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chronically-ghosted · 11 months ago

Text

you got your claws in me honey, like a tiger in love

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 8K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: you arrive at your estranged uncle's door. what else is there to do but catch up over grilled cheese? well, if you have anything to say about it, you might end up doing a bit more.

warnings: dbf!dieter, grilled cheese as a way to guilt trip your dad's best friend/uncle into fucking you, drug use (weed), raising arizona that comes with its own warning, flirting with someone twice your age, no smut — that’s what part 2 is for, reminiscing, a cliffhanger? 👀

a/n: the original fic came out MONTHS before the mcu rumors, so either i have precognition, or the apocalypse is becoming predicable. happy valentine's day you filthy animals because nothing says romance like porking your dad's best friend

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From the voicemail of Mr. Paul Landeau, official Hollywood talent manager and agent to one Mr. Dieter Bravo . . .

Tuesday, 6:43PM

No, I’m not doing it. I’m not.

There has to be something else out there. Look, I know Fire Monsters: A Cliff Beasts story didn’t do as well as we hoped, but Reddit says it could be a cult classic so why don’t you focus on making that happen, okay? Instead of giving me shit roles like this. I’m not doing it.

– the sound of a door opening and the phone being shuffled – – a zipper rips – – liquid pouring –

We fucking talked about this, man. I told you I needed something different, something new. Tiktok is just reels of me screaming and dying – it’s fucking bullshit –

– more liquid –

I’m done playing the fucking bad guy. I’m not signing any more headless action figures for those little snot-nosed, little fuckers in line. I’m not asking to sign their moms’ tits, either – okay, maybe – but Jesus Christ, Paul, what you sent over is, like, the opposite of where I need to be. It’s for little teeny boppers with one or two B horror movies under their belt to finally break out into the mainstream – or where actors over forty go to cash in an easy paycheck. And yes, I fucking know we need something, but fuck – is this really all there is?

– liquid stops pouring – – zipper rips – – the sound of a toilet flushing –

Don’t fucking call me back, Paul, unless you’ve got something. Something real.

Tuesday, 8:23PM

OW! Motherf–

– a skillet clattering –

Okay – fuck, that hurts – okay, Paul, what about this? It came to me in the bathroom. Remember Jack from the Christmas party at the studio’s place? So, he’s got those two Sundance films, right, but they’re in Spanish, so not appealing to an American audience. Nicki told me that he’s thinking about doing another project, one with a wider appeal, and I’m thinking I should totally give him a call. I think we could vibe. I really liked his stuff – reminded me of my old small town, fucking around with the neighbor kids, you know? Kinda hometown hero sort of thing.

– sharp inhale then a cough –

It’s not my usual thing, but I think we should give it a try. Gimme a call.

Oh, do you know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich? Been craving one but I think I might burn down my house if I try again and UberEats doesn’t reach the good places further south. Oh, fuck, wait –

Hey Google, how do you make a fucking excellent grilled cheese?

Tuesday, 9:21PM

No, fucking–

Siri – how.do.you.treat.a.burn?

Calling. . . Burger King . . .

No! Fuck!

Tuesday, 10:49PM

Paul-y! Baby! Paul-ito!

Don’t worry. I got an idea that’s going to make us a million dollars.

A shop that makes only grilled cheese. But like – fancy grilled cheese. What do the kids fucking call it, ah – boogie – yeah, boogie grilled cheese. Like gouda and white cheddar, and butter churned by blind nuns or some shit. Tomato soups that have been blessed by the Dalai Lama.

Big sign out front that says, Vegans Can Eat Shit.

They’ll eat it up.

Fuck yeah, they will.

– silence for three minutes and sixteen seconds –

Fuck acting, man. Fuck this place.

And fuck this fucking cheese that keeps burning – goddamn it!

Tuesday, 11:52PM

Paul, why don’t we hang out anymore?

When I got started, we hung out all the time, man.

Hot dogs on the Santa Monica pier. Beer in the Pacific Ocean.

You showed me all the cool spots that no one else in LA knew about. You got me my first bump and my first stripper. God, that was fucking wild, man, you remember? I was so nervous I thought I was going to throw up. Did I ever tell you that before? Coke probably didn’t help a kid from a small town in South Cali, but – fuck, it made me feel better. Like I could get my shit together if I really tried.

What, are you too good for me now – is that it? Am I not good enough for you, huh?

Look, I’ve got Raising Arizona on right now, so why don’t you come over with a six pack –

Oh, shit, that’s right. You got a fucking family now.

Not a good influence, ol’ Dee.

Not a good –

Wednesday, 1:05AM

Fine, Paul. Fine.

I’ll play Mr. Fantastic in the Fantastic Four reboot.

Dieter’s thumb brushes the red End Call button and tosses his phone onto the kitchen island with a growl. He can feel himself coming down from the bump earlier – a thing he absolutely did not want to happen – and he shoves his palms into his eye sockets.

There is more coke upstairs, but that would require him to walk through his very long hallways to get there. Very long, and dark, and empty hallways.

He should have asked Maria to stay once she was done with the laundry. He would have done it right too – big bowl of popcorn, fully dressed, with a sign around his neck that said, I promise I’m not trying to sleep with you.

He is becoming increasingly aware of how many erratic voicemails he just left for his agent, aware that behavior like that was libel to get him a sit down in Paul’s office with all the blinds and windows closed, Paul’s narrow face serious and using Concerned Emotion #5, as he asks, “do we need to go back to rehab, Dieter?”

We.

There once was a “we”, now there was just “he” – in a house with seven bedrooms and a pool that could fit a sixteen wheeler in it.

And TWO kitchens – why the fuck did he think he needed two kitchens –

Well, he knew he didn’t need two, but it would have been cool to show them off to someone – If there was anyone to show them off to . . .

Fuck this downer mood.

Dieter snatches up his phone again, and the movement brings up his latest apps. UberEats is the second one. He taps in a few keywords, blatantly ignoring his latest call list.

Goddamn Burger King . . .

The front doorbell rings.

Dieter frowns, pulling the screen closer under his big nose. Now, he knows he is high and he knows he should be wearing his glasses when reading but there’s no fucking way . . .

He goes out of the kitchen, the room still smelling of burnt cheese with the cast iron skillet in the sink and a black husk sticking to its bottom. He goes left, then right, his robe tightly wrapped around him as if he is some huffy housewife, then down a hall and across the marble entrance way – fuming – why is this house so goddamn huge – who thought this was a good idea?

And so he wrenches open the front door – to a girl, not holding a Burger King bag. No, she’s got a roller suitcase behind her, bright blue, and she and the case are dripping wet. Like, just sprayed with a hose kind of wet and her big bottom lip is trembling. Behind her, the sky pukes buckets of rain, groaning with thunder.

Now, he likes his call girls (he always thought it was classier to call them that) a little more . . . vampy than this, but hell, he had been turned on by much less than this— than her with her big eyes, fat droplets rolling off her lashes, flushed cheeks – and oh, shit, her shirt is totally see-through – is that purple, he feels the back of his mouth flush with spit – wow, is this Paul’s way of apology because –

“Uncle Dee?”

And he’s mentally shoving himself back into his pants because no one in years has called him that and that was a very different time in place, when he was a completely different person and if this girl is the person he thinks it is, then – Jesus Christ, he’s bound and gagged straight for hell –

He squeaks out your name and you smile, sort of grimace, at him and wave.

“Yep, it’s me. Been awhile, right?” You finally give into the mortification of your stupid plan and you scrunch up your face, your hand wrapped around your elbow. “Look, I’m so sorry, this is too weird. I don’t have your number, but I panicked when my flight got canceled and my phone’s dead and you’re the only person I know in LA and –,”

“No, no – you’re fine – sorry–,” Dieter blinks before stepping back and letting you through. You sigh in relief and yank your baby blue suitcase over the threshold as you walk in, dripping water everywhere. “Sorry, it’s been a weird night and for, like, two seconds, I thought . . . nevermind . . .”

I thought you were a fucking ghost.

You bite the corner of your lip, glancing at him, knowing it was probably unwise to piss off your one chance at not sleeping on the ground tonight — or if what you were about to say would piss him off in the first place.

“Yeah, well, it’s been eleven years since we last saw you, Uncle Dee.”

Early on in his career, he wanted to build up rep as not only an actor but a real tough guy, so he asked if he could do some stunts for an old cop show. For all his bravado, he ended up getting a real round-house kick to the face and it sent him reeling.

This feels a little bit like that.

“No way, it can’t have been that long. Besides, I know I left my number with your dad or your grandma before I left and —,”

His throat closes up when very old guilt washes over him. It’s intensified when you give him an uncomfortable look.

“So your dad didn’t give you my number then.”

It’s not a question. You shake your head. You don’t tell him that your dad tried to call years ago and got a busy tone for the first few, and then a few years after that, was brusquely informed the line had been disconnected.

He chews on his lip.

You try to smile at him again but then another shiver takes hold of you and Dieter grimaces. “Shit, sorry, one second. I think this closet down here has towels.”

He all but sprint-walks down one of the many halls branching off from the entrance, the ends of his robes flapping. You hear the creak of doors, several, as he digs around in the walls.

“Why do I have so many fucking linens?” You hear him grumble and you smile to yourself. You feel like you need to wring your hair out but wouldn’t dare move from the spot where he left you.

After a thump and more grumbling, he comes back, rubbing the back of his head, but holding out a giant lime green towel. In the light, you can see the dark circles under his eyes when you take the towel and immediately go to stop your hair from dripping on the marble.

His brain is waffling, ping ponging, between his memories and what is standing right in front of him. This? This is the little girl, not his literal blood relative, but she’s Enrico’s kid – Enrico, a slugger and one hell of a outfielder since he was eight years old, whose mom made enchiladas like nobody else in the goddamn world – Enrico, whose house became like a second home, Ricky's family a better family than his own – this is the same girl who hoarded Skittles like a fiend, the same one who he took to the pool on the weekends in the summer, and the zoo during Thanksgiving break? This little girl –

– is the same girl who is all legs under damp denim, eyes that could make Cleopatra fly into a jealous rage, and a fucking rockstar smile?

And, holy shit, those tits –

Dude, you cannot be checking her out. Dig deep and fight your fucking caveman brain. You’ve fucked up a lot in your life and you cannot do that right now. You cannot do that to Enrico.

You cannot do that to her.

You notice him grimace as he squints into the light of the chandelier above you both. “So, uh, not that I mind, but, uh, what are you doing here? I mean –,”

You laugh and it seems to echo in the empty house. “No, that’s a fair question. I was on a flight back from looking at colleges out east and my flight got grounded in LAX because of the storm. I absolutely don’t have enough money to stay in a hotel or rent a car and drive back home, so I needed a place to crash and call my sister to send me some money. And my stupid driver didn’t want to get flagged for harassing a celebrity, so he dropped me off at the corner, hence . . .”

You wave at yourself and inside his slippers, his toes curl, respectfully not looking at your damp legs and a definitely purple bra visible through your shirt.

Your mouth suddenly capsizes. “Shit, is that okay, if I stay here for a night? I didn’t even think - I - I’m not . . . interrupting anything, am I?”

Dieter chuckles, your expression undeniably cute, and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his robe.

“Nah. Not unless you call making the worst grilled cheese imaginable a party.”

At that moment, your stomach chooses to make the most aggressive growl in your entire life and you flush deeper than the cold outside.

“Apparently someone thinks that’s a good idea,” you chuckle weakly, horrified that your body is actively trying to sabotage a normal conversation.

Did it matter that you had posters of him in your bedroom when you were thirteen? That you went to midnight releases of every one of his movies?

No. Not at all.

“I got some food, mostly leftovers.” He worries at his lip as he realizes the only thing by way of something green in his fridge is the jar of olives he got for martinis. Even then, he has a sneaking suspicion he replaced the olive juice with vodka, but the memory of that night is entirely butchered. “But, uh, I’m sure we can find something.”

You smile at him. “Actually, grilled cheese sounds great.”

“Only if you do it.” He smiles, honestly, when you laugh. “What? Don’t laugh — I’m serious. I can’t make a sandwich to save my fucking life.”

“Pretty sure I can manage two slices of bread and cheese.”

His eyebrows jump as his lips press themselves together and you watch the thumb-sized bare spot on his beard twitch.

“Yeah, that’s what you think and then your goddamn kitchen is on fire.”

“Lemme change, do some rocket surgery and brain science, and then I’ll attempt to crack this grilled cheese thing.”

“Okay, but remember we do have Chinese leftovers and I can definitely crush a microwave. This way.”

You follow him through the halls, his shoulders loosening underneath the off-green fuzz, and you try and not to stare at the immaculately beautiful walls and expansive, clean floors, so your eyes wander, and then you’re trying not to stare at the immaculately beautiful man in front of you.

You push away the thought that this house looks nothing like you’d expect someone like Dieter to have, as he leads you to the kitchen — all black and chrome and steel, like what a Norwegian serial killer would have — and nods to a door towards the opposite wall. He’s digging around for the last slices of white bread when he says,

“Bathroom’s down there. I’ll get it all ready, but I’m leaving it up to you. Can’t afford to lose another pan.”

Your eyes finally drift down from the bare walls, unsure if you should be offended that nothing of the family back home is here, or accept that there was just nothing personal anywhere. You smile gently at him and nod in thanks.

He watches you go, that bright blue suitcase flashing as loud as a tornado siren, and he shakes his head. God, he needs a drink but drinking also makes him horny and he needs every mental facility available to him if he wis going to make it through this night with his sanity still intact.

Had it really been eleven years? He always meant to call up Enrico and the old neighborhood gang. He probably forgot about that last fight anyway – even if Dieter hadn’t – even if it wasn’t more than a decade ago. Mama Gonzales always said there’d be a place for him, even after his own father said acting was for maricos and drag queens. It always hurt more when the postcards from the Gonzales family stopped coming than when Mom stopped calling. And he always meant to send back a proper return address when he moved out of that crappy loft after his first real movie premiere but that was the 90s, and much of the 90s was spent between working shit jobs and drooling on the floors of rave warehouses. It wasn’t them specifically he didn’t want to see him like that, but anyone. Anyone who knew him before Dieter Bravo.

Certainly not anyone who called him Uncle Dee —

Something flashes in the corner of his eye and he realizes he’s always fucking hated the fact that the a) the back of his house is just one big window and b) he never bothered to put in curtains. Because, the thing with windows is they reflect things — things like his pseudo-niece taking her top off in his guest bathroom. Reflected and in full color right across his kitchen island like the sexiest hologram that will haunt his fucking wet dreams until the day hell freezes over.

Yep, that’s definitely your hips, your ribs, and okay—

Nope. Absolutely not.

Dieter’s knees give out and he crouches (more like slumps) to the floor behind the island, his palms so far in his eye sockets he can only see stars.

Yeah, only stars. Focus on the stars, not the image of the curve of your gorgeous tits that’s running around his brain like a child with scissors and a Thanatos instinct off the fucking charts.

Fuck, and he just wanted to get high and watch Nicholas Cage in a mullet.

“Hey, I’m done. Dee, you still here?”

He stifles a groan and stands up. You smile at him, the wet jeans and agonizing white tank top gone, only to be replaced by a black Fleetwood Mac tshirt and — fuck, where are your pants?

You lower the handle to your suitcase and go to stow by the bathroom door. And that’s when he realizes you are actually wearing pants, black shorts that are practically hidden by the oversized t-shirt and are comically, hilariously, painfully small. He can’t actually see the curve of your ass as you walk around the side of the island but he is absolutely not going to let his gaze linger long enough to confirm.

He clears his throat as you come to stand beside him. He gestures to the four pieces of white bread and a stack of Crafts American cheese.

“H-h-have —,” he clears his throat again and his forebearers groan collectively in embarrassment. “Have at it.”

You smile and tuck your hair over your ear before picking up the knife.

“D’you have mayonnaise? Butter?”

No amount of irredeemable hotness can distract him from that. “What? What do you need mayonnaise for? It’s grilled cheese.”

You cluck your tongue, an eyebrow raised. “Brain science and rocket surgery, remember? Don’t question the master.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he goes to his steel monolith of a fridge.

“Jeez, sorry, I asked,” he grumbles playfully.

He comes back with an (thankfully) unexpired jar and tub of butter and you get to work. Silence stretches a bit too long, something Dieter has never been good with, especially with beautiful women. He loves running his mouth and sometimes he's found that the women liked it too. He resigns himself to sit across from you at the island, watching you spread mayonnaise on both sides of the bread.

“So, uh, how are the folks? How’s your, uh, dad?”

You nod slowly and even though he hasn’t been around in eleven years to pick up on all your tells, he swears your hackles go up.

“Fine. All good. Dad’s still at the car repair shop — owns it now, actually. Makes decent money, I guess.”

“You guess?” He hadn’t made it his life’s work to mimic the human condition to not recognize cagey language.

You glance at him briefly before flipping over the last piece of bread and dropping a dollop of mayonnaise on top.

“Yeah. I — uh, we haven’t — I actually haven’t talked to them in a while. Though if I had, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.” You sneak another glance, this one ladened with a smile that had a secret curled up in its corners. “Serves me right, probably.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

He can’t help but return the smile, one of a familiarity he hasn’t earned yet. You were smiling at him as if you two had years of secrets together, memories and inside jokes that were for the pair of you alone. For the life of him and all the water in his ridiculous pool, he couldn’t fathom why you were being so nice to him. Letting him off the hook. It had been eleven fucking years after all. There are a lot of things he takes guilt free from the world. Your fucking star-eyed smile is not one of them.

So, he lets you off the hook. He doesn’t push it. If you don’t want to talk about your folks, he is happy to chatter aimlessly about something else. But, his brain winds up, what happened that caused you to fall out with your parents? Enrico, even back then, had been a hard ass, with you and your brothers. Always made sure to walk the straight and narrow. Detested drugs, always shined his shoes, thought tattoos were the devil, never kissed a girl on the first date —

And here you are, making fucking mooneyes at his daughter.

Well, one thing was for sure, he muses, something warm spreading in his gut, you are nothing like your daddy.

The hiss of the bread hitting the hot butter in a pan (you didn’t even need to ask where another pan was, you just helped yourself to his cabinets and he couldn’t have been more proud) jerks him out of his daze and he realizes that annoying silence has set in again.

“So, colleges, huh? Anything in particular spark interest?”

You nod excitedly as he found a topic that made you glow. Clearly, no one had asked about your interests in a long time.

“Yeah, actually. Emerson in Boston was amazing. I loved the city, but not sure I’d survive the winter. Swarthmore sounds good, Amherst too, but again, cold.” You grin sheepishly and flip the sandwiches, pressing the spatula (he didn’t even know he owned one of those) into the bread, making the butter sizzle and the air fill with a smell that can only be described as mouth-watering.

“It’ll be a nightmare, taking out loans for those places, but fuck, I think I’d be really happy there.”

He leans against the counter, facing you with crossed arms. He smiles a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What, your folks wouldn’t pay for it? Or at least help out?”

Something sharp flashes in your eyes, like a rabbit catching the scent of a predator, before you shrug your shoulders flippantly. A well-worn deflection, he notes, right next to the place where he’s got all the places you mentioned are about as far away from California as possible. If you had mentioned somewhere in Europe, he wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Nah. I wouldn’t let them. Don’t want them thinking they get input into my life because they hold the purse strings over my head.” You turn off the stove and he moves to get the plates out from the cabinets – something to contribute as you made him a better meal than he’s had in ages.

“So, uh, we eat in there?” You glance down the hall to the eerily clean dining room, a place he’s pretty sure he’s never once set foot in after three years of living in this goddamn mansion.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “C’mon, I already have a movie picked out.”

You follow him, plates hot, down carpeted stairs to clearly the only room in the house that Dieter actually lives in. The lights down here are low, much more bearable than the white spotlights of the kitchen. Against one wall, there’s a fully stocked bar, with most of the alcohol halfway empty and costing a fortune. Across from the stairs is a massive record collection, going up to the ceiling, next to a gorgeous old record player — all wood and black vinyl — with big, plushy earphones curled up on a black leather recliner.

But the star of the show is the wall-to-ceiling television, with a brown, mouse-soft leather sofa that wraps like a giddy, up-turned grin in front of it.

And of course, in between the superstar television and the cozy couch, is a low glass table where he had snorted lines of coke more times he could count and where a virgin joint sits, unsmoked and tempting.

Dieter flushes as though he’d been caught by his parents with his pants down around his ankles.

“Fuck, sorry–,” he rushes over, the plate clattering with the glass, and he reaches for the joint, ready to squish it into his pocket when–

You laugh. “Relax, Dee, I know what a joint is. In fact, we are very well acquainted.”

You fold yourself into the couch, legs crossed, grinning at him as you bite into your sandwich.

He swallows, unclenching slightly as he sits down next to you. He watches you eat for a moment, trying to think of something cool to say.

“Sounds like I’ve missed my calling as the fun uncle, getting you high for the first time and all that.”

You snort and swallow your mouthful. “Yeah, by like two fucking years.”

“Oh, what a fucking lifetime. You poor thing,” he says, pouting dramatically and you giggle again, bumping into his shoulder. It sends his sanity knocking around in his brain.

You don’t notice, though, your eyes falling to the joint in the small ceramic bowl. The smile slides from your face.

“Well, you might have missed my first joint, but I’d be more than happy to take this one as my next.”

His eyebrows practically bounce off his forehead. “You’re serious?”

Your eyes slide away from the joint to his, something distractingly dark hiding there. “I mean, if the parties on your Instagram are anything to go by . . . And, well, when in Rome . . .”

You trail off, smirking, gesturing around you as if you had any idea the levels of debauchery that were obtained in this very room. Come to think of it, he halfway considers picking you up off the couch and putting a towel down underneath your perfect ass.

This is how it went sometimes, with the slower hook ups. No wet clothes, or grilled cheese, or bringing up family trauma — but initial touches, curling smiles, and then drugs. Always drugs. As if there needed to be another hand that tore off the cap of the pressurized, fizzy soda bottle. He’d play music then, for them, to show off his vinyl collection and have a plausible reason to rub his dick between their ass cheeks while dancing slowly to something croon-y from the seventies.

Not that any of that would be happening with you.

He wasn’t a complete monster after all.

With a playful grin that he had mastered over many press junkets, he snatches up the joint and lighter, and presents both to you in the flat of his hand.

“First hit goes to you, since you were so kind to make dinner for an old fuck like me.”

You snort and put your plate onto the table, wiping your hands free of crumbs on your black shirt.

“Such a gentleman.”

With deft and practiced hands, you take the joint between your index finger and your thumb, and sparking the lighter, brought the flame to your lips.

Just for one second, one goddamn second, he swears he saw The Look reflected in your eyes. He glances away, his cock fluttering awake like goddamn Lassy hearing the calls of another well-begotten child. He picks up his own plate.

“Hardly. It was all a ploy to get you to admit you follow me on Instagram.”

You burst out coughing, smoke chugging from your nose and mouth. “Dieter!”

He cackles, his tongue between his teeth, as you shove him away from you — do not think about her fingers clenched around your bicep — try to sit up and inhale again. You hang your head and groan.

“Fuck, I can’t believe I said that.”

“Yeah, and for that, I get two puffs,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, the rest of it full of the most perfectly cooked grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever had. He finishes chewing and swallows. “Hand it over, princess.”

You hand over the lighter and the joint, the paper slightly greasy from your fingers, leaning back dramatically into one of the many plushy cup holder seats spread out along the very long couch.

He chuckles devilishly again, far too satisfied, as he lights up and leans back into the cushions.

“And, as gesture of goodwill, I’ll admit that’s a good fucking grilled cheese.”

Your eyes snap open and a wide grin splits your face. “Hell yes! Mayonnaise on both sides, butter on the side with cheese. Best family recipe. Mwah!”

“Fuck, even I know that’s too much cholesterol for me,” he grunts and digs into the cushions, feeling around for the remote.

“Well, that’s not enough cholesterol for me,” you wink as you take the joint from the hand on his thigh, eyes daring you to do something about it. Nowhere near high enough to take the bait, he just narrows his eyes at you as he clicks the button and the entertainment system comes to life with a primordial hum.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, eyes wide, as the speakers roar and the lights dim further and the screen glows, “it’s like I’m in a fucking movie theater . . . in space.”

“It’s great, right?” Dieter moans like a loving father over his first child. This thing is his pride and joy, the only thing he could stomach in this goddamn house.

The DVD buffer for Raising Arizona begins and you squeal quietly, sliding onto your back, the joint dangling between your lips.

“No fucking way, I love this movie.”

Dieter stilled. “Really? You do?”

The few times he felt nostalgic for his old life — his old, old life when he was still a kid from nowhere, a nobody, you couldn’t pick him out of a line up of his sweaty, grubby cousins when they were all cobbled together like crooked teeth in front of Abuela Josefina’s television that still had knobs and bunny ears to watch movie after movie of Nicholas Cage reruns. Even with knees in his back, elbows in his ears, Dieter could quote every single line, his heart swelling.

That’s gonna be me some day.

“This movie is from, like, another century,” he mutters as he watches you settle in, something sickening like adoration clawing up in his chest.

“Yeah and it’s great,” you say eagerly, ignoring the way he plucks the joint out of your fingers. “Put it on!”

He resolutely ignores the pinch in his low stomach at your almost whine and presseS the play button with a little more force than necessary. Then, balancing the joint on the ceramic bowl, he sticks his fingers into his robe, pulls out his glasses, and puts them on without a second thought – just as he always did when watching movies.

It is only when he realizes he doesn’t hear you breathing that he realizes what he has done. Slowly he pulls the square glasses off his face and looks at them, feeling as disgusted as the day his doctor put them in his hands.

Near-sighted. Very common. Happens when people as they age.

“Got ‘em–,” his throat closes again, “got ‘em a few years ago. Only have to wear ‘em to see things up close and, uh . . . Well, I think they make me look old as shit.”

He can’t quite look at you, unsure what he’ll see on your face and knowing for sure that he couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t the way you look at him before. If you just would tease him about it, then —

“No,” you say, your voice very soft and small. His heart nearly punches out his throat, his neck nearly snapping in half as his head whips up to look at you. You sit up on your elbows, the darkness of the room cushioning your soft cheeks and muting the glaze in your eyes as you watch him over the bend of your knees.

“Nah,” you say, your nose scrunching, the weight of the high clearly settling into your skin, “they make you look . . . Uh, they’re cute.”

Dieter sucks in the side of his cheek, nodding slowly and sliding the glasses back over his nose. Cute, he could work with that.

“Jeez, would you start the movie already?” You poke his side with your toe. He doesn’t need to look at you to hear the faint blush in your voice.

He turns the volume up and crosses his arms, smiling faintly. You’re warm next to him, he thinks vaguely, his own high finally starting to sink into his bones.

Cute. Definitely not a word he’s going to obsess over.

The movie goes on.

Nicholas Cage is Nicholas Cage with a mullet.

Your laugh is the clattering of bells in his ears and he can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard his sides hurt.

He’s coming up from bent over, knees almost to his chest, laughter nearly popping his ribs, when he realizes your feet are in his lap. The arches of your soles, the delicate bones of your ankles, the long smooth planes that run up to your gorgeous calves—

They are there, in his lap, and you don’t seem to mind. Head turned towards the screen, face bright from laughing, your arm arched back over your head, pressing your chest up — it’s like you meant for them to be there.

It’s just one hand, right? Two at the most. Just putting his hands down where he had them a moment ago. Up and — down.

You don't flinch. His palm is on the arched top of your foot, the other just above your other ankle.

You do smile, but that might have been because of Nicholas Cage raging again.

And then, during another bout of giggles, he clutches your shin bone, wraps his fingers around your heel, and laughs and laughs and laughs.

You wipe the tears away from your eyes, the end credits rolling.

“Fuck, that’s a such a good movie.”

He swallows, swiping quickly under his glasses before taking them off and chucking them onto the table in front.

“You’re fucking right it is,” he says hoarsely, leaning forward and plucking up the last of the joint. He inhales, letting the smoke ease stifle the tears in the corner of his eyes, gulping down a breath before offering it to you.

You take it, distracted, eyes on the credits, the light from the screen glowing on your cheeks.

He presses up under your ankle with his middle finger. “What? You knew what was gonna happen, you’d said you’d seen it before.”

You nodded, still not looking at him.

He goes for a more direct approach. He pinches your calf, and you scowl, the light back in your eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, a bit sharply. He’s not nearly done having fun with you, not nearly. You take another sip of smoke before setting the joint back on the table.

You huff, settling onto your back, pinching at your nails.

“Just . . . Nothing, it’s stupid.”

Dieter hums. He knows when to let him come to you. He taps the arch of your foot.

“How are you feeling?” His gaze nudges the joint on the table.

You grin. “Really good. Tingly. Warm. Like everything else is a million miles away.”

Just the two of us.

“Enough to tell ol’ Uncle Dee what’s on your mind?”

You roll your eyes and sit up a bit, yanking a pillow behind you.

“Just thinkin’ about the old days, I guess.” You glance up at him from under your eyes. “Not in a bad way. At all. I just . . .”

“What?” If you gave him hell for the last eleven years, then fuck it, he deserved it. He pulls at your ankle. “What?”

With a big sigh, you lean back, something finally breaking and, with it, comes a great big smile.

“Okay, remember when you’d put on those plays with the rest of us kids during those super lame family reunions o-o-or Christmas? Marissa would have everything written out, all the cousins cast and you’d beg her to let you play – fucking – Bear Number 5 or something ridiculous – and she’d fight you on it but she’d relent, always putting on a show of her own – as if a ten year old could be put out like that.” You giggled, biting on your thumb, a sparkling in your eyes that made something in his chest burn.

Yes, he remembers the incredibly stupid fuzzy ears and the bear claw mittens. The fake roaring. TMZ would have a fucking stroke if those pictures of him, baby-faced, were to ever surface online. He smiles at you and basks in the warmth of those memories, his high making them brighter.

“I think it would have crushed her little heart if you didn’t ask,” you said, heavy-lidded eyes on you again. “I know it broke her when you stopped showing up at all.”

His heart actually pinches at that. He knows you’re not scolding him but fuck, maybe he’d feel better if you did. What a fucking idiot he was, for leaving all of that for empty mansions and meals from UberEats and all this fucking gunked up shit in his veins that made him feel older and older every year. Like he was chasing something that was never real in the first place.

“Look, honey,” the pet name is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He’s twisting towards you, both hands under your calves now. “I should have called. Should have made sure that at least you knew where to find me, even if things between your dad and I were fucked.”

“Oh, God, Dee, no. I don’t blame you. I don’t even blame my dad, sometimes. You just were very different people. He’s fine living his life in the same small ass town in the middle of nowhere. But you weren’t. And, fuck . . . I’m not either.”

He frowns. You bite your lip and continue.

“You know, I thought about following you out to Hollywood. Because of those plays. I had the best fucking time doing them and Hollywood didn’t seem so scary . . . with Uncle Dee out here. But, uh, I dunno. I grew up, I guess. Figured I was better at telling stories than performing them. I just knew I didn’t want to end up like my dad. Dying where I lived. Unremembered.”

His gut doubles in on itself. Please don’t say you gave up your dreams because I stopped calling.

“Do you still think about acting?” He asks quietly, trying to fight the faint ringing in his ears.

“Oh God, no,” you wave your hands, dusting away his near-panic that he’d somehow ruined your life. “I really do prefer writing stories, even if they exist only within the pages of a book. Or a really bad pamphlet, once or twice. I tried to continue the plays at home for a few years, after you left and Marissa took up cheerleading and thought she was too old to play with her little cousins anymore. But it just wasn’t the same without her. Or you.”

He realizes all too late that he can feel your pulse under your ankle. Strong. Pounding. Pounding, hard. Like you’re nervous. So struck by the notion that he can feel something so personal of yours, the smoke trapped in his brain lifts only slightly when he catches your eyes looking somewhere you absolutely should not be.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, fuck, he knows that look. You blink at him, then your gaze slowly slides down, down to his crotch, as smoothly you can beneath the weight of the smoke in your brain and he battles between the desire to throw your legs off him or pull you underneath him.

It’s The Look.

Men, women, it didn’t matter. The look was the same.

When the possibility of sex first enters their mind, when that first bloom of lust rushes down their spine and the memory of the physical exertion of fucking – all the panting and the heavy breathing, aching muscles and sweat – comes back, as real as a song stuck in your head. When that spark of imagination threatens to sway from the hypothetical to the actual, it’s a look he knows so fucking well, he might as well be able to carve it from clay, blind-folded.

And you’re giving it to him, right now.

You haven’t really thought about seducing him yet, no, that part hasn’t crossed your mind yet. But you definitely are imagining what his cock would feel like inside you, and you and your imagination and your wide-eyed gaze at his lap all whole-heartedly agreed: that would be a great fucking thing.

You, on your elbows, your heel dangerously close to his half-hard cock, the glaze in your eyes having something to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing, and your short breath having everything to do with what you were so shamelessly picturing.

He was quite sure you were completely unaware of the expression your face was making. Eyes hooded, mouth parted, breath short. Masking your emotions and filthy thoughts is a skill set mastered later in life and perhaps the last time you looked at someone like that, they simply bent you over the nearest surface and railed you till your knees buckled.

What a fucking excellent idea, his libido trilled. Now get off the couch and do something about it. I’m foaming at the fucking mouth here, man.

Dieter silences his inner horny monster, unintentionally squeezing his hand, the one that happens to be wrapped around your calf.

The movement seems to break you out of your dizzying spiral and you blink up at him.

He swallows. With a half smirk on the edge of your lips that you try to not let him see, you take your feet out of his lap, then reach forward, your palm alarmingly high on his thigh as you take the joint from his fingers. Your eyes flash like warning signs.

DANGER. DANGER, WILL ROBINSON. DANGER.

“So, you gonna give me a tour of this place or what?”

End of Part 1 | Next

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction

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weirdmageddon · 8 months ago

Note

gimme your case for liking arquiussprite, genuinely curious

he’s just such a weirdo maniac that it’s funny, like i have no words when it comes to that dude he really is a character that just leaves you stunned. i would hate being around him irl but hes so bizarre that i cant help but i appreciate him as a character for that

also side note, i fuckin love how voxus brought his manic energy to life with their voice acting

i think it comes down to the fact that his outlook isn’t miserable, he loves being alive and that alone makes a character more tolerable to me. he doesn’t give a fuck about how he comes off aside from his language, which compared to literally everything else about him seems like such a trivial issue. but that in of itself adds a lot of character. and the way he mixes formal and casual words to create this odd dialect that just tickles my brain. like you cant deny he IS entertaining.

he actually has good judgment and speaks only facts

ARQUIUSPRITE: 100k at me. I needed to merge a sweaty guy who loves horses in order to be happy

ARQUIUSPRITE: Gosh d***** horses Dirk

ARQUIUSPRITE: I think about them all the time while I fle% and it makes me smile

^ this is so awesome. good for him

the equius part of him really still cares about nepeta and its like…aw. also “sir/peon” fucking LOL

dont see this talked about much, if at all but, he gets real important shit done for the session by himself which is pretty cool. the genesis frog needs the grist hoard to grow. everyone say thank you arquiusprite. also the fact that sprites can control the game directly without server/client is pretty damn cool? i dont remember seeing that before this

oh and also this is legendary

basically this post yeah. certified awesome Phreak

#hs #homestuck meta #arquiusprite

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marina41trench · 6 months ago

Text

Tamaki & Ryuu Shuffle Talk 2024 - The King's Endorsement [3/3]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Tamaki: That’s awesome! They’re juggling while on a unicycle!

Is this what they call a street performance?!

Ryuu: Yeah! They have a great sense of balance……!

Tamaki: Whoa, they threw the ball really high!

Will they manage to catch it…..?!

Ryuu & Tamaki: Nice catch!

Clap clap clap clap……!

Tamaki: ……Huh……

Ryuu: What’s wrong?

Tamaki: That kid can’t see anything even on tiptoes because there’s an adult in front of him.

Ryuu: You’re right…… And the lady beside him had a lot of stuff so she couldn’t carry him.

Tamaki: ……Umm, Ryuu-aniki.

Ryuu: Yeah. I feel the same too!

Tamaki: I didn’t even say anything, though?!

Ryuu: Fufu. You wanted to say you want to give the kid a piggyback on your shoulders, right?

Tamaki: Awesome, you’re an esper……!

But, you’re taller than me so he’ll see better if you do it.

Ryuu: We should approach them!

Tamaki: Hello! Me, Tamaki! Japan! [1]

……Ahh, umm, Japanese!

Boy: …………?

Mother: Hello……?

Tamaki: Yay! Hello!

Tamaki: Let's piggyback on the shoulder! Ryuu-aniki!

Boy: Piggyback……?

Ryuu: Umm……

Ryuu: <My apologies. Are you this boy’s mother? Is it alright with you if he piggybacks on my shoulders so he could see the performance better?>

Tamaki: Ryuu-aniki’s so fluent……!

Mother: <Thank you for your kindness. This young man would like to lend his shoulder for you.>

Boy: Yay! Tamaki: Yay!

Ryuu: Ahaha. I’m glad we can communicate in English as well……!

Well then, here I go!

Boy: Top……! [2]

Tamaki: That’s great, Ryuu-aniki!

Ryuu: Yeah! It’s been a while since I’ve done this, I’m glad I made him happy!

Tamaki: I used to do that with the kids back in the facility too.

Ryuu: I see……

You've been good at taking care of people since you were young.

Ryuu: We’re a great big brother pair!

Tamaki: Hehe. Yeah! Big bro pair!

Tamaki: Oh yeah, let’s try the gratitude chocolate!

Ryuu: Sure!

I’m not sure if it’s fine for us to receive it in such a well done package……

Tamaki: ……It’s delicious.

Ryuu: Eh?

Tamaki: T-this tastes really good!

What’s this? Real chocolate?!

Ryuu: I don’t think there are fake or real chocolates……

……You’re right, it’s really delicious!

Tamaki: Where’s the shop for this?! I wanna buy and bring one home as a souvenir!

Ryuu: Gimme a sec. If I remember correctly, the chocolate shop was featured in a map we received……

……Ah, it’s this one! It’s very close!

Ryuu: ……What’s this? It’s incredibly popular because it’s a purveyor to the royal family……

Tamaki: Does this mean that the King approves of the taste too?!

Ryuu: Yes!

Perhaps this is the clue to clear the mission?!

Let’s check it!

Tamaki: It smells sweet…… It’s already delicious even when it’s just a scent.

Ryuu: It’s dangerous to walk with your eyes closed……!

Tamaki: I imagine eating chocolate right now just by the smell.

Ryuu: Let’s walk while holding hands! Here, one, two, one two……

Tamaki: Ahaha! It looks like what Sou-chan does when he wakes me up in the morning!

Thanks, Ryuu-aniki!

Ryuu: Does he always lead you by the hand every morning……?

Tamaki: Ah, hey look at this! Is this the shop with the same logo on the wrapping?!

Ryuu: Yeah, it’s this one……!

And then…… found it! The lion insignia!

Tamaki: Ohh~! If this thing’s here, then this should be the King’s endorsement, right?!

Ryuu: Favorite…… you’re right! It’s easy to tell!

Tamaki: Then, the King’s endorsement is…..

Ryuu & Tamaki: Chocolate!

Accompanying Staff: You’re correct!

Ryuu & Tamaki: Yay!

Tamaki: Mission cleared! That was pretty long……!

Ryuu: I’m glad we solved it without hiccups!

We talked about chocolates during the briefing, I can’t believe we already answered it.

Tamaki: Hilarious. If we went to a chocolate shop first, then it’s already over!

Tamaki: But thanks to it I get to talk to you a lot.

Ryuu: Yeah. I’m happy that we get to talk so much while roaming this lovely town.

Ryuu: Alright, since we’re here, I should find souvenirs for Gaku and Tenn around here.

Tamaki: I’m going to buy chocolate here as a souvenir and as a night snack at the hotel!

Ryuu: You’re going to buy them separately?!

Tamaki: Of course!

The me today and the me who eats the souvenir are different.

Ryuu: That sounds philosophical……

Tamaki: I wonder which one I’ll choose.

Clerk: <This flavor is only limited to Valentines. It contains berry jello!>

Ryuu: <A jello! It looks delicious.>

Ryuu: I talked to them in English, and they said it has berry jello!

Tamaki: Ohh, that’s cool.

That looks like Nagicchi would like!

Tamaki: Sir, I’d like one! Thanks!

Ryuu: Choosing a souvenir is the real thrill of traveling.

Ryuu: You should choose one too.

Ryuu: Yeah…… I wonder which one I’ll pick.

Ah, cinnamon! I’m sure Tenn will like this!

Ryuu: I think Gaku will like bitter more.

Tamaki: Sounds good. We should check other shops!

Tamaki: Ah, look!

That shop sells a delicious looking chocolate drink!

There’s a cream on it, too!

Ryuu: That looks delicious! We should look for the shop we’ll endorse!

Tamaki: Sure! My endorsed insignia is King Pudding!

End of Episode 3.

TL note:

[1] - This dialogue was written in katakana.

[2] - This dialogue was written in English.

#idolish7 #i7 #rabbitv #yotsuba tamaki #tamaki yotsuba #tsunashi ryuunosuke #tsunashi ryunosuke #ryuunosuke tsunashi #ryunosuke tsunashi #english translation #translation

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queen-scribbles · 24 hours ago

Text

Of Motives

Heyyyyyy happy birthday, @errantgoat, have our kids being kinda domestic a few years post-Awakening. Hopefully not with too many typos, considering this was written in a mad rush since they didn't start talking until the 8th. 😅

---

"What are you doing?"

Harvey didn't bother to lift his head from where it rested atop his folded arms as he answered. "Reviewing reports."

"Oh, well, silly me, then." The desk creaked as Trinne leaned against the edge. "For thinking you were sleeping. If you're that tired, Harvey, just come to bed."

"No, I'm fine a bit longer, I just need to finish this." He sat up, running a hand over his hair and massaging a crick in his neck. "Then I'll be up."

"No, you won't, you'll work until you fall asleep at your desk for the fourth night in a row," she said glibly. "I know you want to be extra careful with Fergus comin' to visit, but we've done everything we can to make Amaranthine safe." She nibbled her lower lip. "If you're that worried about it... I could help you?"

Harvey arched a brow. "With paperwork?"

Trinne smirked impishly and gave an exaggerated shiver. "It's cold sleepin' alone." She leaned over to kiss his temple. "I wanna sleep with my husband at least one night this week."

He couldn't completely fight a small smile. "You must, if you're volunteering to help with your least favorite activity." He couldn't deny help would be nice--or his terrible sleep habits the past few nights. "If you're serious...?"

"'Course," Trinne snorted. "Have I ever made an offer I didn't mean, Harv? B'sides, I've had my finger on things enough to know this is probably internal Warden stuff rather than politics and contracts, right?"

"Mm-hm." It was impressive she'd paid attention to intuit that; there was a reason Trinne had been happy to let him have the Commander of the Grey mantle and her lack of interest in the bureaucratic side of leadership was a big part. "It's mostly double-checking patrol schedules, but there's a few scouting reports I haven't had time to read yet."

She pushed away fom the desk and made a 'gimme' gesture with one hand. "Hand 'em over, I can definitely help with that."

Harvey chuckled as he separated the reports from a small pile. "You really want me in bed tonight."

"Uh, yeah." Trinne circled the desk and slouched in one of the chairs. "Oh, Maker save me, Sigrun's handwriting..."

Harvey shrugged apologetically. "You asked to help."

"I'll be fine. She is getting better."

He watched her for a few minutes, her brow furrowed as she worked to parse Sigrun's beginner handwriting, alternating with doing his own share of the work. Finally, "I've never seen you so invested in doing paperwork."

"I wanna help," she said without looking up. "I want you to sleep in a real bed tonight---preferably with me." A flashed impish grin. "You're too young to be giving yourself back problems, Commander."

He frowned at the casual--but repeated--mention. "Trinne, you aren't... Have the dreams been bad again?"

Trinne shook her head, tracing one finger along the edge of the parchment in her hand. "Nah. You know I'd tell you if it was that. I've just gone soft," she teased, "gotten too used to havin' you to cuddle if I want. Bed's too big for just me."

"Oh, is that all?" Harvey asked with a soft laugh, setting aside the papers he'd finished.

"Mm-hm." She slouched lower, stretching her foot under the desk to tap his ankle. "No ulterior motives beyond getting you in bed. For a good night's sleep, of course."

He huffed another laugh, shuffling the papers he still held. "Of course."

They settled in to comfortable silence after that, Trinne occasionally humming snatches of song as they worked. With her aid, it only took another hour to finish.

"Thank you for helping," Harvey said, sorting things into the right places.

"Of course." Trinne came around the desk to lean in her typical spot. "My motives were almost entirely selfish, but you're welcome all the same." She crossed her arms and grinned. "So, Commander Cousland, what're you doing now?"

"Well." He pushed to his feet and leaned into her space. "I was thinking about going to bed with my wife."

"Hmmm, your wife quite likes this plan," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss that would've unbalanced them if he hadn't braced one hand against the desk. "Even if all we do is sleep."

And it was. But they did it tucked close, cocooned in blankets, so it was infinitely better than any other arrangement.

#queens fic #harvey cousland #trinne amell #harvey/trinne #otp: shadows & sparks #writing them all settled in as a couple and a lil grown up from the main story of owap always makes me all warm and gooey inside :')#i love them <3 #hope you have a wonderful birthday dear <3333

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sweetmage · 1 month ago

Note

A kiss goodnight for viktor and v please!!!

Hiiii! Thank you so so much for this prompt, I got a little carried away with it (tried for less than 1k words, accidentally wrote 2.4k)🤭

This fic follows the star ending as opposed to my usual tower ending canon 😊

TW: Mention if malnutrition, there is also one blood/needle mention but it's very vague and brief. There's also a few inuendos but there's nothing actually sexually that happens.

I'll drop it below the cut (and might upload to AO3 later!)

It was the ass crack of midnight and Vik was falling asleep over a pile of paperwork when a trill from his desk drawer interrupted his daze. Fumbling blindly for his phone, he almost dropped the thing but managed to get it up to his ear.

"Whaddya need?" He made no attempt to disguise his grogginess, hoping the caller would take a hint.

"Vik, hey," said the chipper voice on the other end.

"V?" That had him upright, eyes wide. "Do you know what time it is? Everything okay?"

"Thought the city never slept?"

"Wrong city and wrong shop," Vik said. "How you doin' out there in Arizona? Taking your meds? Getting enough water? Sunscreen?"

"Jesus, mom. Yeah, doin' pretty alright. Panam's been keeping me busy, but it's nice. Real nice." He sounded damn happy, if a bit exhausted. "How's the Big Bad City treatin' ya?"

"Same old same old. Can't complain."

"Miss you," V said, a little sheepishly. "Haven't had a chance to call in a while. Reception ain't exactly stellar."

"I know the feeling," Vik replied, glancing down at the papers in front of him. "Miss you too, V. I'll admit, it's certainly been quieter around here without you."

"Sure you get a helluva lot more work done without me around to distract you, though."

Vik chuckled. "Eh, ya win some ya lose some. How's the nomad life treatin' ya?"

"Safe to say I'm more of a city type of guy," V admitted. "I mean, don't get me wrong, the Aldecaldos are great, but the sand and the heat... and the fucking sand..."

"It ain't for everyone."

"Nah, 'specially not this guy. It's peaceful though. Sittin' around the fire at night, listening to everyone talk, playin' the guitar, watching the stars... kinda makes me forget why I was in such a hurry to get back there."

"Sounds like you're fitting in better than you give yourself credit for."

"Guess you could say that," he replied, a yawn escaping him. "There is something missing though. Can't quite put my finger on it..."

"Well, gimme a ring if you figure it out," Vik teased.

V scoffed, though it was light-hearted. "Already did. Wanted to hear your voice. I sleep better with you around."

"Well, I was just thinking of turning in myself. I could stay on the line if it'd help you sleep. Been a while since we had one of our late night talks."

"Mm, that'd be nice. Wouldn't want to keep you up though. You still in the same clinic? Still the old couch tucked in the corner?"

"The very same. Haven't changed a thing. Place looks exactly how you left it."

"Yeah, well, if it ain't broke..."

"And even if it is, who cares?" Vik teased, standing up to get himself situated for bed. "What's tomorrow look like for you? Busy day?"

"Sure hope so," V said, a soft chuckle punctuating his words. "You in bed yet? Alone?"

"I'm a bit too tired to be getting frisky if that's what you're hinting at, V."

"Nah, just checkin'. Did you remember to lock up?"

"Now I see how you feel when I fuss," Vik muttered, tossing his shirt aside and beginning to work on his belt one-handed.

"Not fussing. Listen."

Vik frowned, the tone in V's voice catching his attention. "V? Something up?"

V didn't respond, and for a moment, Vik wondered if the call had dropped.

"V?"

And there it was, a knock at his door.

"Hang on," Vik said, tucking the phone between his cheek and shoulder as he crossed the clinic and gazed out the peephole.

"Think you have a visitor," V said, the call ending as Vik opened the door. There he was, the little shit, phone in one hand and a duffel bag slung over the shoulder of the other.

"I don't fucking believe it," Vik laughed, drawing the man into a hug. "What are you doing here, you little punk?"

"The fuck you think I'm doin' here?" V scoffed, letting his bag fall to the floor as he wrapped both arms around Vik. "I love you, shithead. And I thought you might have an aneurysm if you couldn't give me a proper check up."

"Damn right I would. It's good to see you, V. Real good." He'd definitely dropped quite a bit of weight since they'd last met and his hair now fell around his shoulders, but he was still V, still the same man Vik had been pining after for ages.

V's hand came to cup his cheek, and he found his own hand covering it, keeping him close.

"Love you too, V. Misses you like hell."

"Ya know, kinda thought maybe you'd have found someone else while I was gone..." V muttered, unable to meet his eyes. "Someone, ya know, closer to home."

"Nah. I made it, what, thirty years on my own? Not too worried about it now. I know you're out there, somewhere in the world. That's good enough for me."

The most earnest smile crossed V's lips, softer than anything he'd given while still in Night City's clutches. "Feel the same. Can't say it ain't nice to hear it, though. Now, you just gonna stand there with that gonk look on your face, or are you gonna—"

Capturing V's lips in a kiss, Vik pulled the man into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. They stayed like that for a long moment, finally breaking apart just as Vik's need for air became overwhelming.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

"...Yeah," V replied, slightly breathless, a sweet chuckle on his lips. "Just as good as I remember. If not better." Their foreheads pressed together, both of them grinning like absolute fools.

Before V could get another word in, Vik was kissing him again, one hand cupping the back of his neck while the other trailed the length of V's spine. Without warning or hesitation, he hoisted him up with a hand under his ass and V's arms and legs wrapped around him without hesitation.

"Don't get any ideas, I'm not takin' you for a romp. You need a physical and I need some shut-eye."

"Well damn, what did I even visit for?" V huffed as he was laid down on the exam table.

"Hey now, I could put you out easy."

The stoic expression V had forced his face into crumbled easily into a grin. "C'mon, been a while since I could give ya a hard time in person."

Vik just shook his head, but his smile didn't fade as he flipped on his monitors and began gathering his tools. "Okay now, shirt off and let's have a look at you."

"Bossy," V said, but he complied all the same, peeling off his top and laying back. Just as he'd felt through his clothes, V had dropped a lot of weight, his ribs protruding more than Vik would have liked.

"That tube giving you trouble?" He asked, giving his feeding port a little poke.

"Nah, everything's workin' just fine. Not exactly easy to come by calories on the road, ya know."

"I'd say. You look malnourished. Let's get your iron and protein levels checked, along with your hydration. Anything hurting lately? Feel sick?"

"No and no."

"Good, good. We'll take a few scans, get a picture of things. Let's get a baseline reading before we start running tests. Just lay still."

V did what he was asked, eyes rolling slowly to follow Vik as he went about his business, grabbing tools and typing notes on the computer.

"Ostomy alright?" He asked, pulling on a pair of gloves.

"Mhm."

"And you takin' your meds?"

"Already asked that. Yeah, I'm on top of it. They've been helping. Still haven't figured out what to do about the whole body tryin' to eject me thing yet, but I've managed. Been good. Panam's had a real close eye on me."

"I'm glad," he said, giving V a little poke to draw a few droplets for the blood test. "She's a good kid. Always liked her."

"Yeah, me too."

Vik set the needle aside and turned his attention back to the computer, pulling up a file with a quick click. "Your scans are looking much better, actually. Brain activity's stabilizing and your neural degradation has slowed down significantly. Nutrition is really the only area we need to improve on. Once you've got that under control, I think you'll find yourself in much better shape."

"Shit, really?"

"Really. Take a look." Vik turned the screen towards him, pointing to the relevant data. "Those meds won't fix everything, but they've helped, just like you said. I'd reckon six months was the low low estimate, but the way you're going... hell, I'd say you've got a few good years ahead of you. You've got time to sort this all out."

The look on V's face was one of pure astonishment, like he couldn't quite comprehend what Vik was telling him.

"Years?"

"Years."

"Wow... Okay. Alright." He took a deep breath, eyes closed and lips pursed. "That's... that's a relief. A hell of a relief. Thought I'd be lucky to make it to the end of the month. Shit... Years... Okay. Okay." When his eyes opened again they were damp, a relieved laugh slipping past his lips.

Vik couldn't help but mirror the expression. He had to admit, he was so used to delivering bad news and death sentences to V on this table, it felt pretty good to give a little hope for once, to watch it all turn around. V had a chance. Hell, V had time.

"You've always been a resilient bastard. I'm not surprised in the slightest that you'd beat the odds. You're real good at that. Alright, you hungry? I'll mix you up something proper. Real good and balanced, get a little meat back on your bones."

"Guessin' 'no' ain't the right answer?"

"Quick learner," he said with a pat on his thigh. "Stay put. And don't touch my equipment. You break it, you pay for it."

"Jeez, Vik. That was one time."

"One time that I'm still payin' off," he called over his shoulder as he crossed the room and began mixing up a batch of formula and electrolytes then returning to him and hooking the bag to the stand and kicking the biohazard bin up to his bedside. "Here, you handle that, I'll get the pull-out ready. I'm beat."

V took the end of the tube and situated it while Vik ruffled his hair on the way past. It felt like ages since they'd shared a bed and now, out of V's line of sight, Vik couldn't fight the giddy smile that came to his face. He'd been lonely as hell the past few months, and sure, he could have taken someone home if he'd really wanted, but the fact of the matter was, he hadn't really wanted anyone else. V was just about the only person who'd managed to worm his way past his defenses, there was no other.

The couch unfolded quickly and Vik set about making the bed, turning the lights down and setting an alarm.

"Need anythin' else?" He asked from around the corner. "Towel? Pillow?"

"You?"

Vik laughed, shaking his head as he returned to the other side of the room. "That's a given. You feelin' better?"

"Much," he said with a nod, the color already beginning to return to his face. "Bout ready to crash?"

"Yeah, not gonna lie to ya, I was ready for bed before you called. Made a nice pillow out of my paperwork. I'll take a look in the morning, make sure I didn't drool on anything important."

V swung his legs over the side of the table and hopped to his feet, stretching out his arms and cracking his neck before making his way to the back of the room.

"Huh, you weren't kiddin', looks just the same," he mused while he wiggled his way out of his cut off shorts, discarding them unceremoniously at his feet then flopping down on the mattress with a long, satisfied sigh. "Reuniting with you's nice and all, but I think I missed havin' a real mattress more."

"Well ain't it just your lucky day? Got both right here." Vik stripped out of his clothes as well then slid in under the covers next to him, taking him up in his embrace, relishing the feeling of skin against skin, burying in the unbleached roots of his hair.

V was on him in an instant, limbs tangling around him, head finding a spotting amongst the light scattering of hair on his chest. They fit together so perfectly, even after all this time.

"Glad you're here," Vik whispered, lips brushing against his forehead. "Wasn't quite the same without ya."

"You know you can come see me too, right? Ain't a one way street."

"And leave the clinic unattended? I'd go broke in a week."

"Nah, we'd figure something out," V murmured, nuzzling a bit closer. "You could just... take a vacation. Come with us. See the country."

"Not the sort of thing to spring on me at 2am."

"Why? Harder to bullshit me when you're half-asleep?"

"Bingo," Vik yawned, wrapping his arms a little tighter around the other man. "Does sound nice, can't deny that. Be nice to see what else is out there. Never did get to travel much, growing up. Too poor."

"Know exactly how that feels. Get out for a bit, see the world."

"Mm, it certainly seems to have done you a bit of good."

"Would do me a lot better to have you around for a bit. We can talk about it later, yeah?"

Vik nodded against the top of his head, holding him just a bit closer. "Yeah, we'll talk."

"You're the best, you know that? Love the hell outta you, old man."

Vik leaned in to place a kiss on the top of his head, his temple, his eyes and cheeks, and finally his lips, soft and lingering.

"I love you too, V. Now get some sleep. I've got work tomorrow and you've got a full day of being in my way ahead of you."

"Can't wait," V chuckled into his lips, his breathing slowing.

"G'night, V," he said to no response but a soft snore. It was better than he could have asked for. He was here.

#viktor vektor #vik vektor #cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #cp77 #star ending #jun answers #jun fics

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conkreetmonkey · 24 days ago

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Oh, no, you see, I'm actually cis, I'm just a boob farmer as like a side hustle.

...

Uhh, well, it's like, so I take estrogen and t-blockers and all that, right? And it makes me grow boobs. And once they're fully matured, I hack 'em off and sell 'em to trans women on that, uhh, eGay app where they swap parts and stuff. Done it like five or six times now, so each time my body gets better at growin' 'em, but it still takes like a year.

...

Uh, depends on the buyer. More specific or rare types of boob sell for more. It's a deceptively complex economy. Of course, though, I don't do it as my main livin', so I try to give 'em a good price.

...

Yeah, it's mainly gonna be breaking even after the startup. Once you have a bunch of different sized bras bought and a stock of cheapo nips stored up-- got mine from an Etsy lot of like 10 pairs-- you can start pullin' a good profit on your second pair. It's just the time investment, you know? First pair takes years. Second takes 'bout a year less I'd say, you really do get diminishing returns on the speed increase after a while... again, though, I'm no pro. There are people who do this as a proper job.

...

Well, the E is free. T blockers are free. It's the over-the-counter meds that getcha, oh but it's really the food that's the main expense. Things're made of fat after all, and you gotta go through the whole puberty to get the results. I've been usin' this shake recipe I found on a forum after my second pair, got all the minerals an' shit you need for 'em at a decent price... but 'til you start minmaxing like that, it's a real problem. Def go generic brand, and, you know, meal prep and supplements and whatnot... just takes a while to figure out how to optimize the process, yannow?

...

Ok, look, I gotta go, I need to pick up my Ma from the scrapyard. Here's my, uh, card. Gimme a call on my cell and I'll text you a list'a resources if ya still interested. 'Ave a good one, ma'am. Merry Chri--happy holidays, sorry.

#stupid thought I had lol #conky writes #trans

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marsvs-thesun · 2 months ago

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SHIT I WOULD WANNA SEE IN A SOW REWRITE: a non exhaustive list in no particular order

(read more for length and generally being critical of SoW)

• give a name to more story relevant weapons. Voltar is cool, but I wanna know what are the names of Ingressus' kickass flame blade, and thalleous' sword, and Achillean's staff! Mostly cause I wanna refer to them more easily for Symbolism(tm)! ALSO an opportunity for Senn&Ria bonding over naming her spear!!

• SPEAKING OF SWORDS give thalleous' sword to Ria. NO HEAR ME OUT; she starts the story with her spear, sendaria burning, killing Tygren ect. When Tygren dies SHE gets the sword instead of Senn, and gives Senn her spear (from her point of view, she's giving back a weapon she trusted to protect herself, she's now protecting him and signaling that she trusts his craftsmanship. Subtextually it signify the rift that forms between them as she gets more into hunting Voltaris down and Senn gets closer to his heritage). She keeps using it throughout the story, culminating in attacking Senn with it when he surrenders in Northwind, which he deflects with the shield song like in canon. Anyways, Senn comes back from Hailstone, rejoins the group and Ria is happy but doesnt trust him the same until the Final Battle(tm). Some random element (doesn't matter what, were doing symbolism here) makes it that she loses/cannot use Thalleous' sword, at which point Senn gives/throws her her spear because PLOT TWIST: THE REAL SOLUTION WAS TO LET GO OF AN ARBITRARY SYMBOL OF STRENGHT AND INSTEAD PUT FAITH IN LOVE, TRUST AND FAMILY ALL ALONG, Pythus gets eviscerated, happy endings all around

• speaking of Ria, you might guess it from my last point but GIVE MY GIRL A CORRUPTION ARC. Gimme women's wrongs! Let me watch her go from 'i wanna be just like Thalleous (the cool ex-soldier with awesome stories)' to 'i wanna be just like Thalleous (the guy who threw a kid off a cliff)' and find herself on the way! I've heard people find her overpowered and honestly,,,, yeah kinda but idk how to fix that (also power scales aren't really real to me). You know what's real? CHARACTER ARCS. Plus free Senn angst and frankly I love that. SUBPOINT: could Herobrine be like,,, a character? You're telling me two major characters made a soul pact with a demon entity from another realm and that never paid off? What is Herobrine even gaining from this I MUST KNOW

• MAKE THALLEOUS A VILLAIN PROTAGONIST 2024 okay ik he kind of already is, and ik im basically Thalleous' number 1 hater, and ik this is my complicated relationship with my own father speaking BUT REGARDLESS. Have him do shady stuff before season 3 and just sliiiightly more often pls. Let him be a bit manipulative! Let him lie a bit more! Let him kill a disarmed opponent or strike someone in the back! Let him even be outwardly prejudiced a bit more openly. I'm not even gonna argue his responsibility in the Great War cause thats no the point but you can't tell me he isn't morally grey. Let that little bastard man shine! Honestly im (more than) a little disturbed by the narrative expecting me to a agree with a guy who preached genocide, after all we've seen him do (once again, the child yeeting wasn't great). Please just have someone tell Thalleous to fuck off. Please.

• ALMRAK SHOULD BE USING CRUTCHES OR A WHEELCHAIR INSTEAD OF A CANE. A CANE IS ACTUALLY MOST OFTEN USED FOR BALANCE ISSUES. THIS IS AN ABSENCE OF LEG ISSUE. That's it that's the point.

• ACTUALLY IM NOT DONE i find Almrak's entire character,,, strange. So the only visibly disabled character in the show is Voltari. Cool! He's the only Voltari portrayed sympathetically (Ingressus does not count, he's the main villain). Less cool! It's heavily implied the reason he's sympathetic is because he's disabled and therefore cannot fight (debatable. Give my man a crossbow). Pretty bad! I'm not physically disabled (diagnosed) myself but I am a Sufferer of some kind of chronic pain and autistic (and the mental Horrors), so idk how relevant my commentary is but there's a bunch of things I don't like here: 1) a disabled character can be optimistic for sure, I love that actually! I dont love how tied those two things are tho. Almrak is the only optimistic Voltari we meet, and while I like the trust he has in his people, his behaviour is oddly reminiscent of those inspiration porn video about how incredible it is that disabled people can be *gasp* happy. This also has the unfortunate implication that the only way a Voltari becomes trustworthy is by becoming/being made harmless? Which is kind of a reach but also tracks a little to much for comfort 2) his death (HE LIVES IN MY HEART, AND SO DOES DELTHEUS) but in canon he dies. And he does so without even really defending himself? Just lays there waiting for the sword? Not only does that seem weird at all (you have a CANE baby BEAT EM UP) it seems out of character for The Only Not Depressed Voltari to just,,, accept death. Mostly the narrative seems allergic to giving him agency. 3) he was created specifically to prove life for the Voltaris was hard (it's somewhere in the supplementals). First, do you think accidents don't happen in other Clans? Thats stupid. And second, ew. This, to me, shows that I'm supposed to look at Almrak, a character living his best life, hopeful for the future, reaping the benefits of a close knit community supporting and respecting him, and feel what, sadness? Pity? That seems incredibly disrespectful. And I say all that as an Almrak lover, he and Deltheus are among my fave. Now, thats a lot of issues but I feel like they could easily be fixed in 3 easy steps: 1) more rep. Just by adding a sprinkle of disability rep to the cast, Almrak stops sticking out like a sore thumb because he's disabled, and starts sticking out because he's a genuinely interesting character with a unique worldview. Wild i know. 2) LET HIM LIVE give him agency in this. Im not saying he should fistfight a Netheran, but let him try to flee or something. 3) now, disability can absolutely be caused by a hostile environment, there's nothing wrong with that. So my solution here wouldn't be to avoid that, but to show some other hardships as well? So it's not Just That? Like, idk, Deltheus remarking how much better the food is in Hailstone because Humans can stockpile and the Voltaris were starving before? Mentions of lacking medicine? Offhand mentions of dead family like they did for Thalleous and Galleous? Idk man, just dont let disability be the Worst Fate in your story. Please.

• Either more of the Necromancer Arc, or none at all. Listen, I love my cat girl necromancy as much as the next guy and Xaria is one of my favorite characters, but, as is, it feels disconnected from the rest of the show and not in a good way. I love the idea of having a more down to earth/everyday pov of the SGW but this Arc doesnt feel different enough to work for me. The characters arent in more danger or difficulties then in any other arc, they arent more developed (actually, kinda less. Why was Lucan in jail? why is Nikaa so anti necromancer? what even was the catalyst of the necromancer movement starting? i guess well never know those important character motivations), they don't really explore more down to earth stuff (human politics! survival in Ardonia during the War! maybe explore WHY people join factions like the Necromancer or the Legion!!) and, because SoW as a story is so focused on individual actions and heros, and the Arc offers neither those nor its own flavor, it ends up feeling pretty redundant, which is a shame. I guess a way to fix this would be to actually lean in to it's separate aspect and maybe focus on the building of a revolt against the Nether (and mayyyybe link that with what the necromancers had going on? maybe? Who am i kidding they'll never give my blorbos the love they deserve. Xan, Xaria, no one gets you like i do)

• I do not know how to fix the K'arthen arc. I do not know if the K'arthen arc can be fixed. To whomever is out there trying to fix the K'arthen arc: you are an endlessly brave individual and i send you power on this journey.

Aight that's it for now :) there's way more (i havent even touched my beloved abbigail!! barely touched on the voltaris!!) but im trying to stick to canon. feel free to agree/disagree/add your own stuff!! i havent read the script in a while too, so i most likely forgot stuff

@minecraftfanatic your turn ;)

#no death threat pls /lh #mars' sow brainrot #songs of war #minecraft animation #squared media #black plasma studios #sow critical #i guess????#im off to bed now

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digenerate-trash · 2 months ago

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Okay so. It happened.

I got harassed at work. And it wasn't pretty

Tw for transphobia, homophobia, racism, trump shit.

I got harassed at work today

I'm fucking sick

Also I look Hella bad on camera and I hate it

This dude comes in- saying he's gonna celebrate while I'm just chilling with this woman murelle.- (she's lovely)

And instead of being silent like normal people he starts spouting off about how we all should be celebrating.

We both kinda shrug. And he goes off about how Trump won.

And I can't tell if he's serious

So I kinda shrug it off and hes going off about how he's so happy that All the weird people with green and purple hair and imagrants will be loaded up on a plan and they'll die and crash.

And I'm like "damn.... okay"

And hes like "you look like a trump suporter" and I'm like "okay"

And then he continues to push??

And I keep my cool because this isn't my store I don't really care I just want him out. But Murrell is like "oh stop it. It's terrible" and the guy keeps going and it really rubbed me the wrong way when he started to argue with her. Going back and forth saying shit about the election and how it's finnaly going the right way. And finnaly I'm like. Dude. Just gimme the 5 dollars and get out.

And he hands it over. Saying that I should be glad that we're not in the states because he knows what I am.

But now that he's harassed a customer and made transphobic, homophonic and racist remarks, I'm like. This is harassment so I'm like cool. I'll need your name and I gotta write down a description of what you're wearing and the time. And hes like. "Nah." And I'm like "cool. I'm keeping your 75 cents until I'm done tho." And hes like squirming???

Hes like "I'm batman- gimme my money"

And I'm like.

"Cool. Batman. I just need to write down your description real quick." But I'm going slow as hell dictating everything and he threatens to call the cops but that's not going anywhere and finnaly I'm like. "Here's your money batman" and he just gets out of dodge like he wasn't just wasting mine and sweet Murrells time with this trumpie shit.

And sweet murelle is like I wish I wasn't here for that"

And me too honestly

Today though I get a call from my boss who is upset on my behalf. She tells me she's banned. Doesn't know how I stayed so calm. She's telling me that if she ran into him spouting that shit she would have thrown his water at him. And I'm like

I used to work for Rodgers. I'm the king of staying calm (and romancing the elderly into talking to me for over an hour so I waste call center hours and get a good convo out of it. Not even kidding I learned like so many cooking, gardening and household maintence tips this way)

Anyway she says she's proud of me and he's banned. I go into work and her husband- (my other boss) is like. "He's a vile peice of shit. If anyone does anything like that again grab their license plate and kick them out we don't want their money"

So yeah... trump may have won. But your shitty aditude won't be tolerated

#i promise ill be off my election bullshit soon i just.... its bad #irl trash

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dailycass-cain · 1 year ago

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Birds of Prey #3 had Cass but it was her smallest role in the series so far to date. HOWEVER, there was A LOT to digest.

So let me get into my thoughts on this issue...

Again this issue was AMAZING even not pertaining to Cass. All the members clicked this issue with Zealot doing her thing with Maps and Dinah/Harley hijinks abound and of course...

Everything keeps escalating from the hidden force subtly playing the Amazons to Wonder Woman doing her best impersonation again of a freaking Nemesis from RE3 (the last time I was this scared of WW was in DCeased: Unkillables).

I'm really curious where the next issue goes other than the obvious fight the team will have with Diana. Not only that but what occurred in Future Map's timeline. The hints writer Kelly Thompson keeps laying out got me curious in how she ties into the threat the BoP are trying to stop.

The issue delivers a moment many of us were hoping would occur last year, and it kind of makes the whole Red Canary angle just more disappointing (many thinking it was Sin then it was a OC who hasn't done much).

So there was A LOT of things that made me love this issue even with the lack of Cass. Because in those few pages we got crammed in of course this golden gem.

We're just gonna add that to the "Cass should be Batman" evidence for a future story. 😝

Though maybe I'm reading more into #1 the lack of bonding with the team (save Barda) is just how socially awkward throughout. We did get it in Batgirls, and well she was one in Spirit World. But here it's more front and center.

She's there just reacting to the team's antics and being like, "Um how am I supposed to react or do with this?" It's a little nugget that I am enjoying.

The real meaty nugget I enjoyed in this issue was Cass vs Amazons. It's a subject many a fan debated how she'd fare against one? Well, we get an answer in this issue (and the next).

Which feels like a better answer than what Red Hood & the Outlaws #15 ever gave us. A fight between these two titans and we only see the final blow. 🙃🙃🙃

I wasn't as salty at it back then (I was happy for the small bones I got). Now? That issue just feels dated.

This one? She takes out two nameless Amazons with little effort (and we get to SEE HOW via artist Leonardo Romero showcasing it all) and the next issue teases a bigger fight?!

GIMME!

I wanna see the limits.

It's also a funny side note how many fans wanted to see Cass on Themyscira. It's a story element the character NEVER had. Somehow, the character has visited the island in the main DCU (at last) and two other properties in this year alone (Harley Quinn: Legion of Bats mini and Dark Knights of Steel).

It feels pretty GOOD seeing the character thrown into elements never used prior, and it kind shows the potential for even more stories.

So yeah, BoP #3 while not giving Cass much to do, still gave the character a lot of elements I truly enjoyed in the issue. Beyond that, the team bonds (or shows the tears within that might cause some more trouble), reunions we longed for, and a BIG fight coming next issue.

#cassandra cain #dc comics #my thoughts

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aquariaries · 1 year ago

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Kou Mukami Heaven Story - Chaos Lineage

***I do not mind if you use my translations as a base for another language, I just ask that you credit both 46snowfox as the original translator and myself as the English translator if you do!***

Original translation credit: @46snowfox

https://46snowfox.tumblr.com/post/617475223016669184/01-02-03-04-05-06-07-08

You can find Kou's previous chapters in @tournesolia's masterlist linked down below!

https://tournesolia.tumblr.com/

PLACE: Downtown - Night

Yui: Haa ... ... *sigh*

(Going back home is so lonely. Kou-kun has a job that requires work overnight ... ...)

(He said recording could take a long time, and that he wouldn't know when it would end.)

(Also ... ...)

*She checks her phone*

He hasn't responded to my texts, either.

(Because he's so busy at work, he doesn't have time to answer ... ...)

I want to see Kou-kun ... ...

(I'll try to contact him one more time a little later ... ...)

*Crowd clamors*

Girl A: Hey, look at that!

Girl B: Kyaaa! It's Kou!

Yui: Eh ... ... ?

(Ah ... ... Kou is appearing on that big screen. Is that commercial ... ... his new job?)

(He's singing and dancing, and smiling so happily .. ... Fufu, how cool.)

Girl A: Kou is so cool! I wish I had a boyfriend like that~

Girl B: Me too! Kou seems to be the kind of person that's nice to his girlfriend.

Yui: (... ... He's very popular. As expected of an idol.)

(I'm glad to see Kou-kun, even if it's just a commercial, but I want to hurry up and see the real one.)

(When will he be coming back --)

*She's grabbed from behind and blindfolded*

Yui: Kyaa!?

(My vision went pitch black ... ... !? I'm certain someone just blindfolded me -–)

???: Who is it?

Yui: (Eh? This voice is ... ...)

Kou-kun ... ... ?

*She's unblindfolded*

Kou: Ding dong, ding dong! You're correct!

Yui: (I knew it, it was Kou-kun ... ... !)

Kou-kun! You see --

Kou: Shh! The others around us will notice that I'm here!

Yui: Ah ... ...

Girl B: Eh? Just now, did Kou ... ...

Girl A: No way!? Isn't that the real Kou over there!?

Kou: Crap!

M-neko-chan, let's run!

Yui: O-okay!

*They run off*

PLACE: Mukami Living Room - Night

Yui: I'm really sorry ... ...

(There's no way we wouldn't be caught when speaking loudly like that. I have to be careful from now on ... ...)

Kou: It's alright. We were able to escape. Besides, I was the one who surprised you.

Yui: Ah, it's true. You usually let me know when you're coming back, what happened today?

You didn't answer my texts either, did something happen?

Kou: Well, my manager took my cell phone from me so that I could concentrate on recording.

And that was before I could tell you that I wouldn't be able to contact you for a while. Even though it's my job, that's going too far.

Yui: I see, so that's what it was.

Kou: I was planning to contact you as soon as I was done recording, but I wanted to surprise you.

So, I went straight back home in a taxi without sending you any texts.

I was lucky to find you on the way.

Yui: I see. Did you find me by chance then?

(Somehow, it makes me happy that he spotted me among so many people ... ...)

Since you said you were going to be late at work, I didn't imagine that we would see each other again so soon.

Kou: Are you glad I'm back?

Yui: Yeah ... ...

Kou: Me too ... ... I'm happy to see you. I was thinking about you during the whole recording you know?

I felt very lonely not being able to contact you despite matter how much I wanted to ... ... So, could you gimme a recharge?

*He hugs her*

Yui: Ah ... ...

(Kou-kun is hugging me ... ... Fufu, it's been awhile since he's done this.)

... ... That's right, I haven't said it yet.

Welcome back, Kou-kun.

Kou: I'm home ... ... Nnn ... ... *kisses*

Yui: ... ... Nn ... ...

(It tickles ... ...)

*Commercial jingle plays on the tv*

Huh? This music ... ...

Kou: Hm? ... ... Ah, so they're already airing that commercial.

Yui: Earlier it was also broadcast on a big screen. It's amazing that they show it in areas like that.

(Ah ... ... The Kou-kun from the commercial just winked.)

You're very good at winking Kou-kun. As expected of an idol.

Kou: That much is simple. Anyone can do it right?

Yui: ... ... I don't think everyone can.

Kou: That reaction ... ... M-neko-chan, can you not wink?

Yui: Uh ... ... I-it's just, I usually don't have the chance to do it ... ... !

Although, I'm a little envious that you find the right moments to do it.

Kou: Heh ... ... In that case, let's practice together!

Yui: Eh? You'll help me?

Kou: Of course! As a professional, I'll teach you perfectly ♪

Yui: Thank you! I guess I'll take advantage of that and accept.

Kou: Leave it to me! Then let's start training. Can we do it in my room?

Yui: Yes!

Kou: Then go change. When you're done, come to my room.

PLACE: Kou's Room - Night

Kou: With that said, now try winking.

Yui: Eh, so suddenly?

Kou: It's just that if I don't see what you can do, I won't be able to give you the right advice?

Yui: Y-yes ... ... Understood.

(I'm embarrassed to do it while he's staring at me but ... ... Here I go!)

Kou: Uwah ... ... Wrinkles appeared between your eyebrows. You're worse than I imagined.

Yui: (He's really stunned ... ... !)

W-wait! Let me try one more time! Here I go? One, two ... ... !

Kou: Now you just closed both eyes, right? That doesn't count as a wink.

Yui: Uuu ... ... One more time! Please, give me another chance!

Kou: It's fine. Try how ever much you want until you're satisfied.

Yui: Thank you!

(Everything will be fine, I just have to close one eye ... ... One, two!)

*Time passes*

Yui: ... ... ... ...

(I can't believe I didn't succeed even once ... ...)

Kou: Yikes, I'm really suprised. I think this is the first time I've seen someone be so bad at winking.

Yui: (Uuu ... ...)

Kou: Ah, sorry, sorry. Please don't look so depressed?

You have me, the best coach on your side after all ♪

But if you really want to succeed, you'll have to go through some hard training~

Yui: Yeah, I imagined so ... ...

Kou: With that said, every time you fail, I'll give you one kiss.

Yui: Eeeh~!? A k-kiss ... ... Why!?

Kou: I won't accept complaints. Plus, you just have to not fail, right?

Yui: That's true, but ... ...

Kou: It'll be fine. As promised, I'll be giving you advice.

Yui: U-understood. I'll try my best.

Kou: The trick to winking is to tilt your head slightly while doing so.

It won't work if you do it while stiff, so how about you start practicing that first?

Yui: Tilt the head ... ... L-like this?

Kou: Nope, you haven't done it well at all~ Okay, here's a kiss ... ... Nnn. *kiss*

Yui: Nn ... ... !?

Kou: Alright, next!

Yui: L-like this ... ... ?

Kou: Ahaha! You closed both eyes! Okay, punishment time ... ... Nnn ... ... *kiss*

Yui: (Nnn ... ... Huh? This kiss is deeper than the previous one ... ... ?)

Kou: Alright, try one more time!

Yui: Y-yes!

(I failed before, but if I relax a bit ... ... !)

Here I go!

Kou: How scary! Your eyes are half open!! It can't be helped, I'll have to punish you again ... ... Nn ... ... Nnnnn ... ... *kisses her deeply*

Yui: ... ... Nnnnn ... ... !?

(I knew it, the kisses are getting deeper!!)

(Will each kiss become even deeper!? As I thought, this is really embarrassing!)

Kou: Well then, try again! This time strive to do your best and succeed

*Time passes*

Yui: Haah, haah ... ...

(The kiss just now was quite literally minutes long. The thought of being kissed if I fail makes me even more nervous ... ...)

(Uuu, it's too embarrassing, I can't take much more than this ... ... !)

Kou: Okay, next --

Yui: I-I can't anymore! I give up!!

Kou: Eeh? Do you really want to give up?

Yui: Yeah ... ...

Kou: I see. In that case ... ...

*He comes closer and starts to move her clothing*

Yui: Kyaa!?

Kou: Bad girls who give up must be punished, right? ... ... Hah ... ... Nnn ... ... *bites*

Yui: (Nn ... ... His fangs are on my shoulder ... ...)

Kou: ... ... You were embarrassed because I kissed you a lot, right?

I wonder if that's why ... ... your blood is so sweet and delicious ... ... Nnn ... ... fuu ... ...

Yui: ... ... Nnnn ... ...

(... ... Nn, everytime he sinks his fangs in deeper, the more my chest aches.)

Kou: ... ... Your eyes are melting. Do you want me to suck more?

Yui: Ah ... ... yes ... ...

Kou: Fufu, To think that you would ask for it yourself, as expected of you, M-neko-chan.

I will fulfill your wishes, and suck as much as you want ... ... Nnnn ... ... hm ... ...

Yui: Nnn ... ... Aaah ... ...

Kou: Fufu, actually. I was thinking that I was sure everything would turn out like this.

Yui: Eh ... ... ? Eeeeh!?

(Does that mean that all this training was on purpose!? It can't be~!!)

Kou: Until the lesson is over, I won't be letting you go okay ... ... ?

PLACE: Mukami Mansion Hallway - Night

*She knocks on Kou's door*

Yui: Kou-kun, is now a good time?

Kou: Yeah, come on in.

PLACE: Kou's Room - Night

Kou: What's up all of a sudden?

Yui: You see, there's something I want to show you, Kou-kun.

Kou: Something you want to show me?

Yui: Yeah! I couldn't do it before, but now ... ... ! *She winks*

Kou: Heh, that's amazing! It's a beautiful wink.

Yui: Fufu, right? I've been secretly practicing since then.

Now I can wink whenever I want!

Kou: You're this happy just to be able to wink, how cute~... ...

Yui: Eh? -- Wah!

*He comes up and holds her*

Kou: You're cute when you wink M-neko-chan, but don't wink in front of anyone other than me, okay?

Obviously, that applies to Ruki-kun and the others as well!

Yui: (Ah ... ... He's jealous ... ...)

(Fufu, Kou-kun said that I was cute, but he is also quite cute himself.)

Kou: It's a promise, alright? ... ... Nnn ... ... *kiss*

-END-

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #chaos lineage #diabolik lovers translation #kou mukami #yui komori

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daydreamgoddess14 · 1 year ago

Text

Aspirations pt. 5

Sydcarmy Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Notes at the end this time, all I'll say here is - I hope you guys get what you want from this Chapter!

A couple of date nights don't go quite to plan...

~~~~~

“5 ceviche and one pumpkin, please.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Marcus, where are those desserts for table 7?”

“One minute, Chef.”

“One minute too long, keep it moving.”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Faster please guys. I’ve got orders backing up. T, you good babe? How you finding the new menu?”

“I’m good, baby - it's gorgeous. Got sirloin in three minutes.”

“Beautiful. Carm, you got the dauphinoise to go with that?”

“Yes, Chef.” Syd took a note from Richie as he passed through the kitchen, “birthday on table 9. You gonna sing Rich?” She teased lightly.

“Sure I am, Chef.” He winked, walking out with the desserts for table 7. Carmy appeared at her right hand side,

“Only 4 duck left, Chef.”

“Thank you, Chef, noted. We've done 16 duck so far today, really great addition to the menu. Must be the plum sauce.” She scribbled a note and passed it to one of the waitresses to let them know. Carmy stayed by her side, “you good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re just… really fucking good at this.” Her pen stilled on the tables she was working through. They’d hardly spoken in over a week, occasionally one making more of a push at reconciliation than the other but ultimately going back to stalemate each time.

“Thank you.” She said, sincerely. She risked a real look at him rather than just off over his shoulder as she’d had to do for the last few days. She gripped the countertop, blue eyes full of so much… something taking her breath away. In the restaurant, she could hear Richie singing Happy Birthday; she couldn't help the grin that broke out across her face. She took a breath and got back to calling out the orders. Back to stalemate. She tried desperately not to care, but if she’d missed him before, then she was really, really missing him now. His friendship, their easy connection, all of it.

“You ready for tonight?” Tina asked,

“What’s tonight?” Carmy asked across the stations,

“Niña bonita got a hot date!” Tina winked.

“Oh fuck no, Syd - is she kidding?” Richie asked.

“Appreciate your concern Richie, but I can look after myself.”

“It’s him though, isn’t it?”

“Yes Richie, it’s the fish guy.”

“Fucker.” He muttered, grasping Carmy’s shoulder as he walked past. Carmy didn’t say anything.

“Isn’t that guy a total douchebag?” Marcus asked from his section.

“Ella no se casará con él.” Tina muttered.

“No me casaré con nadie, T.” Syd replied.

“Yo, English?” Marcus called out.

“She’s allowed to have some fun. Idiots.” She said, throwing a glare towards Richie, Marcus and Carmy who’d kept his head down and stayed out of the interaction.

“Last twenty minutes Chefs, do I still have your focus?” She slammed her hand on the counter,

“Yes, Chef.” They all called back.

“Thank you.” They fell back into silence, listening only to Syd’s calm instructions. As each station was completed, they started their clean down. Carmy came back to Syd just as Richie made his way into the kitchen.

“Doors locked, Chefs.”

“Thanks Richie, we good?”

“We are, great night out there. Happy customers.”

“Excellent.” She beamed at him.

“Hey cuz, Claire’s out there. She ok to come through?”

“Uhh, just gimme a minute. Syd, can we talk? Please?”

“Ahhh, Syd's not the only one on a date tonight, huh Jeff?” Tina grinned. Syd nodded and went to the back doors. Outside, Carmy lit up a cigarette.

"I wanted to apologize. You were right." He sighed, pacing. "You're always fuckin' right, Syd. It's nothing to do with me who you date, and I'm sorry. I have no right to try and tell you what to do. I want you to have a good time. I need to get my shit together." He held her gaze with pleading eyes,

"Thank you. I know you and Richie want to protect me or some shit, but -"

"It's not my business, I know." She nodded.

"We need to fuckin' figure out how we get back to before," she started, "this isn't fair on anyone and…"

"And?"

"I miss you. I know you have Claire and it's selfish, but I feel like if we get back to how things were, then that fixes everything."

"What if we can't go back to how things were?" He asked quietly.

"Carm, I can't help you fix - or not fix - what's going on with Claire. You need to do that yourself."

"I know. I'll do better, I'm trying to do better." She nodded and went back to business while she had the opportunity,

"So the duck and the ceviche are really clearing up off the new menu?"

"Yeah, we should hold some extra ingredient stock from next week."

"And we'll do a family party night in a couple months? The Sunday before Christmas?"

"Yeah, Nat's got it planned in."

"Ok. We should go back in, finish up." She went to put a hand on his arm, but stopped herself at the last moment. She was back in the kitchen just as Claire came through,

“Hey everyone.”

“Hi Claire Bear,” Richie greeted her with a hug. Syd started working through the night's orders until Tina came over.

“Why don’t you get ready to go chica?” She murmured, “I’ll clean up.” Syd knew Tina had picked up on the tension recently, even more so in the last week. She gave a small nod.

“Yeah, if that’s ok?”

“Long as you come back here and show me your look. I wanna see how you clean up!” Syd took off to the office with a laugh, getting her bag from her locker on the way past. She closed the door behind her, took off and folded her whites carefully. She had two options for her date and as she looked at them both, she was suddenly torn on which to wear. She pulled open the door an inch or two and called out for Tina who appeared quickly. “What’s up?”

“I dunno what to fucking wear?” The shorter woman laughed and pushed her way into the office. She looked over the two options while Syd nervously twisted her hands. She could hear the others calling out their goodbyes - Marcus, Ebra, Gary, Angel and Manny all out the door as quickly as possible behind the front of house staff. Eventually, Tina picked up her suggestion and put it into Syd’s hands. She’d taken the top from option one and the skirt from option two and combined them. “No, no that’s not one of the choices - it’s too much, we’re only going to a cocktail bar -”

“You’re going out to have fun, you have legs for fuckin’ days and you’re hot as shit, Syd. You can dress up sometimes, y’know?”

“Jesus fuck, I’m gonna need some fucking alcohol.”

“Yes baby, liquid confidence!” Tina grinned, leaving her to change. Syd did as she was told, she knew she’d never hear the end of it if she defied Tina. She changed quickly, twisted her braids into an updo, and headed back out to shove her things into her locker and get her shoes. From the open doorway, she heard Richie whistle,

“Holy fuckin’ shit, Chef.”

“Don’t say it.” She warned,

“Don’t say what?”

“That I’m… I dunno, dressed like I’m asking for trouble, or whatever workaround you wanna use to say I’m dressed inappropriately.”

“Do you feel good?” He asked, sincerely. She nodded. “Good. You look fuckin’ great, kid. And despite what you might think, I want you to have a good time.”

“Thank you.” She smiled gratefully.

“Yo Tina, fuckin’ see this fit Syd’s got goin’ on!” He called out immediately. Syd finished putting on her shoes and went back out to the main kitchen to get her phone.

“¡Muy caliente baby!” Tina smiled happily. At the commotion, Claire came back through the swing doors, closely followed by Carmy.

“Wow, Syd, you look great!” She exclaimed. “I love the skirt!”

“Uhh thanks guys,” She pushed her phone into her bag, “can we stop with the whole… compliments thing now please? Jesus, you’re making me awkward as fuck.”

“Hey, are you gonna be ok?” Carmy asked,

“Yeah.”

“Just… he’s a dickbag, that’s all.”

“Carmy, I’m sure Sydney can look after herself.” Claire pointed out,

“I know she can," he turned to Syd, "but if he tries anything and you’re not interested, just… call me. Or Richie, and -”

"I will be fine. Do not make me pepper spray you.” Syd mumbled. Claire laughed,

"I can't believe they're so protective! Well we're going. See you guys later."

"Just forgot my phone in the office, I'll be right behind you." Carmy told her. Syd crossed her arms across her chest, conscious that he hadn’t stopped looking at her since he’d walked back into the kitchen. She felt wildly under (over?) dressed. She remembered her blazer on the back of the office chair and went to get it. He followed to get his phone, but took the blazer from her, holding it out for her to step into. She slid her arms in and rolled up the sleeves while he straightened the collar, his hand dropping to graze her hip as she started to step out of reach. “Have a good night, Carm.”

“You too. Don't fuckin' hit me, it's just you…-” He started, "you look beautiful." He finished, his voice tense. She shook her head,

"Don't. You're really not making this any easier for either of us, Carmy." She sighed and went back out to the bright kitchen to pick up her bag, Richie kissed her on both cheeks,

“Hey, you call me if that jagoff tries anything y’hear?”

“I hear you. Thank you.”

“See ya later, beautiful girl.” Tina hugged her.

“Bye guys, see you later.” She unlocked the front door ahead of Carmy and Claire and stepped out into the cold night.

Fish guy was indeed a dickbag. As much as it pained her to admit that everyone had been right, she couldn’t deny it. He was rude to bar staff, arrogant, and he hadn’t stopped ogling her all night. His eyes felt like the greasy sheen from the fryer that she couldn’t quite shift. She was halfway through her third cocktail and she knew it would be her last. She wanted to know that she was still in full control and she knew that a fourth cocktail would remove some of that. They both finished their drinks and she picked up her bag,

“Thank you for tonight, I think I’m gonna head off.”

“You don’t want another?”

“No, no thanks.” She went to think of an excuse but reasoned with herself, she didn’t need an excuse to get out of a bad date. A simple ‘no thanks’ should be enough. And if it wasn’t she always had the threat of setting Richie on him.

“Can I see you again?”

“Umm… no. I’m not really up for dating at the moment. Lots going on at work, y’know.”

“Plus the whole thing with Carmy?”

“The what?”

“Yeah, Rich said you’re, like, into each other but not ready for each other… whatever. Anyway, it’s cool. I know they think I’m an asshole and they’re probably right. Hell I’m not gonna pressure you into anything cos they’d fuckin’ murder me for sure.”

“Yeah… y’know you shouldn’t pressure anyone, right? Like, just cos I have Richie or Carm ready to throw hands… other women have people ready to do the same thing y’know?”

“Oh god, I know. I’ve had my nose broken plenty of times.”

“Huh. Should maybe listen to sense then?” She suggested wryly, she'd make sure Richie passed the message along to staff at all restaurants in the area to avoid him. “Have a good night.” She left some cash on the table to cover her drinks, and went back out into the cold. It felt like a pitifully short time that she’d been in the bar. She checked her phone, it was barely midnight and thanks to the cocktails, she felt wide awake. She walked in the direction of the restaurant where she could call an Uber and wait in the warm. She dug her keys to the back door out of her bag and switched on the single strip light over the pot wash. She took a glass from the bar and poured a glass of wine from a bottle on the family shelf and then sat on the floor of the locker area with her back against the cool wall. She scrolled through the Tik Tok's Richie had sent, and replied to his and Nat's check in messages with a thumbs up. It was nice to enjoy the silence of the kitchen she adored. She heard the back door open softly and close again and rose to pick up a knife from the magnetic strip on the wall, she held it up in front of her.

"Who's there?" She hissed, cursing herself for not putting on more lights, she recognised the broad shoulders immediately though, "Carm? Is that you?"

"The fuck are you doing here, Syd?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Bad date?" She taunted, "Wait, stop. That sounded shitty, I apologize." He shrugged,

"No need, you nailed it. Can you put down the knife?" She put it back on the wall. "How about you, what happened on your date?" Syd sighed.

"Turns out you guys were right, he was an asshole…" She sighed heavily. "You can say I told you so now."

"I'm not gonna do that. I've been way too fuckin' much of an asshole myself the last couple of weeks."

"You said it," she rolled her eyes.

"I'm distracted and distant as well. Who fuckin' knew, huh?"

"Ouch. Well, I have a terrifying co-worker who scared the shit out of my date," she shrugged. "which, turns out, wasn't a bad thing, but I am never telling anyone in this building if I go on a date again." She laughed. "I didn't mean to threaten to pepper spray you earlier, by the way. I mean, I did. And I would if I had to. But I wouldn't, like, enjoy it. Much."

"Good to know." He looked over to her, "So I'm guessing you're not gonna see him again?"

"God, no. He was sleazy and gross. I've decided I'm not the dating type." She leaned her hip against the cold stainless steel counter to take some pressure off her feet.

"You're not?"

"Nope. You gonna fix things with Claire?" He shrugged,

"We keep just goin' round in circles, y'know? Same argument every time. I'm too distracted by this place, working too fuckin' much, too distracted by you -"

"Me? I haven't -"

"I know. You haven't done anything. It kills me that you've been so distant. It doesn't mean you don't distract me." She kept her eyes on the counter, absentmindedly rubbing at a dried water mark with her thumb. "I'm the shittiest boyfriend. I'm pretty sure I fucking spent more time wondering if that fucking prick was touching you than I did asking my girlfriend about her day."

"That is very shitty. I would say she deserves better but… well. That would make me the dumb one."

"You're not dumb."

"I know. But I do dumb stuff all the fucking time. And she does deserve better."

"So do you." He'd moved from leaning against the walk-in, to standing next to her by the counter, she could feel her heart pounding. The day in Nat's kitchen felt like a lifetime ago, the last time they'd had even the briefest physical contact. Her hands shook with the effort of staying under her control. She felt the warmth of his body as he stood at her side, it radiated from him and she realized she was cold. Legs still bare in an empty kitchen, gone midnight in early November. She leaned in, just a little. Her eyes fluttered shut as his nose grazed her cheek, her breath shaking almost as much as her hands. He covered her hand with his own, laughing softly at how cold they were, "Fuck, baby. Putting you on pastry next." He teased. His breath danced across her neck, making her shiver,

"Don't you fucking dare," she warned. She felt a tiny kiss behind her ear, her body betraying her with a whimper she was certain he'd heard. His other hand came to rest on her hip underneath her blazer, his thumb finding the sliver of skin where her top had come untucked. She didn't feel cold anymore, she felt like her whole body was alight. He held her hip with the most imperceptible grip, giving her exactly enough space to move away but silently begging her not to. She let his hand turn her slightly on the spot so she could face him better. She kept her eyes closed, felt his kiss on her jaw and her cheek before he paused. He rested his forehead against hers, one hand coming to the nape of her neck while the other stayed on her hip. She could hear only their shared breath, smell the citrus from the three sidecars she'd had forever ago, the beers he must have had. She can tell he's giving her enough time and space to say no. She finally opened her eyes, "this is the worst idea either of us have ever had." He nodded against her, his nose bumping hers,

"Probably." He agreed.

"I do dumb stuff all the time."

"So do I." She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back the tiniest amount. She barely had time to register his reaction, there was just enough time to see a longing and an intensity she'd never seen before and he was on her, capturing her mouth with his own. Syd pulled the thick arms of his jacket down, letting it drop to the tiled floor with a dull thud. She brought her hands up to his hair and let them rake through it lightly. His kiss was desperate and wanting, as she broke contact to tip her head back and catch her breath, he moved to the column of her throat. As he nipped at the soft skin there, he made her moan, tugging his hair a little in surprise. His faint whine has her rolling her hips against his,

"Jesus fuck, Carmy," she gasped, "I am not going to fuck you in our kitchen," she could feel him laugh somewhere in the valley of her breasts. He'd slipped off her blazer and was pulling the straps of her top down her arms, she pulled him back up to her. Both breathless, pupils blown, "I mean it." She told him as firmly as she could. He kissed her again, so softly, so gently, it made her knees buckle.

"Heard," he whispered with a grin. "Beautiful, fuck you're so fuckin' beautiful." He went back to her collarbone, the hollow at the base of her neck. Her hands slipped up and under his t-shirt, feeling the taut muscles on his back. She could feel him through his jeans, hard against her thigh. He toyed with the hem of her skirt, "Syd, can I…"

"Please, please… I need you," she cried as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around and biting gently. His deft fingers moved her underwear to one side and slipped inside her, she shuddered against him, her head dropping to the crook of his neck.

"Holy shit, baby," he hissed, holding her tightly to him. He thrust his fingers into her torturously slowly, building her orgasm from so deeply inside she could hardly breathe. "I've got you," he murmured through kisses, "I've got you." His thumb brushed against her clit and she rocked into him. She grasped at his shoulders as she got closer and closer to the edge. "I want this… you, always." He kissed her hard as she came, swallowing her moans as she clenched around his fingers, his name on her lips. He worked her through the orgasm, holding her up against the counter while she regained her breath and stopped shaking. She kept her forehead on his shoulder as he smoothed her skirt back into place and pulled the straps of her top back up, leaving small kisses on their path. She played with the soft curls at the nape of his neck, "you good?" He asked quietly, his nose against her cheek. She moved to look at him, her warm brown eyes still blown with lust.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to look at you in this kitchen again," she cringed. He laughed,

"Same. It's all I'm gonna fuckin' see." She stepped slightly to the side of him, needing space and air between them.

"We really fucked up. What if we ruined everything? This is… this is everything to me," you are everything she added silently.

"I won't let that happen, I promise. We carry on, and in March we're gonna get you a fucking star. I want to give you everything, Syd. You deserve it. That'll never change." She brought a hand up to his cheek,

"I want it for you too." She sighed heavily, exhaustion taking over.

"I'll take you home," he offered. "Then I gotta figure some shit out." She hummed in response,

"Yeah. This can't happen again, Carm. It just can't."

"I know, and it won't."

"And I'm not going to lose my best friend over this either."

"I'm sure Nat appreciates that."

"I meant you, asshole." She rolled her eyes, her mouth scrunching to disguise the smile. "Come on, I need sleep." She pushed him towards the door and he took her hand in his own.

~~~~~

..... verdict? When I tell you I had an existential crisis on this Chapter! 😅 I had no idea you guys would be so mad at Carmy! But then, Syd is everything so I totally get it!

So I hope I redeemed him just enough for you! And I hope you're happy with the tip over from friends to something more... 🤞

I'm pretty proud of this one, hope you liked it!

#the bear fanfiction #the bear fx #the bear #the bear fanfic #the bear fan fic #sydney x carmy #syd x carmy #carmy x syd #carmy x sydney #carmen x sydney #syd adamu #syd x carmen #sydcarmy #sydney adamu #sydney and carmy #sydney x carmen #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto

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