and ruffled your hair. you were down giving him a blowjob, with your legs spread open enough to let bokuto see you playing with your clit, desperate for some more friction. “mmm!” you muttered staring at akaashi with your puppy eyes. “im not, bokuto-san, touching you til you make me cum atleast twice. so get to work princess. you wanted this didnt you?” … “oh c’mon ‘kashi! dont be so mean” bokuto laughed loudly in the back.

atsumu!

possessive, would probably be mad at your for like half the day for suggesting it, but it grew on him, fast rough sex, lots of foreplay, teasing, and petnames.

“huuuhh?! why would you want sum rando watchin’ us fuck?” atsumu put if off for some days but the more he thought about it the more he found himself getting turned on by it. he set some rules, and had told you to go to a kink club since he didnt feel comfortable having anyone you both knew watch you, since you both only had a couple trusted people, and he was NOT gonna have his twin brother watch him fuck his girlfriend, let alone sakusa.

“look bae, all these people ‘round us comin’ just for you, see i told you you have the hottest fucking ass and tits ever.” he had you on top of him on one of the booth seats, you were jumping up and down on him and he took your nipples into his mouth. “fu-ck! ‘tsumu!! so good m gnna cumm~” you whined. “hell yeah baby, give em a show, aint gona stop til you start squirting like sum fuckin’ water sprinkler.” he laughed as he slapped your ass. “show em who’s yer fucking daddy, who’s making you feel good huh?” he breathed into your ear. “you-youyouyouyouyo-!! is you ‘tsumu youre so fuckin good at fucking my pussy daddy!!

osamu!

slow sex, praiiiiseeee, would probably only trust suna with you, would make suna touch you or something while he fucks you, asks if your okay during sex

he didn’t really know what to say when you had told him you found it hot to have someone watch you get fucked or something like a threesome, and he didnt wanna weird you out so he said you could try it out to see if he liked it as well. and he called up his buddy suna to help out!

“fuckk, yer tits taste so good, feels js like marshmallows, cutie.” suna said just below a whisper as he fondled your left boob and sucked on your right one. “mmm princess, your so tight, you feel so good yk that? you’re so perfect and beautiful like this.. making me wanna cum just from yer face.” osamu said as he had you in missionary, thrusting slowly but deep into your aching cunt. suna reached down to rub circles on your clit, “fuck, keep doing that suna, she just got so much tighter.”

suna!

literal virgin killer, casual sex, with some teasing & degradation, would be one to suggest this if you hadnt beaten him to it, down for anything but just doesnt admit it, literal definition of a freak undercover, lowkey would let anyone watch you two but just not touch you (imagine like anyone u want rlly)

“fuckk, keep fuckin yourself on my dick just like that, you have no idea how tight you feel, ma.” he had you facing the person while you fucked yourself dumb on his cock, going up and down. “play with yer boobs while they bounce, pretty. show em how sexy you can be, kay? put on a reaal pretty face, babygirl.”

[brass-tacked]

I just rewatched Buck, Actually and now I have a brain worm and I want to start writing. Idk if I’ll ever get around to writing a fic, so if someone else wants to please go ahead.

In the episode Buck has the realization of what love looks like when Thomas lays down next to Mitchell and dies (so freaking sad and heart wrenching, while still beautiful) and all of this happens while Buck is looking at the album cataloging their lives.

What if, at some major life event - birthday, Christmas, something, Tommy gives Buck some generic gift and we’ve just seen the meh that is their relationship reinforced over and over. Similar to how whenever Buck brings up something serious like his sexuality or family issues, Tommy kinda brushes them off and goes for distraction. So Tommy gives him something nice, but generic. And Buck, of course, acts like it’s great because that’s what he does. He doesn’t think he’s special so he just accepts it when he is given something that isn’t special.

Then Eddie shows up. Chris is still gone and even though Eddie has been suffering because of it, he still knows and recognizes that Buck is struggling with it too. They both miss Chris terribly. So Eddie, to reinforce how much Buck has always meant to him and to Chris, took the time to put together a photo album with all of the highlights of all of the years they have all been together. All of the times they’ve been their own little family unit. Not just the times where they have Chris with them, but also the times Buck has been there for Eddie.

It shows in the clearest of detail just how special Buck is to Eddie. Just how much Eddie thinks he’s worth.

And the best thing? Eddie only kinda remembers that call. It didn’t have the impact on him that it did on Buck. He knows nothing about that photo album. He doesn’t know about the connection between it and Buck finally realizing for the first time what real love looks like. Instead, because Eddie has real love for Buck, because Eddie has chosen again and again to show up and walk through life with Buck, the love shines through and Buck finally understands.

He can finally be brave enough and selfish enough to recognize his own love for someone and have the confidence to reach for it without feeling like he has to earn his place. His place is already there. It’s been carved just for him, nestled in Eddie’s heart, right beside the space they both have for Chris.

So obviously Buck and Tommy break up. Because Tommy knows, he’s always known that Buck and Eddie were going to figure it out eventually. Overall it’s a pretty amicable separation.

Eddie has figured out his love for Buck too. He’s never been brave enough to be out for himself, but for Buck? For Buck he is brave enough to love out loud. He’s willing to do anything and face anything because no matter his fear of the potential reaction from others, he knows he has a partner he can rely on. Someone who will stand beside him and hold him up. Someone who will love him right back and choose him and his son every time.

Together Buck and Eddie don’t just see what love is, but they live it.

[veinsfullofstars]

for your childhood friends au, do the kids have any favorite foods?

Ooooh, okay okay, so this is something I’ve actually given a fair bit of thought to (maybe too much thought given how long this thing got, haha). I love little details like this in character writing - it makes them feel so much more alive and well-rounded, y'know? The kiddos have preferences as varied as their personalities, and I’m just itching to get into it, so… let’s get into it! (Also, just to be clear, I did pull some of my food headcanons for MK and DDD specifically from source material and the wiki, but most of this kinda just comes right off the dome.)

When it comes to food, Para Dee is probably the most milquetoast of the bunch (though that’s hardly a bad thing). Neither a voracious eater like Dedede nor an avoidant one like Meta, he enjoys food about as much as the average Waddle Dee, more than fine with his three square meals a day (maybe a snack if he’s good). His tastes primarily lean towards savory or bitter flavors, anything from a warm bowl of stew to a nice crisp salad depending on his mood (meaning that, of the four of them, he’s the most likely to eat his veggies... and enjoy them). He’s not the biggest fan of sweets (probably due to that fact that his father is a baker and routinely saturates their home with the heavy scents of vanilla and mixed fruit), but he does have a soft spot floral teas and hot chocolate, especially during the colder seasons. He doesn’t mind sour flavors in small amounts (meaning if someone gets pickles with their meal, you know they’re going onto Para’s plate), but spicy foods? Forget about it. His poor little stomach has no tolerance for spice, to the point where even a little too much pepper has him breaking out in a sweat (something Bow teases him about mercilessly).

If you asked him what his absolute favorite food is, he’d have a hard time choosing... but he'd probably say his father’s caramelized onion soup, a much-beloved dish at their dinner table and a favorite at every community potluck. It’s never quite the same when Para makes it (many years into the future with a family of his own), but it still sparks warm memories of holidays and togetherness with each cheese-laden spoonful.

Then, on the opposite side of the spectrum, we have Bow Dee, our tiny terror with a metabolism and appetite to rival those of her bigger buddies. If left alone and unoccupied for too long, she’s been known to sneak into locked pantries or climb high, off-limits shelves looking for any snacks she can get her grubby little mitts on (a habit she probably learned from watching Dedede). That said, she can be rather picky about which foods she’ll scarf down, especially in her youth when she would literally pick through her meals for the bits she liked and ignore the rest (much to her mothers’ chagrin).

If asked about her favorites, she’d say she likes protein-packed foods the most (omelets, jerky, trail mix, whatever will fuel those boundless energy reserves of hers in the saltiest, most flavorful manner possible) but refuses to touch veggies, pickles, and bitter flavors in general (at least in her childhood, growing a little more adventurous about food during their time overstars). She likes sweets as much as the average high-energy kid, partial to citrus fruits and sour candies especially (she likes how it stings a bit when you eat it, almost like it's fighting back). And, beyond all that, Bow loves spicy foods. Full stop. If it ain’t spicy - or spicy enough - she’ll find a way to make it so. Chili flakes, hot sauce, whole peppers, whatever she has on hand - it’s going in there, and Nova help anyone who tries to stop her. A bit ironic given her natural affinity for Water, though maybe that’s what gives her such a high tolerance for capsaicin. Or maybe she’s just that badass (as she likes to brag to her buddies, watching them steam out the ears from a single jalapeño while she’s already chomped down seven). And before you ask, yes, this has landed her in village clinic on more than one occasion. High tolerance or no, she definitely does not have Dedede’s cast-iron stomach… or Meta’s self-restraint. (We don’t talk about the Ghost Pepper Fiasco.)

Speaking of picky eaters, Meta has a… complicated relationship with food. He’s never had much of an appetite, often going (unsettlingly long) stretches of time without feeling the need to eat, only doing so if someone reminds him to (or if he gets too woozy, whichever comes first). He does need to eat, of course… just not nearly as often as everyone else does, it would seem (a byproduct of his peculiar biology, perhaps?). It’s an excuse he’s used often to get away with skipping meals, sometimes substituting in lighter foods like breakfast bars or Energy Drinks to keep his strength up (though this is hardly a long-term solution). He also finds certain textures and tastes difficult to deal with, even turning down entire meals if just one bite feels off. It makes eating with company - already an awkward experience thanks to his introversion - that much more uncomfortable, sitting there with a full plate while everyone else chews and chatters around him, wishing he could disappear as swiftly as his hunger (a habit that still crops up even in adulthood, though he has learned to push through it for the sake of politeness). Honestly, he could write a whole dissertation on how the act of consumption is a burden upon the living and no one should be subjected to it… and then he remembers chocolate exists and takes it all back for a while.

That’s really the one exception to his food trepidation: sweets. Perhaps it comes from living in Dream Land where sugary foods are so plentiful, the forests rich with apples and berries, the scent of pies and pastries wafting from windowsills, even the lands themselves named after foods of all sorts. Or perhaps it stems from his earliest memories, a helping hand and a bar of something indescribably sweet and rich, the first he’d ever tasted… Whatever the case, it’s stuck with him, a livelong love of sweets and sweet-adjacent foods, one that narrows, refines, and changes over time into preferences for chocolate, coffee, and other foods with light but flavorful consistencies. Not that this stops his friends (and later his crewmates) from hounding him into eating more nutritious meals once in a while, too. It's frustrating, but he knows they mean well, and he gets better about listening to their advice with time.

And finally, whipping to the other side of the scale once more, it’s Dedede, the penguin equivalent of a vacuum, willing to eat literally anything you put in front of him (including things you probably should not eat). He wouldn’t say he has many strong preferences - all food is good food in his eyes - though he does appreciate a good bone-in steak or similarly hearty dishes like seafood or pasta, and he could never pass up a nice rich dessert (especially cakes).

More than the taste, though, it’s really the act of eating - a pastime even more beloved than sparring or sleeping - that brings Dedede comfort, whether it’s through cozy communal meals with neighbors, the thrill of food-based competitions with friends (ones that will later inspire Dream Land’s famous Gourmet Races), or just to deal with the boredom (and loneliness) when he’s stuck on his own. It’s possible he gets this behavior from his mama, a little on the heavier side herself and known for her own cast-iron constitution back in her wrestling days (not to mention prone to spoiling her “darlin’ baby bird” and his friends with extra treats all the time). Meanwhile, his papa - a stickler for decency and discipline - is constantly reminding his son to slow down during meal times, wondering if he’s even tasting the food he’s shoving down his gullet (a blunt but well-intentioned criticism given the many, many tummy troubles Dedede suffers in his younger days). He never manages to fully tame his massive appetite (certainly not helped by the more decadent lifestyle he later adopts as a king), but he does at least refine it over time, learning from Para of all people about the joys of savoring meals rather than always inhaling them outright.

Phew, alright, I think that’s about it. Thanks for the question! Hopefully I didn't go too in-depth for such a simple one - I was having fun with it and might've gotten carried away again, haha. Well, at the very least, it'll give you guys some nuggets to chew on in the meantime (pun super not intended).

Sketches started 06/25/24, finished 06/27/24.

[uzuitengensfourthwife]

Unbearable - Kuroo x (fem) Reader

Summary: Kuroo was UNBEARABLE. No matter the occasion, he always annoyed you and made sure your blood was boiling.

Wordcount: 2219

Warning: Swearwords, otherwise none, besides my bad writing! So enjoy!

Authors note: Soo.. it was definitely time for me to do something with Kuroo as well! I feel like some parts were terribly rushed, however I hope you enjoy it anyways!

A year ago, when you started with Uni, you and your friends found yourselves within a friend group of 6 people. Quite unfortunately tho, Tetsuro Kuroo was part of your friend group as well. The day you've met up until now, he's been nothing but an annoying brat. He did everything in his power to make your blood boil the second he sees you. Be it in a lecture or when you guys hung out with your other friends. Whenever he was close to you, nothing could stop him from annoying the shit out of you.

And this has pretty much held on for the whole year you've known each other. The others seemed to enjoy themselves whenever you two were in the same room, but every remark that came out of his mouth brought you one step closer to punching him in the face.

And today, where you all gathered to get ready for a party together, he made sure to rile you up real good once more.

"Give it back you fucker." you hissed, trying to grab your lipstick from his hand. He ,however, decided to hold the lipstick above his head, grinning down on you. "Too small to get it?" He stuck out his tongue, waving your lipstick around in front of your face. This time, you were fast enough to grab it and to kick his knee, earning yourself quite the painful sigh from Kuroo. You grinned at him, acknowledging your win. "That fucking hurt!" - "Good." You replied, walking past him to finish your make up in front of a mirror.

"You two finished trying to kill each other? We kinda got somewhere to be." A friend of yours asked the both of you, chuckling. "Let's go before they start fighting again." Another friend exclaimed loudly, already opening the door to indicate that you should finally leave to get there on time. And so you did.

Your friends obviously tried to keep you and Kuroo apart, so you wouldn't delay your arrival by an unknowing amount of time. Fortunately for your friends, it worked and you appeared on time for the party.

The party was already quite lively, which made you really stoked. And it wasn't quite a surprise when you've found yourself an occupation shortly after your arrival at the party. It was a guy from your lecture, who actually looked pretty cute. So you definitely didn't mind when he came over to talk to you.

While you were talking to this nice guy from your lecture, you felt someone staring at you from the kitchen, where drinks were made. Yet, you still tried not to pay the staring gal any attention.

"Not to be rude but... du you know him?" - "Huh..?" You looked back, just to be greeted by Kuroo, who seemed to be staring holes in to your back. However, once he realized you were looking at him as well, he made his way towards the two of you. "Hey, think your shirt's dirty." Kuroo said, pointing at the guys shirt, placing himself right behind you. "Huh.. what do you me-" but before the guy was able to talk, Kuroo poured his drink over the guys shirt, which led to a bright red stain on the guys shirt. "Right there." - "What the hell!?" the guy yelled, looking up to Kuroo, who had a grin plastered on his face. The guy, who no longer seemed interested in you, turned around and left, while cursing out loud about Kuroo. He, however, seemed to have found quite the joy from this situation.

"What the hell was that about?" You asked him in a demanding tone. "What? His shirt was dirty." Kuroo shrugged, while looking at you with an unserious expression. You groaned, quite agitated from the little stunt he pulled. Whatever, you thought. "You should be more careful you know?" - "What do you mean?" Without even answering you, he pointed towards your drink. You looked at your drink, while realizing that the guy from before had dropped some pills into your drink, probably while you were looking at Kuroo. "Fuck..." you whispered quietly.

"You're welcome." He grinned, grabbing the drink from your hand, just to pour it in a trash can. "Yeah thanks I guess... you're free to go now." You said, rolling your eyes. "Sure you're able to fend on your own?" - "Yes Kuroo." And with that, you left him standing, there, trying to find yourself another occupation within the party.

You talked to some friends, then to some strangers, but nothing seemed to really interest you.

So, after some time walking around the party, you got quite bored of what was inside. Which is why you decided to go outside to get some fresh air. You immediately walked towards a bench that was close to the house, sitting down all by yourself before looking up to the sky. While observing the stars, your thoughts went back to Kuroo, who before, saved your ass from quite a horrible fate you had almost encountered. You sighed out loud, thanking god that Kuroo was there, before anything bad could happen. Now that you were outside, you realized how much more relaxing it was outside than in there, just quiet and peace.

You wanted to get up again, before you suddenly heard two guys talking, not far behind from you. You tensed up, yet, you decided to just be quiet and try not to listen to their conversation.

Howevere, when you heard Kuroo and you being mentioned, you felt like you were justified to listen to their conversation

"Fucking Kuroo..."

"He's so fucking annoying dude."

They sounded awfully agitated to you, which, honestly? You understood, considering you had to put up with Kuroo's shit almost everyday.

"I couldn't even get to Y/n for fucks sake..."

"I know. He's been glaring at us whenever we even tried to get close to her..."

"They're not dating tho, right?"

"Nah bro. But he has a huge crush on her. It’s so fucking obvious.”

"Damn… prolly just too scared to ask her out then… fuck it’s cold... let's get inside."

And with them leaving to go inside again, you were left there dumbfounded. What the hell did you just hear? There is no way that this was true.. right? There was just no way Kuroo had a crush on you. Not after all the things he did. No way. But then again, you had no clue if what these guys said was false. Or maybe they just misinterpreted the way Kuroo acted towards you and them.

Yet, you weren't really sure what to do or how to react really. All you did know though, was that you were going to try and avoid Kuroo as much as you were able to.

That's exactly what you did. You avoided Kuroo like your life depended on it. Whenever your friends tried to hang out together, you didn't appear, unless Kuroo wasn't there. In lectures you sat as far away from him as possible, even if it meant that you had to sit alone during some lectures. You did everything in your power to avoid him and it definitely worked for a week straight.

Until he decided himself, that he had enough of your childish bullshit. It was a quite uneventful Monday, where you tried to avoid Kuroo, just like you did the past week. After your last lecture, you decided you’d go to a café close to your Dorm, so you could pass some time there. As you were about to leave the building, you saw Kuroo standing right next to the exit. Without giving it a second thought, you did a 180 and immediately went the other way. But it was no use, because Kuroo had seen you turn around and walk away from him.

It was no use after all, because quite unfortunate for you, Kuroo was faster than you. So, right before you were able to run out another exit, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back to him. “You’ve been avoiding me.” He pointed out, making sure you weren’t able to run away from him. “Ugh… no… I’ve just got an appointment…!” You lied, nervously smiling at him. To your reply, he raised an eyebrow, seemingly not convinced of your lie. “Uh huh. And that’s why ran away from me?” - “I wasn’t running away from you..! I just realised I was.. going the wrong way.” You argued back, finger pointing at the door you were about to exit. A sigh escaped his mouth, while he rubbing his temple in an annoying manner. “Yuki’s hosting a dinner tonight. Are you joining? “ - “No.. no I’m afraid not..” you replied quietly, looking away.

He then let go of you and without even saying anything else to you, he left. You watched him walk down the hallway, letting out a sigh of relief.

—

You felt bad for not joining Yuki’s dinner tonight, but you just couldn’t face Kuroo at the moment. A sigh escaped your lips as you sat down on the couch of your dorm, tunring on the TV to watch some lame series. While watching the series, you thought of the night of the party again, remembering the two guys who you heard talking about Kuroo and you. It felt as if you still heard them talking.

He has a huge crush on her. It’s so fucking obvious.

There was no way Kuroo had a crush on you. You were sure there was another reason he glared at them, probably just to prevent you from getting hurt, since you almost got drugged at the party… right? Yeah, that must’ve been it, because the way Kuroo acted towards you would indicate everything ,but him having a crush on you. You laughed to yourself, imagining how insanely silly it would be if Kuroo Tetsuroo had a crush on you. You bit your lip, turning off your TV, groaning to yourself.

Wait. Were you disappointed… that he might not have a crush on you? God no. You hated his guts, especially when he got on your nerves. And most definitely when he made fun of you. You hated him, you knew. Or… did you really?

You were about to scream out loud, when the doorbell rang out of the sudden. Getting up, with a visibly confused expression on your face, you made your way to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone. At least, you dont remember inviiting anyone over. So when you opened the door and Kuroo was standing in front of you, you almost passed out on the spot. Your first instinct was to just slam the door in his face, which did not end up quite as successful as you thought it would be.

Oh no, he held the door open by force. “You’re really driving me nuts, Y/n.” he hissed, making his way inside your dorm, slamming the door shut behind him. “What the hell?!” You yelled, seemingly confused why he was here in the first place.

“Oh you have nothing to be mad about.” He snapped, while walking dangerously close to you. “You’re fucking killing me Y/n.” You took a few steps back until you suddenly felt the door behind you. He did not back off, quite the opposite, he camee just as close as he was able to get without completley pressing you against the door. “What are you on about Kuroo…?” - “Quit toeing with my emotions, love. You sure can’t be that oblivious.” A soft, yet dangerous chuckle escaped his lips while he hovered above you. “You’re driving me crazy, and you sure as hell made it worse by trying to avoid me all week.”

This, had to be dream. There is no way in hell that this was just hapenening to you. You quietly looked up to him, not really knowing how to answer him.

You thought of something you could say to him, but he left you no time, when he crashed his lips onto yours. As if it was your second nature, your arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer to you. His hands moved to your waist, trying to get you even closer than you already were. The kiss deepened within seconds and you could swear, you’ve never experienced something as sensual at this.

Once he pulled away from you, he grinned down at you like an idiot who had just won the lottery. Your face on the other hand, flushed red. “Awe look at you, are we getting shy?” He mocked, placing a short kiss on your lips. “Oh shut up you idiot.” You said, slightly hitting his chest which lead to him pretending you hurt his poor feelings.

“So… I heard you had a crush on me?” - “Well, obviously my dear. I’m just quite surprised you never noticed.” He answered slyly, squeezing your sides. You shook your head, replying to his comment. “Well you surely annoyed the shit out of me!” - “And that’s exactly what I thought would make it obvious.”

You roll your eyes, yet you had the biggest grin on your face. As he was about to make a remark, you shut him up by pulling him into another kiss.

Kuroo wasn’t as unbearable as you thought after all.

[nina-ya]

Heyyyyy Nina! Lemme just say, I see your bassist!Law. And I’d like to present you with the idea: reader from a rival punk band writing a ‘passive’ aggressive song about him before they end up hooking up and realize ‘actually wait he’s not so bad aw shit’

hgghnnnn thank you so much for entertaining my silly thought!!! and i do apologize for getting back to this a late but dlfksj im here now!!! and i kinda went overboard with my response!! sdlksjd

The tension!!! I can just imagine you're up on stage with your band, belting out the lyrics of your latest song which of course a thinly veiled jab at that bassist from the rival band who's been a thorn in your side for months.

The song is a way of venting all the frustrations you've felt every time you see that stupid smirk on his face. The lyrics are sharp, full of sarcasm and digs and the crowd loves it. And as you step off stage, sweat still clinging to your skin, you grab a towel to wipe your face and head backstage for a well-deserved drink. The excitement and buzz of the performance have you on a high.

And that high comes crashing down the moment you spot him, Law, chatting to someone backstage. Your stomach twists in irritation at the sight of him, and when he spots you and flashes you a lazy grin, that irritation seems to only heighten. You'd bicker with him immediately, asking why he's even there at the performance, and little did you know, one of your bandmates actually invited him.

You're expecting him to match your energy and throw quips and snarky remarks at you as well, but he instead complements the song. "Nice performance," he says, his voice smooth and surprisingly sincere. "You really know how to work a crowd."

And you can't help but just blink at him, thrown off by the compliment. This isn't the Law you're used to- the one who always has a sarcastic remark ready to go. You reply with a cautious "thanks," not knowing where this is going.

"Didn't realize I got under your skin that much," he says with a chuckle, nodding towards the stage where your band had just performed. "That song was... something."

Ah there it is. There's the old Law coming out to play. Your cheeks burn with annoyance and embarrassment as you respond, "Well, you do have a knack for being a pain in the ass," you shoot back, but there's less bite in your voice than usual.

He smirks, stepping closer, the sudden proximity making your pulse race. "Maybe we should talk about that." He glances around until his eyes land on a room with the word 'utilities' on it. You follow his gaze and spot the room as well, your mind already trying to guess what he's thinking.

"Talk?" you scoff, though your voice wavers slightly. "I don't think there's much to say."

"Maybe not," he admits. In a bold move, he reaches out and grabs you by the wrist, leading you to the utility closet he spotted earlier. He leans in slightly, murmuring to you "but I think there's a lot we could do.

"You're full of yourself," you mutter, but tone lacks conviction.

He rolls his eyes at you, smirking as he opens the door to the utility closet, pulling you inside. As if your bodies are being pulled together, you suddenly find yourselves locked in a harsh and demanding kiss. You feel yourself being pushed up against the wall, hands wandering under each other's clothes as you both get lost in each other. Who knows, maybe Law isn't so bad after all?

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Needy

A 5 + 1 fic where it’s 5 times the other sides suspect Roman is touch-starved, and 1 time they do something about it. – monkeythefander

Thomas is having a really bad executive dysfunction/burnout day, and it's affecting Logan & Roman the most as his executive function Sides. Everyone ends up in a giant cuddle pile to rest with each other as Thomas learns some self-care. Maybe some gentle bullying into said resting by Janus. Some Remus-classic hug attack & him comforting Roman bc brotherly love. They're all too tired and foggy to care about what they're supposed to be doing (sans Logan & Roman, bc. self-worth issues). Maybe a kinda loopy/tired Janus or Virgil gets possessive over Thomathy like a Mama Hen. No pressure to write this! (/gen) Remember to take care of yourself & rest when ya need to <3 – anon

Hey so if you're doing request and would like to, I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something with aro Roman who still wants a 'romantic' relationship? Maybe with him struggling with internalised arophobia about it and one of the other sides helping him overcome that maybe? Showing that he's still able to have relationships like he wants without feeling romantic attraction and stuff? This might be worded really badly and for that I apologize -w- Even if you don't do this (which is completely fine feel free to ignore me) you should know your writing is absolutely amazing - never fails to make me smile <3 - Princey

Read on Ao3

Warnings: touch starved, internalized arophobia

Pairings: none

Word Count: 5377

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with. But after this morning… Or, five times the Sides thought Roman could be touch-starved, and the one time they did something about it

 

Logan will be honest: it is not something he has given extensive thought to, nor did he deem it something worth paying attention to in the grand scheme of things. Simply because, well, he didn't believe it was possible. Roman, touch starved? The prince was more likely to sweep any of them into a ballroom dance at a moment's notice than to deprive himself of something so simple as touch. The very idea was counterintuitive to Logan's fundamental understanding of Roman to begin with.

But after this morning…

It had not been a good morning, admittedly. Thomas had little to no executive function, leaving both him and Roman metaphorically drowning in their own issues. He'd gone over every single notebook he could find, trying to locate some guide to dealing with this, surely this could not be the first time such a thing had occurred, and therefore he must have made some note about what was happening and how to fix it. But tearing his room apart—figuratively speaking—hadn't yielded anything more than a ball of frustration in his chest that refused to unwind and a torn notebook cover. Then, of course, Janus and Virgil happened upon him as he struggled to refill his water bottle and the rest, as they say, is history.

Never let it be said that the two of them aren't determined, he'd thought as he was unceremoniously sunk into the living room to be surrounded by pillows and blankets. A slightly loopy Patton had beamed at him, holding his arms out for cuddles and Janus had none-too-gently hinted that he'd be forced into relaxing whether he liked it or not. And yes, he could admit it felt nice to be held, especially when the others had so quickly joined them on the couch to watch mindless animal documentaries and game show episodes.

But then…well, then he'd noticed that Roman was missing.

Struggling upwards through the fog in his brain, he'd managed to mumble something along the lines of where's Creativity, for Remus was missing too, and Janus had quickly stood up to go look. Logan had tried to get up as well, only for Virgil and Patton to flop on top of him and render him quite motionless. Then Virgil had begun to card his hand through his hair and he lost all ability to focus on anything other than the gentle scratching sensation. He'd only managed to rouse himself from his daze when three more bodies appeared.

"Hey, it's okay, Roro, just come lie down."

"But I have to—we can't just stop, I can't—something's wrong with me—"

The genuine hurt and panic in Roman's voice had cut through the worst of Logan's brain fog and he'd sat up, looking over to see Remus barely restraining Roman with a sheet wrapped around him. Janus was on his other side, trying to reach out too, only for Roman to jerk and whimper every time his hands made contact with the sheet.

"Sweetie, it's okay," he murmurs instead, "one day off isn't going to make or break anything. You need to rest, pushing yourself more now won't help anything. No one's going to be angry at you for taking some time to rest."

Roman's gaze had darted around frantically, finally landing on Logan in the midst of being swaddled by Patton and Virgil. Something had undone itself then, his shoulders sagging as Remus finally coaxed him down to lean against the base of the couch. He'd bent close to mutter something, his hand reaching up to brush Roman's cheek, and Roman had flinched.

It hadn't been large enough for Janus to notice, nor did Remus seem to be surprised by it, but it was there. And for the life of him, Logan hadn't been able to figure out why. Not until he'd noticed that after that, Remus was careful to only touch him through the sheet, and that he never ventured close enough for anyone else to lay a hand on him.

That afternoon, when the worst of the fog began to lift, he'd thought about it again. He'd reached a conclusion that surprised him, so much so that he began to doubt it almost immediately.

Roman couldn't be touch starved, could he?

 

Virgil won't ever claim that he's the nicest to Roman, but he doesn't always go out of his way to be a jerk to him. Case in point: when he notices Roman starts getting scared every time one of them except for Remus gets close enough to accidentally bump into him, he doesn't start trying to get close to Princey on purpose.

He's concerned as hell, though, don't get him wrong. Roman's not exactly what you'd call a shy person, nor is he immune to the general theater kid-ism of getting swept up in dramatic monologues to the point where he's willing to drag people along with him. And most of the time if he's going to touch one of them, he's the one initiating it. Hugs, slaps on the back or the shoulder, high-fives, all of it. It's not like Princey's suddenly gone and declared a no-touchy zone around himself.

But Virgil knows what he's feeling.

He knows the stab of something icy cold in his gut when Patton runs at Roman to give him a hug. He knows the prickle of his skin when Janus leans close to whisper in Roman's ear. He knows the momentary lurch when Logan sits close enough that their arms brush. He knows the tensing of shoulders and the drop in his chest when he goes to ruffle Princey's hair. He knows the shudder when Remus knocks against him. Roman is scared, and what's worse is that Virgil has no idea what he's scared of.

Roman isn't the type of person to just take something lying down, not when it's actually, truly scaring him. Sure, he doesn't speak up all the time when one of them hurts his feelings, and he's long since stopped pretending he can tell when Roman's being honest about whether he wants to do something or Thomas wants to do something—honestly, he's not sure J can tell anymore either—but if something's really, honestly scaring him? Virgil's been sat down and told he can't hide in certain caves in the Imagination because it makes Roman freak out that he might've been gotten by something, or that he can't jump off the cliffs by the ocean anymore because the depth isn't always constant and it gives Roman a heart attack. Not in that way where it's like he's being scolded by a parent—no offense, Pop Star—but in that genuine way of hey, please don't do this, you're scaring me, and he'd said yes every single time.

Which is why this is so confusing. It's not like it's just one person, it's all of them. It's not like Roman's handling it well—well, he might be, if none of the others have noticed what's going on—and it's especially not like he's getting any better. The only thing he can think of is that Roman's suddenly developed this aversion to being touched, but that can't be it either.

Why would Roman have problems with being touched?

 

Patton's been feeling cold lately.

Not himself, not in the way where he needs to go put on his fluffiest sweater and huddle under the blankets with a cup of hot chocolate, but there's a part of his chest that's never really warm anymore. It's beginning to worry him, because that's the part that feels when one of his kiddos is upset.

But who would be cold? Janus is the obvious guess, but he's always wearing at least three layers, gloves, and spends most of his time alone under his heat lamp being a happy little snake puddle. He's also been seen scolding the others for not wearing enough outside or for letting themselves forget to do things like move and ask for help if they need it. So it's probably not Janus.

Logan, then, because for as much as he claims to be sensible, he has a terrible habit of believing himself impervious to some of the things in the Mindscape. Object impermanence, he says, when he's about to walk into a freezing Imagination without a coat. Roman helped scold him out of the worst of that, though, especially when Logan got hurt that one time he tried to look for Roman during a brutal rainstorm.

Virgil? Not likely either. He's never seen without that big hoodie and he's always scrunching himself into little corners and huddling under blankets and making a show of how warm he is. That could be a cover for how cold he actually is, but they've come such a long way from those days. He can still remember what it feels like when Virgil's not comfortable around them, and it's not the same.

Remus, then, but that doesn't feel right either. True, he doesn't have as good a handle on Remus's feelings as he does some of the others, but there's something achingly familiar about this cold. Something that makes it feel like he should know it, or at the very least, know what to do about it.

Which leaves Roman.

As soon as he puts name to it, the cold pulses. He puts a hand to his chest and closes his eyes, feeling the dull pain of swallowing an ice cube make itself at home in his ribs. He lies back on his bed, pulling the blankets over himself, trying to figure out why Roman feels so, so cold. Is he upset about something? Did a project not go the way he wanted it to? But Roman wasn't the type to be silent about things going wrong with his work, not like this. And it wasn't like him to be quietly cold either—he can still vividly picture the look on Janus's face when Roman came and flopped down next to him under the sun on the Imagination's rock plateau, or snuggling up under the blankets during the winter. Sure, he was a bit of a furnace himself, but that didn't mean he didn't get cold too. But this wasn't that type of cold, this one was deeper, in his bones, in his soul. As though he could be snuggled up under every kind of blanket, in the hottest desert in the world, and still, he might shiver. The kind where being inside a bonfire wouldn't help at all.

Why was Roman so cold?

 

Janus is concerned about Roman. That sentence has run the full circle of 'being concerned that Roman will mess up his plans' to 'something is wrong with the Mindscape's dear little prince and that's concerning.' Right now, however, he's a little too preoccupied to consider the irony.

Is he proud of the fact that he's snooped in on Roman while he's working on his own projects? No. Is he willing to admit that he's done so to someone like, say, Remus, who's already threatened him half a dozen times against doing that very thing? Not likely. Would he risk it anyway because what he's found out is making him worried?

Yes. Yes, he is.

He's not stupid enough to go intrude while Roman's actively in the Imagination, but he is willing to use the trick Remus taught him to investigate further. For the double doors leading into the Imagination, there's a little button on the underside of one of the handles that takes you to wherever the last person went. So, it's a simple matter of waiting for Roman to come back—through his own door, which is difficult enough to recognize—and then going to see where he went last.

He opens the door into a quiet forest. Fireflies twinkle in the dark green leaves, a deep blue sky opening up just above the treetops. A little ways down a dirt path, he sees a simple wooden cabin with a porch swing out front. He walks towards it slowly, footsteps crunching along the path. Just as he gets to the base of the steps, the door opens and a young man looks out.

"Evening," he says, "you're an awfully long way from the village, stranger."

"My apologies for intruding. I only saw a friend come this way and wondered where he'd gotten off to."

"Friend? Ah, you must be a friend of the prince's. Yes, you've just missed him, sorry to say, he's gone off that way."

"I see." Janus looks him up and down. A perfectly ordinary man, bearded chin turning up as he smiles. "I'm sure you can understand my unwillingness to just take your word for it."

"No, I understand. I can assure you I mean your friend no harm." He closes the door and comes down the steps, taking a seat and motioning for Janus to do the same. "He's been coming here for, oh, I'm not sure I can remember. Quite a while now."

"And what is it you do?"

"Talk, mostly. He helps me tend to the garden around the back—I told him it wasn't my place to accept the help of a prince and he told me not to think of him as the prince, then." He huffs a laugh. "He's a very thoughtful man, your friend."

"He is."

The man looks up at the stars for a moment, before he turns to Janus. "Forgive my questioning, but as his friend, I must confess, I am worried about him."

Janus sits up. "Oh?"

"I offered him payment, of course, or some form of compensation for helping me, but he refused all except for one thing." Here he shifts. "Tell me, if it's not too much, has the prince always been…cold?"

"Cold? How do you mean?"

"The only thing he would accept or request from me is touch. An embrace, or something so small as a hand on his shoulder. I have offered him a seat at my table for a warm meal and he treats it as though it is the finest of offerings from a neighboring kingdom." The man's expression grows more worried still. "In the winters, when I can hardly send him off into the night, he knows he has a place in my bed, but he—"

"Oh, he does, does he?"

The man gives him an almost scolding look. "Not like that. My dwelling is humble but the bed is warm and we are not creatures to deny the warmth of another. But he reacts as though I had given him riches when they are but simple touches."

Janus is quiet for a long moment. Roman sneaks in here to…what, to cuddle? To be touched? To enjoy companionship so simple and pure it belongs in some fairy tale? And then to have to be coaxed into it, reassured that it is freely offered, even if under the guise of huddling together for warmth.

"I didn't know it was like this," he says eventually, "and I thank you for being able to provide him some comfort. Stubborn man often refuses to take it."

"That I know. Would you permit me, if it is not too rude, to ask if you could see that his needs are better met?" He gestures around them. "There is only so much I can do."

"I will do my best."

"Thank you, stranger," the man says and rests his hand on Janus's shoulder.

And Janus wants to weep. Because this isn't touch. The man's hand feels scarcely more substantial than a piece of tissue paper resting atop his cloak. There's no warmth, no solidity, hardly anything more than a whisper of a promise that comes from seeing the hand there and knowing there must be some form of sensation to go with it.

If all Roman is subsisting on are touches like this, what must an actual touch feel like to him?

 

Remus knows his brother is touch starved. He's furious about it.

Because there's only so much he can do by himself, only so many times he can tackle his brother to the bed and smother him with cuddles, and Roman doesn't let him do it where anyone else could see. Why? Because Roman's terrified of being needy, that's why, and apparently letting himself be comforted in the way he needs to be comforted is a bad thing all of a sudden. Doesn't matter that Virgil needs to be squished back into his own body sometimes, doesn't matter that Logan keeps reminding them that they're social animals who need to spend time together, nope, none of that matters. What matters is that Roman is scared of letting them know he actually wants something and that means Remus has to bully his brother into letting him cuddle him because hey, guess what, he loves his brother and that means he's gonna take care of him.

He's not actually mad at Roman. No, it's not Roro's fault he's scared. It's not his fault that far too much of the meetings and Thomas working through things has come off as Roman not being allowed to want things just for the sake of wanting them. Ro's too good for that. He's too good at being quiet about stuff he actually needs, never mind the fact that if Roman actually told them what it was he really wanted, they'd never believe him. Because come on, a hug? A cuddle? Just the ability to say I need a hug and get one without any sort of teasing or mocking? Since when did Roman dream so small?

It wasn't small. That was the problem. To Roman, it's everything.

He didn't end up following through on his promise when Janus confessed what he'd done, only in part because he already looked so distraught that anything else wouldn't have done anything. No, Janus telling him about the cabin with the sweet man who just wanted to make sure Ro was okay made Remus cry out of sheer frustration. Because he's all too familiar with how insubstantial Imagination creations can be, especially when it's to supplement something like actual physical contact. And Roman, his sweet, stupid, sappy brother, was never going to be able to get by with Imagination touch alone.

Not to discount the man in the cabin. Remus has met him a few times, he's really a sweet guy. But that's partly because the Imagination knows Ro, the same way it knows Remus, and so it tries to give him the things he needs in between giving him all the things he wants too.

And apparently, what Roman needs is someone kind, patient, sweet, and caring enough to give him the physical affection he won't dare tell anyone else he's starved for.

So yeah. Remus is pissed.

+1.

It's the most humiliating thing in the world, to want to be special.

To want to have someone look at you out of everyone in the room and say that one, you, yes, I want you. To be the exception. To just be something a little bit different from everything else. To be the one for whom they have a soft spot.

A single room. A bed or a chair or a rug on the floor. A window or no window at all. A fireplace, lit or unlit. A door in the back, open or closed. Quiet footsteps or loud footsteps crossing the room, a blanket or a coat draped over shoulders as another body lowers itself. There you are or you look cold or a soft hum or nothing at all. Arms wrapping gently about shoulders or waists or just brushing against each other. Gentle kisses to the crown of the head or the temple or the cheek, or no kisses at all. Murmurings or soft worried questions or knowing silences. Warmth, always warmth. Warmth and solidity and endless unspoken affection.

Cuddled in a too-big bed with gentle whispers and firm touches. Surprised by a hug from behind, a teasing kiss pressed to a shoulder. Spotted across the room and a smile, arms opening, the come here spoken or unspoken and no less clear in either.

Yes, a humiliating thing indeed.

How can you ask to want to be special? How can you look someone in the face and tell them you care not for the work it takes to grow so close? How can you ask them to give you a place in their hearts when you don't want to give them one in yours, not in the same way? How can you want something that you could never fully appreciate, because you could never see yourself giving the same to someone else?

Give me this, you say, I want it. I want to know what it feels like.

Will you give it back to me, they say, if I give it to you?

You can't. You don't know how. You aren't capable of it. That's for other people, people who do know how to do it. It's better for them to be that for each other, after all, and not for you. You don't get that. You won't ever get it. How could you ever hope to be that kind of special? How could you ever hope for someone to choose you? What do you have that they couldn't get, a thousand times over, in someone else?

You can be liked. You can even be loved. But you will never be chosen.

It is easier, then, a voice whispers in the back of your head, to not have at all. Why would you chase crumbs when you could eat by yourself? You needn't hide under their tables. You could eat on your own. You could have your own food.

And so you do. You make your own and you smell the aromas wafting from their tables and you bite down on your own bland creations. You like them, you do, but sometimes you get a glimpse of what sorts of things they eat and your mouth waters but your stomach never grows any hungrier. You fill your mind with the thought of how good it must taste, what you imagine it to taste like. You wrap your arms around yourself and imagine a full, content stomach. You imagine someone noticing when you get a little hungry and bringing you something they think you might like to eat. But you will never be someone's first choice of dinner companion.

You watch the hugs and touches and kisses and you imagine what it might be like to be a vessel for such affection. You do not position yourself close enough to catch the runoff from the fountain because that will only make it clear how empty you are. You sit bone dry on a nearby shelf and take comfort in the shade for it reminds you of how cool the water must feel. And when it is dark and the fountain has shut off for the night, you think of how it would feel to have someone pour in the cool, gentle water until it laps against the lip at the top. Perfectly filled, just for you. It won't be, it won't ever be, but in the cool of the dark you imagine it could.

You will only be special to the things that you make to treat you as special. They give you some relief, the flat words on pieces of paper describing how badly you wish to be cherished or nourished. The phantoms you conjure in your own imagination whose only purpose is to love you, absent of the realities of touch and only there to give you the idea of it. You tell yourself a thousand stories of being loved, being cared for, being chosen and that never makes it any more real.

You take the humiliation of wanting to be special and bundle it into a cloak, wrapping it about your fragile chest as though the shame of it would deign to warm you.

***

"Is this really how you feel, Ro?"

Roman doesn't look up, the choked voice coming out of Remus enough to let him know how his brother is feeling. He shrugs, wrapping his arms tighter around himself as Remus sniffles. "I just…yeah."

"You're allowed to want stuff, Ro, especially if it's how you want to be cared for."

"But it's not—it's not fair. I can't—I can't do that, so I can't—how can I ask someone to give me something when they're not gonna get anything out of it?"

"Because it's not like they wouldn't get anything out of it." Roman turns away, face burning with shame, humiliation, a cocktail of the two, and the paper rustles as Remus puts it down. "Okay, okay, think of it this way: I ask you to do stuff for me to help ground me and pull me out of spirals, right?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't do that for you."

"Yes, you do."

"Right, but I don't do the same thing. I love you and support you in the way that you need it."

"But I can't—how can I ask someone to get into a relationship with me when I'm never gonna feel like that for them? That's what most people talk about! They feel unloved and it makes them sad and they—and then they break up and I can't hurt someone like that, Re, I can't—"

"Shh, shh, hey, hey, Roro." Remus is up and out of the chair and Roman's shrinking back before he even touches him. "I'm not—okay, I won't touch you."

He relaxes a tiny bit.

"You care about people," Remus continues, "you care a lot about people. And you're really good at making them feel cared about. You know how many times one of the others comes up to me because they can't find you to tell you how much they appreciate you? 'Cause it's a lot, Ro-bro, it's a whole hell of a lot."

Roman peeks out at Remus. He's on his knees near Roman's chair. "Really?"

"Yeah, really. They care so much about you, Roro. They want to care about you. So badly. Do you have any idea how much we've—god, no, you don't. You don't know."

"Know what?"

Remus sighs heavily. "Janus followed you to the cabin a few weeks ago."

Roman freezes.

Then he panics and because he panics, Virgil shows up. And because he can't tell Virgil the truth, Janus shows up. And because the two of them just disappeared out of nowhere, Patton and Logan show up to see what's going on. And now all of them are here and his soul is scrawled out on a piece of paper right there and Remus is reaching up to try and touch him and—

Everything stutters to a stop when warm, solid, real hands cup his face.

"Ro," comes Remus's voice, past the muffled everything of the world, "it's okay. I'm telling you it's okay. We're all worried, Roro, that's all this is. See? Everyone's just worried."

He blinks through the panicked fog to see concern written plainly across each of their faces. But the warmth won't let him think and soon he's squeezing his eyes shut again, a mortifying noise leaving his throat.

"Come let us help you," Remus is saying, "come get cuddles and kisses and everything, okay? It's okay, Roro, it's okay."

And because Roman is weak and stupid and already humiliated, he nods.

"Thank fuck," he hears distantly before there are strong, solid arms around him, hefting him up out of the chair like he weighs nothing, "hey, Princey, shh-shh-shh, it's just me, it's just Virgil."

Virgil carries him over to something soft, something else warm opening its arms to meet them. He's lowered against something else warm and solid and smelling faintly of sunflowers and there's a real kiss against his cheek.

"Sweet prince," he hears, and his mind belatedly supplies Janus, "sweet, dear prince, oh, you poor thing…you're so cold, sweetie."

"Come here, come get him under the blankets." Patton, his fading brain gives him as the faint smell of fresh cookies surrounds him with warmth, "hey, baby, it's okay. We're gonna look after you now, okay?"

Everything is too much. Everything is too much and too warm and too real and too good and Roman can't have this, he can't have this, he's being selfish, he's being awful, he's going to end up hurting someone, especially himself, and then something cool and dark falls across his face and another kiss brushes the spot just behind his ear.

"Breathe," Logan's deep voice instructs, a hand running up and down his back, "breathe, Roman."

His breath comes in great, whooping gasps, but he's breathing. A hand slips down to rest over his stomach and he near sobs with the relief of it.

"Hush, it's alright, we won't go anywhere until you're feeling much better. Just focus on us, alright? Can you do that, my dear?"

Roman will do anything if Logan keeps speaking to him so tenderly. He does his best to block out the thoughts swirling around and around, instead trying to feel the puff of Logan's breath against his cheek, the warmth of his hand on his stomach, the weight of Patton adjusting the blanket, the way Virgil's hand cards through his hair, one of his hands held in several of Janus's. He takes one deep breath in, then another, then another, and the sobs leave him with a foreign softness.

"You're doing so well, sweetheart," Patton murmurs, "so well."

"It's bad," Virgil says, more to the others than to him, "he's really out of it. He's gonna need a lot of support going forward."

"Oh, no," Janus teases, "whatever shall we do? Cuddle our sweet prince until he feels better? Tell him how much we care for him? I couldn't imagine a worse fate."

"Shush," Logan scolds, far too fond to be a true indictment before he kisses Roman's forehead, "now's not the time for jokes. Roman needs our help still."

"He's overwhelmed." Remus shuffles up close to him, pressing his side against Roman's. "Let him go to sleep about it."

"Do you need to sleep, little one? That's alright, shh, yes, that's it, close your eyes, now…sleep, my dear, we'll be here when you wake up."

Deep in the Imagination, a bird carries a letter to a little wooden cabin. A man opens the door and takes the letter, smiling as he reads what's written upon it.

He will be taken care of. Thank you.

"It is my pleasure, as always," he says, and he knows somehow the prince will hear it, "and you are always welcome to come back."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[dandelionflowery]

GASP

i remember reading about your plans for the lily one and i liked the sound of it before i realized it was you

i just decided to send an ask to make it easier

oh, and the ideas you have for the eventual wolfstar?

I'm in love already

feel free to talk more about it

Oo other people actually read that? woah

Anyways glad you like it!!

(the lily one)

anyways i'm going to take the opportunity to copy the tags i wrote here and develop them again, so that i can find them better because i'm absolutely chaotic

warning: clicking the see more button will open up a ridiculously long thing lmao

"First love peter/sirius (but closeted peter so closeted relationship)"

Sirius Black first fell for Peter Pettigrew. At first, he had believed it was just friendship, after all, feeling really close to your friends was what was supposed to happen with friendships, right?

After having dreamed (dreamt?) of kissing Peter, Sirius is forced to admit that he might not be thinking of his friend in a purely platonic way...

Timeline (TL): New Year's, their second year (i can't be bothered to figure out what year everything is lol): Sirius tells Peter that he thinks he might be a homosexual and that he kinda has a crush on Peter

End of year: Remus has gone to see Madam Pomfrey and James is in the common room with... other people talking about... stuff Peter and Sirius are in their dorm, Peter is packing, Sirius is reading something. Remus has just walked out the door, and Sirius asks Peter if he would prefer him to leave, as since New Year's, Peter has been avoiding Sirius. Peter replies that it's fine and long story short Sirius and Peter have their first kiss.

Summer: They send each other letters with invisible ink or something idk yet

Third year, return from Christmas holidays: Sirius ends things with Peter, without much explanation, and he refuses to talk about what happened at his "home". (implied conversion therapy by his "family")

The two are never as close as they once were, but stay civil. Peter meanwhile is having an identity crisis bc i'm incapable of writing a non-aroace Peter lol

~~*~~

"Followed by marlene/sirius bc they're both denying they're gay + siri's parents found out he had been with a boy"

After the whole fiasco with Peter, and mostly his family finding out, Sirius kissed Marlene McKinnon during a game of truth or dare after having been dared by Mary MacDonald to kiss his crush.

He didn't like her, not like that, not like how he'd liked Peter, but his family seemed to think they had cured him of his ""mental illness"" and Marlene was a good enough friend that he could tolerate dating her.

[sidenote: this is going to be painful to write bc Sirius now thinks there's something wrong with him for being gay and he's going to look down on it a lot]

TL: Third year, May (approx): Sirius starts dating Marlene. Both soon realize they'd rather be dating someone of the same gender but internalized homophobia + keeping up appearances means that they keep dating till... idk, March of the following year?

March (?) of 4th year: Marlene and Sirius agree to break up momentarily so that Marlene can ask Dorcas out, and they'll get back together if Dorcas rejects Marlene.

Dorcas does not bc she's just as gay as Marlene.

Sirius is now single again.

~~*~~

"Then siri/lily bc marlene was like “fuck this i'm lesbian”

"And lily watched sirius help his friends and get into trouble for them and she found that really nice of him" (i can never remember to write them as bullying snape so either this is after he called lily mudblood or he's just not there lmao)

Remus and Lily are friends

TW: someone throwing up

Also bc i'm going to forget

* _____________________back of the room___________________

-------- -James- -Peter- -------- |

|-------- ---------- -Sirius- --------- |

|--------- -------- -------- -------- |

|--------- -------- -------- -------- |

|-Remus- --Lily-- -------- -------- |

| |

| -------McGonagall----- |

____________________front of the room_____________________*

there's a door at each of the stars

(things get way more detailed after this point lol)

From his seat in front of Peter, Sirius noticed movements coming from his ex and James. As the students were supposed to be writing in silence, Sirius tilted his head down as if he was concentrating on his writing but in reality this pose allowed him to see Peter and James.

Peter was throwing up. Sirius's heart lurched, he wanted to go help his friend, but Professor McGonagall would absolutely murder him, he'd already caused trouble in that period. From the corner of his eye, he could see James sneakily pointing his wand at Peter and vanishing the vomit/hiding Peter from their classmates view.

Sirius decided to risk Minnie's wrath and tossed his eraser at Remus. Luckily for him, Minerva was too busy at her desk to notice.

Remus turned around, causing Lily to follow his gaze, a reprimanding whisper clearly on her lips.

As they turned, they both saw Peter and James. Remus immediately nodded at Sirius and Lily closed her mouth.

Sirius let out a loud sigh, attracting attention to himself.

"This assignment is way too hard," he complained loudly.

Remus laughed, almost as if on cue, although they had never practiced this.

Professor M looked up from her desk, and caught a glimpse of James and Peter. She stayed where she was, watching Sirius and Remus.

Remus's laugh had attracted the class's attention to him, and he and Sirius continued to banter to distract everyone from Peter. Behind him, Sirius heard James whisper to Peter if he wanted to go to the hospital wing. There was no verbal answer from Peter, but James said "Pete, you're clearly sick, it would be a good idea-- come on Wormy-- *sigh* all right, I won't force you"

Remus was saying something about how the assignment was really not that hard, if only one had a little brainpower, to which Sirius automatically replied something. He noticed the person sitting behind Remus start to see through the glamour James and Sirius both put up around Peter, so Sirius said, "If you're so smart, Lupin, you don't need that eraser at your feet, do you? Because I believe that's mine."

Remus, getting the hint, prepared to throw it back to Sirius. McGonagall got up from her desk.

"Mister Lupin, you had better not throw that- "

She was interrupted by Remus throwing the eraser. Sirius pretended to fall over catching it, and James jumped up to catch him. This position effectively hid Peter from view as Sirius and James were in front of him (I'm not sure if i'm going to leave the fourth row on the right {of our screens, to the characters' lefts} bc it kinda messes with this scene).

Professor M walked over to Sirius and James, who disintangled each other, and James took the opportunity of walking back to his desk to recast his glamour on Peter.

"Mister Black, you will sit down and be quiet, and I would like to speak to you and Mister Lupin at the end of class."

Sirius nodded meekly. That was not a conversation he would look forward to.

McGonagall stayed behind Sirius for a moment, surveying her class.

"Well? Get back to work," she ordered.

Sirius felt her robes swish as she turned around discretely.

She stayed at the back of the class a moment longer and then walked back to her desk.

Sirius risked a look back at Peter and James, only to find that neither of them were there, and Peter's desk was spotless.

He smiled to himself. Minnie had convinced Peter to go out the back door with James with the hospital wing. No matter how much trouble he would get into, he had succeeded in his mission. Peter was worth it.

At the end of the class, Remus and Sirius waited for everyone to leave.

Lily was the last to leave, and Sirius heard her ask McGonagall if she should help take James and Peter's stuff for them. Minerva smiled at her student but told her that she would take care of it, and would Lily please leave the classroom to speed things up for Misters Black and Lupin.

Lily cast Remus and Sirius an anxious look as she left, clearly wanting to say something but not daring to contradict her head of house. Sirius assumed she wanted to tell McGonagall that Remus hadn't done anything wrong.

As soon as Lily had left the room, McGonagall smiled at the two boys in front of her, to their bewilderment.

"Normally I would punish you for disrupting my class, but I did see that it was for a noble cause. Your friends are in the hospital wing, so consider my punishment to take their belongings over there, and to stay and help Madam Pomfrey with whatever she needs for half an hour. I've written her a note explaining everything, and I'm sure she'll find something for you two to do."

Sirius and Remus thanked her and turned to get their friends' stuff.

"Now boys, don't take this as an excuse to cause more trouble, I'm excusing you this one time but don't get used to it."

"We won't!" they chorused as they left the room.

To Sirius's surprise, Lily was waiting for them.

"I should have said something, I don't want you two getting into trouble just because you were helping Peter, and I know that she'll believe me, even if she wouldn't believe you two, and oh I hope you aren't in too much trouble--"

"Lily. Chill," Remus said.

"You do know this isn't the first time we've gotten in trouble, right?" Sirius added.

"Well, yeah, I know, but usually you're just fooling around. Here you were trying to help your friend. You shouldn't get in trouble for that."

Remus glanced at Sirius slyly.

"We'll be martyrs, forever remembered as saints," he started, fully expecting Sirius to chime in.

"Oh, cut it out Rem. Minnie saw what we were doing, and our 'punishment' is just to drop off James and Peter's stuff at the hospital wing, and to help Poppy for only half an hour. I've spent entire days helping her, this is nothing."

Remus stared at him in surprise as Sirius started walking towards the hospital wing.

"I didn't know you'd spent time helping Poppy," Remus said as he caught up to his friend.

Sirius glanced back to find Lily following them. He shot Remus a look that meant, 'Does she know about your furryness?' Remus nodded almost imperceptibly.

Sensing Sirius's lingering hesitation about outing him as a werewolf to someone who already knew, [the Prank can... go suck a lemon? Bc I refuse to believe that] Remus prompted, "Oh, is it during the days after the full moon, when I'm recovering from my transformation? I kinda expected you guys slept, or went to class, or something, not that you helped Poppy."

"Nah, I like helping her, it makes me feel useful. Plus-" he shot another glance at Lily, "- at least this way I'm learning how to protect myself at home."

Lily made a sort of strangled noise.

"Yeah, my family's not great. Got a problem with that, Evans?"

Unconsciously, he and Remus drifted apart to let Lily walk in the middle.

"Well, it's- it's not a... well, not a good thing, is there nothing, i don't know, Dumbledore? can do for you?"

"About what? A pureblood family raising children?"

"But it's not right!"

"I can assure you I'm not the only one, and besides, what does Dumbledy care?"

"You're his student! He should care about your welfare!"

"Yeah? Well my parents are apparently supposed to love me and keep me safe, at least according to James, Remus and Peter, so forgive me if I don't believe in miracles from a guy who barely knows me."

Sirius strode ahead of Remus and Lily.

"Lily, we've had this argument with him many times, you won't win," Remus cut in before she could go after him. "Whoever you think would be a good candidate for helping him, he'll remind you that he shouldn't need help because his family isn't 'supposed to be like that'." After a pause, he added, "He's not wrong about that. It's best not to talk about his family with him."

Lily frowned but dropped the subject and asked Remus and Sirius about the assignment they had been working on as she and Remus caught up to their friend.

When they reached the infirmary doors, Lily paused.

"Sirius?" she asked, with an odd look on her face. "Could I talk to you?" With a glance at Remus, she added, "...Alone?"

"Am I in trouble, Evans?" he joked, while motioning Remus inside. Remus offered to take James's things inside for him, and Sirius ceded the bag to his friend before turning back to Lily.

Once Remus had gone into the hospital wing, Lily started talking.

"I won't keep you long [liar], I just wanted to say that I was really impressed by how you were willing to take the blame to protect your friend. And I know," she added hastily before Sirius could answer, "that you'll say that it was nothing, that 'that's just what friends do', that you've been in trouble before. But believe me, most people wouldn't do that. I don't think I know... anyone... who would go to such lengths just to save me embarrassment."

"What about your friends?" Sirius asked, curious. "Marlene, Mary, Emmeline, anyone?"

[the 'anyone' there is totally not bc i forgot who was in gryffindor with Lily lol /j- I know Alice (longbottom) was but I think she's older than the marauders]

Lily looked at the floor.

"We're friends, but... compared to you and your friends, it feels like we'd be much more selfish."

"For the record, Carrots, I'd get in trouble to help you too."

She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Really? But I thought you hated me for 'stealing' Remus from you?"

"I don't think that-"

"You literally said that yesterday," Lily pointed out.

"... Alright fine. But if Moony thinks you're worth spending time with, then you can't be so bad. Even if you have horrid taste in friends."

"I used to think Severus would help me, but..." she trailed off, and Sirius knew they were both picturing [Snape's Worst Memory]

(tags by the_infamous_jack on their fic, Boys will be bugs)

"As I said, you have horrible taste in friends. But yeah, if you had been the one vomiting all over your desk, I'd have helped you." Sirius paused. "Also, you seem to think that I'm this great guy for doing this, but let's be clear, if it had been Snivellus, I'd be mocking him for months."

Lily had that odd expression on her face again.

She licked her lips hesitantly, than reached up and kissed Sirius.

"Uh-..."

"Sorry, I should've asked you!! Oh I'm so sorry-"

"Don't sweat it, Carrots. ... Um, may I ask why you kissed me though?"

"Because that's what I was planning to ask you when I stopped you here," she admitted.

"Carrots! You, prim, perfect Lily Evans, you have a crush on lil ol' me?" Sirius teased.

To his surprise, Lily blushed and nodded.

"Don't look so shocked, Rebel, you're good looking, funny, smart- though you hide it- and now I find out you're a caring person who's extremely loyal to your friends- which apparently I am- and you're capable of not boasting."

Sirius felt himself redden.

"You're forgetting that I can be a right arse to people, and that I know spells that would make even ol' Dumbly gasp, thanks to my family."

Mentally, he added, 'And I only boast to draw attention away from how fucked up I am.'

Lily laughed and swatted his arm gently.

"The only people I've seen you be an arse to are Sev- Snape and his friends and... you're not wrong about him. And as to what your family taught you, you had no control over that. Sev- Snape now knows a lot of the things you grew up with, but he's looking for that stuff whereas you're actively avoiding it."

Sirius looked down at the floor, somewhat embarrassed by how easily Lily had been able to figure him out.

"Gee, Carrots, you seem to know a lot about me, have you been watching me all these years?" he teased, to avoid feeling like his soul was bared to the world.

Lily giggled.

"Well, Rebel, as I said, you're good looking. Is it my fault if I picked up how you act while I was staring at your bum?"

"Better watch out, Lilypad, you'll end up a rebel like me if you keep this up."

Lily smiled at the new nickname.

"Well, darling," she bit back, "I wouldn't have thought that would bother you?"

Sirius flashed her a grin.

"Quite right, love, I wouldn't mind."

Lily mouthed, 'love?' in shock, and smiled at him, a real smile, not meant to tease him.

'Shit,' thought Sirius.

"Uh- well, I should go in-" he gestured at the doors- "to see Peter, and fulfill my 'punishment'-"

Lily kissed him again.

Sirius's breath caught in his throat, and then, hesitantly, he kissed her back.

She skipped away a few paces, then turned and called out, "See you later, Rebel!"

He raised his hand in a half-hearted wave.

"Later, Carrots!"

He opened the doors, still tasting Lily on his lips.

'My family was right, I'm not a homosexual, girls are into me, and I'm... into girls too. Definitely.'

'...What am I going to tell James...'

No TL here bc I'm going to do it after the next bit, as they overlap.

Fun fact: When I wrote this, the nickname switch was totally accidental, but I like the fact that Sirius calls Lily "Evans" until the second Remus leaves, where he starts calling her "Carrots"

~~*~~

"And there's also brief and again secret starbucks bc he's dating lily to seem straight (even if the blacks would not approve of a muggleborn but he has a crush on james bc well, james is awesome lol"

Sirius had asked James to help him with spells such as the one he'd used to clean up after Peter, and the two boys were outside in the sun to practice.

"Now, mama says that this is one of the essential spells to know for a homeowner, it's one of..." James muttered something in a language Sirius didn't understand. "-173 Spells to Know If You Are Alive."

Ah, he had been translating the number Effie had told him in Hindi to English. Sirius understood the feeling as none of the marauders had learned to count in English at first since there were no maths classes at Hogwarts; James had been taught by his Indian mum in Hindi, Remus had been taught by his parents in Welsh and Peter had gone to primary school while he was living with his dad in Ireland and had learned in Irish Gaelic before learning in English. As for Sirius himself- and his brother- their parents had hired French tutors to teach them. Walburga and Orion were in no way good parents, but at least they had gotten their children good educations. It was the only thing Sirius would ever thank them for.

"Siri?" James's voice interrupted his musings.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry."

James had been trying to show him a wand movement and Sirius was now supposed to copy it.

James watched as Sirius tried the spell.

"Hmm, not bad for a first try! You actually seem to have the hard part down really well, you're just going too strong on that first part," James advised.

Sirius flushed at the praise.

Of course he flushed at praise, he had been raised in the Black family. It certainly had nothing to do with how close James was, how the light got caught in a halo of gold in his curls, how his glasses kept slipping down his nose, how pleased James was with Sirius...

Sirius shook himself out of his (totally heterosexual, totally platonic) admiration and tried the spell again. James's advice actually really improved the spell, but something was still off. At James's request, Sirius repeated the spell a few times.

"Ahah! I think I see the problem."

James moved behind Sirius, who felt his muscles tense at his proximity.

"See, what you're doing is this," James put his hand on Sirius's wand hand, demonstrating.

"And while that's almost it, you have to move your arm more like this." James's left hand pushed Sirius's left shoulder forwards slightly, allowing his right arm to move a bit further back.

James demonstrated the correct wand movement, using Sirius as a puppet, then stepped back to let Sirius try it on his own.

Sirius pretended not to mourn the loss of James's body against his.

"Very good!" James applauded as Sirius mastered the spell. The boxes he'd just packed tumbled to the ground as the two friends collapsed on the grass.

"James?" Sirius asked.

"Mhm?"

"You know how Lily kissed me, and wants to date me?"

"How could I forget such betrayal!?" James asked theatrically. "Yeah, I remember, what's up?" he asked more seriously. He could tell Sirius wasn't in a super joky mood.

"Well, I... I have a crush on someone else."

"You can tell her that, I'm sure she'd understand," James pointed out.

"No, I can't, because-" Sirius exclaimed.

James rose up on elbow to look at Sirius.

"Because?" he finally prompted when Sirius didn't continue.

"Because I... have a crush on... a guy."

"Oh. You're gay?" James asked. There was no fear, no hate in his tone or face, it was simply an innocent question. Sirius fell even more in love.

"... Yeah, I guess I am," he said finally.

"Congrats then." He lay back down. "I still don't see why you can't tell Lily though."

Sirius sighed.

"I think I'm going to go out with her anyways, it's not like the guy I like likes me back."

He heard James open his mouth, hesitate, and change tracks.

"There's another reason, isn't there," he stated.

Sirius sighed again. This would require telling James a lot of things he'd kept hidden. He almost wanted to hate James for being so observant, but he could never hate James for anything, and maybe telling him would lighten the weight the secrets pressed on him.

James seemed to understand that Sirius was willing to tell him, but was struggling to find words. Sirius was very grateful for his friend's patience.

"They... found out somehow..." he started slowly.

"Your family?" James murmured, turning his head to gaze at Sirius.

Sirius nodded, suddenly aware of how close they were.

"I... I had... I managed to find someone I liked, a boy, who liked me back," Sirius continued, careful not to say Peter's name. "We actually even started dating, and we were each other's first kisses."

"I didn't know that. When was this?" James asked softly. He seemed to be even closer; his eyes, magnified by his glasses, seemed to be the only thing in the world.

"In second year. Well, over the summer after second year is when we 'dated' most actively, but I'd confessed my feelings for him on New Year's. We had a system for sending messages that my family couldn't read, and I managed to convince them to let me have him over, as a sort of 'training' for him..." Sirius trailed off, a soft smile forming on his lips despite his best efforts.

"I never told you guys because he was still closeted, and he didn't want anyone to know. I also wouldn't have been excited to tell everyone, for fear of my family finding out, but I would have told you guys if he'd been ok with it;"

Sirius realized suddenly [I really need to learn more expressions for that] that James's nose was only about a millimeter away from his own as James breathed, "And then? What happened? You dated Marlene in third year."

Sirius swallowed nervously, both from the proximity of his crush (and how his breath felt, hot on his cheek) and also from the memory.

"Over Christmas break, I... Somehow they had found out... They weren't... thrilled... to learn they had a homosexual heir and... they... tried to..." Sirius stopped.

A tear ran down his cheek but ran into James's thumb as he cupped Sirius's face.

"They tried to make you not homosexual?" James asked, bringing the tip of his nose into contact with Sirius's. Sirius nodded shakily. Their breaths were hot and heavy, and James kept eye contact with Sirius as he stroked his face reassuringly.

Belatedly, Sirius realized that they were in an extremely hidden spot, where no one would run across them. Surely there was a heterosexual explanation for the way his body felt with James mere millimeters away from him, gazing at him with those big brown eyes. There must be. He did not want to relive his Christmas break from second year.

"James," he breathed, not wanting to disrupt the tranquility, and yet unable to stop himself. "What would you say if I asked to kiss you?"

James smiled, then pulled Sirius towards him and kissed him.

Kissing James wasn't like kissing Peter, when they were 12 and sneaking mere seconds alone, daring to give each other mere pecks. Kissing James wasn't like Marlene, when both of them wanted to be kissing someone else, someone they weren't supposed to want to kiss. Kissing James was still different than getting kissed by Lily, taken by surprise in a hallway.

Kissing James was like flying. Kissing James meant abandoning his life, abandoning his worries, his fears, his scars. Kissing James was being free, was heaven, was utopia.

James took his time, moving the hand that had been lying at his side to find Sirius's hand, stroking his cheek gently with his thumb, still resting on his face. James's lips were soft, and he wasn't forcing his tongue into Sirius's mouth like Marlene used to do, like he had thought was necessary to enjoy himself. James's glasses were a cool touch on his cheeks, his leg wrapped over Sirius's, everything was James, James was everything.

Sirius broke the kiss to breathe, and took the opportunity to open his eyes again, although he didn't remember closing them. James was also breathless, his pupils dilated, his glasses further down his nose than they usually fell, his smile a cracked grin of surprise, sweetness and love. Sirius kissed him again, pressing their bodies closer together, letting James pull him into a hug, letting James pull him onto his chest, being held by James as they kissed.

As they broke apart for air again, Sirius said onto James's lips, "I love you." James pressed his lips to Sirius's briefly before giving Sirius his heart-melting smile and replying "I love you too."

They lost track of time and only stopped when James started shivering. Despite having been living in Britain for 8 years now, his body still hadn't adjusted to the switch between India and Britain, at least temperature wise.

"What are we going to tell Lily?"

"Absolutely nothing. You will be a good boyfriend to her, and if, once the other two are asleep, we... 'hang out', she'll never know."

"But what if- what if she wants me to... have sex with her?" Sirius asked, suddenly worried.

"Then you will see if you are comfortable with that, and if you aren't, you will tell her that. And if you are, you will tell her that too," James replied calmly.

"... and what if with her I'm not comfortable but with... you... I was?"

James blushed.

"Well, then we would practice our silencing charms and lose sleep."

"Would you be comfortable with that?" Sirius asked, suddenly worried he'd gone too far.

"Well, as you know, I've never been with a guy like that before-"

"Neither have I," Sirius mumbled.

"Or a girl for that matter," James added as an afterthought. "But I would like to at least try with you."

"But... are you... homosexual as well?" Sirius asked.

James thought about the question.

"I think I'm both homosexual and... not homosexual."

Sirius noted with mild amusement how James was avoiding the word 'normal' for, well, normal people. After all, his family had made it abundantly clear that he was abnormal. In fact, he had a scar on his leg that said that.

[DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT THINK GAY PEOPLE ARE ABNORMAL SIRIUS IS JUST TRAUMATIZED AND HAS INTERNAL HOMOPHOBIA]

Oblivious to Sirius's amusement, James continued, "Because I am just as attracted to you as I... was to Lily."

Most anyone else would have completely missed the infinitesimal pause before the word 'was', but Sirius was not 'most anyone'.

"You can say you're still attracted to her," he reassured James gently. "You've always seemed like you have too much love for one person.

James didn't answer, clearly not wanting to lie but also unwilling to admit to Sirius that he wasn't the sole object of his affection.

Sirius smiled. "Hey, since I'm dating her, she'll spend more time with us, and someday you can tell your kids that you comforted her after her boyfriend was... idk, an absolute homosexual? And if you'll still want to sneak out of the family home and end up in my bed, I'll welcome you with open arms." He paused, and added, "and legs, too, if I'm lucky."

James burst out laughing., which somewhat quieted the voices in Sirius's head that were adding, 'If I'm still alive to see your kids.'

Later, while lying in bed listening to his friends' sleeping breaths, Sirius thought of what his perfect future would be like.

He still had feelings for Peter, even 4 years later, but he also had new- and at times inappropriate- thoughts about James.

James clearly still had a crush on Lily, but also for some reason he had a crush on Sirius.

Lily was really nice, and Sirius felt sure that she was the final proof of his homosexuality: if he was normal, he'd be attracted to her.

So his perfect life would be very messy and unconventional, and yet he can picture it perfectly.

He is kissing his boyfriend goodbye as Peter leaves for work, then he stops by Lily and James's next door house to pick up their children, who he will drop off at school if they're old enough, and he'll babysit the younger ones. Lily and James will get back from work at the same time, and the children will go back home with Lily, although they'll consider his house home as well, and James will stay with Sirius and they'll make out- or more- until Peter comes home and then one of the adults will cook and Remus will drop by after his workday and if they're not busy, Dorcas and Marlene might stop by as well, as well as Lily's other friends, and Sirius's loves will all be together, with him, happy, content, carefree.

A spine breaks into his reverie.

Regulus.

He takes up his dreaming again.

A doorbell dings while Sirius loves is eating dinner. He'll go open the door, he'll be closest, he'll insist, or Lily dear, you've been on your feet all day, let me go get it. He'll open the door to his brother. 'Regulus?' he'll say. The brothers will look at each other. 'Sirius,' Regulus will reply. 'I thought you weren't coming, come in, we were getting worried, Harry- James would definitely name a child Harry- Harry insisted on putting Mr. Snuffles on your chair to keep it warm.

Sirius fell asleep with a smile on his face.

TL: 5th year, April/May-ish: Lily kisses Sirius

April/May-ish: A few days later, Sirius kisses James

~~*~~

"And then when he gets kicked out (i am 100% messing with the timeline) and goes to live with james, sirius is too broken to be with someone as cheery and with such a loving family and easy life bc as much as james wants to help he just doesn't understand the struggles siri faces"

"And then once he's broken up with lily and james he tentatively starts a relationship with remus but at a really slow pace (jily get together too) "

He gets kicked out about two months after he starts seeing James.

He is far too broken to be cheered up by James's kisses, too broken to be cheered up by Effie inviting Remus and Peter over too, although he appreciates the initiative.

Peter and James try to talk to him, try to get him to do things. Remus gets them to leave him alone.

Remus alone understands the feeling of being broken, although he doesn't remember the feeling of finding out he's broken, he was far too young when he got bitten.

James writes a letter to Lily for Sirius, after getting his approval he retreats to his room, followed by Peter. Sirius wishes he could make James stop feeling helpless, it isn't his fault. But James can only imagine what Sirius is going through, and imagination can only go so far. Even Peter understands better, he's decided he will remain celibate forever or something. Sirius hears whispers of 'bisexual', 'aromantic', 'asexual', 'transgender' between Peter and Remus (James is bi too but he's leaving them alone). He doesn't try to understand.

Sirius is only comforted by Remus's steady presence, whether he's reading a book, or writing stories he burns, or softly strumming his guitar, or simply existing with Sirius, not talking, but so much understanding flowing between them.

Two broken people, agreeing to exist together, deciding to brave the world that doesn't want them.

The only times Sirius goes out are the full moons.

He's started turning into a dog more often. As a dog, life is simpler. His canine brain lets him focus more on the love he's surrounded by, the love directed at him, the love he starts reciprocating.

The first wag of his tail surprised him.

It was an ordinary evening, Fleamont and Peter were playing chess, Euphemia and Remus were discussing gender roles- last he had tuned in- and James was absentmindedly petting the canine Sirius as he read him a story, dog paws not being the best at turning pages. Remus had glanced over at him over at him when he heard the soft thumping of the tail, the only one to do so, all the others were too scared to scare Sirius. Remus hadn't been scared, Remus had smiled. And in that smile, Sirius saw his new future: not the next day, or even the next years but someday, by taking life one day at a time, he would be alright. He had amazing friends who would be at his side, and maybe one day he could learn to open his broken heart up to someone else, someone new.

Someone who also had a broken heart.

His eyes met Remus's. Had he been human, he would have smiled.

The two canines, too broken for humans.

Yes, he would be quite alright.

~~*~~

Bonus (tw canon lol) [for A---k, that's a link, go check it out]

~~*~~

And now the serious goes away lol

"anyways feel free to ask questions about any of these things bc the only way i'll remember to write all this stuff is if someone else is in"

I did mean to write interested not just in, idk what happened there lol

... i did mean soft LMAO

@discoveredreality @gendergay-anthony ... i might've written more stuff oops

@lienspien i might've written stuff

(Also A---k since you still don't know how tumblr works, feel free to comment as much as you want, the only person getting notified will be me)

TL,DR

↓

Timeline: New Year's, their second year (i can't be bothered to figure out what year everything is lol): Sirius tells Peter that he thinks he might be a homosexual and that he kinda has a crush on Peter

End of year: Remus has gone to see Madam Pomfrey and James is in the common room with... other people talking about... stuff Peter and Sirius are in their dorm, Peter is packing, Sirius is reading something. Remus has just walked out the door, and Sirius asks Peter if he would prefer him to leave, as since New Year's, Peter has been avoiding Sirius. Peter replies that it's fine and long story short Sirius and Peter have their first kiss.

Summer: They send each other letters with invisible ink or something idk yet

Third year, return from Christmas holidays: Sirius ends things with Peter, without much explanation, and he refuses to talk about what happened at his "home". (implied conversion therapy by his "family")

Third year, May (approx): Sirius starts dating Marlene. Both soon realize they'd rather be dating someone of the same gender but internalized homophobia + keeping up appearances means that they keep dating till... idk, March of the following year?

March (?) of 4th year: Marlene and Sirius agree to break up momentarily so that Marlene can ask Dorcas out, and they'll get back together if Dorcas rejects Marlene.

Dorcas does not bc she's just as gay as Marlene.

Sirius is now single again.

5th year, April/May-ish: Lily kisses Sirius

April/May-ish: A few days later, Sirius kisses James

5/6th year summer: June/July-ish: Sirius gets disowned and is no longer in any relationships

Past that, Wolfstar begin their slow relationship

↑

TL,DR

[xodarling]

can you plsplspls write something with the reader realizing she might actually be falling for rocker!beidou and hating herself for it but she can't stop?? pls on my knees (like during mid-fuck maybe or during aftercare)

sorry, i don’t want your touch. - xodarling

includes: fem!reader, this is barely smut focused, but it does have smut, angst idk, fluff kinda, riding, handjobs, making out, love confessions, comfort, crying, blowjob, dom!beidou, toxic relationship, happy ending yippee, down bad!beidou, ooc beidou prob, horrible standards

a/n: NO. fine. this is SOOO out my comfort zone so sorrgy if it sucks (it does suck)

beidou just… aggravated you to no end. she has this dumb smile on her every time she sees you and her eyes just light up when you make eye contact. just insufferable! the fact that the sex in this what was supposed to be transactional relationship was amazing made your anger so much worse.

after the marathon of fucking in her garage, beidou really took the time out of her day to care for you. despite, her legs being wobbly and her soul being drained. she cared for you, she ran you a bath and ordered takeout from your favorite restaurant, as a lover would do. it infuriated you to no end how she seemed so selfless in this relationship.

cuddling was nice. it’s been almost a week since the garage and your mind hasn't forgotten beidou’s pampering. always thinking about it, analyzing every detail of those memories. how she treated you like you were made of porcelain, how she kissed every mark she left on you, the way she held you, and how she whispered in your ear until you fell asleep. each thing she did made you angrier.

but why? most would love being treated like this by the bassist. girls love her, yet she chose you. it got you mad, like always.

sex was the one thing about her that didn't make you enraged. she was good at using her dick and you would gladly take it. it became common to have sex regularly, it was useful, it put your mind off your hatred for her and it felt good, double win. like now, the two of you swapping spit on her bed, both of your hands under clothing and caressing each other.

her compliments made you sick to your stomach, the way she cooed at your whimpers and chuckled when you bucked your hips, it was all so annoying. “you’re cute.” she whispered into your ear, pecking your cheek as you pumped your hand up and down her shaft. her pants were pulled down enough so her cock could be exposed, its shape was the only thing you liked about her, right? right.

the two of you lying down next to each other felt romantic, her arm around your shoulder felt protective, and her gaze on you was soft. even as you grope her cock with your hand, beidou shows nothing but love for you. it’s obvious she sees sex as something between two lovers, nothing like how you do. god, how insufferable this hopeless romantic is.

“am i?” you question teasingly. “of course you are.” ew. internally, that made you gag, but you didn't show it. instead, you slither down the bed to be at eye-level with her dick. your lips press themselves onto her tip, humming at the taste of her pre-cum. beidou groans at your kisses, your lips are soft against her skin, and it feels good. one of her large hands goes to the back of your head. part of you wants her to grab your scalp and fuck you like a common whore. but she doesn't.

she treads her fingers through your hair, looking down at you with a sort of gaze only seen in those vintage romance movies. you quietly sigh and wrap your lips around her tip, lowering your head further and further down her length, till your lips reach the base of it. even as you deepthroat, bob your head ferociously, and gag on it, she still treats you with kindness, with love.

“god, yes...” she sighs, smiling to herself. her other hand goes down to hold your own, embracing your fingers with her calloused ones. your lips and throat feel like heaven around her cock, it was warm and wet, and it felt a million times better because you were sucking her off, not some random groupie, you. your abdomen tensed up, the love that she felt toward you was like no other, and that made her orgasm hurl towards the end.

she lets out a guttural groan, arching her back as her tip began to pour out cum. you push your head all the way down to the base, eagerly swallowing all of her seed. there was a lot of it, her eyes were screwed shut as she grunted with each rope. after a few more seconds, it stopped, and she sighed out of relief. that stupidly handsome smile formed on her face again, and she chuckled some more.

“you were always so good at doing this.” she sighed, letting go of your head and hand, “but i think i want more.” her eyes had a glint of playfulness in them, she stared at you like you were her sun, her moon, and her stars, she treated you like you were a deity. she sits up, resting her back against the headboard of the bed.

you licked up a few stray drops before sitting up as well. a smile was on your lips, but you weren't happy to be with her. she made you warm, but it wasn't an in-love kind of warm, it was an angry one, you think. “oh, yeah?” you raise your eyebrows, “i think i can help you with that.” your hands get placed on your shoulders, gripping them so you could maneuver yourself to be right on top of her erection.

you impatiently sat down on her dick when your eyes met, she always has that stupid look in her eyes, and you wanted to rip her face off. the pleasure of impaling yourself took your mind off the anger, you let out a moan while she sighed again. her hands went to your waist as you began your riding. no words were spoken between you two. good, just how you like it.

your arms slithered around her waist as you rode her ferociously, skin slapping against skin loudly. your head was thrown back in pleasure, she was so big it made you forget everything in your life, all your worries. it was just the pleasure beidou’s cock made you feel. your train of thought was cut off by beidou’s lips wrapping around your nipple, gently sucking on the sensitive bud.

even as you rode her aggressively, she still kept her touch soft, like you would break if she went too hard. you huffed and went harder, the pleasure was doing a horrible job of masking the anger, so you got more desperate. your mind went to how she felt inside of you and how big she was, her tip ramming into your g-spot with each bounce. it felt good, being fucked like this, without needing to think.

your mind went blank, the pleasure took over again. the feeling of beidou’s cock took it all away, your riding her and sucking was driving you closer and closer to your orgasm. you wanted it. you needed it. and you were so close, it felt so good. your moans got higher and higher, your nails dug into her skin and your muscles were tensing up. oh, so close.

“you look so pretty right now.” that husky voice whispers, you widen your eyes when you hear it and you’re met with the sight of a woman, a woman pathetically in love with another. all of a sudden, that warm feeling was gone, despite your continued riding. your eyes met hers, her irises looked gentle, like a puppy’s or some innocent animal that knew nothing but to love. and it got you furious.

all of a sudden, that sweet euphoric high you were chasing disappeared. your bouncing stopped and the slick between your thighs now felt cold and uncomfortable. your stomach twisted in disgust at the harsh realization, your brain didn't want to accept it, you didn't want to accept that this brute who was nothing but muscle had your heart right in her rough palms.

you remember how her eyes would look for you through every crowd her band had performed to and lit up when she saw you. you remember how on the first valentine’s day after your relationship was official she went above and beyond for you in all things romantic. you remember all the times she protected you, how she kissed you, held you. you… loved it.

everyone around you saw you as no good. a burden. a gold digger, a narcissist, someone not to associate with. it was foreign to be treated so nicely and be shown love… care, and affection. beidou didn't mind your fits or insults, she would take all your attitude with a big smile on her face and a bouquet already ready in her hands. your mind is running rampant, and it makes all you're trying to hide and push down feel more real, more intense.

your eyes began to water. beidou deserved better, you knew this. she deserved more than some gold digger who only cared about herself, she deserved more than you. she needed someone who loved her and wasn't afraid to admit it. she deserved someone who could give you more than you ever could. no matter how hard you tried. with the way she looked at you, you had no choice but to process your feelings, and they hit you like a ton of bricks.

you felt horrible about yourself. what the hell are you doing? using this hopeless romantic for sex and money when all she does is love you unconditionally. beidou doesn't deserve someone as disgusting as you.

“babe… you okay?” she mutters, straightening her posture and loosening the grip she hand on your bare body. you hate her. you hate the way she has the nerve to treat you like this when all you’ve known is being pushed away. beidou noticed your discomfort, the way your arousal faded away, and began to pull out. any other asshole you fucked would keep going, but she didn't.

you look down and shake your head, “no…” you whisper, “no, i… can’t do this…” your mind is saying one thing, and your heart is saying another. you can’t accept it, out of all things, this is the one thing you cannot let happen in your life. you can’t be in love with beidou… you can’t, you just can't.

“woah… uh, it’s okay. we… we don't have to continue if you don’t wanna.” she tries her best to affirm, to give you solace. it does the opposite. her kindness was unfamiliar and it made you feel the need to put more walls up, more than the ton you already have. you huff, “just… stop..!” your mind was already everywhere, you didn't need beidou’s kindness to further infuriate you.

she opens her mouth to protest then decides against it. good. she blinked rapidly at you. you raised your voice at her, and that never happens. you clench your jaw and then start again, “what are you getting at, beidou? what’s your goal here?!” you hated her. you just wanted to punch her face mercilessly for the way she makes you feel.

“my… my goal? what do you mean?” your muscles were incredibly tense. she made you angry, “your goal in… this! what are you trying to do?! why are you being so nice!?” you push her a bit out of impulse. the two of you were still connected, her being inside you. but there were zero signs of arousal, just anger, and confusion between the two of you. “being so nice? you’re my girlfriend! why wouldn’t i treat you nicely?”

you stare at her with fury in your eyes, your heart racing sporadically, “some people are nice to each other ‘cause they like each other, not to use each other.” she says in a calmer tone, reassuring you with her hands gripping your shoulder. you can’t accept it. there’s no way, you truly thought that romance this pure was only in romance movies for losers with broken hearts.

your heart was accepting your love for her, it was warm, and it felt like something that came straight from fiction. but your brain didn't let it happen, being seen as weak, and showing love, wasn't normal for you. those tears you desperately tried to push down were climbing back up, and in an attempt to hide them, you look away.

“babe,” beidou whispers, “i love you, a lot.” her voice was soft, you found that disgusting. each attempt to push them down made them rise even quicker. your eyes quickly started to pour out single tears, little by little, beidou sighed and pulled you closer to her, head resting under her chin. “hun, it’s okay…” she murmured, combing her fingers through your hair. gentle, like how a lover should.

your mind was in turmoil, the warmth beidou gave you battling against the discomfort all of this gave you. this started as a way for money, but now it feels like it's so much more. you now craved beidou, you could easily leave, pretend she doesn't exist. but you can't, you need her. the two of you sat in silence for minutes, those were the calmest, yet most tense minutes of your life. the thoughts in your head were the only things you could fully process until the action of beidou pulling out ripped you away from your mind.

“what are you doing?” you sniffled, voice stuffy and uncharacteristically weak. “oh. i’m just assuming we won’t continue…” she says under her breath. however, her words fall on deaf ears. you lean up and stare back into her eyes. your hands cup her cheeks, eyes admiring the handsome face you loathed with all your life up until a few minutes ago.

“beidou.” you sighed. her eyes did something to you, and it wasn’t like when you were just a groupie, it was warm but not that kind of warm. you wanted to kiss her, hold her hand, go on dates with her, cuddle. you already did all those things together, but now, it didn't feel like a chore to do. you wanted to gossip about anything and talk the night away with her, you wanted her to buy you flowers and you do the same back.

“when we started dating, beidou… i thought you were obnoxious.” it felt like you were getting rid of tens of thousands of weights off your shoulders, and it was nerve-wracking saying it, but you just… couldn't suck it up anymore. if you did, you would never tell her how you felt. ever. “and i thought that i would never fall for you, that i’m just gonna use you for money and shit. but… but, you’re such a sweet person and i don’t know a lot about relationships but i know you deserve better than this…”

before she could protest, you spoke out again, “i’ve been… lying to myself and to you. you’ve made me feel things that I hated, and you’ve done it so selflessly.” your face was hot with shame and embarrassment, and your vision was blurry with tears. “i’ve just kept you around so i could spend money and get laid. but… i don't think i can just keep lying to you like this. i’m horrible for you… but i’m too selfish to let another girl have you.”

even amid this horrible confession, she still reaches up and wipes away those tears that fall. her hand was warm, and it was nice to have her show affection. “so… i’m sorry.” you cringe saying that, but it feels nice letting go of everything. “i’m sorry for lying to you, using you, and for treating you like shit. but… i love you, beidou.” dear god, if you just yesterday heard you say that you’d flip. but it’s true… you love her, even if you keep trying to gaslight yourself.

it was silent, you weren’t given any response from beidou so you were left alone with a hurricane of thoughts in your head. your embarrassment worsened by her silence. it would be great if she said something, or even gave you that cliche kiss after a confession. but, it was just silence. nothing. you nervously chewed on your lower, fiddling with the sheets on the mattress.

“cute.”

that’s all she had to say? cute? if you weren’t on the verge of a mental breakdown you would’ve slapped her so hard. but, you didn't. beidou notices the furrow in your brows and pinches your cheek, “it’s okay…” she chuckles, looking off to the side as she begins her side of the story. “y’know, i didn’t really care about the way you treated me, i thought it was kinda hot...” her eyes have an unfamiliar glint in them, and yours do too.

“so, i love you too.” she proudly smiles, her pride gleaming harshly, showcasing all of her feelings to you just from a gaze, her happiness made your brain short-circuit. apparently, what’s in those romance movies made for losers with broken hearts is true, because all you want to do is kiss her until both of you turn blue, and then some more. so that’s what you do.

your kiss was delicate, she held you and kissed you like you were made of porcelain, her rough hands keeping a possessive grip on your body. both of your lips slotted against one another, it was a perfect fit, like two puzzle pieces or like magnets. hopefully, this relationship would fit together like that as well. it’ll take time, but that time will come.

unfortunately, oxygen is needed to stay alive, so the two of you pull away. both of you look deep into each other’s irises, admiring the way one looks at the other. the stillness in the air was disrupted by you letting out a snicker, “what? what’s so funny?” beidou questions, “nothin’, just think you’re cute.” you make an excuse and cup her face in your palms, rubbing her cheekbones with your thumbs.

her eyes gaze down. oh, right. your breakdown was kind of a mood killer. “are we gonna… continue, or…?” she mutters. it takes a moment for you to decide, “how about we take a bath instead?” she hums in acknowledgment. the two of you were cold with sweat. gross, a bath would be very appropriate in a situation like this.

she huffs while standing up with you in her arms. the walk to the bathroom was filled with kisses, whispers, and small fits of laughter. it felt soft, and your attitude was nothing like what it usually was, totally unlike you. but, it felt comforting. beidou felt comforting. even in the cold bathroom, your core felt everlastingly hot because of the butterflies she gave you.

it’ll take a while for both of you to get the gist of a relationship, a healthy one at that. but learning and growing is part of the process, right? who would’ve guessed that this nimrod actually managed to steal your heart?

[carcarrot]

well that was a shortlived good feeling about my job

[deadandphilgames]

oversharing in the tags time :)

[l-cereta]

in a bad mood for multiple unrelated reasons :thumbsup:

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Dang.

Resurrection day and cc!Tommy’s birthday and a good writing day and getting to spend time with baby cousins?? All on the same day???

[agardenintheshire]

my paper on portrait of a lady on fire and the male gaze was graded 1.0 and the lecturer asked if she can use it as a model for first year students 😭😭🤯🤯🤯

[astrxealis]

i miss the times back in shadowbringers. don’t get me wrong i love how things are in endwalker but there was just ?? something so magical about shb to me ???