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darlingshane · 11 months ago

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Salt of the Earth ~ Part 3 (Final)

Pairing: Michael Berzatto x OFC

Summary: She was Carmy's best friend growing up, and Michael never looked at her as anything other than that until years later when she comes back to Chicago to start over. In the process, she turns his sorry excuse of a life upside down.

Content/Warnings: 18+. Explicit, Friends to lovers, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Smut, Shower Sex, BJ's, P in V, Family Drama, Dysfunctional relationships, Addiction, Alcohol, Pets, Pet names, Dialogue heavy, Undisclosed age gap.

Word Count: 12.3k // Chapters 8-10 // AO3 Link.

— Part 1 (Chapters 1-4) // Part 2 (Chapters 5-7)

A/N: This part includes my version of the famous 'Fishes' episode. Though having Maya in it changed a few things, most of it is pretty faithful to the actual script. I also borrowed some of the dialogue to keep it as close as possible.

Chapter 8: As warm as toast

Maya is hugging Michael’s back when the warm breath of her dog is pressed against her ear. She tells the dog to go back to sleep, but Coco, ignoring her request, whines a couple of times until Maya has no choice but to get up. Though it's still terribly early, she takes Coco out to the park down the street from Michael’s building. It's freezing outside, but that doesn’t stop Coco from zooming across the park a hundred times until she’s spent while Maya paces along the fence, wrapped in thick layers of hat, scarf, mittens and a bulky coat.

Upon their return, Maya fills Coco’s bowl and makes some coffee.

They’ve fallen into a nice routine with Michael. He’s made room in his life for them, as much as they’ve welcomed him open into theirs. Half a week they spent in his apartment, and the other half at Maya’s house.

While she sips on her coffee, she tries to guess what's inside the big wrapped box that has been sitting in Michael’s living room for a week. Curiosity has been killing her since she saw it the other day. Her fingers tap on one of the sides and lightly pull on the edge of the red and white paper, trying to sneak a peek of the box.

“I told you to leave that alone, Maybird. That’s not for you.” Michael catches her red-handed as he comes out of the bedroom.

“C’mon, Bear, let me open it already. It’s Christmas.”

“Uh-uh, it’s Christmas Eve.”

“Is it a sex swing? It feels like a sex swing.” She keeps tapping on the box.

“It's not a sex swing. Keep guessing.” Michael snorts, leaning over to kiss her good morning. “Your face is cold, did you go out?”

“Uh-huh.” She glances at Coco, who’s currently devouring her food by the kitchen. “She woke me up and dragged me outside.”

“At least she knows how to hold it and ask for the head.” Michael goes around the breakfast bar to fill a mug with coffee. “Remember that yorkie that Francie had that couldn’t stop peeing everywhere.”

“Well, training goes a long way.”

“That's what everyone kept telling her, but her parents ended up leaving a poor thing in the kennel.”

“I mean it's Francie. I'm not surprised. She really can't be trusted to take care of anything. How's she? I haven't seen her in ages.”

“She's around. I think. Last time I saw her was probably a couple of years ago. She’s banned from our house.”

“Why?”

“Beats me. It's a Sugar thing. I think Francie tried to hit on Pete or something. You'll have to ask Sug.”

“Really? Just when I thought she couldn’t sink lower.”

“Tell me about it.” He pulls up his sweats as he takes a seat on the couch next to her.

“Okay, stop trying to distract me. So, if it’s not a sex swing, or a pizza oven, which I really wanted by the way…”

“The sex swing?” He lifts a brow at her and takes a sip of his mug.

“The pizza oven, smartass. How about… a weighted blanket?”

“First, you don’t need any of those. You can cook pizza already in your oven, and why do you need a weighted blanket or a sex swing when you have me?”

“That’s true.”

“You know what? Go ahead and open it, but you’re gonna need Coco, cause like I told you, that’s not for you. C’mere Coco Girl.”

Coco’s floppy ears perk up at Michael’s call. The dog turns her head to look at Michael for a second before continuing chewing her food.

“She’s too busy to open presents right now.”

“Figures.”

They wait till she’s done, and Maya beams in delight, quickly tearing apart the flashy wrapping paper. That delight turns into a mocking frown when she finds out it’s a big, fluffy dog bed for Coco.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding. It’s not for me.”

“Aw, don’t be jealous, sweetheart. You know I have something else for you. She needed a bed here. This couch is so uncomfortable, no even a dog wants to lay here. She’s always either hoarding the bed or sleeping on the rug.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her lips curve up, watching Coco inspect her present before attempting to curl inside. “That’s it, baby, lay down. Good girl.”

“Are we still up for tomorrow?”

Maya sighs, “yeah, I think so. Did you tell them I was coming?”

“I said you might. Just in case you change your mind.”

“Do you want me to change my mind?”

“No,” he strokes her hair with his free hand. “I really want you there.”

“What are we going to tell, y’know… everyone?”

Everyone – meaning Carmy. Though their relationship is practically nonexistent, the last thing she wants to do is show up holding hands with Michael and flaunt it on anyone’s face without a warning.

“Well, Richie is the only one who knows.” Cause he caught them last week making out at their usual bar. “I guess Tiff knows too. Does it freak you out? Do you wanna back out now?”

“No, no. I just… I guess I’m not ready to announce it on a day like this. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s okay, baby. I get it. It’s driving me crazy, too.”

“If they find out, that’s great, but I don’t just wanna put it out there right away.”

“We’ll just have to keep a low profile, then. How hard can it be?”

“I’ve never had a secret relationship before. It could be fun pretending, even if it’s just for a few hours.”

“We just have to hope Richie doesn’t blow our cover.”

“Oh, we’re screwed.”

“I don’t know about that. But I can tell someone is about to get screwed. Shower?” His brow playfully arches.

“Hmm, you’ve read my mind.”

It’s that rush of excitement of being with someone new that leads them quickly to the bathroom. He undresses her just as fast as she pulls his sweats and underwear off him. He hasn’t finished taking off her bra and his lips automatically invite themselves into her neck as she fumbles to get the water going so it warms up before stepping inside.

Under the warm spray of the water, their bodies fuse together. Lips against lips share a vicious amount of kisses and laughs. Their arms tangle around the other, her hands become his, and vice versa. The steam filling the room boils hotter when Michael turns Maya around and presses himself on her ass while one of his hands slides between her legs. Her palms brace the tiled wall, as his mouth bites the flesh at the curve of her neck. Her moans and curses sound like heaven when the blunt tip of his cock slides into her opening. His hips push painfully slow as her walls stretch inch after inch. Once he’s fully sheathed in her tender pussy, his eyes squeeze shut, he lets his desire guide the pacing of his thrusts. Maya waves her hips at the same time, countering his moves until both find the same rhythm. One of his hands clutches the curve of her ass, keeping her secured, as the other stays right on her pussy, rubbing her swollen clit with passion.

His back turns red as the hot water keeps pouring over him. The fiery pressure rising up in his core makes his cock throb inside her. He looks down to see his length disappear inside her fast with each push. At the same time, his mind dissipates somewhere up, above the mist of the bathroom, somewhere above clouds. It’s like he’s traded one addiction for another. As long as he’s with her, he’s safe. It’s not the healthiest way to deal with it, but right now he doesn’t give a shit. The climb to that high is way faster, it feels better, it’s less toxic, but it lasts shorter. That’s the only downside.

“Michael… please,” her breathing swallows, as she inches close to the finish line.

“I know, sweetheart, shh…. Come for me. C’mon…”

Following her plea, he pushes a little harder, rubs a little faster until her body seizes up. She lets out a strained moan that bounces off the steamed walls, as her opening contracts around him harder than he’s ever felt. Maybe it’s the position. It feels like pure bliss to have her squeezing every last drop of him.

Catching his own breath, he hangs his head down to rest on her nape for a moment. While still riding that high, he slowly slips out of her and drops to his knees on the shower floor. His hands handle her body around so she's facing him. As her abdomen lines up with his face, he glances up to capture her glowing aura, stunning as ever. Maya’s still floating in that same sea of ecstasy he floats on. It makes her look like a goddess from his position. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, sticks to her skin as it touches the curves of her chest. Water trails down her body as if she was standing under a waterfall. And like the Goddess she is, he aims to devout himself only to her.

He gently holds one of her legs up, letting his lips glide across the surface of her thigh as he drapes her leg over his shoulder. His mouth waters as it gets closer to her center. Licking his lips, his eager tongue just to taste the heaven between her legs. It's slicked and tender, ready to consume. His mouth fits perfectly against it. Wide open. Desperate to please her with the flick of his tongue and ease his own affliction.

Maya leans her back on the wall, anchors her only feet hard to the floor, and grips at his soaked hair as his tongue works restlessly all over her sex. He sucks her clit between his lips, licks her folds, circles her dripping opening, and revels in tasting both, him and her. In a wild frenzy, he devours it all. It consumes his need and desperation for more. Her moans are exquisite. Her body writhes in his hold as she rises up gracefully to a higher plane.

Chapter 9: Bigger fishes to fry

“Are you really going to wear that?” Asks Maya as soon as she sees the outfit Michael has chosen for Christmas dinner.

“What’s wrong with this?” He gazes at his blue Under Armour shirt and jeans ensemble.

“Workout shirt, jeans and kicks, really? Why don’t you put on a nice sweater at least?”

“Baby, it’s just dinner at my house with the same fucking people I see every year. It's not like the Queen of England is gonna show up to have tea and biscuits.”

“C’mon, Bear, do it for me?” Maya pulls out her big adorable eyes and disarming smile.

“Ugh, alright, only for you.” Unable to resist her power, he easily yields and goes into his bedroom. From a drawer, he collects a dark blue fisherman sweater. Then he sticks his hand into the closet to pick up the vintage jacket she bought him for his birthday. To finish his new getup, he trades his sneakers for ankle boots.

Maya is taking out a dessert from the fridge that she bought this morning to take to The Berzattos.

“Wow,” her head turns when hearing his footfalls. “See, you look so much better now.”

“Yeah? You clean up pretty nice too,” he picks up her hand and makes her spin under his arm, capturing the stunning shape of her body hugged in a cream knitted dress that almost touches her knees. Right below, black leather boots cover the rest of her legs.

“Thanks, handsome bear.” After her spin, her head tilts to the side, capturing a chaste kiss from his lips.

“What’s that?” Michael points at the dish covered in tin foil on the breakfast bar.

“It's a strawberry tart.”

“You made a tart?” He lifts part of the foil to uncover the well-crafted pastry.

“What? Surprised that this tart made a tart?”

“Well, yeah. You almost poisoned me the last time you cooked.”

“You got me. I didn't make it. I bought it this morning when I took Coco out.”

Michael softly chuckles. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring that. Have you forgotten about pudding-gate? Donna's going to eat you alive if you show up with food.”

“Oh, I think that night was the first time I got drunk. I don't remember the details. But I do remember the pudding and eating a bowl with Carmy in the garage. Who brought it?”

“Uncle Jimmy's first wife.”

“That's right. She was never seen again after that. Okay, I guess I could bring a bottle of wine.”

“You're gonna make me look bad if I show up with nothing.”

“You could bring the tart, and say that you made it. I bet Donna will be delighted if it comes from the golden child.”

“That's a great idea, baby. It'll be a great distraction when she starts strangling me that people won't even notice this other tart.” His hand boldly squeezes her ass.

“Hey!” she swats his shoulder with the back of her hand. “I thought we agreed to keep our hands off each other.”

“I meant later. Here, I can still get a piece if I want.” He links his arms around her waist and peppers the curve of her neck with kisses, making her laugh with the coarse tickle of his beard.

“Oh, this is gonna be harder than I thought,” she whines when his lips nibble her earlobe.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” He laughs against her ear, gripping tightly at her hips. “I’m not sure how long I can make it without touching you like this.”

“Well, we better think of something…”

Ready to go, they hop in the car and drop Coco first at Maya’s house. While Michael waits in the car she collects a bottle of wine to bring for dinner.

It’s then that she gets jittery about the whole ordeal. It’s been years since she attended one of their functions. Christmas at the Berzattos was never a walk in the park, and as she has heard recently, they still aren’t. But she’s not the one to talk cause the Silvas have always had their own issues, proof of that is her desertion from her own family dinner.

“Okay, kiss me one more time,” she requests after parking at the end of the street. They both lean in to meet in the middle over the center console for a chaste kiss. “One more.”

Michael delves into her mouth a little deeper, hoping it’d ease her up.

As they walk up to the house, they pass Maya’s empty childhood home, and Michael just wraps an arm around her and kisses her hair.

“Their loss,” he mumbles. “Don’t think about them, Maybird.”

“I won’t.”

His arm unfurls away from her body as they get closer to the Berzattos’ house. When they reach the door, they stay there for a minute, filling their lungs with cold air as they muster the courage to cross the threshold.

The house is loud with people talking and laughing when they step inside.

Maya can see Michael's face changing as the door closes behind them. That raw vulnerability, his bashful expression he's not afraid to show her slips once again behind that mask he's fought so hard to get rid of. She can't hold it against him. Everyone has their coping mechanisms and this is Michael's.

She becomes suddenly the new sensation, everyone openly welcomes her as if they hadn't seen her in ages. Which is actually the case. She's bombarded with questions she doesn't really want to answer like — How are your parents? How does it feel being back? Are you seeing someone?

Mirroring Michael's, she just draws her best smile and tries to satisfy their curiosity while Michael takes a smoke break with Sugar leaving her to be eaten by wolves before she can protest.

To Maya’s disbelief, after the third degree, she’s welcomed with open arms by Donna Berzatto, who is just as intense as she remembers. Hair on point, makeup on point, fresh manicure softly scratches Maya’s jaw when she briefly holds her face.

“We've missed you, Mayhem Maya.” Donna actually coined that nickname after that incident when she broke one of her figurines when she was a kid. And she'd never live that down. It makes her feel like a child every time she calls her that or the way she manages to compliment her and patronize her at the same time.

“Hey,” she hears the familiar voice as Donna disappears into the kitchen.

Maya turns around to see Carmy climbing down the stairs.

“Hey, you made it,” she says a little hesitant, trying to decide whether to hug him or just shake his hand as he reaches the last step.

“You too.”

Hug. She goes for it and tucks her arms around his shoulders for no more than two seconds. It feels a little awkward and cold given their history but understandable. They're not as close anymore, and it doesn't come as natural as it used to. She tries to internalize that as best as she can, but there’s still something that doesn’t feel right. Maybe this wasn’t the best moment to show up back again into his life. Being Michael’s girlfriend, no less. Perhaps deciding to hide that wasn’t the best choice after all. It sounded reasonable when she chose that, but right now, it feels like she’s betraying him.

“How's Copenhagen?”

“Cold. How is being back?”

“Weird.”

“Tell me about it… Never thought I'd see you again in one of these functions.”

“Yeah, Michael insisted. You knew I was coming, right?”

He nods. “Sugar told me.”

They shoot back and forth meaningless questions without really diving into anything substantial. For the first time, she looks at his cold blue eyes and realizes they're not best friends anymore. She might have known everything about him once upon a time, but now it feels like talking to a stranger, and it breaks her heart not being able to pass that invisible wall between them.

Maya stares at him one last time as they are interrupted by the rest of the party. He’s dragged to a mindless conversation with Neil and Ted Fak, while Michelle brings Maya a drink and settles with her on the couch to catch up.

Carmy manages to escape the Faks and asks for some help from his siblings that were hiding outside.

Michael does another quick round before disappearing again somewhere with Richie.

“I thought you weren’t serious about bringing her.” Richie takes him to the garage where they open a couple of beers.

“I was dead serious. And please, don’t say anything. Tonight, we’re just friends, alright?” he gives him a menacing look.

“You’re dead for sure when Carmy finds out. Don’t get me wrong I love Maya, but is she all that? Is she worth the trouble, Cousin?”

“She’s all that and a basket of biscuits.”

Soon, Michael thinks. Soon everyone will know how much he loves her but for now, this is for the best. This is what she wants and he respects that.

When they go back into the house, Michael goes checking if she needs a break from socializing. Figures, she probably does as much as he does. She's not in the living room anymore, or anywhere on the first floor. He climbs upstairs and from the cracked door to his room, he finds her snooping around the bedroom with a glass of wine in her hand.

“Hey. What are you doing up here?”

“The bathroom downstairs was occupied, so I came up here, and I realized I never really saw your room. Was it always like this?”

“Kinda. It’s cleaner for starters. The walls used to be covered in Red Sox merchandise and movie posters. It’s all in the basement at The Beef now.”

“Traitor,” Maya mockingly squints her eyes before taking a sip of her glass.

“Why do you care, you don’t even watch baseball?”

“Yeah, but if I had to pick I wouldn’t even dream of going against my own home team,” she says, scanning a pile of CD’s on the corner of the desk and picking one from the middle. “Marky Mark, really? Who are you?”

“That’s Sugar’s.”

“Sure it is,” she laughs.

“This is why you came up here, to make fun of me?”

“Nope, I just like snooping.” She turns around and keeps flicking through those albums while Michael shuts the door to seize that as an opportunity to kiss her again.

“Hey, c’mere.” Quickly wetting his lips, he cups her face as it turns to the side and gently captures the flavor of her mouth soaked in white wine.

“Hmm, we’re a lost cause,” she says as his lips bounce a few times against her.

“I know.” Michael hums, unable to stop himself from going deeper into her mouth.

As she places her glass on the desk, his tongue swipes past her lips.

Michael moves his hands to her hips, as Maya links her arms around his neck, letting her tongue slowly play with his.

His mouth grows hungrier and desperate for more. She can feel it at the eager tip of his tongue demanding more action. He blindly guides Maya to the bed, and almost without breaking from the other, as she settles on her back, he pushes all the coats people left on his bed to the side. Michael lies on top of her, nestling between her legs, claiming ferociously another kiss from her mouth.

From zero to sixty, his hand slips beneath the hem of her dress and hikes the skirt up to her waist to grab her ass. He digs his fingers on her skin over her tights. He could rip the fabric apart in a second if he pressed a little harder.

Maya hums in his mouth, struggling to keep up with the burning passion he's pouring into her lips as the coarse texture of his beard scratches her face.

The setting is a little off-putting for her right now no matter how much she wants him and as his bulge hardens between her legs, she promptly puts a halt on.

“Michael, baby, shh. We can’t do this here.”

“We’re just making out. The door is closed.”

“We’re not just making out. You’re already hard. What if someone comes in?”

“There’s a lock on the door. I closed it.”

“The lock is not the problem. It's this place. This house.”

“The house is cock-blocking you?”

“Pretty much. Yeah. Let’s just take a breath and go back down. We’ll finish this later at home. See, this is why we can’t be left alone.”

“Okay,” he begrudgingly rolls to the side with a sigh, feeling a little disappointed to be honest and stares at the ceiling. “Is it the house or is it Carmy being here?”

“I don't know. Maybe both.” She leans on her elbow to look at him.

“I see.”

“It’s not like I don’t want to. I do. More than you know, Bear. I just feel weird about doing this right here. We said the other day that we should be honest with each other to make this work. And this is me being honest.”

“I know, baby. I get it. I just… All I wanna do is be with you right now. Can't stop thinking about you. That’s why this happens…” he gestures vaguely as his crotch.

“Now, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to give you blue balls. I know how much that hurts.”

“I don’t think you do,” he snorts.

“I’m sorry,” her palm covers her smile. “I really am. But I… I guess I could do something about it. Don’t move.”

Maya’s fingers glide over his crotch to undo his fly.

“Wait, are you changing your mind?”

“No, but I don’t wanna leave you like that either. Just trust me.” She shifts on the bed as her hand slides under the fabric to feel the pressure of his straining erection.

Biting her lip, she locks eyes with him as her fist curls around his shaft as Michael’s hand wraps around hers.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I wanna. Just because I can’t, doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. Let me do this for you. Please.”

“You’re fucking amazing, you know that?” he sighs, letting her hand move up and down his hardness.

“I know. Just relax for me. I'll make it quick.”

Maya leans closer to his face to lock her lips with his. His low grunts echo in her mouth while her fist prompts him to spill his early drops of arousal. They help her pump more swiftly. He has to bury his sounds deep in his throat when she parts from his mouth and moves her head down his torso so he can finish him with a blow.

“Fuck, Maybird,” he moans as her lips wrap tightly around his swollen gland. Her hand keeps a nice pressure at the base as her head bobs quickly to have him climaxing all over her tongue.

She cleans him up, licks her lips and makes sure nothing was spilled on their clothes before taking a long swig of the glass of wine on the desk to get rid of the aftertaste of his cum.

“God, sweetheart, that was…” he stands up and pulls his clothes together while she finishes her drink. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

“You better.” She collects a pocket mirror from her purse to check her makeup. As she moves Michael's jacket out of the way, something falls from its pocket — a round pill container lands at her feet.

She means to bend down and pick up, but she freezes. It's Michael the one to reach and grab it. Maya stiffens, stares at him as he quickly tucks in his pocket. Unable to process any thought at all, she pins that in her head to revise later. As she intended to do, she fixes her hair and makeup.

Michael should have left those at home. He didn’t even mean to grab them. It was just exactly that– a habit he can’t break yet. Especially on a night like this.

“Hey,” he says softly, holding her chin under his finger and tilts her head up so he can capture her eyes. “We'll talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay.”

She checks her face in the mirror a second time to make sure there’s no visual signs of her just going down on Michael before leaving the room.

Their hands are still linked together when they step into the hallway, and it isn't until they spot Natalie coming from another room that they quickly pull them apart.

So much for being sneaky… There's no way she didn't see that. The shock flashing across her face is telling.

“Michael, can I talk to you?”

“We should go downstairs before… Carmy can't handle all those people.”

“This won't take a minute,” she says firmly.

He glances at Maya, and they nod at the other.

As Maya returns to the party, Sugar can't help but question Michael about it.

“I don't know what you saw, but it's not what you think, Sug.”

“You came out of your room holding hands. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to put two and two together. Are you dating her?”

“Would you have a problem with that?”

“I don't know… It's just… She's Maya. She practically grew up here. In this house. She and Carmy were… you haven't told him, have you?”

“Nobody knows yet. Well, just Richie. But it hasn't been going on for long, and we just thought it'd be best to wait.”

“And you brought her here tonight?”

“I didn't want her to spend the night alone. Do you think it's weird, me and her?”

“I don’t think it’s weird. I… I guess it's a little unexpected. It just caught me off guard. If you had given me a warning…”

“You wouldn't be so shocked. I'm sorry. I wanna tell everyone, but it's all so new, and she's…”

“Maya.”

“Yeah.”

“Look, it's an adjustment, but if you're happy with her, then I'm happy, Bear. Does she make you happy?”

“She does,” he smiles bashfully.

When Michael and Natalie join the rest, Cicero and his wife arrive. Uncle Lee follows.

The delicious smell of food cooking fills every nook with the house and Maya's stomach rumbles under layers of wine. She desperately needs to soak all that alcohol before it's too late.

She goes into the kitchen to find Michael casually leaning on the counter bantering with his mother as she works against the clock, cooking those seven fishes that’s the staple dish of her house.

“You doing good?” He gives Maya a look as she props her hands on the breakfast bar.

“Hm-hm.”

“You hungry too?” He guesses and Maya only nods at his question as Donna points at the meatball casserole on the counter.

“Here,” Michael grabs one meatball from the casserole, dabs the sauce on the edge so it drips as he lifts it up to her mouth. His eyes light up as she carefully bites half of it directly from his fingers. Then he shoves the other half into his mouth. Smiling at the other, both thinking about what they did earlier as they fight the urge of eating each other's mouths again.

A beat after, Maya looks to the side to see Carmy standing by the door as Donna barks something at him. She swallows, watching people come and go out of the kitchen. The timer goes off as voices get louder all around. Maya helps herself to another drink in the middle of the whirlwind of chaos of the heart of the house while Carmy takes him upon himself to organize the mess of the kitchen against Donna's wishes.

“Ma, why don't you let him help you? It's all he fucking does.” Michael picks up another meatball and offers it again to Maya, but she declines this time.

“What was that?” Carmy glances annoyed at Michael. “Like uh, that was a shot or…”

“Wasn’t a fucking shot.”

“Mikey, he’s helping me. Back off.”

“Yeah, that was a shot.” Carmen states more sternly this time. “I'm the guy that does food. You're the guy that what? You-you, uh… You start 100 different businesses and have zero follow-through.”

“You’re the one to talk,” Maya rolls her eyes, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Yeah, what are you doing here? Thought you had a husband.”

“Wow. Leave her out of this, Carm. She’s here cause I asked her to.”

“It’s fine, Michael. Let Annie Oakley take her shots at me.”

“Okay, this is why I didn't wanna come home. This is why.”

“Fuck you!” Donna shouts.

“What the fuck? Why the fuck would you say that?” Michael raises his voice. “It's fuckin' Christmas. Why would you say something like that?”

“Whatever, okay? Whatever.”

“Maya, sweetie, can you bring some ice from the freezer in the garage?” Asks Donna in the middle of the argument, and she just silently agrees.

All their voices ebb as Maya disappears into the hallway that leads to the garage to grab some ice and pull herself together. She stays there for longer than she should, collecting her thoughts and checking her phone for all her friends and co-workers messages and sending some of her own. Her eyes pull away from the screen when the door swings open.

She tucks her phone in her pocket as Carmy climbs down the two steps into the room.

“What are you doing here?”

“Grabbing some ice.” She glances at the freezer where her ass is propped.

“No. I mean, why did you come here at all?”

She shrugs, folding her arms against her stomach.

“Michael invited me.”

“It’s pretty fucking weird, don’t you think?”

“Why? I used to come here all the time when we were kids. Hell, the first time I got drunk was right in this garage with you.”

“Yeah, that’s my point. You and I aren’t friends anymore, Maya. It doesn’t make sense that you’d come anymore.”

“You've made that clear but hey, you’re the one who stopped talking to me in the first place.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know. You tell me. I’m not psychic, Carmen.”

“Doesn’t really matter anymore.”

“No? It matters to me.”

“Guess I got tired of waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me? You’re completely delusional, you know that?”

“Am I? I thought you were different, but you’re just…”

“Just what? Are you going to call me a slut or something? You better watch your mouth.”

“No. You’re… reckless.”

“I'm reckless? For what? Living my life? Growing up? Marrying another guy?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d rather be reckless than be anything like you, Carmen. You think you're better than me, than anyone in here, but you're not. You're conceited. You've always looked at everyone down from your ivory tower like you've never made a mistake in your life. You said you were waiting for me? You had many opportunities to say what you felt, and you never did, why is that? Because you’re a fuckin’ coward. I’ve watched string along girls you weren’t into for longer than you should have. Anytime anyone has shown you an ounce of love, you’ve run the other way. You've shut down me and everyone out cause you don’t know how to love anyone but your self-righteous, narcissistic ass.”

“That’s rich coming for someone who’s fucking my brother.” His voice comes out deeply loud as Maya swallows. “You think I’m dumb? It’s written all over your face.”

Her posture stiffens all of a sudden. She opens her mouth to contradict his words, but she can't. It's pointless. He's chosen to attack, and she's going to stand and take blow after blow without throwing some of her own.

“You had your chance, Carmen, and you never took it. And the worst part is that you expected me to do something about it, but it really wasn’t up to me. I’m sorry I never felt anything for you… but I don’t think you ever loved me like you wanted either. You only thought you did cause I was there all the time. It was easy, right? We were friends. Best friends. And you ruined that.”

“So did you.”

“Yeah, we can agree on that.”

“It’s fucked-up, y’know?”

“What is?”

“You and my brother.”

“You know what’s fucked up?” She pegs him with a harsh twisted brow. “You. Coming here judging everyone and pretending you know anything about me or him. Say, when was the last time you said I love you just cause you wanted to and not because someone said it first? When was the last time you were in a relationship that lasted more than two dates? When was the last time you woke up next to someone and the thought of leaving them ripped your heart apart? I'd rather take risks and be called reckless than feel nothing, do nothing, say nothing at all, and turn into a bitter asshole like you.”

Maya walks past him and heads out the door without giving him the opportunity to respond.

As tears threaten to come out, she stops in her tracks and draws a fortifying breath to keep herself from falling apart. Though she knew sooner or later she’d have to deal with Carmy, that conversation was truly more difficult to deal with than she expected. She couldn't handle that better if he wasn't acting like an asshole.

Disheartened… Maya feels just at home. It really is no different from being with her own family. Next year, she swears she's going to take a trip or just stay at home with Coco, which sounds like something she should've done today. Coming here tonight was a mistake. If she could turn back time to earlier in the day and convince herself to stay at home she would.

In the never-ending night of riffs, she overhears Donna yelling at Natalie in the kitchen as she crosses the hallway. In the living room, Michael has everyone's attention while telling one of his stories. Every one seems entertained except for Uncle Lee that has to poke the bear as usual.

It feels like an eternity until dinner is finally served it doesn't get better once everyone is sitting at the table. No. Because, of course, there can't be a moment of peace, everything escalates from that point.

Maya’s taking a swallow of her glass when Lee starts telling the story about the seven fishes and the Dutch oven when Michael makes a buzzing sound and throws a fork at him. It hits his shoulder.

“Wrong answer.”

“Did you just throw a fork at me?” Lee's high-pitched tone breaks.

“I did,” Michael snorts.

They both start bitching back and forth. The tension strains harder after every word, every sentence interrupted, every thought unfinished.

She places her glass down as the animated conversation grows more heated by the second. The voices get louder. There's a countdown hovering over the table showing how many seconds are left for the bomb to go off. Maya hears the ticking in her head, or maybe that's just the sound of her own heart racing.

In the heat of the moment, Michael borrows a second fork from Fak and repeats the same action. This time he misses Lee's head by an inch.

Everyone tries to put off the fire before it rises, but Michael is too far gone into his own head, nobody can talk sense into him.

“Cousin, you're scaring the normals.” Richie nervously laughs.

“This is fine. It's nothing.”

“Mikey, can you hear me, buddy?”

“Not now, Stevie.”

“Cut it out.”

“Hey, look, here's the thing.” He leans back on his chair ignoring everyone. “You see, I can throw forks cause this is our father's house. My father's house.”

“Okay you have everyone's attention so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.”

“That's good Lee.” He laughs manically while Lee goes on a rant about him living off his mom and borrowing money from everyone.

“… I don't know what the fuck you're on, but if you can hear me through the fog, throw another fork at me, you're gonna get fuckin’ rocked!”

There's a long moment of silence. Michael scratches his beard and gazes to his side, where Maya is sitting trying to process the whole thing happening before her eyes.

“Hey, Maybird.” He says softly, and waits until she looks at him. “I just… You think I could just borrow that for one second…” he points at her fork.

“Michael don't,” she tries to say, but the rest of the table speaks louder over her voice.

“It's okay, baby.” It slips out as he picks up her fork. “This is fine. I’m fine.”

“Michael. Please don't do this!” It's Natalie's words that stand out over the others. “Hey!” She calls his attention and when Michael glances at the opposite side of the table and Sugar lowers her voice. “I love you. Okay?”

“I love you, too, Sug.”

“I'm begging you. Don't do it.”

He vaguely nods. But he's dead set on making everyone shift in their chairs as the ridiculous dispute picks up again.

The flames touch the ceiling, and there's nothing she can do to smother the fire.

Maya nudges his thigh under the table with her knee, and says his name softly, hoping it'd be enough to calm him down. But it's too late, he's already so riled up that not even her can't stop him from rising from his chair, fork in hand taunting Lee non-stop.

Petrified, she stares at the man she loves, the one who looked like a dreamboat when she woke up next to him this morning, turning into something completely different. The cracks of his mask can't hold any longer. Behind it, it all slips out. His haunted expression taking over the rough edges of his face, the sorrow in his eyes, and his tired voice, makes her heart hurt.

“Bear.” She resorts to a term of endearment, but there is no use. He's on a different plane now, guided by his addiction.

Her eyes well up as Lee keeps repeating that he’s nothing. She can see his gears spinning in a different direction and for a moment everyone stays still watching everything unfold until Donna comes into the room.

That only puts a temporary patch on the wound. It's only a matter of time before someone takes it away to let blood spill all over the table. Michael sits back down, pushing his hair back before clutching the fork again in his fist as Donna lights up a cigarette and takes a seat.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing.”

“I missed something.”

“Uh, Stevie, Stevie's about to say grace, Ma.”

“Ooh, good, yes.”

“Go ahead and take it away there, Stevie.”

“I uh… I don't think…”

“Just say the fucking thing, Stevie.”

The tension eases up for those couple of minutes while Steve improvises grace. It all seems perfect for a moment, they all nod and smile a Steve’s kind words, but that countdown is still ticking down every last fucking second.

Everything afterward is a tableau of surreal events tangled together that would play in Maya’s head for years to come… Donna’s meltdown, Michael throwing the last fork, flipping the table and taking a more physical approach against uncle Lee, Donna losing her hinges and crashing the car into the house, the police attending the disturbance…

Out of all the memorable dinners she's had in this house, this one really takes the cake.

It's the shitshow of a lifetime that nobody will ever forget.

Chapter 10: Basket of biscuits

It’s past the witching hour when all the voices, all the noise, all the sirens, and rumblings of his own thoughts quiet down in his head when he closes the door as he settles on the driver's seat. And at once, the only voice he wanted to hear the most echoes in his head with one simple word — his name. The fear in her tone haunts him. He probably scared the shit out of her after what went down. Staring at the ruins of the front of his childhood home, Michael turns on the engine and takes a final look before steering Maya’s car out of that place.

Maya left earlier, after the police took everyone’s statement. Though she wasn’t as drunk as he was, he begged her to take a cab back home. While Donna refused to leave the house, everyone eventually left as well. Michael stayed all the way through while they boarded up the hole in the wall as a temporary measure.

Sobering down, the road gets clearer the closer he gets to Maya. He can't stand the thought of her being witness to his frantic meltdown. All he can see now, clear as day, the utter disbelief and fright in her eyes when she was pleading him to stop. He should have listened. He should have held himself better in that situation. Drugs or not, there's nothing or no one to blame but himself. That was… Embarrassing. Even for him. He swore he'd never sink that low, that he'd never let anyone see that part of him. It was bound to happen. He lost control and everyone saw. And if he wasn't for Donna interrupting his act, he's not sure how far he'd have gone.

For a split moment, he blames it on something else taking over his actions, like being possessed by one of his demons. But it doesn't last long. He can’t continue denying the fact that he’s the only one responsible for his actions. Claiming otherwise would only delay the inevitable.

They say all roads lead to Rome, and if keeps driving in the same direction, he’d surely find the only possible outcome to this. It’s time to veer off the path and find that there’s more world to see besides Rome.

He has to find a new way, and she is the only thing that could save him from this right now. However, after tonight, it wouldn't surprise him if she was already thinking about kicking him to the curve. He would blame her.

Christmas lights and empty streets quickly take him to her house. He can even imagine what’s going through her head right now… but it’s time to find out.

He parks on the driveway and takes measured steps toward the front door as the weight of the world perches on his shoulders. He feels like shit and the biggest asshole in the world for breaking his promise.

The glow of the TV and tree lights shine faintly behind the curtains when he knocks on the door. He should have called before, he realizes on that spot. Or even just text her to say he was coming so she would know what to expect. But there’s not going back now.

She takes her time to open the door and when she does, he’s met with the reflection of all his fears coming true. It flashes across her face the disappointment and disgust and utter terror of what happened at the table.

“I brought your car.” He reaches out to hand her the keys.

Hesitantly, she collects them, and makes room for him to enter before closing the door behind him.

“I… You shouldn't be driving.”

“It's fine. Sobered out pretty soon after… Where's Coco?”

“Upstairs. Hoarding the bed.” Maya puts the keys on the console table as they stand by the staircase railing. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yeah, Carm and Sug stayed with her at the house for the night. Everyone else left. ”

“She wouldn't leave?”

“No, she locked herself in her room.”

“That's crazy.”

“Yeah, another Christmas at The Berzattos. Hey, but at least none of us got locked up.”

“That's not funny, Michael.”

“It wasn't meant to be funny.”

“I think you should go… You should've stayed with them.”

“I wanted to check on you.”

“I'm fine.” Her tone says otherwise.

“Are you?”

“I was about to go to sleep.” She’s already slipped into her pj’s and was just watching TV cause she couldn’t fall asleep.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

“What do you want me to say? Of course, I'm not okay. You lied to me.”

“What… When did I lie to you?”

She fights the urge of rolling her eyes and instead, crosses her arms against her midsection to keep herself together.

“You said you weren't using when you were with me, but tonight you did. Instead of coming to me and saying — hey I'm dealing with this and that, you straight up hid it, and then you just… went off. I thought we were being honest with each other.”

He hangs his head down as she tiredly leans her back against the wall.

“I don't know how to help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on, Michael.”

“There's nothing you could've done.”

“Maybe not but you didn't even give me the chance to. I'm really concerned about you and after tonight… I don't know… I'm out of my depth here. I knew it was bad, but it's worse than I thought… If you're not seeing that, if you're not willing to admit that… Then maybe we should take a step back and consider our options before going further.”

“Consider our options? You're getting cold feet now?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just…” she sighs in exhaustion. “You should go. It's been a long night. And I'm not in the mood for this.”

“If you're gonna break up with me, just say it. Don't wait till tomorrow.” Though it’d be the right decision for her to do, he can’t stand the thought of not being with her now that he’s seen what it is to have her in her life. It would rip his soul and heart apart to hear her say those words.

“I don't wanna break up with you, but I can see that you're going through something right now, and I think it’d be best to talk about this tomorrow or the day after with clear heads.”

“Okay, okay…” he says under a heavy breath, as he shortens the distance between them.

Michael cups her jaw, and places his lips gently on her forehead.

“Can I stay here tonight?” He tries to not sound desperate but it fails so badly.

“Michael…” He grabs his wrist and takes a step back to detach herself from his hold.

“Please, Maybird, I don't wanna go. I… I can’t be alone right now. I’d… I don’t know what I’d do…” There’s something brewing inside him and if tonight wasn’t bad enough, not being able to be with her would send him down to that hole of despair he’s dug himself.

“You're scaring me, Michael.”

“Fuck, I know… I know I’m an asshole. I just…” He frantically runs a palm over his beard as he keeps pleading. “I need you. Don’t make me leave. I'm begging you.”

Those words put her between the sword and the wall. As much as he loves him, as much as she’d want him to stay, she’s still shaken and would rather be alone right now. But she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if something happened to him because she sent him away.

Before she has the chance to reply, while she gathers her thoughts he dramatically drops to his knees on the verge of tears.

“Please. I’d do anything for you, but don’t ask me to go.”

“Michael…”

“Shh, shh, shh,” he grabs her waist, pulls her close, and links his arms around her hips, planting his full face on her abdomen. He swallows his sobs in his relentless ramble. “Please, baby, I need you… I’m sorry I lied to you… I’m so sorry that I'm scaring you… I swear I’d never hurt you…”

Her eyes brim with tears and unable to pull away she just holds his head protectively in her hands, threading her fingers in her hair to calm him down.

“You’re everything to me, Maybird. I know I’m a pathetic loser and that I don’t deserve you, but I’m fucking ready… just tell me what to do… I don’t know how to fix this… please just… let me stay…”

“Shh, it’s okay, Bear.” She’s so overcome by the love she has for him, she doesn’t have the strength to kick him out. So, she just gives up to his implore. “We’ll figure it out.”

Michael’s breaking point came like the most unexpected Christmas gift he didn't ask for. He can't return it or exchange it for something else. It's only up to him to either throw it away and pretend it didn't happen or use that as the catalyst to his recovery. They say that sometimes you have to break down to break through. And he went down so many levels, that there’s only one option but to go up from there. No because he feels like he has to, but he'd do anything to stay with Maya, and he knows the only way to do it is to climb out of the dirt.

After falling asleep in Maya’s arms, he wakes up in her bed alone the next morning. The clock says it is 10am when he looks up to her night stand and from the feet of the bed is only Coco, keeping a close watch of him. Her tail starts wagging when he gazes at her and extends his hand to scratch her head.

“Hey, Coco girl.” His voice rasps as she climbs up closer to lick his face relentlessly, slobbering all over his beard. “Okay, okay, that's enough, sweetheart.”

He holds her close and scratches her neck to calm her down, as Maya’s measured footfalls make the stairs creak when she climbs up. He looks to the door and watches her as she enters the room. She's fully dressed and by the amount of layers she's clad in, it looks like she's been outside.

“Morning.” She smiles softly as she proceeds to take off her hat and scarf.

“Morning.” He props himself on his elbow while Coco jumps suddenly out of the bed and circles around Maya’s legs before leaving the room at once. “Went out?”

“Yeah, just went for a drive and grabbed some breakfast. You two looked so cozy together, I thought I should let you sleep a bit longer. You're not opening today, right?”

“No. C’mere, sweetheart.” He finds her hand and gently tugs on it so she would sit down next to him. “I'm sorry about last night, I shouldn't have come here like that. I thought I was…”

“Sh, it's okay. You already apologized, hon.”

“No. That wasn't me. That was fucking embarrassing.”

“Is this you now?” She tenderly moves his straightened hair away from his forehead and combs it softly.

“Think so.”

“You look better.” Her fingers keep gently peppering him with caresses all over his head and neck.

“I feel like shit.” He gets a hold of her hand and kisses her knuckles. “You’re not mad at me anymore?”

“No. I can’t really stay mad at you for long. You know that. And the good thing about all this is that since last night, I haven't really thought about being ditched for Christmas by my family.”

“Fuck, I'm such an asshole… I had all these plans with you after dinner… and I totally ruined everything. We didn't even get to open our presents.”

“It's okay. I promise. We'll try again next year. Maybe just the two of us.”

“You still think we'll be together next year?”

“I have no idea. But I'm hoping so… I want to.”

“God, you’re a fucking angel.”

“I’m not,” she laughs softly.

“Yeah, heaven-sent. You took care of me last night when you had your own thing going on. Not many people would’ve done that.”

Maya leans in and kisses his temple before wrapping her arms around his neck. She bathes him with love cause she’s not sure what else to do than to show him that she needs him just as much.

“How about we get some food in you?” She smooches his head and as she attempts to stand up, he curls his arms around her, pulling her down with him.

“Not yet, baby. Let's stay here for a minute. I'm not hungry.”

She relaxes in his hold and cuddles with him until his phone goes off.

“It's Sugar.” Maya sees on the screen. “Are you gonna pick it up?”

He vacillates, but he ends up taking the call while Maya dislodges herself from his embrace. She collects a tray and some food from the kitchen while Natalie tells Michael that they finally got their mother out of the house. She'll be at Nat's for a few days until they fix the front of the house.

“Yeah… I'll take care of it. See you later.” Maya overhears as she returns to the bedroom with his breakfast.

“Everything alright?” She sits down on the mattress, placing the tray in the middle.

“Yeah. She asked me to go talk to uncle Jimmy's friend. You know, the contractor? He said he could get it done fast.”

“That's good, yeah?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know… I just… how can I look at these people in the face after what I did.”

“Because you're Michael fucking Berzatto. And you don't take shit from no one.” She tries cheering him up. “Uncle Lee was an asshole. Nobody cares that you threw a couple of forks at him. They're worried about you. And I don't think anyone remembers what you did. Donna upstaged the two of you, I'm afraid.”

“How do you manage to put a positive spin on everything?”

“Someone has to.”

As much as he loves hearing her talk like that is time for a reality check. Besides Maya being the brightest light in his life from the past few months, the rest have been hell. The restaurant has been struggling for way longer than he’d like to admit and has become the biggest failure of his life. His dependency has only been exacerbated by the pressure he’s put on himself to try to fix all by himself. All the lies, the high expectations, and the way his family look up to him for answers and comfort have become a lead weight on him.

The Beef was an inherited mess that was passed down to him when his father died. He took it upon himself to carry the family business to keep the family afloat, especially since Carmen and Natalie were merely teens, and there was nobody else but him to provide for all of them. He always thought he’d had his own restaurant and part of that pipe dream was bringing Carmy along. That dream faded as soon as he got hit with the hard cold truth that managing a restaurant, even a sandwich shop wasn’t as easy as his father made it look. But to be fair the late Berzatto didn’t have the best system either. It was all back door deals and handshakes and fucking agreements with this guy and this other guy. It made him wonder if the old trio had some shady business going on. Even Maya’s uncle was involved at some point, he recalls seeing his name a couple of times in one of the accounting books.

To sum it all up, he was set up with a business that was already failing before got it. His optimism and passion could only keep him trying for so long. The last couple of years have been hell, and at this point he’s not sure if he wants to run it anymore. He’s toyed with the idea of burning it to the ground and starting over, or just selling it and walking away. But there are a lot of factors in play that are stopping him from doing that. Like disappointing his family or the people who work for him. And let's not forget the big question of what Michael would do if he didn’t have The Beef.

With a heavy heart he finally pours everything out to Maya. If someone can understand, it’s her. She knew when her life needed a turn and took it. He’s at the same crossroads right now, but unlike her, he doesn’t feel brave enough to do what needs to be done.

Maya draws a breath, absorbing every single thing Michael has laid out. It’s a lot to process, but her mind is already spinning ideas and questions that could potentially help him.

“You could sell and start over. The Beef is not your failure. It wasn’t even your dream to begin with. And I don’t think anyone will hold it against you if you give it away.”

“I guess I’m not ready to give up, you know? I don’t know what I’d do if I walked away now.” He shifts in the bed, laying on his side, placing his head on her lap while she plays with his hair.

“What about the restaurant you wanted to open with Carmy? It was all you talked about once upon a time. ”

“I can't bring him into this. He's better off without me.”

“He's not. Your brother is fucking miserable.”

“How do you know that? Did he tell you that?”

“No… but we shared some words last night, I don't want to get into the whole thing right now, but I could tell that he's not happy either.”

“Last night… He gave me this thing. It was a sketch he did about that restaurant… I just don't know how to make you both understand that I have no idea how to make it true. He's worked so hard to be where he is now…. I won’t be the one to keep it away from all that.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you could learn something from him and that teaming up would solve all your problems?”

“Yeah, maybe. But I don’t want to take that chance. I won’t ruin his career. He’s where he’s supposed to be.”

“You know, you’ve talked a lot about not wanting to let everyone down and keeping everyone happy. But when are you gonna start taking care of yourself, Bear? All those people you’re caring for, they’re pretty much grown up. They don’t need you to keep holding their hand. Not Natalie, nor Carmy, nor your mother. And don’t get me wrong, the way you care for them is part of the reason I care for you… but at some point you’re going to have to care for yourself too. Cause I can’t keep an eye on you 24/7.”

“Did you go to shrink school or something?” He scoffs, glancing up at her eyes from his comfortable spot.

“No, I wish! It’s hard to put yourself above anyone else… I get it. But you’re going to have to, Michael. If you don’t, it’ll eventually catch up with you. The pressure, the pills, the need to please everyone…”

“What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not. I promise it’s not. I know it seems that way, but you, asking the right questions… That tells me it’s not too late. And the thing is that you don't have to decide anything right now. But hypothetically speaking, if you didn't have The Beef to take care of, and could do anything in the world, what would you do?”

“Well, If I could do anything, I'd stay in this bed, day, and night with you for a year.”

“Okay, let's say you've done that now. You wake up, get out of bed and where do you go?”

“I've always….” he pauses as the corner of his mouth pulls up.

“What? Tell me.” Her hand fists his hair without pulling.

“I've always wanted to buy a bike and drive across every state.”

“I could see you doing that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Stop doing that. It's not an unattainable dream, Bear. You can do whatever you want.”

“Would you come with me if I asked you?”

“Hm, I don’t know… I’m not a huge fan of bikes. But I guess if I could follow along with my car and bring Coco with us, I’d go.”

“How about next summer?”

“Bring it on.”

“You know I’m joking, right?” He scoffs.

“I’m not. If you really wanna do that. Do it. What’s that thing you always say… Let one rip?”

“Let it rip,” he snorts and shakes his head, utterly amused by her way of messing up his motto.

“So, let it rip!”

“How? How do you walk away from everything?”

“You put one foot in front of the other and repeat.”

“Well, thank you for just describing walking, baby.”

“I’m serious, Michael. You take enough small steps and one day you’ll look back and won’t be able to see what you left behind.”

She holds his face firmly and dips to leave a small peck on his lips, then plants her forehead on top of his.

“I’d go anywhere with you. Would you?”

“Yeah, always.”

Michael’s palm slides along her jaw as his lips capture her mouth one more time. In this room, on this bed, he feels more safe and loved than ever before.

In the evening, Maya takes Michael to meet the contractor who comes into the house to survey the damage. After that, they swing by Natalie’s to check how Donna is doing.

Maya stays in the car. Her choice. She’s not ready to have another Berzatto reunion so soon.

She’s listening to the radio when all of a sudden a tap on the glass startles her. She glances to the side and finds Carmy motioning with his hand to roll down the window.

Sighting, she turns off the radio, as the glass slides down.

“Hey, can we talk?” His breath manifests in the air.

“I'm not in the mood for you to keep jabbing at me.”

“I wasn’t going to… I just…” he props his forearm on the roof of the car. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. You were right about… well, about almost everything. I have no right to tell you how to live your life and shouldn’t have talked to you that way. I still think it’s pretty weird that you’re dating my brother… but I guess I’ll have to get over it.”

Maya swallows, staring at her hands curling around the steering wheel. It feels forced to hear him say that so soon, but not completely dishonest. He’s making an effort, and she appreciates that.

“Thank you for saying that. I’m sorry that you had to find that way and that I called you a self-serving asshole that doesn’t care about anyone but himself. I know you cared about me… I just…”

“Hey, I get it. We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I don’t know… I couldn’t sleep last night and Sugar and I started talking, we were up for hours… I guess she knocked some sense into me.”

“Do you think we could ever be friends again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could we pretend that we are just for five minutes? I need to ask you something.”

“I… I suppose we could. Can I get in? It's freezing out here.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Carmy goes around the car and hops into the passenger seat as Maya closes the window.

“What is it?”

“How's Copenhagen? Are you liking it there? Is it everything you ever dreamed of?”

“It's one of the best jobs I've ever had.”

“That's not what I asked.”

“I… I don't know what you want me to say… I guess I always thought I'd end up here with Michael… But I don't think he even wants me here anymore. Why are you asking me this?”

“God, he's going to kill me for telling you this… But hypothetically, what if he was in trouble and was too prideful to ask for help? What if he wanted to build that restaurant you dreamed of but wouldn't want you to give up your career for him? What if he was thinking of selling the shop but was too afraid of disappointing all of you?”

“Fuck, that's a lot of what ifs, Maya. Is that all true?”

“I can't tell you that, but if that were all true would you consider coming back?”

“You know better than anybody that all I wanted to do is work with him. If he asked, I'd be here in a second. But he's not going to ask, is he?”

“I don't think he's ready yet. I'm trying to help him as best as I can, but I feel like I'm not enough.”

“What do you think I could do if he doesn't want anyone's help… ”

“I don't know… he's too stubborn to ask for help. I'm just running out of ideas here… and he's looking at me like I have all the answers…”

“You think if I came back that'll change?”

“Maybe not, but if there's just a small chance that you were considering doing what you always wanted to do… if he saw that you weren't going anywhere, perhaps it’d point him in the right direction.”

“It takes guts to ask for help like that. And I'm not talking about him. I know you wouldn't be asking if it wasn't serious.”

“Yeah, like I said, if he knew I was telling you this…”

“I won't tell, if you don't.” He smiles softly.

“Thank you.”

“I'll think about it though.”

“Yeah? I'll keep trying too.”

As Carmy leaves the car, Michael comes out of the front door. They meet in the middle and Maya watches them quickly sharing some words before saying goodbye.

“Everything good here?” Asks Michael once he's taken his seat and closes the door.

“Yeah, we were just straightening some things up. I didn't want to tell you earlier, but we had an argument last night. It's all good now…” and she feels like an asshole for going behind his back, but if Michael is too proud or ashamed to ask for help, someone has to. She'd love to have all the answers laid out for him, but she has no idea what she's doing half of the time.

“He knows about us, does he?”

“Yeah, we weren't as careful as we wanted. Even Sugar saw. I mean… you even called me baby at the table. Don’t think anyone really noticed but… I guess it’s out now.”

“Does it freak you out that they know?”

“No. It was never about that. I just wanted to keep it just between us for a little longer.”

As they drive back home they toy with the idea of recreating the Christmas dinner they never go to have the previous night. They make a quick stop at a couple of places to gather some ingredients and scramble something together.

Michael has a lot of faults, but he's a natural in the kitchen. He feels right in his element when he's crafting a meal, especially when it’s for her. There’s no pressure laying on the counter, no bills to worry about, but the need to impress her makes him rise to the occasion.

After dinner, they exchange those gifts they put under the tree in her living room a couple of days ago. There’s a gift basket for Coco with toys, her favorite snacks, a blanket, and bathing products. While the dog is distracted with a chew on the rug, they sit on the couch to open theirs.

Maya’s gift to Michael is considerably bigger than what he got for her, which is a thin flat box as long as her palm.

“You want me to go first?” Asks Maya.

“Yeah, sure. Go on, baby.”

She’s kneeled by his side on the cushion, and he closely watches her hand unwrap the jewelry box that contains a dainty gold necklace with two twin pendants. Two small discs share an M etched on one side but are different on the back. One of them has the outline of a bear, and the other a dog paw.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it, Mikey Bear.” Her free palm slides at his nape. “Thank you.”

“Thought you could wear this one,” he points at the one with the bear, “and I could take the other.”

“Yeah, that’d be perfect.” She inspects the pendants for a bit longer before sliding the one with the paw on it out the chain. “We’re kind of an institution now, like M&Ms.”

“Or Eminem.”

“For sure,” she laughs at the same time she clasps the chain around her neck. “Are you gonna open yours?”

Michael nods and extends his hand to open the big wrapped box waiting on the coffee table. In it there's a record player set with speakers and a couple of Otis Redding albums.

“You’re the best, you know that?” He holds his chin on top of his fist for a second, mesmerized by how much he adores her.

“Hm, I’ve been told.” She smugly slings her arm around his lower back as he inspects his new gift and starts setting all the components on. “Wasn’t sure if you liked Otis, but it’s one of my favorites.”

“Yeah, I dig it. Everyone loves the king of soul.”

Tucking her palm under the hem of his shirt, she kisses his shoulder, as he carefully slides one of the vinyls out of its sleeve before placing it on the platter.

“I haven’t used one of these in a while, let’s see if I remember…” he thinks for a beat, staring at the levels and buttons as he figures out how to set it up.

“You know, there are instructions on the box, right?” She playfully scratches his back.

“Don’t need instructions.”

“Typical male response,” she scoffs.

“Look, it’s done.” After settling the needle in position he hits the on button and stares at the record as it starts spinning. It rotates a couple of times before the first track comes out of the speakers.

Michael curls his arm around her, pulling her flush against his chest as they lean back on the couch. Maya drapes her legs on his lap, pillowing her head on his shoulder as the ever so beautiful melody of These Arms Of Mine plays on the speakers.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Maya tucks her hand in her jean's pocket to collect a keychain of a miniature motorcycle she got at the gas station earlier. “I also got you this when we stopped for gas. I didn't have time to get you a real bike in time but– what do you say, you wanna go on a road trip with me and Coco?”

“A Harley-Davidson? I don't think the three of us can fit here.” He dangles the keychain between his fingers. “But we'll see.”

Maya smiles against his shoulder as he kisses her head.

“Hey, can I tell you a secret?” His voice changes to a softer tone.

“Uh-huh.”

He knows this is far from perfect and that he's probably going to screw everything up at some point, but whether it's perfect or not, right here, in her arms, everything is like it's supposed to be.

“I love you, Maybird.”

She tilts her chin up so he can capture the glint of eyes. She doesn't say it right away, it takes her a couple of beats to build up the courage to say back…

“I love you too, Bear.”

The End.

#jon bernthal #michael berzatto #michael berzatto x ofc #michael berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fanfiction #jon bernthal fanfiction #carmy berzatto #natalie berzatto #richie jerimovich #fanfiction #angst #smut #fluff #darlingwrites #salt of the earth

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sugolara · 2 years ago

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𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

Feat. Katsuki Bakugo x Shoto Todoroki x Izuku Midoriya x fem! reader

An ongoing series.

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down its borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's too late for some people. The dead have risen and are looking for revenge.

Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, heavy angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, updates thursday/sunday, slow burn, wd: 1k - 5k, its a quirkless! au, so u.a is a private high school with general education along with classes that have hands-on experience; like a trade school.

BEING HEAVILY EDITED: s1 - s5 has been heavily edited as of 7/15/24 - 9/16/24, so a few things may not make sense if you are re-reading or the comments do not make sense.

Inspired by, ''The Walking Dead''

Table of contents:

Season 1: The beginning of us. Episode 1: Begin Episode 2: Not alone Episode 3: Gone but not forgotten Episode 4: You belong in this world Episode 5: Because all life is precious Episode 6: Musutafu, we'll meet again Episode 7: Izuku: I'd always thought there be more time

Season 2: The setting I lived for. Episode 8: During these two weeks Episode 9: Diopside, like your eyes Episode 10: For the first time in a long time Episode 11: Determined to survive, stay alive Episode 12: Imperturbable Episode 13: Almost complete Episode 14: Katsuki: You are going to beat this world

Season 3: The completion of us. Episode 15: Away with you Episode 16: Three months ago Episode 17: Disappear Episode 18: Thin ice Episode 19: Nothing else to lose Episode 20: My savior Episode 21: Shoto: Everything you would be will be gone

Season 4: The torture realization. Episode 22: Trouble Episode 23: For however long that'll be Episode 24: The fallen city Episode 25: Stay who you are Episode 26: Here with you Episode 27: All together Episode 28: F/n: A soul yet to be mourn

Season 5: The dawn to you. Episode 29: Back on road Episode 30: Lost Episode 31: Safe in your arms Episode 32: And so it begins Episode 33: At stake Episode 34: To be forgiven Episode 35: Familiar face

Season 6: The journey to you. Episode 36: Solace Episode 37: A stab through my ticker Episode 38: Never to easy Episode 39: To good for death Episode 40: Dreams of my hateful memories Episode 41: A stroke of luck Episode 42: Be aware Episode 43: Bait Episode 44: A thump in my heart Episode 45: Belong to me Episode 46: One step closer (Towards you)

Season 7: The ache in my heart. Episode 47: Sorston Episode 48: Bitter tenderness Episode 49: Here to stay Episode 50: The start Episode 51: Powder Episode 52: Good morning and goodbye Episode 53: For they may be my last Episode 54: An end to sorrow, grief & regret Episode 55: Even when I'm sleeping Episode 56: Reporting to duty Episode 67: I dream of you like I'm afraid tomorrow will be the last I see you

Season 8: The beauty of choice. Episode 58: Not who you were Episode 59: Just you and me Episode 60: The Plaza Episode 61: The other side Episode 62: To be ready Episode 63: You're here Episode 64: So long, my dear Episode 65: Discard me Episode 66: Secrets you'll soon share Episode 67: I wish you nothing but the best Episode 68: For as long as I live Episode 69: Goodness and kindness can't survive, at least not in the world I dreamed of

Season 9: The missing. Episode 70: I'll see you in a while Episode 71: So wait for me Episode 72: Hushed secrets

To be continued...

Playlist!

Space junk - Wang Chung Wolf - First Aid Kit Into The Black - Chromatics My Life In Rewind Run Boy Run - Woodkid Bad Before Good - Day One You're so Cool - Jonathon Bree So Bored - Gorgeous Bully Operations - Duster Civilian - Wye Oak Can't Stop - Red Hot Chili Peppers Sweet Child O' Mine - Guns N' Roses Skyfall - Adele Up the wolves - The Mountains Goats Be Gone Dull Cage - Kiev Into Dust - Mazzy Star Tomorrow Is a Long Time - Bob Dylan Poison Tree - Grouper Rhymes Of An Hour - Mazzy Star You Are The Wilderness - Voxhaul Broadcast Running - Delta Spirit People, Turn Around - Delta Spirit The Lion's Roar - First Aid Kit Pain - Boy Harsher Setup - Favored Nations This Old Death - Ben Nichols Revolution - Red Shahan Mr. Splitfoot - Paris Motel The Man Who Sold The World - Nirvana Beautiful Mess - Balian The Day The World Went Away - Nine Inch Nails Empty Words - Bowery Electric No Longer Making Time - Slowdive Hush - Trills Struggling Man - Emily Kinney The Last Pale Light In the West - Ben Nichols Blackbird Song - Lee Dewyze Step Away From the Cliff - Blue-Eyed Son Take Care (To Comb Your Hair) - Ty Segall Paradise - Silverberg No Peace At All - Aldous Harding Glad I Had a Friend - Galt MacDermot Machine Gun - Portishead Shadows of Planes - Duster Save Us from Ourselves - Digital Daggers Salt in the Wound - Delta Spirit I'm No Heroine - Emily Wells It's All Right - Sam Cooke To Build A Home - The Cinematic 6 Underground - Sneaker Pimps Edge Of The World- Dayshell Bye Bye Bye - School of Seven Bells You Are Not Alone - Mavis Staples Welcome - Harmonia & Eno '76 Hope We Can Again - Nine Inch Nails outside - Oneheart sleepless - Odyzon Arsonist's Lullabye - Hozier It's All Over - Johnny Cash The Stars Just Blink for Us - Say Hi Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division Knockin' On Heaven's Door - Guns N' Roses Runnin' Down A Dream - Tom Petty Fly Like An Eagle - Steve Miller Band Alesund - Sun Kil Moon Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd Wicked Game - Chris Isaak 1908 - Repulsive Rule of Rose OST - Playing Airship I Shall Cross This River - The Black Atlantic Easy Way Out - Low Roar Don Abandons Alice - John Murphy Wherever You Are - Ulrich Schnauss Waitin' Around to Die - Townes Van Zandt Hope Prevails - Jesper Kyd Take Me Home - Lazyroom

Book one: Welcome To The New World Book two: To The One You Left Behind

taglist: @mikeyswifie @k0z3me @sky-angel101 @stevenknightmarc @nahwajinswhore @mn-0p @a-helen113 @azrral @mary-jinx @chixkadee @flowers-4-you @im-the-groot

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imgeekgirlfan · 1 month ago

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The Curse of Cassandra [EP : XIII]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings : Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary : The last bloodline of House Atreides is about to reach its own conclusion. Both Yord and you understand what lies ahead and are ready to do whatever it takes to protect each other, even if it means one of you may have to sacrifice their life.

Status: just finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : Just one chapter left until the end, and I'm feeling sad to see that many have stopped reading my fic. It's been tough to stay motivated to continue, but I want to finish what I've started. I hope those who are still following along are enjoying the story. Thank you for sticking with me

Ps.If you enjoy my work, please reblog it. Just liking the post won’t help others discover it.

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Episodes 13] Here I am, here I remain.

"Run away with me."

You aren't particularly surprised to find Yord standing at your doorstep in the early evening; however, his sudden plea still manages to catch you off guard.

Yord is still panting, one hand gripping the doorframe tightly. His face glistens with sweat dripping from his forehead, a sign of how hard he must have pushed himself to rush here. His wide eyes looking at you reflect a whirlwind of emotions—anxiety, concern, and anger.

"You don't have to do this," Yord says, his voice serious as he continues when you remain silent. "Those plans are complete nonsense! How desperate do they have to be to drag you into such madness?"

Ah, so he knows everything, you think to yourself, assuming it was likely Jackie or Sol who told him.

The plan Yord refers to is Sol’s secret scheme, a final attempt after repeated failures to capture the new Sith Lord. It involves using you as both bait and a means to force Qimir into revealing himself.

Qimir is an unparalleled assassin known for his perfection, having never left any evidence or shown any vulnerability that could lead to his capture. The Jedi call him ‘The Stranger,’ a faceless phantom, an identity-less shadow. No one knows who he is, when he will appear, or who his next victim will be.

Until now, only you and Sol know about Qimir's past, but even that hasn’t helped solve the case. All records of his time as a Padawan were erased long ago, and Vernestra, who could have confirmed everything, is dead.

The final solution comes down to you. Your visions and the deep connection you share with Qimir are the only keys Sol believes can stop him.

You remember when Sol came to you personally to discuss the plan. You sensed the weight of his desperation and the pressure he was under to make this choice, despite the warnings you had already given him.

In your vision, Sol wasn’t even a match for Qimir. The chances of him throwing his life away in this plan were dangerously high.

Yet, despite knowing this, Sol remained determined.

"Perhaps this is the only way I can atone for what I did at Brendok," he told you in a calm voice, his eyes reflecting his weariness. "We all have sins to repay and fates we cannot escape. Let me face mine as a Jedi."

His words took root in your heart. You knew that fate wasn't just pursuing Sol—it was after you as well.

Your thoughts return to the present. You turn away, unable to meet Yord’s eyes. "It’s impossible," you finally reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but the words come out in a trembling whisper. "You're a Jedi Knight, Yord. You can't throw everything away for me."

"Fuck the Jedi and the Sith! They don’t even care if you live or die!"

You flinch. You’ve never seen Yord explode with such rage before.

Noticing your reaction, Yord realizes he's let his emotions spiral out of control. He wipes a hand over his face, taking a deep breath to calm the fury still simmering within.

“Please, I’m begging you... just come with me,” his tone softens, shifting from anger to a plea. “There’s still time for us to run. I’ll make sure no one finds you. You’ll be safe with me. I swear.”

Yord grips your hand tightly, and you can feel the tremor in his hold. The Bene Gesserit training tells you immediately what’s behind it—he’s afraid. But afraid of what?

“This has nothing to do with you, Yord,” you say, feeling a pang of sympathy but not knowing how to comfort him. “But I’ve seen clearly… it’s impossible.”

You know that facing Qimir again is inevitable. Even if you fled with Yord now, it would only delay the inevitable. Eventually, Qimir will find you, and this path would lead Yord to a cruel, tragic end—something you would never allow to happen to your only living relative.

“But I’ve seen it too!” Yord blurts, still refusing to accept your decision. “I dreamt of you... of your death, at his hands. I won’t let that happen.”

His words don’t surprise you. Instead, you offer him a soft smile. The bond inherited from Paul Atreides stirs within your heart, prompting you to instinctively caress his cheek with loving concern.

"You may have just seen it for the first time, but I've seen it a thousand times," you say, weariness lacing your voice.

You’ve seen every choice, every possible outcome, and every death of your own—both in dreams and while awake. It feels as if you’ve lived through countless deaths, and the fear you once held has long faded into numb acceptance.

This is the torment of one doomed to see everything—a suffering no ordinary person could ever understand or endure.

"But death isn't the only path," you continue. "There are still many futures that can be changed, even if just slightly. But even a slight change can make all the difference. That's why I have to follow this plan."

"Then I’m coming with you," Yord insists.

You study the determination in his eyes under the temple’s dim light, realizing just how serious he is. "Yord, I’m not sure if..."

“You can’t stop me,” he interrupts, cutting you off as if he already knows what you’re thinking. “If you won’t go with me, then I’ll go with you.”

You want to argue, but you choose silence instead. You don't want him to come, yet you know that trying to stop him would be futile. Yord will do anything to stay by your side, to make sure you’re safe from every danger—even if it costs him his life.

And deep down, you know you’d do the same for him.

In that moment, both of you feel an unbreakable bond woven from a shared consciousness through the memories of your ancestors. The sibling love between Paul and Alia from the past intermingles with your own memories, merging into a blood bond that binds you both to your very souls.

Every path of fate and coincidence has intertwined to lead to this moment, where the last remnants of the Atreides bloodline stand before each other, waiting to take the final step toward the end of everything, together.

You press your lips tightly, your heart trembling with emotions too complex to name. Finally, you throw yourself into his arms. “I love you,” you whisper before pulling away.

Your unexpected action catches Yord off guard. He looks at you in surprise, noticing the silent fear in your eyes—the fear you refuse to voice and the fear he chooses not to ask about.

"I love you too," Yord replies, entwining his fingers with yours. In that instant, he feels as if the past and future have collapsed into one, compressing and enveloping both of you. His mind suddenly understands, without the need for explanation, that fate has already changed its course.

And though Yord can’t see visions as clearly as you do, he can still feel it…

...feel that this might be the last time he will ever see your face.

Eiram

Most of this planet is covered by vast oceans, with only a few forests deep within the islands. Scattered remnants of past disasters still litter the landscape—derelict houses crumbled by violent storms, massive trees left in unnatural positions, and the decaying remains of the Starlight Beacon, now completely covered in moss.

The ship lands silently on the beach of a deserted island. The ocean stretches behind them, dense forest lies ahead. It is peaceful and beautiful—an ideal spot for a tourist destination. Yet, Yord can’t shake the unease that gripped him the moment they arrived. Something feels wrong, but he can’t put his finger on why.

Yord tells himself it’s just the stress of the mission, but deep down, he knows it’s more. He’s sure you sense it too—the worry on your face confirms it.

“Are you all right?” Yord asks, his voice full of concern as he notices you dabbing a handkerchief to your bleeding nose.

He’s only recently learned that this always happens when you use your visions. You’ve told him it’s the price of defying nature—that each time you dive into heightened awareness, you pay the toll with your body. Yord feels sympathy for you, but there’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t have the power you do, and he has no idea how to ease the pain you endure.

“Not great, but I’ll manage,” you reply, your voice unusually cold as you nod at him. “Let’s keep going. We have a lot to deal with.”

Your gaze is steady as you look toward the wild forest ahead, the place where you told the Jedi The Stranger was hiding.

At that moment, Yord doesn’t catch the underlying meaning in your words or actions.

He doesn’t realize... until after it has already happened.

Why?

This thought races in Yord’s mind during his final moments of consciousness. His body slumps against a tree, completely immobile. Pain radiates in his head and back, and his vision slowly darkens. Yet he can still see you clearly. You stand above him with an expressionless face, holding the stun blaster—the very one he gave you for protection. It’s the same weapon you just used to shoot him from behind.

He furrows his brow, desperately trying to understand what just happened. What mistake led him to this situation?

His recent memories flash back to when the Jedi group, led by Sol and Jackie, ventured into the forest on your guidance. Yord had chosen to stay behind with you, ensuring your safety in case anything went wrong.

But they had unknowingly walked into the trap of a Sith Lord. None of them had suspected they were being watched the entire time—until the attack came suddenly when a tall man in a dark cloak lunged at them with a red lightsaber in hand. Though the man’s face was concealed beneath a strange helmet, Yord had known immediately who he was—The Stranger, the Sith Lord they had been chasing all along.

The battle erupted in a chaotic frenzy. Yord quickly realized how skilled Qimir was. His skills were no less than a master's, perhaps even beyond that. Despite being attacked simultaneously by multiple Jedi, Qimir maintained his defense steadily without flinching, countering with swift and powerful strikes. The brilliant red beam cut through the air with deadly precision. He moved too fast for anyone to keep up, and one by one, the Jedi fell before him, as if killing Jedi was no more than a simple task for him.

Yord could only watch in horror. Fear gripped his heart as he tightened his hold on his own lightsaber. In all his years as a Jedi Knight, he had never faced an opponent this terrifying.

“Yord! Get her out of here! Master and I will handle him!"

Jackie's shout snapped Yord back to his senses. He quickly grabbed your hand, taking advantage of the chaos to escape immediately. He wasn’t even sure which direction the ship was in—all he knew was that he had to get you as far away from Qimir as possible.

A deep instinct told him that if Qimir reached you, something terrible would happen.

Yord stopped running when you suddenly pulled your hand away from his. At first, he thought you were just exhausted from running, but before he could turn to check on you, an immense force slammed into him. His body was thrown violently and crashed hard against a tree, the impact knocking the wind out of him.

And now, here he is—helpless, barely conscious, and fading fast.

His mind races, but no answers come. His blurry eyes focus on you, filled with confusion. Gathering the last bit of strength he can muster, he manages to ask, “Why?”

You slowly kneel before him. For a brief moment, Yord sees guilt in your eyes, but it quickly fades back into cold indifference.

“Because of love,” you answer him. "That's why I had to do this. Please forgive me."

Your voice sounds distant and faint. Yord wants to ask more, but the darkness spreads too quickly, swallowing him whole and completely overtaking his consciousness.

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bohemian-nights · 2 years ago

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Arlī(Anew)- Chapter 3

Word Count: ~3,740 words

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest

Description: As Naerys traced over her husband's battle scars she was reminded of the fact that her uncle had led a full life before their marriage.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9

————————————🐉—————————————

116 AC- Dragonstone

“Do they hurt?” It was early morning, the sun had not come out yet. Naerys hovered over her husband admiring the scars on his pale neck. The pair lay naked as their name days. They were a mess of limbs. A couple of moons back Naerys would not be able to meet Daemon's violet eyes as she did so, but there was no need for shame anymore. The two had done everything together.

As Naerys traced over her husband's battle scars she was reminded of the fact that her uncle had led a full life before their marriage. One steeped in war, distant lands, and exotic people though the latter she tries not to think of too much.

“Not anymore,” he hummed before taking her hand to bring to his mouth landing a kiss upon each digit. Her husband she had found out was a night owl. not an early riser. Daemon could sleep half the day away in their bed.

Her husband had moved her things into his chambers. The Sea Tower, where Naerys' old chambers were located, was too far away from the main tower. They would have more space to expand in the Stone Drum where her husband had taken up residence. The rooms in the tower were much more spacious anyway which afforded them greater privacy.

“īlon emagon nykeā early rhaenagon kepus.” Daemon had resumed her Valyrian lessons at her insistence. Naerys was a perfectionist at heart. She did not want to be just good enough in her language abilities. Her husband had not been easy on her and for that she was grateful.

“The name day of one of Rhaenyra’s bastards can wait.” Naerys frowned at her husband’s choice of words. Her cousins' boys were children. They were not responsible for the alleged sins of their parents. They were victims of it.

“You are being cruel.” She pinched him on his thigh. Apparently not hard enough as her husband only laughed at her attempts to scold him. Daemon had once said that her grip was that of a small child.

“On the contrary byka mēre.” Daemon pulled her down to seat her firmly on his lap. Naerys let out a yelp at the sudden movement feeling a spell of dizziness that was becoming all too common these days. Her husband’s cock brushed against her folds. A wave of arousal overtook her. Giving her a new reason to feel dizzy. Daemon was not totally unaffected as he planted a firm smack upon her backside which only added to the heat of the moment.

Naerys was tempted to sink down and remedy the predicament they often found themselves in, but thought better of it. They could not laze around in pleasure all day. If they wanted to “I rejoice every time our niece gives birth to another strong black-haired son.” No one would accept a bastard to the throne, least of all a bastard born from a woman.

Daemon’s position and her own would advance, but the young princess did not want to be queen. She had grown quite content with their life on Dragonstone. There they only had to live for themselves. The crown was a burden she did not wish for. Viserys had sons, but with a succession crisis, there was no way to be certain that their claims would not be counted.

“My aunt has black hair kepus.” Rhaenys mother had been a Baratheon and had looked every inch a lady of her house. Her aunt had inherited her dark hair from her. Rhaenyra’s own mother had been an Arryn. They had their fair share of dark-haired children born of the Vale house.

“I suppose Rhaenys has a pug nose as well?” Jace and Lucerys were still babies. It was not unheard of for a young child’s features to change as they age. Naerys herself had been born with lilac eyes that had turned deep violet by the time she had reached her tenth name day.

“Ser Harwin is married to Laena.” Naerys could not picture the daughter of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen being content in a marriage where her husband could care less for her feelings. Nor could she picture her uncle the Sea Snake allowing the affair to go on without any protest.

“Poor sweet little niece. You do not know the ways of men.” Her husband still babied her. A great deal in fact. Daemon could not seem to go a day without infantilizing her. He mostly did it to tease her though. There was no rancor behind his words. His lilac eyes had gone soft despite his expression.

“Are you not a man kepus?” She arched a silver eyebrow at him. She knew what his answer would be of course, but it was now her turn to goad him.

“I am but your humble servant princess.” The pale man tried to look penitent, but a humble man Daemon was not. Naerys had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at her husband. Naerys briefly looked out the window near their bed which earned her another smack. Ever the impatient man. He too was like a child in some ways.

The sun had finally decided to make its appearance. They would never leave their chambers, much less Dragonstone. Turning her attention back to Daemon, Naerys leaned down to kiss him, snaking her right hand into his silver hair. Her husband grew sensitive when she tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck while her other hand traveled down and slipped between them.

She only stopped when she reached his member. Taking it within her small brown hands she began to pump his length which caused a groan to spill from his mouth into hers. The rogue prince became compliant and easily distracted by his wife’s touches. Distracted enough for Naerys to slip out of bed if she was quick.

“Your princess commands you to rise my prince,” she leaned down to whisper in his ear. He had not yet realized her intent until she released her grip upon him. Her husband flopped back on the bed with a groan. He reached out for her but she took advantage of his lazy state and escaped to the opposite side of the room giggling.

Kings Landing had not changed much in the year since Naerys had last seen it. The capital had never been a pleasant place. In the summertime, the sweltering heat made the city unbearable. The people made it even more so. King's Landing was never planned for the number of citizens it housed. On some especially hot days, the smell of human waste could travel to the Red Keep. Dragonstone’s smell of smoke and earth was preferable to the stench of the overcrowded city.

They had been the first of the guests invited to arrive; Rhaenyra and Laenor had been the ones to receive them upon their arrival into the city. The two were waiting at the entrance of the dragon pit when they landed Silverwing and Caraxes. Their “sons” were nowhere in sight.

Rhaenyra had greeted Daemon first with a look Naerys did not want to place (her husband had thankfully not returned said look) before turning to greet her with a tight smile, calling her aunt and kissing her lightly upon the cheek.

Naerys had long since told the king's heir to not refer to her as such. Rhaenyra was two years older than her. Laenor had welcomed them both with a simple cousin and a slight nod of his head.

Her quarrels with her cousin-turned-niece had started long before her marriage to Daemon. Rhaenyra had so affectionately dubbed her “a Targaryen in name only” when she had first mounted her dragon Syrax. As if Naerys did not have a Velaryon mother as well as a Targaryen father. She may not have the spirit of the conqueror, but in blood, she was every inch the proper Valyrian princess as Rhaenyra was if not more so.

The royal couple then showed their aunt and uncle to their chambers. They were given Daemon’s old apartments near the kings in Maegor's holdfast. Rhaenyra and Laenor had moved their chambers near Laena and her husband in the tower of the hand. The last time Naerys had stayed at the Red Keep she had been put in chambers above the serpentine stairs near Alicent and her children.

They did not see the rest of their family until dinner which had been a strained affair. Alicent and Rhaenyra sat on opposite sides of Viserys who seemed to serve as a buffer between his family's two factions. Aegon and Laenor sat next to their mother and wife respectively. Naerys and her husband were seated by Aemond and Helaena. Both of which had both been deemed old enough to dine with the rest of their family.

Aemond, who was seated next to Daemon, seemed in awe of his uncle. Naerys had to contain her laughter at her husband’s annoyance with being fawned over by the boy. Aemond spoke to his uncle in near-perfect Valyrian which irritated both Alicent and Daemon.

He had even tried to converse with Naerys in the language of their ancestors, but quickly gave up the endeavor when he realized she was not proficient as she stumbled over half her words. She could understand Valyrian better than she could speak it, but she was far from mastering their native tongue.

“I’d be willing to teach you aunt if you like.” It was said with the pride of a child who knew his accomplishments. Alicent’s children had taken to calling her aunt. Though the term seemed more sincere coming from the mouths of the youngest of her cousins than their half-sister.

Where Aemond possessed a good sense of childhood wonder and curiosity his brother seemed to lack basic human empathy. Aegon spoke before he thought. When there had been a gap in the conversation at the table Aegon had so dutifully chosen to fill it.

“Should you not be with child by now aunt?” He had been observing her throughout dinner as had most of the other dinner guests though they were polite enough to not comment about her failings as a wife. Half their family thought her barren. Daemon had managed to get his mistress pregnant and would have had a child by now had she not lost it so the problem could not lie with the rogue prince.

Alicent quickly reprimanded the boy, ordering him to apologize to his aunt. Daemon had not held his tongue threatening to “tan his hide,” which he was met with a wide-eyed look of horror from the queen. The king dismissed his youngest children displeased with their behavior, sending them to bed before dessert could be served. Even Rhaenyra looked aghast at her half-brother’s boldness, though once the children had taken their leave her cousin's sympathies had ended.

“My aunt looks tired uncle.” The Realms Delight gave her a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. “Perhaps you should send her to bed as well.” Naerys cousin acted as if was a naughty child who had stayed up past her bedtime. It was infuriating, but even more so when her husband had taken Rhaenyra’s advice. He had looked sympathetic enough, but he sent her to bed all the same.

Naerys had meant to tell her husband off, but she had fallen asleep before her uncle could make it back to their chambers. She had truly been quite exhausted. The stress of packing and getting ready for their journey had taken up most of her energy and her husband had sensed it. That did not give him the right to order her around in front of others.

Naerys woke up nauseated before. The sun had yet to rise. She barely made it to her chamber pot before she emptied out the contents of her stomach. It was not until she had finished expelling what remained of last night's dinner that she realized Daemon had yet to come back to their chambers.

The young bride debated where she might look for her husband or if she should even look for him in the first place. Daemon had been more attentive in the last six moons of their marriage, but they were back in the capital. There were so many distractions to be found. Old wounds could reappear and fester with a vengeance.

Naerys made up her mind that she would not hide away in her chambers as though she were a frightened chambermaid. Better to know the truth of last night now than wonder about it later. Thankfully the truth had been easy to recover. Boisterous laughter could be heard upon exiting their chambers. The source of which came from the king’s apartments.

Daemon had been the first to notice her after Viserys guards let her into her uncle’s chambers. “Is it not the prettiest little thing in all of the seven kingdoms coming to grace us mere mortals with her unearthly presence,” her husband's eyes lit up as if he had been waiting for her.

He greeted Naerys with a not-so-innocent kiss, lifting her up bridal style as he walked back over to where he was seated by Viserys' dying fire. “Did you sleep well sweetling?” Daemon had become more affectionate in the past six months, but he was usually this open with his tenderness towards his young bride in the company of others.

Her husband was drunk. She would learn from Alicent later that the king had dismissed the rest of the dinner guests last night shortly after Naerys herself had been sent to bed. The two had been up drinking and reminiscing fondly on their youth the whole night.

Naerys noted that the ruby-faced king looked more refreshed than he had in years. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her eldest uncle if only for the night. If one did not take notice of his missing hand they would think that Viserys was the picture of health.

Daemon reached for his glass, but Naerys was faster, lifting the glass from his hand and downing it in one gulp. The liquor burned the back of her throat. She had expected sweet wine instead greeted with the sour taste of ale.

“If you drink kepus then I shall as well.” Both men let out a laugh at their niece’s boldness. Daemon never liked her drinking much. On occasion, she was allowed wine, but never anything stronger than that.

“Was she not made for me brother?” The king let out a hearty laugh. Her husband continued on his conversation with his brother without touching another drop of ale. Naerys knew that it would take him several hours and a long nap before he sobered up, but it was a start and he would no doubt thank her for it once he came to his senses.

It was well past dawn when the king began to grow tired. Naerys had enlisted the help of one of her uncle's guards to get Daemon back into their chambers. Her husband had managed to strip himself and collapsed onto their bed once Ser Erryk (or Ser Arryk Naerys could never tell the two apart) had left.

He had tried to convince his wife to stay with him as he slept, but Alicent had invited her to tea much to her husband's ire. Naerys uncle only let her leave when she promised that she would be back before he woke. With the ale in his system Daemon would no doubt not awaken until the next morning.

“How do you like Dragonstone Naerys,” Alicent questioned as she poured the steaming liquid into her good niece's cup. The queen and Naerys took their tea on the edge of the back gardens overlooking the bay. Helaena had been made to attend, but the girl grew restless which led to her mother dismissing her, letting the young girl venture further into the garden with her septa, no doubt in search of bugs to play with.

“Well enough your grace.” Naerys had never given much thought to her good aunt. Alicent was too close in age to herself to be looked at as a surrogate mother and too far apart to be thought of as a peer. They did have their commonalities of course. Both were motherless young girls who had married men who were out of their depth. Perhaps it was for that reason the queen had to impart some words of wisdom to her the morning after her wedding.

“Take comfort in the mother Naerys. She will give you strength.” Alicent had hugged her for dear life. Whispering the words into her ear almost a year past. Naerys had been a different girl then. One scared and lonely married to a man who saw her as a possession. Alicent knew that pain better than anyone.

A wave of nausea hit Naerys before she could take a sip of her tea. She had tried to push down the feeling, but her body had won out the fight. She left the table in just enough time to retch into a nearby flower bed.

Alicent was over in seconds holding her silver braid back from her face. “Have you seen a Maester yet?” The older woman helped her back into her chair. Ordering a nearby servant to fetch them some ginger tea. Naerys could not meet the queen's eyes as she shook her head.

She had been meaning to see Maester Orlys before they had left Dragonstone, but she did not want to get her hopes up. “Maester Mellos can be discreet,” the pale woman took her hand in her own. Gently rubbing comforting circles on the back of her brown one. Before Naerys could answer, the two were interrupted by a member of the city watch.

“The little prince is asking for you, my Queen.” The knight addressed Alicent, but his eyes had not left Naerys as he had. He was tall, dark-haired, and handsome enough with a familiar air of grace that Naerys could not quite place.

“You remember my brother Ser Gwayne?” The Hightower knight gave her a curt nod finally turning his gaze towards his sister. Naerys felt almost ashamed that she had not recognized the man before.

“Gwayne, please escort Naerys back to her chambers.” Rising from her chair with Naerys hand still in her own, Alicent gave her a knowing smile. “You should rest before the feast tonight. I will send Maester Mellos to check on you.” With a final squeeze, the queen let go of her hand. Her green skirts trailed after her as she exited the garden making her way back into the Red Keep in search of her youngest son.

It had been years since Naerys had last seen the Hightower knight. The last time she had was at a tourney. He had been but a boy of fifteen name days under the thumb of his father. Ser Gwanye was a man grown now.

Ser Gwanye had been the first to break the silence that had enveloped them as they journey back to Naerys quarters. “How do you find your stay, princess?” Ever the soldier, his brown eyes flitted around the corridors of the castle looking for any sign of danger that might come their way.

“Unchanged.” Naerys decided to get a good look at the knight. He was younger than Alicent. He could not have been much older than Naerys herself. He had been handsome from a distance, but up close he was a sight. Naerys had never met Alicents mother but she imagined that her youngest children had inherited her looks rather than their father’s.

They had reached the serpentine stairs when a wave of dizziness overtook Naerys. She had been careful to take the steps one at a time, but she tripped on a loose piece of stone before they could reach the bottom. Ser Gwanye had grabbed her, pulling her into his arms. Saving her from tumbling down the steep steps. The knight had meant to set her back on her feet when a growl could be heard at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’d advise you to unhand my wife Ser,” Daemon barked at the man from where he stood. His violet eyes were overtaken by the black of his pupils. His sword hand rests on Dark Sister. No doubt waiting for the Hightower knight to make one wrong move.

Ser Gwanye hesitates to release her seeing the mood that her uncle was in. He only does so when Naerys gives him a small smile, thanking him for delivering her to her husband. Daemon wastes no time in grabbing her from the Hightower knight once he freed her from his grip.

“He was being kind Daemon.” Her husband was practically dragging her back to their chambers. Keeping pace with him had always been a struggle, but Naerys could hardly compete with the prince's gait when he was angry.

“He’s a Hightower. They always want something,” the rogue prince replied with a curse under his breath. Naerys would have laughed at her husband's silliness, had she not found it difficult to catch her breath.

She debated if she should tell her uncle to take her to the maesters rather than their chambers. The princess put aside the idea when she thought of what he might reveal. Daemon seemed to realize that his young bride was struggling. Not wanting to waste any more time, Naerys husband picks her up and throws her over his shoulder as if she were a rag doll.

“Kepus.” Daemon could never behave for very long if at all. The gardens were on the opposite side of the Red Keep from their chambers. Half the court would see them before they could reach them. Naerys tried to worm free from her uncle’s hold, but it was no use.

“Ao issi tolī paez ābrazȳrys,” Her husband jostled her as she continued to squirm. He planted a smack firmly on her backside. Jason Lannister passed them right as he had, sniggering at the sight. Naerys wanted to die from embarrassment, but the lord had ceased his laughter when Daemon turned to face him.

Whatever look he had given him had shut the proud lord up and sent him on a brisk pace in the opposite direction. To Naerys' relief they had made it back to their chambers without so much as to come across another living soul.

Translations:

īlon emagon nykeā early rhaenagon kepus: We have an early start uncle

Kepus: uncle

Byka mēre: Little one

Ao issi tolī paez ābrazȳrys: You are too slow wife

Ao3 Link:

Tags:

@misssilencewritewell @parizparis @thanyatargaryen @i-love-morally-gray-characters

#house of the dragon #hotd #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x targaryen!oc #daemon targaryen x black!oc #daemon targaryen x oc #daemon targaryen x reader #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfiction #hotd spoilers #daemon targaryen fanfic #the rouge prince #prince daemon targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd x oc #hotd x fem!reader #daemon targaryen x black!reader #bnhotdfic

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stranger-fanfiction-n-things · 5 months ago

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CHAPTER 7: THE BATHTUB

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: I can't believe we only have two more episodes left! Thank you all for your patience! Let me know what y'all think. I read everything and respond!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3252

Masterlist

PART I || PART II ||

HAWKINS POLICE STATION – CHERRY STREET

As soon as I open the front door, a gust of cold wind blows and I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself to keep warm. The cool air feels nice on my skin despite the cold. I wish I wore a jacket instead of a plaid shirt. I look around trying to figure out where I should go. I can’t walk too far away from the station in case Chief Hopper comes back. I decide to go left up Cherry Street. The series of unfortunate events leading up to this moment all play out in my head and I rub my temples trying to ease the dull pulsating ache.

Today, Jonathan, Nancy and I started to forge a plan to kill the monster and find Will and Barb. How will we find them in that place? How will we find the tree? It closed after Jonathan pulled me out of it. I can’t imagine how alone and scared Barb must be inside that place by herself. It’s been days since I last saw her and with the police thinking she left town; they won’t try finding her. The Hollands. I blink back tears, flaring my nostrils to keep them from falling. I hope they don’t think badly of Nancy and I for lying. I feel like we owe it to them to find Barb and bring her back. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, sniffing softly.

There are still so many loose ends to tie up like where can we lure the monster if not in the forest where it lives? How do we have the upper hand in killing the monster? Hawkins is a small town, there is nowhere to put this thing without drawing attention to ourselves especially now that we are on the radar of cops. I let out a noise of frustration, stomping on the ground. How are we going to execute the plan now? Nancy and I can’t leave Jonathan at the station. What if they put him in jail?

If it weren’t for Tommy, Carol, Nicole and Steve, we would be able to properly plan.

This all happened because Jonathan was in Nancy’s room? There’s no doubt in my mind that they weren’t doing anything compromising. How could they after what happened? Nancy almost died last night. If it weren’t for Jonathan who knows what could have happened to her—to me. Also, Nancy liked Steve too much to do anything that could jeopardize her relationship with him. The voice in the back of my head questions: But what about Jonathan?

As if you didn’t know from the start, Sinclair! It would explain why you’re always protecting the pervert.

I frown pushing strands of hair away from my face. It’s clear Steve and Jonathan do not like each other. I thought it was because of stupid boy ego and bravado. Both boys can be arrogant. It explains why they clash. But I feel unsettled by what Steve said in the alley. As if you didn’t know from the start. He wouldn’t have said that if he didn’t believe it to be true, would he?

Only love makes you that crazy, sweetheart. And that damn stupid.

I don’t agree with what Flo said to Nancy and I about Jonathan’s reasons for fighting back in the alley, but with all that has happened this week, all that was said, especially in the forest about believing Nancy was “trying to be someone else” yet doing what every other suburban girl does, rebel until the phase passes and end up marrying “some boring one-time jock who now works sales, and live out a perfectly boring life at the end of a cul-de-sac”. I didn’t realize it back then, but now that I think about it, Jonathan was talking about Steve. I stop walking and look around. It’s like everything clicked and that unsettling feeling became stronger, heavier.

Does Jonathan like Nancy?

My brain feels like a tangled web of confusion. How did I not notice it before? The signs are all there. It was all subtle and platonic in the moment, but the more I think about it, the more obvious it seems. I laugh in disbelief shaking my head.

This is such a mess.

I shiver against the strong gust of wind whooshing in my ear and tuck my chin into my chest, continuing to walk. Neither Jonathan or Steve hid their dislike for each other. Part of me regrets standing up for Steve yesterday, especially after today. But the argument in the forest was about Jonathan taking those photos. It always comes down to that stupid lapse in judgement. Though I don’t agree with Steve breaking Jonathan’s camera, I understand why he did it. To protect Nancy’s honour and to protect himself. As I told Jonathan, Steve’s privacy was violated too. All of ours were. What Jonathan did was gross and Steve did what he thought was best. Steve had a right to be upset.

He just takes it too far.

Breaking Jonathan’s camera, the marquee, the awful things he said to both Nancy and Jonathan. I know Steve is hurt. I saw it in his eyes. From his perspective the optics aren’t great. He did what he thought was right in the moment to protect Nancy, checked up on her to see if she was okay, only to find Nancy in her room with Jonathan, the boy he was trying to protect her from. I get it, but the rigmarole after. Unacceptable.

Steve wanted that fight with Jonathan back in the alley and Jonathan was ready to give him that fight. A chill runs down my spine. The sound of skin hitting skin replays in my head. The power behind every punch still scares me. For as long as I’ve known Jonathan, he’s been a quiet, somewhat brooding person who often kept to himself. He doesn’t bother nor really talk to anyone. It was always him and his camera. It’s why the way he was fighting Steve concerned me.

Even though our little brothers are best friends, this week has been the most I have ever spoken to Jonathan. We’ve exchanged a few words when I helped him with his photography project, but other than that, we rarely crossed paths. I am aware of his home life based on what Lucas would say during dinner about Will not being able to come over to hang out with the rest of the boys because he’s spending time with his dad. Based on his tone alone, it’s clear Will is uncomfortable around him. At the funeral, I remember observing the way he was acting. There was something sly about Mr. Byers because I haven’t seen or heard about him until Will’s funeral. It’s clear he isn’t present in both boys lives because Jonathan doesn’t know how to tie a tie. Even when Steve was saying horrible things about his dad, Jonathan didn’t flinch.

“Excuse me, sorry,” I say, pushing past a couple standing in the middle of the street.

He didn’t do anything until Steve started saying terrible things about Miss Byers and Will. I looked in his eyes, that flash of rage, but it was too late. Jonathan’s punches were direct and intentional…familiar almost. Where did he learn to fight? Did his dad teach him? Or was Jonathan used to having to protect himself all the time? Even though our unlikely alliance came out of something tragic, I like being around him. I care about him. I puff out my cheeks, running my fingers through my hair. There was so much I needed to talk to Jonathan about.

HAWKINS CINEMA

My feet come to a stop in front of the building that started it all. I stare up at the large marquee feeling many different emotions all at once. Shock. Disgust. Anger. Disappointment. It’s been almost 45 minutes since I first saw the horrible display of affection and though there wasn’t a crowd circling Hawkins Cinema to see the spectacle, the bright red letters still commanded attention.

NANCY THE SLUT WHEELER

How did we get here? The question has been burning a hole in my brain all morning. I scowl at Tommy’s messy handwriting. That boy is the absolute worse. The unsettling image of Tommy watching me from afar makes me sick to my stomach. It’s one thing to pick on me, but to follow me around and loathe me for talking to someone who has been nothing but kind to me. I clench my hands into fists, grinding my teeth against each other. The perception people have of Eddie is starting to annoy me and I can’t help but feel protective of him. He’s not like anyone in town and I can relate to that. Being different. Eddie makes it look easy and I love that about him. I envy that about him as well.

From the corner of my eye, I see a tall person and glance in their direction. Realizing who it is, I scoff shaking my head. You’ve got to be kidding me.

“Sinclair?”

I ignore Steve walking fast back down Cherry Street.

“Hey, wait!” Steve shouts. I keep my head down avoiding the confused stares of bystanders.

“Sinclair!”

I press my lips together feeling the bubbling anger in my stomach rise to my chest. Sinclair? Who does he think he is, calling me Sinclair. As if I’m a teammate on the basketball team. He knows my name. I look around ready to cross the street when I feel Steve run up beside me.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” He pants, holding his side.

“No.” I say looking anywhere to avoid looking at him. When the coast is clear I jog across the street.

“Please,” Steve huffs jogging beside me. “Just hear me out.”

“No.”

“Look, I just want to apologize.”

I roll my eyes, snorting in disbelief. “Again? Save it. I don’t need an apology because I know you’re going to do something for it to not mean anything.”

“Oh, c’mon, Sinclair—”

I whip around so fast Steve flinches as my hair hits him across his chest. “Don’t call me that!” I snap, glaring angrily at him. “Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t say anything! Leave me alone!”

Steve’s brows shoot up in surprise. As suspected looking at Jonathan’s swollen knuckles, the entire left side of his face is battered and bruised. From the split on his left brow, the bridge of his nose and right side of his lip in addition to all the dry blood smeared and crusting around his face, Jonathan got him good. I would’ve been more horrified and compassionate if it weren’t for what he did to get beaten and how rude and impolite he is to me right now.

I walk pass him continuing down Cherry Street. The nerve of him. I am not one of his loyal followers. I am not his friend, especially after what he did and said back in the alley. I perk up feeling another wave of anger build in me. Jonathan, Nancy and I had to be escorted to the police station while, Tommy, Carol, Nicole and Steve got off scot-free when they were the ones causing the problems in the first place. No one has been accounted for that disgusting sign, yet Jonathan is literally handcuffed for defending himself.

I am sick and tired of people being terrible and getting a slap on the wrist because of their popularity. I turn around, stomping back to Steve who hadn’t moved from his spot, staring wide eyed and confused at the building of Hawkins Post.

“I don’t know what that was or who you think you are,” I continue. “But if the person I saw back there is the real you. I will make sure Nancy stays far, far away. That I promise you, Harrington.” I threaten. Steve opens his mouth to respond but I cut him off quick. “Do you know how traumatic this is for her?”

“Traumatic?” Steve shouts, staring at me in disbelief. “She cheated on me!”

“No, she didn’t!” I shout back, defending my best friend. Nancy wouldn’t do that. She likes him too much. “You only caught a glimpse of something and ran with it.”

“You didn’t see what I saw, Sin—” Steve’s words die in his throat. I squint, daring him to call me by my last name again. Steve shifts to lean on one leg, putting one hand on his hip and takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge between his nose with his other. He winces slightly, dropping his hand to his other hip and glares down at me. “They were sitting on her bed and he had—he had his arm around her.”

I blink waiting for more information. Steve stares back at me waiting for my response. I frown. “That’s it?”

“Yes!” He throws his hands up in annoyance.

“That’s why you’re upset?”

Steve groans out of frustration, combing his fingers through his hair. “I know what I saw and I know what Nancy did!”

“Did you ever stop and think maybe Nancy was confiding in Jonathan because they both lost someone important to them? Is that too hard to believe?” Steve scoffs shaking his head. “If you really believed she cheated on you, instead of running to Tommy, Carol, and Nicole, knowing how they are, why didn’t you just call Nancy and talk to her!”

“I saw what I saw.” Steve says. His voice is quiet and even, but the anger and hurt in his eyes remain. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“So, because there’s ‘nothing to talk about’,” I use air quotes, mocking him. “You decided to slut-shame Nancy in front of the entire town.” I yell, extending an arm out, pointing with disdain at the source of irritation. “You’re sick!” I hiss, pointing at him before turning away.

“That was all Tommy, not me!” Steve yells. “I didn’t write that about Nancy!”

I turn around rushing toward him. “But you didn’t stop Tommy from doing it and that’s always been my issue with you!” I cry, lifting my hands up in the air. “You never stop it. You never do anything. You stand there and let it happen!” Steve jerks his head back, drawing his brows together. I drop my hands down to my sides. “Whether you like it or not, everything falls back on you because you’re King Steve. You have this—this persona to uphold and you cannot choose when it does and does not apply to you because it always does!”

“I didn’t ask to be King Steve.” Steve says between clenched teeth.

“You look fine when you’re reaping the benefits when it serves you.” I point out. “But when something like this happens, when your back is against the wall, now it’s I didn’t ask to be King Steve? Give me a break!” Steve avoids eye contact, clenching his teeth until I see the tick in his jaw. “It’s so frustrating to see you act the way you do when you're around Tommy and Carol or any one of your stupid jock friends because I know that’s not you and deep down,” I sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “I know you know it too. I know you know better. You’re not like them, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes lock with mines. The lines between his brows smoothen and I see that look again, the one I saw briefly in the alley. I stare up at him, swiping my tongue along my bottom lip and shake my head, looking up at the sky.

“Believe it or not, I think your better than them. You can be such a jerk—an asshole even, but you are better than them.” I speak softly, looking back at him. “Every time I start to think ‘maybe Steve Harrington isn’t that bad. Maybe he’s actually a good person’. You do something to make me take back my words and I feel foolish enough to believe you can be.”

Steve draws his brows in sadly. His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “I am a good person.” He murmurs.

“Are you?” I challenge, pointing at the marquee again. “Is that who you are? Is that who you want to be?”

“I—” Steve trails off unsure of what to say.

I drop my hand, crossing my arms above my chest to keep warm. I’m not wearing a proper jacket or any jacket; just a plaid shirt.

“I know you’re embarrassed by the pictures.” I begin, swiping strands of hair out of my face as a gust of wind blows in our direction. “You were in them and your privacy was invaded just as much as Nancy’s. I promise you; I do not condone what Jonathan did and he knows that. It was disgusting and stupid. I’ve had that conversation with him. However, that is no excuse to say all those things about him and his family. I know you’re hurt because of Nancy, but, Jesus, Steve.” I look down at my shoes, kicking a pebble onto the road.

“I didn’t mean it.”

“You wanted that fight with Jonathan, admit it.” His silence is enough to confirm my sentiment. I shake my head.

“You do realize he buried his brother yesterday, don’t you? His brother. My little brother’s best friend was buried yesterday and we still—” I stop, trying to catch my breath. I put my hand on my chest blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay. “We still can’t find Barb.”

“Have you heard anything from the cops?” Steve asks. I don’t respond right away looking at the blood stains on his shirt. Flashes of the monster in the woods, eating that deer appear in my mind and I close my eyes trying to rid it from my memory.

“Diana.” My eyebrows twitch and I open my eyes. Steve is looking at me with such intensity my breathing becomes shallow. This is the first time Steve has said my name. The first time acknowledging me as a person, not just Nancy’s best friend. The way he says my name…the yearning in his voice. Keeping his eyes locked on mine, Steve licks his bottom up shifting uncomfortably back and forth. “Please.” He begs. “I know something’s wrong. It’s—It’s why I went over to Nancy’s in the first place.” He sighs in defeat. “I just want to help.”

Part of me believes him. The part of me who believes Steve is a good person. I want to tell him what happened to Nancy and I last night in the forest, about Jonathan saving us from near-death. I want to tell him about the police finding Barbs car at a bus station. I want to tell him everything…but I look at the marquee again. I can’t get too close to Steve. Suddenly becoming hyper aware of how close Steve and I were to each other. I blink, taking a step back creating space between us. Steve moves to take a step toward me, but decides against it. I fix my posture, shaking my head.

“You can’t.” I say coldly, walking backwards and away from him. “You seriously need to figure out how to express your emotions because I don’t know how you come back from this. I really don’t. If I were Nancy, I would never want to see or speak to you again.”

NEXT -> PART II

Taglist 🤍: @tinydramatist

#stranger things rewrite #stranger things #stranger things fic #sinclair!reader #dianasinclair #eddie munson x black!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #eddie munson x female reader #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington x oc!reader #eddie munson x oc!reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 7 months ago

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Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x22 There's No Place Like Home (Part 1)

Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 484

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (26) (27) (28)

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Notes: I knew there was no way I could stick to just one drabble an episode for the CS movie, so I didn't even try. There will be 2 drabbles for 3x21 and 4 for 3x22. They are all written, so the plan is to post one per day until they're all posted.

With Snow White off to secure reinforcements, Killian was left alone with the younger version of Emma’s father. There was a long moment of somewhat awkward silence, and Killian couldn’t help but wonder what Emma was enduring at the hands of the queen. The anxiety swelled at the thought. She was in danger, and he was wasting time simply sitting before a fire. He wanted to be off. Now. He wanted to find her, to save her.

But he was and had always been a strategic thinker, and he knew Lady Snow’s plan was a good one. He must content himself with remaining in place and waiting.

Nothing, however, said he must waste the intervening time. Perhaps he could find a way to steer Charming toward his ultimate destiny.

“Are you excited for your nuptials?” Killian asked casually.

The prince shook his head and smiled self-deprecatingly. “Hm,” he said, “marrying Midas’s daughter. What’s not to be excited about?”

“I don’t mean to pry, mate,” Killian said carefully, “but you don’t exactly look like someone who’s doing this by choice.”

David was silent for a moment, staring sightlessly into the fire. “I always thought I’d marry for love, and here I’m about to enter into what amounts to a business transaction, a merger of two kingdoms,” he said. “I don’t know. This whole ordeal makes me wonder if there's even such a thing as true love.”

Prince Charming was questioning the very concept of true love? Things were even more dire than he’d imagined.

“I once felt as you did mate,” Killian said, “and all it took was meeting the right person, and everything changed.”

“Princess Leia, the one we’re rescuing?”

Warmth filled Killian as he thought of Emma. “Aye. I’d go to the end of the word for her. Or time.”

“And she for you, I take it?”

Would she? Would she go to such lengths for him? He knew she had feelings for him, but she’d been running for so long–running from him, running from her family, running from love. Would she follow him through a time portal?

Killian chuckled “I don’t know.”

Charming looked surprised at that. “What’s the problem?”

That was far more than a short, fireside conversation, so Killian merely brushed it aside “There are many complications.”

“Family?” Charming asked. “Because my father is making things quite difficult for me.

“Aye, there’s that,” Killian said, suppressing a grin at the irony of the question. “I’m not so sure her parents approve of me.”

“Given the lengths you’ve gone to to save her, they’d be crazy not too.”

Killian did chuckle. “I hope you remember that.”

Further conversation came to a halt at the sound of someone approaching. Killian and Charming got to their feet, their swords drawn and pointed to the potential threat.

It looked like further discussion on the topic of their respective love lives would have to wait.

NEXT CHAPTER->

#season 3 rewatch drabbles #captain charming bromance fanfic #killian getting approval from Emma's dad #even if Emma's dad doesn't know what's happening

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moni-logues · 2 years ago

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Kintsugi 3

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, non-idol!au, angst, smut, tiny bit of eventual fluff

Summary: In a fit of spiteful, post-break-up self-improvement, you sign up to a baking class. Yoongi, in a bid to appease his demanding girlfriend, signs up, too. Determined to make him your friend, you end up with more than you ever imagined.

Word count: 11.1k

Content: more jokes about killing herself, jokes about death etc., reader tries to make herself sick (NOT food/ED-related, does not succeed), mention of a suicide attempt, Yoongi has a depressive episode

A/N: thanks to @btsgotjams27, @purplewhalewrites, and @here2bbtstrash for the help with this one. I hope we got there in the end!

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Four

Chapter Three – What doesn’t kill you makes you wish you were dead

You woke, able to see without opening your eyes that the sun was streaming, bright and strong, into the room. Your whole body hurt, an all-over bruise; your head was pounding; your mouth was desert dry. It seemed impossible that you could be awake and feel this awful. That this wasn’t actually death. You prayed and hoped that it would somehow be 4am and you could go back to sleep, at least for a little while.

Then you rolled onto your back with a groan and were disoriented to find that it wasn’t your bedsheets against your skin, your mattress beneath you. You couldn’t remember where you were, why you weren’t in your own bed, why you weren’t in any bed at all. With a resigned sigh, you squinted one eye open and the world fell into place.

Yoongi’s apartment. The sun beaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. Him asleep on the sofa across from you: his legs curled up, his hands tucked sweetly between them, his mouth a tiny pout.

Fuck.

You fumbled around for your phone and found it wedged between the sofa cushions beneath you. The bad news was it was not 4am and you had managed to sleep through your alarm, the first one at 6 and the second at half past and the third at 7. The good news was at least you weren’t late for work... yet. You pulled yourself off the sofa and crawled towards the kitchen, where you chugged a glass of water and felt guilty looking in Yoongi’s fridge for something sugary to drink. No luck. You opened his cupboards quietly, looking for something you could eat. You found the frangipanes from last night and offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might have been listening. You grabbed one – yours or Yoongi’s you neither knew nor cared – and shoved it into your mouth where it immediately turned to ash. You choked it down with another glass of water and dropped the remainder of the tart on the counter.

That was the moment you knew you were really in trouble. A bad hangover could be cured with sugar and fried food and a lot of it. A death hangover could not.

You sat, feeling sorry for yourself, slumped on the floor, leaning against the cupboards, from which vantage point you could see the sideboard you had leant yourself over last night. When you and Yoongi fucked. You closed your eyes—instantly regretting it when it transported you to the high seas of your hangover, the world lurching around you—and tried not to think about it.

Not because it had been bad. Not because you hadn’t wanted it. It hadn’t been. You had. But the twisting of anxiety in your guts made you feel even sicker and you didn’t have the space in your brain to unpick it.

You crawled back to the sofa for your phone and were about to turn to leave the apartment when you looked at him again.

Yoongi. Yoongi who just broke up with his girlfriend. His cheating girlfriend. Yoongi who came from nothing and now could live in luxury. Yoongi who bought you knives to say sorry. That Yoongi. You couldn’t just leave, walk out, ditch him. At the very least you would have to see him the following week in class and you didn’t want this to leave a cloud. You didn’t want to hurt him and, lord knows, if he walked out on you, you’d be sore.

“Yoongi?” you called.

He gave no answer so you called again.

“Yoongi, hey.”

No movement. You crossed the floor to him and gently nudged his shoulder; he gave the softest grunt, a light exhale of air, but didn’t move, didn’t respond.

“Hey,” you tried for a final time, shoving him a little harder.

He frowned and grunted again which satisfied you that at least he wasn’t dead and he was lying on his side so at if he threw up, he was less likely to choke on it. You looked idly around for something to write on, something to write with.

‘Yoongi,

I thought you were joking about killing me but I am actually dead; you really did it. 💀

I am never drinking with you on a work night ever again.’

You put the pen down and then immediately picked it up again, scribbling your name and phone number at the bottom.

‘P.S. please text me so I know you are not also dead’

Then you left.

You made it to the office with tremendous effort. You focused on breathing, first in and then out; you told yourself, like a new mantra: you made it through this second, you can make it through the next. One second at a time. A minute was too long.

You were late, late enough for it to matter, but you were there and that had to count for something. You deserved points for that at least. You could have just as easily melted into the subway or evaporated into the ether. You’d have preferred either. But you made it.

You first stop was the bathroom. You knelt down and lifted the seat, took a deep breath, then forcibly jammed your hand into your throat. You felt so sure that if you threw up even a little, you’d feel better. It had worked before; it could work again. However, no matter how you gagged, how your stomach heaved, it wouldn’t come. You couldn’t force anything up.

Drooling and crying, your knees complaining, you admitted defeat. You wiped your slobbery hand with some toilet roll and lowered the seat. You thought it couldn’t get any worse and then you pulled down your cycling shorts under your dress to you realise there was nothing beneath them. Where was your underwear? A cold sweat formed on your brow as you remembered yourself slipping them off, kicking them away, not picking them back up. You had left your dirty underwear somewhere in Yoongi’s apartment. You shuddered; you did not want to have to think about how that conversation was going to go.

You washed your hands and splashed your face with water and tried not to think about how this was just the start of your day.

* * * *

“Oh, babygirl,” Taehyung cooed as you approached your desk.

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t respond. One second at a time. You curled into his lap and he jiggled you slightly to make sure you were secure; you whined as the motion made your head spin.

“You smell like a fucking distillery,” he told you, handing you a drink that was ice-cold and sugar-sweet. You drank gratefully, greedily, and said nothing. “Where did you sleep last night?”

You only groaned. You didn’t think you were capable of conversation but also desperately did not want to have this conversation with him right now.

“My girl, my girl,” he sang, “don’t lie to me. Tell me, where did you sleep last night?”

“Teddy, please. I want to be dead, right now.”

He sighed dramatically and swivelled his chair back towards his desk; he got on with his work and you tried not to throw up on him. He offered you snacks and you refused. He asked if you were going to do any work and you couldn’t answer him. He reminded you that the inter-departmental meeting was at 11am and you swore repeatedly.

“What are the chances of me being able to miss it?” you asked.

“About zero.”

“What are the chances of people not knowing I’m hungover?”

“Absolute zero.”

With another tremendous effort, you climbed out of Taehyung’s lap and into your own chair. You woke your computer and logged in, then you stared, unseeing, at the screen.

“Garam!” you called weakly, trying to beckon over your assistant without actually beckoning. You heard her chair roll and her head popped up over the desk divider.

“Yeah?”

“Any chance you fancy leading in the meeting this morning?”

There was a pause and you couldn’t swivel your eyes to see her expression. You were praying this was a surprised pause, a pleased pause.

“Uh, you want me to present?”

“If you feel you can, yes, please, that would be an enormous help. Though I realise I’m pushing this on you last-minute so please don’t feel that you ha-”

“I’ll do it!”

“You will?”

“Yeah, I can do it! Thank you!”

“No, thank you. You are doing me a real solid. Thanks, babe.”

A sigh of relief. You checked the time: 10:18. You had survived more than two hours since you woke up. Less than eight hours before you could go home and die as you wished. You made it through one second, you could make it through the next.

* * *

By lunchtime, you were feeling marginally better. Just human enough that you thought you might be able to eat something. You sent Taehyung out for ‘as much fried food as you can carry in your two hands, please, Teddy’.

“Here you go, princess; stuff yourself. And then you have to tell me everything.”

You nodded, already ripping open the boxes of fried chicken, sotteok, hotdogs, shoving a bit of everything into your mouth. Your hunger was suddenly overwhelming, a chasm in your stomach that you couldn’t fill quickly enough. Taehyung also brought back iced coffees and a Coke which you drank so fast that the burp that followed it almost brought your food back up.

“You are a vile creature.”

“Thanks, Teddy, I love you, too.”

“Come on, time to fess up. Where did you sleep last night?”

You gulped down your mouthful of chicken and paused.

“I mean, you already know the answer. I slept at Yoongi’s.”

His grin was triumphant as he thrust his two fists in the air.

“I told you! I told you he’d be a good rebound-fuck!”

You slapped him hard on the leg.

“Shut up! Be quiet! That’s not what it was!”

“Then what was it?”

You didn’t have an answer. It probably was a rebound-fuck. You didn’t really know. You hadn’t seen it coming.

“I don’t know, ok? I don’t know how it happened.”

“What do you mean? Surely you know what’s going to happen when a guy asks you to his apartment.”

“No! I didn’t! Last week, he didn’t even speak to me; how was I supposed to expect we’d have sex?!” you hissed, picking up a sotteok skewer and taking the biggest bite you could to put off speaking again.

“Did you want to have sex?”

You chewed slowly and went back in for another bite before Taehyung took the skewer from you and turned you to face him directly. He looked serious.

“Are you saying you didn’t want to have sex and-”

“No! God, no!” you cried through your full mouth. “It wasn’t like that.” You swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “Yes, I wanted to. I wanted it. I might even have initiated it, I don’t know. We were so, so drunk... I just... I don’t want to do it again. I’m not-… I can’t. I was right the first time; I don’t want to sleep with anyone.”

“Was it really that bad?”

You groaned loud and wanted to face-plant straight into your chicken.

“Shut up, Teddy! No, it wasn’t! It wasn’t bad! I just don’t want to sleep with anyone! I’m not-… I’m still not there.”

“Ok,” he replied with a shrug. “You don’t have to.”

“But I don’t know what to tell him. I don’t know what he thinks it was. I don’-”

“Wait, wait, hold on. I thought he had a girlfriend. What’s happened to her?”

“Oh, they broke up. She was cheating on him.”

“Ouch. Well, I can’t imagine he’s itching to get right back on the relationship horse, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t know what I’m worried about.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hey!”

“You don’t spend seven thousand hours a week in therapy so you can bullshit me with ‘I don‘t know’. I want the entire confection, please.”

You crossed your arms on the table and let your head fall into them. You secretly hoped that if you kept quiet long enough, he would let it go.

“I’m waiting, princess.”

When did Taehyung ever let anything go?

You lifted your head and rested your chin on your arm.

“I feel like I’m his ex-girlfriend and he is San.”

“How so?”

“They lived together and he was taking fucking baking classes so she could impress the people she worked with; he said she said he never did anything for her; he said he doesn’t know if she ever loved him but he was doing that shit anyway! San took care of me; he did so much for me that I’ve made it all the way to 26 without having to be a fully competent adult!-”

“You know he chose to do that.”

“And then he chose not to! And so did Yoongi. And they were both right. But I-” You paused to grit your teeth and growl, fists clenched on the table. “I can’t make it up to San but I can make it up to Yoongi.”

“So you want to be with him then? Have a relatio-”

“No! God, fuck no. No, no, no. I’m not there. I’m so not there. And my therapist says I’m not allowed anyway.”

“Oh, relationships 'aren’t allowed’ but projecting all over a man you barely know and have already slept with is a-ok?”

“She doesn’t know I slept with him.”

“And what’s she going to say when she finds out?”

“I hate you so much.”

“That does not sound like something a therapist should say.”

You put your head in your hands. Taehyung was right (as he usually was, but you were not going to admit that).

“If you don’t want a romantic relationship with him, how do you see this going? You think you can just be friends with a guy you see your ex-boyfriend in? Who’s clearly at least a little interested in you; the timing’s kind of suspicious, don’t you think?”

“What?”

“Well, he meets you and you force him to be your friend and then suddenly, apparently out of nowhere, he breaks up with his girlfriend?”

When you were discussing someone else’s life, Taehyung’s straight-forward, no-bullshit, tell it like he sees it attitude was ideal, perfect, so much fun; it was significantly less fun when directed at you. Ditto his perspicacity. Ditto his psychic powers of prescience which you had known him long enough to be convinced he had.

You were saved by the bell. The buzz, anyway, of your phone on the table. Messages received.

[13:37] 010-7391-6842: not dead

[13:37] 010-7391-6842: kind of wish I were haha

[13:39] 010-7391-6842: it’s Yoongi btw

[13:40] 010-7391-6842: are you ok? Still dead?

You dropped your head back into your hands and groaned. Taehyung took your phone from you and read Yoongi’s messages.

“Ugh, kind of wishes he were dead... He sounds like you.”

“Why do you think I like him so much?”

“Oh, you like him?”

“Not like that! You know what I mean! Stop being difficult!”

“Sounds like you’re projecting yourself onto him, too, babygirl.”

You kicked him under the table.

“Stop knowing me!”

You picked up your phone again to reply, but had barely started before you hit another obstacle.

“If I call him ‘babe’, is that going to mean something? Will that make it weird?”

“I don’t know; do you usually call him that?”

“Well, I don’t know. He told me that none of his exes ever used pet names with him so I said that I would, but that was before the sex so now I don’t know if it’ll mean... I don’t know, anything, or nothing, or something.”

Taehyung shrugged and picked up his own phone, answering without looking at you.

“I don’t know, babe; I don’t know the guy. And straight people are weird.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Besides, you don’t know that he’s straight. I don’t know that.”

“He slept with you so he’s straighter than I am and that’s all I need to know.”

You sighed at your phone and, in the absence of any actual brain power, you decided not to think at all and answer with whatever first came to your head.

[13:42] You: Yoongi! You’re alive! There I was thinking that –I- was going to be the one on trial for murder...

[13:42] You: Not that you’re off the hook. I’m barely hanging on here

You were sitting in your apartment, still nursing your hangover and waiting for Yoongi. You were tired; your head still span when you moved too quickly and you could not stop eating. You didn’t really want to see him. You didn’t want to have a conversation that involved the word ‘ex-boyfriend’; you didn’t want to have to explain yourself. You owed it to him to do so. The anxiety in your gut was allowing the nausea to resurface and you were reaching for your phone to tell Yoongi not to come, to eat your food himself, to chuck it away, who cared? Anything to not have to deal with it. But before you could even unlock it, the buzzer sounded. You let him in and sat and waited once more.

You heard him approach before you even heard him knock, the walls in your building thinner than air. You stood and opened the door just as he started to knock, opening it to see him, fist still in the air. He blinked quickly, eyebrows raised in shock.

“Oh, honey, you look like shit,” you said in way of greeting.

“Uh, thanks?”

“No, I’m glad!”

You ushered him into your shoebox office-tel apartment and took the bags from him, dumping them on the side.

“If you’d shown up here looking fresh and radiant, I’d have had to kill myself immediately. I’m glad we both look like shit.”

He laughed awkwardly.

“You don’t look like shit.”

“That’s so sweet of you, but you don’t have to lie to me.”

You grinned and he grinned back and you were determined to breeze over whatever awkwardness there might have been, whatever awkwardness there was. You peered into the bags he’d brought and pulled out your tubs of jjajangmyeon.

“Have you eaten?” you asked. “Want some noodles?”

“Oh, uh... I-”

“I did make this, but there was a recipe and a teacher involved and everything so I’m pretty confident it’s not going to be terrible.”

“Um, ok.”

You hadn’t even wanted him to come and now you were insisting he stay for dinner. You just needed something to do, something to occupy your hands, something to look at that wasn’t his face. His sweet, pale face, almost wan, a light bruise of purple under his eyes. But you weren’t looking.

You dumped two portions of jjajangmyeon into a pan and pulled out the makeshift dining table-cum-counter top and unfolded your foldaway stools.

“Sorry, this is not exactly luxury high-rise apartment living.”

“It’s ok. It’s nice.”

Silence settled over you and you wanted to fill it, wanted to make the anxiety in your gut go away; you knew Yoongi wouldn’t, so you had to. You reminded yourself that you were friends. That you were friends and you wanted to continue being friends, that was all. This wasn’t scary. It was Yoongi.

“So have you had the day from hell or was it just me?”

“It was pretty rough.”

“Tell you the one good thing about a hangover though. You can say you want to die as many times as you like and no one looks at you weird. But when I say it all the other times, ohh, suddenly it’s ‘don’t say that’ and ‘are you alright?’. You can’t joke about anything these days!” You hoped he knew you were joking.

He laughed softly.

“You do do it a lot,” he said. “Joke about dying.” He looked at you, maintaining eye contact, even as he blinked quickly.

“Yeah...” You continued talking without thinking, grateful that you had something to say. “The thing is I used to joke about it all the time, but it wasn’t a joke, y’know? I actually meant it. Whereas now, I can say it and not mean it and it makes me laugh.” You snorted. “It’s kind of life-affirming.”

Yoongi didn’t reply and you felt embarrassment creep up around your ears.

“Sorry, too much? I’m not at my best today so my filter is also not at its best.”

“No, no, not at all. I get it. I- yeah, I get it.”

You looked over at him and he lowered his eyes, frowning at his hands.

“Do... you?”

Did he really get it? You hoped he didn’t but there was a pull in your gut that said he did. That said he would understand. Understand you. There was something between you that just stuck. Held you there, closer to him than you thought you should have been. It was the thing that told you you had to be friends; you couldn’t let him walk out of your life. This was meant, somehow.

Taehyung would’ve probably told you it was projection.

Your therapist too.

He looked up and then away and then back to you, his hands still twisting together.

They were wrong.

“Yeah,” he answered and you let him pause, let it sit there, waiting for him to continue. He nodded. “Yeah, I do get it. I-…" He sighed and then nodded, as if to himself. “Yes, I do get it, but I probably ‘mean it’ more than you do when I joke about it.”

You nodded, your heart screaming at you to hug him, to hold his hand, to... you didn’t know what. To try to make it better. Even though you knew it didn’t work like that. The relief you thought you would feel knowing that he knew, too, that he understood, was entirely absent. In its place, a cold stone of concern. You wondered if this was how your friends felt, how San felt—had it been all the time? Only sometimes? Only on your bad days? You felt like you could see Yoongi’s little, soft heart and anxiety spiked in you as you thought about the conversation ahead.

“Thanks for telling me,” you said. You didn’t really know what else to say. Everything that came into your head was the last thing you’d ever want to hear.

He flicked his eyes quickly over to you and then away again.

“Yeah, I mean, you too.”

You shrugged.

“Eh, I’ll tell you anything. It’s getting me to shut up that’s the trick.”

You chuckled, a little pointless burble, and he didn’t return it. You glanced over at him and he was still looking at his hands, his fingers twisting around each other. Then he looked up at you, his eyes shining, mouth twisted.

“Would you go back to your ex if he came here tomorrow and said he wanted you back?”

The question threw you. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought about that exact scenario a thousand times in your head after the break-up but you weren’t expecting to be asked and, truthfully, hadn’t thought about it for a little while.

“Why?” you asked back. “Has your ex come crawling back?”

He laughed and you didn’t think you were imagining the bitterness in it.

“No. She hasn’t. And I wouldn’t have her if she did. I just... wondered.”

You sighed, looked into the pan of noodles on the stove, and thought about your answer. There was a lot to unpack, too much, far too much on top of the conversation you knew was still to come. You shook your head of all the difficult thoughts.

“No, I don’t think I would. I need to not be in a relationship right now. I’ve got things I have to do by myself, for myself. I’m not… there. Not ready. Not even for going back to one. And honestly? He’s never coming back.”

You plated up and sat opposite him at your little table. You could feel the pregnancy of the pause pressing heavily on you.

“Which, I suppose, is as good a segue as any,” you began, before taking a bite, chewing it slowly, hoping that Yoongi might start.

He didn’t. He swirled his noodles with his chopsticks and took his own first bite.

“Do we- we should probably talk about last night? Maybe?”

Yoongi nodded, looking down at his food. Then suddenly he looked up.

“This is nice, by the way. Tastes good.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

Was he changing the subject deliberately? Buying himself some time? A shudder went through you as your mind began racing with all the things he might say to you, all the things you’d least have wanted to hear. You were no longer dreading what you had to say; you were dreading hearing what he had to say. You knew you couldn’t let him go first.

“So anyway-” You cut in, interrupting your own thoughts. “Like I said, I’m not ready for a relationship right now, but I also- I don’t want something casual. A hook-up. Situation...ship. Friends with benefits or whatever. I can’t do that. I need the commitment. But I’m also not ready for commitment. So. I don’t know. I mean, I do know. I really would like us to be friends. Just friends. I like you a lot. I’m glad we met and I like your company and I want to be friends, but I can only be friends. Nothing more.”

It wasn’t not true. It was all true. Now that he was here, you didn’t want to dump on him. He didn’t need to know all about your ex, your therapy; that was your business, your problem. You just wanted to be his friend. It was that simple. You’d extended your hand and every part of you was crossed, hoping he would take it.

You waited for his response, your stomach so tight with anxious anticipation that you couldn’t take a single bite. Your heart was pounding in your chest and in your skull; a dull ache formed behind your eyes in the long seconds that stretched between you.

Yoongi was looking into his noodles again. You saw him pause and then he continued eating. He nodded. Grunted.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

You waited for him to go on. To elaborate. To tell you something. You hoped this was just one of his pauses and you held your breath waiting for more. But nothing came. You were opening your mouth to say something—you didn’t know what—when the beep of your door lock sounded and your door opened. You stood, not expecting anyone, and were simultaneously relieved and made even more anxious to see Taehyung waltz through your door with pizza.

“Teddy! What are you doing here?” Your voice was tight and high-pitched and you cleared your throat, tried to make your face look normal.

He looked at you, then at Yoongi, then back at you. He raised his eyebrows.

“What do you mean what am I doing here? I told you I was going to bring pizza, so here I am, bringing pizza.”

“Oh shit.”

You had forgotten completely. In all the anxiety of Yoongi, it had slipped your mind; of course he’d said he’d bring pizza. You remembered now. Too late.

“Sorry, I forgot. We’re eatin- Oh. Uh. This is Yoongi. Yoongi, this is Tedd- Taehyung. He’s my best friend.”

“I’m her only fucking friend.”

“Shut up!”

You snatched the pizza from him and turned, walking to set it on the coffee table. You heard Yoongi’s mumbled greeting to Taehyung and you wondered what he was thinking. Sweat was prickling uncomfortably all over you. This was not a collision you had anticipated happening at all, let alone this quickly, let alone now, right this minute. But you were also grateful for Taehyung’s interruption. It cut you off, forced you to move, to think about something else. He had shown up just in time.

“You are terrible, you know that, princess? Cheating on me, letting me walk into your house to find I’ve been replaced?” He crossed the apartment in two long paces to stand in front of you and took your face in his hands. “The things I do for you and this is how you repay me?”

You pushed him away, flustered and embarrassed.

“Shut up, Teddy. I said I’m sorry I forgot. Just sit down, would you?”

You returned to the dining table and picked up your bowl.

“There’s not really room here for three but we can squish in if we sit on the floor,” you said to Yoongi and he nodded, standing and lifting his own bowl.

You pushed Taehyung over and sat next to him so Yoongi could sit at the end of the table and not get uncomfortably close to a man he’d just met.

“Can I eat some of your pizza, though?” you asked Taehyung.

“You’re an ungrateful swine and deeply lucky that I love you so much,” he replied, opening the box for you to take a slice. You grinned and blew him a kiss. He pressed one into your hair in return.

“How did you guys meet?” Yoongi asked.

“Ew, you make it sound like we’re a couple.”

You turned and punched Taehyung in the leg and fixed him with a sharp glare.

“Of course, we’re not a couple; don’t be stupid. He doesn’t think we’re a couple!”

“Not now, not ever. Gross.”

You gave him another punch.

“We met at work-”

“She was my assistan-”

“I was not! I was an assistant! And you were only a coordinator so you were barely above me. And now we work at the same level anyway.”

“I remember your first day. I thought you were going to be a complete square. You were so quiet—if you can believe that.” He addressed the last part to Yoongi and Yoongi very nearly grinned. “But I knew you’d be mine; I took you under my wing. It was like a-”

“A meeting of the minds.”

“Yep, both empty.”

“How did you two meet?” Taehyung asked.

“You already know, you idiot! We met at baking class.” You turned to look at Yoongi. “It was a meeting of the hearts, right? Both broken!” You laughed—a little forced—and held your hand out on the table for him to take, which he eventually did and then he looked at you, for the briefest second, and he looked so lost and then so grateful that your heart lurched and you felt tears sting in your eyes. You wished, not for the first time and not for the last, that you could read his mind. These seconds, these fleeting moments, when he fell open to you, when the quietest whispers of his reached you, that’s when you saw yourself in him. That’s when you knew that you were the same. That’s why you needed him.

* * *

Yoongi left and Taehyung stayed. You leant out of your apartment to wave Yoongi down the corridor and then you leant heavily against your closed door.

“So that’s Yoongi,” Taehyung said, sitting on the sofa, opening his arms to you.

“That’s Yoongi.”

You crossed the apartment and climbed into Taehyung’s lap.

“He’s cute.”

You only hummed in response.

“Did you tell him you want to be friends?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Yeah.”

“‘Yeah?’”

“Yeah.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Did you tell him you left your underwear in his apartment?”

You sat up with a jolt.

“Shit! Oh fuck, no, I forgot! I got so stressed by the conversation, I forgot! Oh fuck oh fuck. He’s going to think I deliberately left it there! What if he finds it?”

“Obviously he’s going to find it. The more important question is what if he keeps it?”

You pressed your head against his chest and groaned. The man you had just insisted you couldn’t be more than friends with was going to go back to his apartment and find a soiled pair of your knickers and there wasn’t anything you could do about it.

“I guess it might give you an answer, though,” Taehyung mused.

“An answer to what?”

“Whether or not he has feelings for you. If you never see them again, you know he’s kept them and is probably do-”

“No! No, shut up! Shut your whole mouth!”

You clamped both hands over his mouth, kneeling (you hoped painfully) on his legs, glaring at him.

“We’re friends! Just friends! He’s not going to do anything with them! Stop it! Stop saying things! It’s not like that! It’s not!”

He rolled his eyes and hummed in a tone that suggested he was not at all convinced. With a warning glance, you removed your hands from his mouth.

“Whatever you say, my little delusional baby.”

* * *

When you woke the next morning and set about tidying your apartment, you took out the tubs of frangipane tarts that Yoongi had brought and you had left on the side. You took out the tupperware you recognised and, below them, tupperware you didn’t. And a note on top.

They’re your favourite. Have mine too ˙ᵕ˙

You still felt awkward and unsure when you were standing next to Yoongi the following week, listening to your instructor teach you how to make muffins. He gave no indication that he felt it; he seemed much the same as he ever had. But there was an anxiety humming in your heart now; Taehyung’s words rattled in your head. And you had told your therapist and she did point out that maybe your attachment to Yoongi was not entirely healthy. You knew that, but you wanted to ignore it. Making Yoongi happy had become your road to redemption and you were going to follow it come hell or high water.

“You and Taehyung seem close,” he said lightly as he weighed out butter.

“He wasn’t lying when he said he’s my only friend. My ex and I, we met at work- not this work, my job before; we don’t still work together. Thank God. But we met at work so all our friends were shared, really. And I guess he gets them all in the divorce! Except Taehyung. Don’t really know what I’d do without him, to be honest. I’m trying-“ You stopped, hesitated, self-conscious again of talking too much, over-sharing, but Yoongi looked at you expectantly and you ploughed on. “I’m trying not be co-dependent, not to rely on him too much. It’s one thing when it’s your girlfriend, but when it’s just your friend—I don’t know; I ask a lot of him, I think. He’s there a lot. For me. I moved in with him right after the break-up before I found my apartment. It was awful and we should never live together again-“ You laughed. “But he was a real life-saver. I d-“

“Stop!” Yoongi cried, grabbing your wrist as you were stirring your muffin batter. You looked at him in alarm.

“What? I’m mixing!”

“You’re mixing too much!”

“What does that mean?”

You looked at the recipe sheet in front of you.

“Add dry ingredients and blueberries and mix. I’m doing it right!”

“No, you can’t stir it like that. You have to be gentle.”

You watched him as he moved his mixing spoon slowly through the batter, twisting and turning it, the white flour disappearing in a beige swirl.

“How do you know how to do it like that? I thought you couldn’t bake.”

He shrugged.

“I looked it up.”

“You study? You prepare for these classes?”

He shrugged again.

“Just want to get it right.”

You grinned.

“You’re a nerd.”

He grinned back.

“My muffins are going to be better than yours.”

You were sure they would.

* * *

“Do you want to get a drink after?” you asked as you pulled your tray of blueberry muffins from the oven. “We don’t have to go to my shithole apartment; I won’t subject you to that again.”

Yoongi chuckled.

“I thought you said never again?”

“Ha, I say a lot of things. And y’know, never say never!”

“I can’t tonight. But thanks.”

Oh.

“Oh. Ok! Another time!”

Disappointment deflated you slowly; your joy a tyre with a slow puncture. It hurt. It shouldn’t have. If you were stupid enough to get attached out of all proportion, then you had to at least be able to deal with the consequences of that. He was busy. He had other plans. That was all it meant.

Nevertheless, when you waved him off at the end of class, it was with a stone sinking in your stomach.

It sank heavier the next week when Yoongi didn’t show at all. You watched the door for half an hour, convinced he would come through it. He was always late. He’d show. He would definitely show.

But he didn’t.

You pulled out your phone.

[19:37] You: you’re missing class? It’s yakgwa!

[20:05] You: and I didn’t even bring any illicit ingredients this time!

[20:07] You: you’re missing a once in a lifetime opportunity to see me follow instructions properly!

You could hear Taehyung. You knew what he would say. ‘You’re projecting, babygirl. He’s busy’. You had to teach yourself that you weren’t the centre of anyone else’s life and that was ok. That was good; you were the centre of your own. That was why you were doing all this. That’s what had brought you to class in the first place.

But it had also brought you to Yoongi and you didn’t want to let this go. You were friends. He meant something to you. This meant something, you were sure of it. He wouldn’t just miss a class and not tell you. There had to be a reason.

[21:12] You: If you’re not careful, I’ll sneak into your apartment and make you try some

[21:12] You: [you sent an attachment]

[21:12] You: I didn’t do a good job 🙈

* * *

[08:13] Yoongi: sorry, I was working really late last night. Sorry I missed it. I hope it was good.

[08:13] You: are you coming next week?? You better!!!!

[08:27] Yoongi: yeah I’m coming

* * *

Except he didn’t. He had told you it was busy at work. He had told you he had been sleeping badly. He had only just broken up with his girlfriend. She had been cheating on him. His life didn’t revolve around you; it wasn’t about you. And you knew that. But you began to feel held at a distance and it pricked at you, painful and uncomfortable. Something wasn’t right.

You sat on the subway, tubs of profiteroles and tubs of mapa dubu on your lap. You took deep breaths and checked your phone. You hadn’t heard from him at all for three days. That was unusual. Sometimes he didn’t reply for hours, sometimes he didn’t reply at all until you sent another text. But you always heard from him eventually, within a day. You looked at your messages, six unanswered; the last two hadn’t even been read. You felt uneasy.

You remembered all of your worst days. The isolation. The hiding. You remembered telling him why you joked about killing yourself; you remembered all the jokes he made alongside you. He told you he got it. ‘I probably mean it more than you do’. You knew there was still a chance you were projecting. You knew this could be all in your head. You knew, in a sad, selfish, sick little way that maybe this was wishful thinking. That if this were the case, then maybe you weren’t the only truly broken one. It was a little voice, quiet and distant, and your concern was louder. But it was there all the same. Telling you that you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

You also knew that Yoongi didn’t have a live-in girlfriend anymore but you didn’t know if he had someone else who would take care of him. You felt about how lost you would have been on your worst days without your ex. Your dependence on him was a problem, but you remembered the palpable relief you felt when he was there with a physical ache in your chest. You thought about Taehyung, letting you move in, letting you sleep in his bed, cooking for you, cancelling dates so he could be with you. Did Yoongi have a Taehyung?

You got off at the next stop and changed lines. You sent Yoongi a text telling him you were coming. When you got out at the closest stop to his apartment, you tried calling him. No answer.

* * *

“I’m here!” you called out as you slipped off your shoes and padded quietly to the kitchen. You hadn’t expected the codes to work. He’d told you he would change them. He hadn’t. You didn’t know what that meant. Maybe nothing. But at the very least, it meant you could get in and you were here now.

You needed a second, one moment before you turned around to find him, to look at what you had walked into. You didn’t know if you wanted to be embarrassed by your wrong assumptions or right on the money.

You dumped your bags on the counter and turned around to see Yoongi’s face, just visible over the arm of the sofa as he stared at you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was quiet, croaky, as if he hadn’t spoken all day.

“I told you I was coming, love,” you countered. “I messaged.”

Yoongi flung out an arm and picked his phone up from off the floor and sighed, flopping back down and disappearing from view.

You walked over and knelt before him.

“You missed class.”

He rolled over onto his back and said nothing.

“Don’t think for a second I’m going to give you one of my profiteroles; I baked them myself and I’m going to eat them that way, too!”

You were joking, aiming for levity, landing somewhere far from that.

“Have you eaten?” you asked.

There was a reply this time: a shrug and a grunt. You looked at the empty snack packets on the coffee table and wondered how long they’d been sitting there.

“Well, lucky for you-” you stood and gathered the detritus as you spoke, “-I happen to be an expert amateur chef extraordinaire and we made mapa dubu today. Stay there.” As if he were likely to move.

You picked up as you made your way to the kitchen and pried open one of your tubs from class. You clattered about in his kitchen as you heated it up, looking for crockery, looking for cutlery, while he lay, unmoving on the sofa. You opted for the microwave, for ease and because it would create less clean-up. You stared pointedly at the tub as it rotated inside the machine. You were right and it was opening a deep fissure in your heart.

You chose to ignore it. Your feelings were not the issue at hand. It wasn’t about you. You turned your attention to the microwave (you always had been good at reheating food) and gingerly picked up the steaming hot tub to tip the contents into a bowl. You returned to the living room and handed it to Yoongi.

He sat up and took it from you more readily than you had expected him to and then he started eating. You didn’t want to sit and watch him so you went back to the kitchen to tackle the dishes in and around the sink. You recognised this. The external reflecting the internal. The mess. The neglect. Part of you felt vindicated: you weren’t just projecting; you were the same; he did get you. A bigger part of you wished he didn’t.

When you heard the unmistakable thunk of china on wood, you took a large glass of water over.

“You should drink all of that,” you told him, picking up the bowl and taking it back to the kitchen to clean.

“Do you want to talk?” you asked him as you perched on the coffee table across from him. He shook his head and lay back down on his side. “Ok, then, babe, budge up.”

You climbed onto the sofa behind him, slipping one arm underneath his neck and wrapping the other around his waist. You hooked your leg over his hip and held him tight. He held himself unnaturally still. You didn’t know if you were doing the right thing. You had never been in this position before. You were just doing what had always been done for you and hoping it was right.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?” you asked quietly and there was a pause before he shook his head.

“It’s embarrassing,” he said.

“Why?”

“I’m... I’m gross.”

You chuckled and pressed your nose into his neck, making him squirm. You remembered the smell of his aftershave, absent now, a light tang of a lived-in body in its place, the faintest ghost of laundry detergent clinging on to his shirt.

“Nah, sweetie, you’re fine. On one occasion, it had been so long since I’d showered that my ex ran a bath, picked me up and dumped me in it, clothes and all. It had been weeks rather than days, I think... It was also not just one occasion.”

You felt Yoongi unclench a little and you gave him a squeeze.

“When I finally made it out of bed – only as far as the sofa, mind – he would go out to work having lined me up food and drink on the coffee table. He would push the table closer so everything was within reach so I had no excuses—not that that always worked. Sometimes, he had to physically sit me up and spoon feed me... I just didn’t...”

“Care.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice that he did that. It sounds like he was good to you.”

You hummed and braced yourself for the question that you knew was coming next.

“Why did you break up?”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“I don’t know that there was just one thing. There was one reason, fundamentally, but lots of things led to it.” You used your therapy voice, slow and deliberate, not letting all your raw, unbaked thoughts drop out of your mouth in a tumble. Like you practised. “He was my safe space. We would go out and I would plaster on a smile and pretend to be happy and fun and positive and then, as soon as we got home, I would take it all off. When it was just the two of us, I didn’t have to pretend anything, which was a relief to me, but it meant that I was never really... happy, I suppose, around him anymore.”

You tried to will your heart to beat slower. You didn’t want Yoongi to feel it beating against his back, thumping hard. You could joke about killing yourself and pretend it was light, unserious. But you didn’t actually say the real truth, the plain truth, out loud. Not to anyone. You squeezed Yoongi tighter, for your benefit, not his, and continued.

“About a year after we got together, I tried to kill myself... He was... He was amazing, really. I don’t know how I’d have got through it without him. He really, really took care of me. Then last year—I didn’t try again, but I got about as close to it as I had been since the first time. And I think... it changed things for him. It was different that time. I think he saw his future ahead of him, always waiting for me to breakdown again, waiting for the sword to fall. He thought it was a one-time thing. I guess so did I, really; it’s not like I planned it. I don’t know.” You paused, feeling your mouth starting to run away with you. You took another breath. “He took good care of me just like he had before but... I think he was already falling out of love with me then. You can’t break up with someone in that state and be anything but the bad guy so I think he bided his time, waited ’til I was on my feet again to do it.”

You hadn’t said these things to anyone but your therapist. Taehyung knew everything but he pieced things together, he knew without you saying—you realised, at that moment, that it was entirely possible your ex told him things, so Taehyung could support you, maybe even so that Taehyung could support him.

Saying these things now, out loud, made them real. More real than they had been before. It was a shock to realise that the therapy was working, that you could see your relationship—and your break-up—more clearly now. It was even more of a shock to realise that you didn’t feel bitter anymore. Not towards him anyway. You had been saying for so long that you understood, that you didn’t blame him, that it was right, that the break-up was a good thing, you hadn’t realised that now you actually believed it, too.

“I don’t blame him. He deserves more than I was giving him, more than I could give him. I had been taking a lot and I don’t think I realised that at the time. He deserves to be loved fully by someone who can. I do, too, I suppose. And so do you...”

You gave him another squeeze and he brought his hands up, one clasped over yours, the other gripping your wrist.

“No one’s ever...” His voice is so quiet, you can barely hear it. “No one’s ever taken care of me before.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Your ex?”

He snorted and there was that familiar pause before he spoke again.

“It was good in a way. I couldn’t waste away in bed because I knew I had to be up and dressed when she got home. I had no other choice because she lived here so she would always know if I didn’t.”

“I don’t understand. Did she make you?”

“No… But- she… She didn’t like it if I didn’t… She thought I was being-…”

“Lazy?”

“Yeah. Weak. I don’t know.”

His grip on your wrist was tight, your pulse thudding under his fingers. You swore under your breath.

“I’m so glad you broke up with her. She sounds like a cunt.”

He hummed non-committally.

“Is that what’s brought this on?” you asked. “The break-up?”

He sighed but didn’t answer.

“Because, I mean, it’s not like I’m an expert or anything—I am literally in therapy; I don’t know shit but—you deserve more than she gave you. She was fucking cheating on you. That’s bullshit. She treated you like crap. That’s bullshit. You should be with someone who can actually see you for the person you are and treat you accordingly-”

“Maybe that’s what she was doing.”

“What are you talking about? She treated you like shit.”

“Right.”

You sighed and held him tighter.

“Baby... You’re not shit.”

You waited for him to argue and, when no response came, pressed on.

“You’re fun and sweet-”

You could feel him squirm as he pressed his face into the cushion.

“-and kind and generous and loyal-”

He drew the blanket over his face and gripped it tightly in his hands. He tried to sit up, tried to disentangle himself from your koala hold, but you held him firm.

“No, you’re not going anywhere,” you told him, your voice firm. “This is maximum-security, ok?”

“Maximum-security?” His question muffled from under the blanket.

You hesitated and then loosened your grip on him, resting your hand on his waist, unhooking your leg from over his hip.

“This is a cuddle.”

Then you reverted to how you were: your hands crossing on his chest, your bodies pressed tight together, your leg over his.

“This is a maximum-security cuddle,” you explained. “It’s nice. We like it.”

He didn’t protest, didn’t move, so you carried on.

“Anyway, as I was saying. You are kind and loy-”

“You already said that.”

“Yeah? Well, I think you can stand to hear it more than once. So you’re going to stay here and listen to this. You are fun and loyal and kind and generous and-“

A shudder ran through him and you could see the blanket twist in his hands.

“-smart and cute and funny-”

His shoulders started to shake; a small, stuttering gasp escaped him and you kept him tight against you.

“-and loving and determined and honest... and you will find someone who sees all of that stuff in you and will you love for it and they won’t make you feel like shit and they won’t care if you haven’t showered for a week and they will take care of you and-”

Yoongi brought his legs up, curling himself into a ball as tightly as he could.

“-they will love you and love you and love you, even when you don’t love yourself, even when you do. All the time. Always.”

You didn’t know what more to say, didn’t know if he was even listening anymore, if he could hear you. You held him tight and felt him cry as much as you heard him. His body shook and shook yours with it. You tried not to cry as he cried. You had to keep it together. You were done falling apart. But your heart felt so full and so broken. You weren’t used to being this person. You were Yoongi. You were always the one held, not the one holding.

You thought about your ex, holding you like this, every day, taking care of you, picking up after you, picking you up. You had always been grateful to him, but you hadn’t appreciated just exactly what it was he was doing for you; you didn’t have the wherewithal, the capacity for it at the time. But now you were here, doing what he had done, feeling how he had felt. It was overwhelming. It was an epiphany, a sad, tragic kind of epiphany that made your stomach swoop and your breathing hitch. You wished, intensely, for a moment that you could talk to him, tell him, thank him.

You also wished desperately that you weren’t there. That this wasn’t happening. That you hadn’t been right. You wished that you had shown up and Yoongi had been here, tired, working, grumpy, anything but this. You wished that he had been annoyed with you, told you off, told you get out. You would’ve taken that rejection over this. You would’ve taken almost anything over this. You knew Yoongi’s pain because it was your own and, more than anything, you wished that he didn’t. All this time you had been insisting that you were the same, that you understood each other, that you had a connection. And now you wished you’d been wrong.

* * *

He stopped crying. Eventually, at some point. You were watching the light in the room change as the sun finally disappeared, as the summer night came down, and the full moon rose. His breathing settled, his body stilled. He pulled the blanket back down, uncovering the top of his head. You waited for him to speak.

“I want to have a shower.”

His voice was thick, wavering.

“You’re not just trying to get away from me?”

He shook his head.

“No, I want to.”

He swiped a hand over his face, wiping away his tears, and you felt his body shift as he went to sit up. You let him this time. He didn’t look at you as he stood and walked towards the bathroom.

“I’ll be waiting,” you called after him. “You’re not allowed to drown yourself in there! I’ll check!”

You watched the door shut and listened for the sound of the shower running. Then you stood yourself and decided to clean the apartment. You tidied, sorted recycling, threw out the rubbish, wiped down the sides, swept the floors. You surveyed your clean kingdom and noticed the time. You noticed the silence in the apartment. The shower wasn’t running. You didn’t know when it had stopped.

You decided to give him five minutes. Five minutes and then you’d check on him.

“Yoongi!” you called from the bathroom door. “Are you coming out? The shower hasn’t been running. If you don’t come out in five minutes, I’m going t-“

The door opened a crack.

“I-“ he started and then stopped.

You waited.

“I don’t have any clothes in here.”

“Oh, do you want me to get you some?”

You could just see his eyes through the crack in the door, head at an angle as he held his body out of view. He shook his head.

“Can you… just…”

Quick to catch on for once in your life, you turned around, you faced the wall, you closed your eyes and, for good measure, you covered them with your hands.

“Ok,” you called.

You felt the steam pour out as the door opened and you stayed stock still until you heard his bedroom door open and then shut. You returned to the sofa to wait for him. He emerged, dressed in thin pyjama trousers and a long-sleeved top, with a towel in his hand, squeezing out his wet hair.

“Do you want me to plait it for you?” you offered.

He looked at you in confusion.

“What?”

“I can plait your hair if you want. You can get away with it being dirtier if it’s plaited and you can just keep them in, sleep with them and stuff, so they’re low maintenance. I do it all the time. No one has to know you haven’t showered for five days if you’ve got plaits in.”

“Is that why people style their hair like that? Because it’s dirty?”

“Can’t speak for anyone else, but for me, yeah. You know I’m having a bad time if I’ve plaited my hair.” You laughed and almost choked on it when he smiled back at you; the relief resounded in your chest.

He looked like he was considering it and shook his head.

“Great, in that case, I have another question for you.”

You walked back over to the kitchen, opened the door of the cupboard under the sink and pulled out a half-empty bag of cat food.

“Why do you have this?” you asked and, once again, Yoongi looked at you in confusion.

“It’s for my cat.”

“You don’t have a cat.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t! I’ve been here before! I didn’t see a cat!”

He shrugged and walked back to his bedroom; he opened the door and pointed vaguely at the bed. You stood next to him and saw a soft, black ellipse in the middle of the bed.

“That’s your cat?”

He nodded.

“I don’t understand. How can you have a cat? I’ve never seen it! I was here for ages!”

He shrugged.

“That’s her spot. You can say hello if you want.”

“What’s her name?”

“Cherry.”

You walked into the bedroom and said hello, tentatively reaching out to stroke her. Up close, you saw she wasn’t black—not quite—but a deep, dark brown; her fur was thick and soft as you ran your fingers through it. She uncurled herself and pushed her head into your hand, rubbing against it. Her purr was loud and deep. Yoongi joined you and scooped her up in his arms. She purred louder.

“Oh, do you like that, huh?” you asked her, your voice automatically high-pitched, soft, baby-ish. “Like being held by Daddy?”

Yoongi made a noise of protest.

“Please don’t call me ‘Daddy’ to my cat.”

“Why not? Oh my god, are you a daddy guy? Do you like that shit?”

“No! No… I just… It’s weird. She’s my cat.”

“Oh, Cherry,” you cooed, reverting to your baby voice, scratching her head. “Daddy doesn’t like it when you call him that, huh?”

“Don’t!” He was whining and laughing and you pressed on.

“But you like it when Daddy holds you, right? You like living with Daddy? You-“

“Oh my god, I regret everything!” He lay Cherry back on the bed and laughed. “I should never have let you meet her.”

“You’re probably right about that. Daddy.”

His face glowed warm and pink as he screwed his face up.

“Don’t!”

“Ok, I promise. No more ‘Daddy’.”

You held your little finger out to him and he hooked it in his own.

“Thank you.”

You shrugged.

“Sure.”

“For-… I mean, for coming... I... I appreciate it.”

“Oh. Sure. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to; you did say you were going to change your door codes.”

He chuckled, his eyebrows raised. You dropped backwards onto the edge of his bed and sat looking up at him.

“I had forgotten about that.”

“Just as well. I didn’t... I didn’t know if you’d want me to come; you may have noticed I kind of just get into people’s business. Teddy told me not to force my friendship on you-”

“It’s not forced,” he interrupted you, quickly, looking at you, blinking, looking away.

“Good. I mean, we broken-hearted losers have to stick together, right?”

He shook his head with a frown and dropped down next to you.

“I don’t think you’re a loser. And I don’t- I think... I don’t know if I am broken-hearted. Not over her anyway. It was... Even before she started cheating on me, I don’t know how real it was, if I was actually happy. I don’t... I don’t know how I didn’t notice that she didn’t make me happy. I’m not broken-hearted but I am stupid.”

You placed your hand over his and gave it a squeeze, then let go.

“Not stupid. In love.”

“Same thing.”

“Maybe sometimes, but not always. Love is good.”

You glanced over and he held your gaze. You lost count of the seconds ticking away between you; he didn’t look away so neither could you. You were arrested, held, your mind stalled; you wanted to break the silence but couldn’t think how to.

“I think,” he said finally. Then he sighed and turned away. “I think I love the wrong people.” He flopped backwards, lying on the bed with his arms flung over his head.

You twisted from your seated position to look at him.

“You only have to love the right one once, though, right?”

He looked at you and your eyes flicked elsewhere.

“But how do you know they’re the right one?”

"I don’t know; haven’t found ’em yet. I’ll let you know when I do.”

He hummed and the silence fell over you again. You looked at the cat, curled up tight next to the pillow and were glad Yoongi had her. She couldn’t cook or clean or talk, but she was there and happy to see him and at least he wasn’t completely on his own.

“It’s really late,” he said, suddenly, and you jumped.

“Yeah, I should go. Sorry! Overstaying my welcome as always, haha!”

Should you? You had no idea what etiquette would dictate in these circumstances. You weren’t sure what Yoongi wanted you to do. You weren’t sure what you wanted.

“No! That’s not what I meant. I mean… You can-... if you want, you can stay. You don’t have to go.”

You looked at him carefully, trying to work out if he was asking you to stay or trying to be polite. If he wanted you to stay, you didn’t want to leave him. If he wanted you to go, you didn’t want to stay. You felt reasonably confident that he wouldn’t tell you clearly either way. You decided not to bite your tongue—you weren’t very good at it anyway.

“If I leave, are you going to wake up tomorrow?”

He flushed a deep, beetroot red and blinked, his mouth opening and closing silently.

“Yes,” he answered, hoarsely.

You held your hand out, little finger raised.

“Promise me.”

He slowly raised his own hand and hooked his pinky with yours.

“If I wake up tomorrow and you’re dead, I really will kill you,” you told him, deadly serious.

He tried a grin which only half worked and nodded.

“I’ll wake up.”

“Good.”

“Will you let me drive you home?”

“What? No! Why? It’s fine! You don’t have to do that!”

“It’s late-”

“Subway’s still running-”

“No, you shouldn’t get the subway by yourself this la-”

“I’ll be fine! I’ve done it before! It’s really fi-”

“Let me at least get you a taxi.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Too late,” he said, walking out to the living room and picking up his phone. “I’m already doing it.”

“You did not have to do that,” you repeated.

He shrugged.

“Least I could do. Will you please text me when you get home?”

“Will you text me in the morning?”

He nodded and you nodded back. He held your gaze like a silent promise and you nodded again. He looked tired and pale. He still looked sad. A little bit lost. A little bit broken. A lot like you.

His phone buzzed, breaking the tension of the moment, alerting him that the car was nearby.

He walked you to the door and you pulled him into a tight hug. You hadn’t expected him to, but he held you just as tight, squeezing the air from your lungs. You had second thoughts about leaving.

“I meant what I said. I will kill you-”

“Not if I kill myself first!”

You gasped and choked and laughed and almost sobbed.

“I’m joking,” he said.

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice strangled, your heart thudding erratically against your ribs. You knew you were going to cry all the way home and you needed it to not start until Yoongi’s door was closed and you were on the other side of it. “You’ve already promised.”

You held on longer than you really meant to. You pulled back slowly and kept your hands on his shoulders.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

He nodded.

* * *

[00:58] You: Made it home!

[06:37] Yoongi: it’s morning

[06:37] Yoongi: I woke up

Chapter Two | Masterlist | Chapter Four

Tag list: @e-cm, @chimmisbae, @purplewhalewrites, @idkjustlovingbts @miriamxsworld

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #bts x reader #bts fic #bts angst #suga x reader #suga fic

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chaand-jalne-laga · 7 months ago

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CJL LIVE BLOG SEASON 1 [EPISODE 1]

So. I know, this is wrong. Coz I put the IPK one on hold and now i am starting another, but I thought, this one is just for 82 epis(SO SHORT? WTF? CHALA HI NAHI SHOW?!?!?) So, it wont take much time to complete this and I also wanted to keep this content and ipk content separate. Hence, a separate blog. I know y'all might be hard-core Arshi fans and ipk fans, but, give this one, a chance, as well, ok? Just for entertainment's sake? Please? Baaki, it's your choice ofc :) Hope you enjoy this.

1.) Hmm. Pune. Maharashtra. A girl peeping out through the car window. Enjoying the 'jaadu' in the air. Btw, I like the BG score, here.

2.) In the flashback, we see two kids sitting on a white horse and the horse is galloping in its full galore. The girl confirms the magic in the air as her hands are flying. Lol. Typical kids.

3.) Tara di's sister is asking about her opinion on her looks. IDK but I cringed real hard when she said, "Achi lag rahi hun naa?"(Like yeah darling, you look average. Lol. JK. You look stunning but stop with that cringe acting, ok?)

4.) Tara Di opens her hair and A SECOND-LITERALLY A SECOND AGO, she was irritated but then immediately she is impressed with her di's improvisation. Whatever. Lol.

5.) Selfies. Di is excited so she starts taking selfies and her younger sister is suspicious instantly. Why? Does she not take selfies on any normal day? Maybe. *shrugs*

6.) How typical of people to instantly assume that if a girl seems excited then she might be having a 'chakkar' with some boy. Why girl? Your sister can't be happy for her own self, just like that, without any reason? *hmph* Do you make her that upset? Lol. That now her excitement seems abnormal.

7.) NGL but this Tara di's sister is a really bad actor, whoever she is. Sorry. Lol.

8.) Tara Di gets off the car and lets them drive by. Then, she quickly runs to the Bus Station to catch a bus for--?--whatever.

A Side Gyaan : But that's such a bad way to catch a bus, actually. First, you catch the attention of the bus driver coz they are at a considerable height and then they stop the vehicle ONLY THEN you cross it and get on the bus, okay? My readers? Don't be like Tara Didi, okay? Good. Now, we come back to the epi.

9.) So. Tara didi is changing her shoes. I really thought for a sec that she will change her outfit too. Lol. A kid is staring at her antiques and she notices people are staring at her. So.

What do you think will she do?

a) ignore them

b) make faces at them

c) sunaoify (rudely) them for staring at a slightly differently dressed girl

d) give them a five page ka gyaan on social etiquettes as a soon-to-be 'Starplus Bahu'

Yeah. You are neither right nor wrong, coz she will randomly pull out a jar of lollipops and distribute it to appease them. Yes. We all do that. We all step out of our homes, thinking we might happen to be in a bus and can then distribute it among the children on the said bus. Whatever.

10.) TD gets off the bus and buys chana and gur for--?--*shrugs*

11.) TD is now sitting in a-tempo?-transport vehicle. Whatever. Driver announces her destination which is- "Sehgal Estate"

12.) The driver assuming her to be a tourist, warns her, of the place having been shut down for quite a few years now and he tells her that an accident had taken place, many years ago. TD flashes back to that 'haadsa' and politely dismisses him by stating that she is a local.

13.) Ok, ladies, so all things aside, who all can climb up and cross that gate, that high, with a WHITE SAREE and that too without staining it!?!? Anyone? No? See, our Tara D (Lol. I have so many name ideas for this girl.) CAN. She is a champion at this. (Okay so i wanted to take a screenshot of that long-ass gate but Jio Cinema didn't let me. Fudge you, Ambanis'. Whatever. Lol.)

14.) She takes help from Deva's flash back advice when he had first guided her to climb that (same?) gate. Okay, so that saxophone BG score is cute, okay? Lol.

15.) Gosh. How did they manage to find a small girl who looks exactly like Kanika Mann? Wow. Casting directors take a bow. *bows down with joined hands*

16.) Okay, so the titular song has started in the BG and I am loving it. Meanwhile, TD is going about the mansion and recalling that 'haadsa'.

17.) I am actually kinda liking this kid, Deva. How sweet of him. He extends a bunch of yellow flowers (symbolizing friendship). And damn, he has one hell of a head full of soft and flowy tresses. Wow. Any hair care tips for us, girls, Deva? Lol. Whatever.

18.) She digs out the 'nishaani' of their friendship which is basically two thick stones(or rocks?) joining like a puzzle piece and 'Badshah' along with caricatures of Deva and Tara, carved on the two pieces.

19.) She becomes very emotional, holding the symbol of a once very beautiful bond she had with some boy named- Deva. And then out of the blue we hear a horse neighing and Tara instantly brightens as she recognizes Badshah.

20.) Sure enough, we see Badshah running towards Tara and Tara on reaching close to it, touches it affectionately on it's jaws. We see that Badshah is indeed angry and disappointed on Tara. He starts running away as Tara tries to pacify it(him?). Oh. So. The chana and gur was for a horse. Ok. Nice.

Fun-Fact : All things set aside, Kanika genuinely had to interact with a horse in the middle of the shoot. I wonder if there's some story to this episode which she might have, like she was hell scared of horses and yet had to learn how to interact even if it's a well trained horse, we are talking about. Okay. Enough. Now back to the epi.

21.) Basant Kaka has come to see Tara Bitiya. What's with that line?-"Main janta tha ki aaj ka din tu bhulegi naayi, zarur aayegi." Kya hai aaj ke din mein aisa? Tara's demeanor changes as she recalls the incidents that took place in today's date.

22.) She tells BK that today is the day she met HIM (Deva?) and she reveals that he was the only one who made her Tara from 'Phus Tara' (Deflated Star or according to Jio Cinema's caption-'Timid Tara'. Basically an insulting nick name.)

(Lol. See. I got another name. But. Sorry i won't use that coz it triggers her childhood trauma.)

22.) Do I see vengeance there, Tara? Okay. So, we are being taken 15 years back.

23.) Wow. What an a__hole of a brother. He is chasing Tara all over the house with a bunch of crackers (chataai?) Tara is hidden inside the cupboard but she wants to come out because she is scared of darkness and it's all dark inside the cupboard. Ronak bhaiya fools her to come out but lays the chataai bomb and lights it with a matchstick giving her a 'Sehgal Promise'. These Sehgals seem to be too stuck up of a family tho.

Not-So-Fun Fact : God, these are the worst kind of crackers not only coz of the sound but also they keep scattering everywhere, while bursting, once lit. Even I am hell scared of these and always stand at least 1 Km away from these. Lol.

24.) Not knowing better (how would she? she is just a kid of 7-8 something.) Tara trusts her wicked brother, who has already run away to the veneration, steps out of the cupboard but it's too late the crackers keep scattering everywhere and bursting in the meantime and the poor kid is hell scared she starts calling out for her father ("Baba").

25.) Baba is doing aarti of Devi Maiyya (Oh. Hello DM. How are you? How are Khushi-Arnav and their munchkins doing? Lol. Sorry. I get carried away a bit.)

26.) WAIT. WHAT!?!!?!?! Is that the same guy, who was in Sheesh Mahal, on the fashion show night and Khushi came, asked him for directions but instead got to listen to an Urdu Shayari? Wow. See. A crossover we didn't deserve but got anyway. Whatever.

27.) Baba was doing aarti when his hell scared daughter comes and merely touches his back and the veneration plate skips away from his hand. Lol. What kind of a diet Baba takes that he couldn't even handle a gentle push from a mere kid of 7? Whatever.

But the thing that surprises me more is that he is about to lash out at her in front of the whole-family?- bunch of people. This is where I thought that there's some major tiff going on, in the family, like, everyone is against a mere kid.

28.) Baba, your daughter was hell scared, that too, coz of your a__hole of a son. A lil bit of compassion would go a long way. Thank you.

29.) Wow. A__hole father, a__hole brother. Tara. Run. I said. RUN. Whatever. Poor kid. Is getting blamed for the thing that she couldn't have any control of. So. Baba's wife died at childbirth. So. Now. He has got a lifetime license of blaming and punishing his daughter for it. WoW. jUsT. wOw.

30.) Some one please call a gynecologist and enlighten him that it hardly has anything to do with the child but has everything to do with proper timely medical care. Whatever.

31.) OH. She is crying in front her mother's portrait. Asking if she would ever be loved by anyone or not. I so desperately want to go and give her a looooooong jaadu ki jhappi. Uff. I am getting goosebumps now.

32.) She hears a melody being played out from a harmonica and is instantly drawn to its source. She sees, a boy riding a horse named Badshah and carrying balloons on it's saddle. She is kind of intrigued by this boy.

33.) The boy introduces himself as Deva and in the process, mocks Ronak. Ronak is kind of irritated of this boy already and tries to take over the horse and orders BK to light a long-ass chataai (do they have nothing else in the name of crackers? Lol. 'sEhGaLs') But, Deva is frantic and warns not to burst crackers as it will make Badshah go crazy and mocks him again and Ronak pushes him and Deva falls down.

34.) BK, following his master's orders, lights the chataai and Badshah goes crazy, starts running around violently. There is chaos everywhere, somewhere in the midst, Baba also shouts. The horse Badshah is now running towards Tara and Tara is frightened to the core. She freezes at her spot and covers her face ready to face the impact. Deva pulls off a high jump stunt and lands on the horse's back and calms him down in the process.

35.) Deva tries to cheer Tara up and is successful and from there on they both spend time together and thus become hard core friends.

36.) Deva lightens up her world. She smiles more, laughs more, conquers her fears a lil bit more, every time she is with Deva. And one fine day, they both are celebrating Deva's birthday and Tara has brought a cake for him. A candle is perched on its top. Deva lights it up and blows it away to make a wish. But the candle keeps lighting up again and again automatically, this surprises Deva and Tara falls into a pit of laughter and we see grown up Tara laughing in front of BK recalling the incident. This show is really moving something inside me. It's so heart warming tbh.

37.) Ok. So now they are celebrating BK's b'day and she has a cake-cum-aate-ka-halwa. BK lights up a matchstick and the small speck of fire again ignites that trauma in Tara. Poor girl is traumatized on loosing her only best friend.

38.) Tara and BK think that Deva is dead. And, Badshah has been bought by someone in exchange of lakhon rupiye. Altho, Bhojariya ji had a deal with Tara that she would pay him to keep Badshah in the Sehgal Estate but upon getting a greater amount of money, naturally, Bhojariya Ji sells it.

39.) Tara is heart-broken that she could not keep his only belonging safe and so apologizes to Deva (who she thinks is in heaven) and we are instantly taken to a hilltop where we see a man, also in white. So. Deva. He is alive and probably a reech buzinez man, i think? And, now, the plot is quite predictable, Tara will try to take back Badshah from that 'man' and he will in turn not reveal that he is indeed Deva becoz there is some misunderstanding on both of their side. So. He will try to seek revenge from Tara for what he had to go through in the past. As it is clear from the line, "Bohot jal chuka suraj, ab chaand ko jalna hoga." Wow. What a beautiful parallel tho. (Suraj-Deva and Chaand-Tara and also the title of the story makes a lot more sense now.)

40.) Ok. So. Jalebi reminded me that I did not mention Deva's entry scene. So. Yeah. Deva's entry scene, huh? Wow. Yeah. Sirf. Wow. I had literal goosebumps already and then that drone shot from the hilltop. The teapot hanging above the fire. Lol. What a traditional way to make chai amidst nowhere. Btw where did he get chai ki patti from? And what about chini? Cup? Lol. Banda puri taiyyari ke saath aaya tha. So. Yeah. Amazing scene. Handsome Deva. Beautiful white suit. Already swooning.

Not-so-Fun Fact : Damn this reminds me that I have been chai-deprived since yesterday coz chai was finished and no one in our house(as in me and my parents) were bothered enough to bring it from the general store altho we all were very much bothered for not being able to have a cup of chai. uGh. Whatever.

41.) Wow. Wow. Wow. This show has already started to cast its spell on me, to be honest. And it's just the first episode.

P.S. : So. Yeah. Very beautiful. Very very very beautiful indeed. Cinematography wise. Script wise. Costume wise. Look wise. Everything is perfect for Chaand Jalne Laga. TBH I was underestimating this show but it indeed is beautiful. Please do give it watch. Ok. Then. Bye. God bless you.

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probssomethingorother · 1 year ago

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🚨 NEW CHAPTER! 🚨

I said I was going to turn this out and I did! Whoop whoop. Unfortunately, I have done barely any review on it so good luck folks. Will go back and make fixes soon. Feel free to call out anything glaring/jarring. @eedsknees gave me the idea to include (SPOILER) some nightmare content, so they are lowkey responsible for jump starting the writing process on this one.

Back & Forth: a the last of us fic

post-episode 8 Silver Lake hurt/comfort

Ellie & Joel, both riding the struggle bus, canon compliant

Rating: Mature for dark themes, nothing more than the show

It was Joel who stumbled first. He had felt the strength seeping out of him with every step so viscerally it was like his body was a container with a slow leak. His gate would falter and his hand would slip further down her shoulder, power waning. He would cough in his throat and blink forcefully trying to reignite the spark of energy that had carried him to Ellie just hours ago, but it was all a losing battle. And eventually, he lost it. It was Ellie who moved first after that.

chp 1 | chp 2 | chp 3 | chp 4 | chp 5 | chp 6 | chp 7 | chp 8 / chp 8 |

chp 9 !!! YAY !!

read on Ao3 with the link above or below the cut, and remember comment where you can! <3

Chapter 9: (warning not proof read, will do that in the AM)

A lifetime ago, he was warned that raising a teenager - a teen girl at that - was going to be one of the hardest things he was going to live through. Joel had just started into the moody teenage years with Sarah before he lost her, they had their small arguments here and there, but really hadn’t quite hit that point where she was talking back, slamming doors, walking away, or giving him the silent treatment. Still, he had done all the mental preparation for the day his teenage girl would suddenly start putting him to the test, but he never thought in a million years that the teenage girl doing it was not going to be his Sarah. No, it was Ellie.

Ellie, who had gone from pouting in silence on the couch to fitfully falling back asleep. From his spot a few feet away, Joel had first thought she was muttering under her breath, talking through something and trying to vent her frustrations, but then he noticed the way her body rose and sank rhythmically. Still turned away from him, he couldn’t see her face to confirm, but after countless nights of looking over her while he took watch, he knew her breathing patterns like a parent knowing their child’s distinct cries.

She was asleep, and deeply; unfortunately, it just wasn’t peacefully.

For a long few minutes, Joel waited in the wingback chair, knee bouncing as he debated how long to let the restlessness go on before intervening. Hunched over with his arms on his knees, he wrung out his hands as he watched each one of her breaths and acutely listened in for what was slipping from her mouth, even turning his head so his good ear pointed more in her direction.

Over the months together he had seen her have a few occasionally, but he had never woken her, and eventually, she did always settle. But now, this just felt different. She had been struggling in her waking hours, it seemed cruel to also let her suffer in her sleep.

“I’m not…don’t,” she softly muttered. The words were more distinct than much of the rest that had been coming from her, and the sense of desperation behind them was painfully evident.

Sighing, Joel stood up with a groan and silently moved closer to her. The blankets were still tightly wrapped around her, constricting her movements to small twitches of her body, clearly unable to manage anything more against the weighty fabric. Her hair splayed across the cushion and fell down her back, which just made Joel realize it now was fully out of its normal ponytail, elastic lost somewhere - maybe forever. In the soft light of the fire, her hair looked almost golden. However, it also meant its tangles and mats were highlighted, strands clumped and bunched in weird spots.

“No….stop…no,” Ellie cried out again, still a soft and breathy slew of words, her body twitching again before settling.

For a moment, it actually looked like she might be calming for good, heavy breaths petering out for a second; so Joel hesitated before making any further moves, hand lingering just above her shoulder. From above, he could now see more of her face. It was contorted with a tightness, brows pushed together and jaw clenched. It looked like she was trying to turn it more into the cushion, hide it away from something, but she could only push in so much into the fabric without smothering herself - even her unconscious body seemed to know that.

Wherever she was, or whatever she was seeing, in her head, couldn’t be anything good.

Suddenly, Ellie’s breathing hitched, a whimper escaping her lips, her eyes fluttering beneath her lids as she relived whatever terror she was experiencing. “Please…,” she whispered.

The sounds tore at Joel's heart.

Enough was enough.

Taking a deep breath, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to shake her awake, “Hey…hey, Ellie. Wake up,” he murmured, voice thick with concern.

But his soft murmurs only seemed to increase her unease. Her breathing grew more rapid, each exhale punctuated by a soft whimper of distress.

"Ellie.." Joel tried again, placing more pressure on her shoulder to tip her onto her back. Her body complied, and she was now supine, but that also only seemed to make things worse for her. The whimpers started to get caught in her throat, her face screwing up like she was about to cry.

"Kiddo, time to wake up," Joel said, a little more sternly as he brought a gentle hand to the top of her head in a small gesture of comfort. It was an old instinct, something he used to do for Sarah when she was too afraid to sleep- gently caressing the top of her head, brushing back her beautiful curls to lull her down. (He later learned she should be in a bonnet when she slept, hair tucked away, but oh well).

He brushed back some of Ellie’s hair too, trying not to get distracted by how utterly dirty it was, bits sticking together by something, making it feel almost crunchy.

“Ple….don’t….that’s…you’re hurting mmm….”

She sounded like she was talking to someone now, and just being in proximity to it made Joel riddled with guilt as if he was the one it was directed at. With another soft sigh, Joel’s hand trailed down her head, past her shoulder, and onto her arm, giving it a squeeze. The move was a bad choice.

Ellie's body immediately jerked away from him, eyes shooting open in terror, as her arm flung out in a wild, blind attempt to get the touch off her.

Her hand connected solidly with the most vulnerable part of Joel- her loose fist hitting his barely stitched-together stab wound, dead center.

Ellie’s hand was tiny, but even so, it fucking hurt so bad. Time seemed to freeze, the sheer intensity of the pain anchoring Joel in agonizing stillness before the sensation hit him in full, like a tidal wave. He saw stars, the bright flecks dancing in front of his eyes as every nerve in his body screamed in agony. It felt like a thousand needles were being driven into his side, radiating outwards in a hot, searing wave of pinpricks that washed through his body from head to toe.

He stumbled back with an unstable step, knocking into the edge of the coffee table before trying to catch himself, only for his legs to do the opposite and give out beneath him. He crumpled to the floor with a deep pained groan, voice ragged and raw, landing with a thump.

For a very long moment, the world seemed distant, muffled, as if he was underwater as he sat still on the floor, hands not even able to clutch at the spot, just ghosting above it. For that same very long moment, Ellie’s eyes stayed fixed wide, now with a different form of terror as she came to terms with what she had just done. Both rattled by the sudden change of events, everything became eerily still between them as the room turned scarily quiet.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, played on repeat in Ellie’s head, until finally she was was scrambling to sit up, blankets tangling around her, restricting her movements. With a frustrated groan, she yanked and kicked them away, tossing them angrily aside as she popped off the couch, desperate to check on Joel.

She almost tripped and fell down too, feet getting caught up in the pile of discarded fabric on the floor. The stumble became a somewhat coordinated descent, and she dropped to her knees at his side.

”Oh God, Fuck, fuck, Joel?,” Ellie stammered, her voice laden with guilt. She knelt anxiously beside him, hands hovering, unsure of where to touch, or how to help. His eyes were squinted, brow furrowed, beads of sweat already forming on his forehead. He looked as he did when she first put him on that dingy mattress in the basement, just constipated with pain. It made her want to vomit knowing she was now the one to cause it this time.

Still filled with lingering anxiety from her nightmares, Ellie’s body was cracking under all the emotion, tears pricking at her waterline. She fluttered her eyes quickly, trying to get it to stop, but the longer she stared down at Joel the more she felt the tears threaten to spill over.

“Joel? Dude..what- tell me what I can do,” she stumbled out desperately.

Joel could barely register her voice much less what she was saying. A ringing in his ears was now taking over making everything just seem a bit staticky. His eyes wandered around the ceiling for a second before screwing shut, trying to stave off an incoming wave of dizziness.

He couldn’t understand why it hurt so bad, why a hit less than a punch had literally knocked him on his ass.

God fuck if she was able to do this, how was he going to defend them against anything if something did happen?

He groaned then, but from the thought of his inability not the pain. The pain was on a level that far surpassed groans.

“Okay..okay just,” Ellie began, taking his shaky hovering hands and moving them away, “let me look. I’m sorry.. sorry.. sorry,” she finished, biting at her lip as she slowly tried to raise his shirt to see the damage she had caused.

But Joel wasn’t going to let her feel bad for this. Certainly wasn’t going to allow her to make it her responsibility to fix him again. Absolutely not.

Despite the waves of pain that threatened to overwhelm him, Joel managed to open his eyes. Through the haze, he saw Ellie's panicked face, her deep brown eyes wide with fear.

She had barely gotten his shirt up, it sticking to him with dried blood. "S'okay," he rasped, bringing a hand up to push down the fabric and stop her before she could get much further. "Don’t," slipped out, although he had been going for “don’t worry.”

Ellie stopped moving, but didn’t release the grip on his shirt, worried now that anything she would do would just make it worse. “I- okay - just what - how? What do you need?”

Realizing his poor attempt at speaking before had only made her more anxious, Joel didn’t rush into replying this time. He took a long breath in and out, controlled through his mouth. It made his stomach produce a deep pain when his diaphragm filled and released the air, chest cavity rising and deflating. He pushed his head further back into the cold ground, trying to focus on a different sort of feeling than something beside his side.

“Just gimme…a second.” He pushed out, words complete and mostly steady this time.

Ellie bit her lip, regret evident in her eyes. Releasing his shirt, and with a deep exhale she sat back on her heels, giving Joel space but still close enough to assist him if he needed.

She couldn’t believe she had fucking hurt him. He was still fucking fragile and she really could have done some damage - she knew it. It wasn’t like she had given him world-class first aid in the first place.

“Did I get your stitches?” She asked with apprehension. They were probably so fucked.

“Ellie.” Her name reverberated through the sparsely furnished room, the sound trailing out shakily from a Joel. He might as well have just said, “shut up,” because somehow that’s what it sounded like to Ellie’s ears.

Silence started and dragged on then for several moments as they both waited for Joel’s pain began to recede, neither moving much at all. Every so often there was a small sniffle as Ellie tried to bite back tears.

Joel's voice, rough and filled with exhaustion, broke the monotony.

“Already feeling better,” he offered, after the third sniffle. Ellie had been trying to hide being on the brink of crying, but there wasn’t much space between them for things to be going unheard.

With a roll of her eyes and a huff, she wiped at them with the back of her hands.

“I don’t even know why I’m crying…I’m not a fricken crybaby,” she mumbled, clearly frustrated with herself. Joel hummed in agreement as he began to reposition himself, more focused on not causing himself any more pain than producing a reply to her.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Cause you don’t look okay…” Ellie pushed anxiously, trying to get the focus back on him.

“I’m fine. Just caught me off guard is all.”

They both knew that was a bit of an oversimplification and by the look on Ellie’s face, she wasn’t too happy with his attempt to brush this under the carpet.

"It wasn't your fault," Joel murmured, pushing himself to a sitting position with a wince. Every movement he made seemed to be a battle, a very annoying struggle against the pain that radiated from his side. "You were just reacting... to something else…. probably my fault anyhow.”

Joel's eyes inadvertently flicked down to Ellie's bare thighs, the blue-black hues of bruises evident even in the dim light, as she knelt next to him. He had noticed them earlier, but the immediate crisis then had pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Now, they came flooding back, mind zoning out as his gaze lingered on the red flags that marred her body.

She had been reacting to something else.

“I said don’t touch me motherfucker!”

Broken pants.

“Don’t do it, please don’t do it.”

Scratches on her waistline.

“you’re hurting-”

Begging, even in her sleep.

“Please don’t.”

"Quit staring," Ellie muttered with a hint of bitterness. Drawn from spiraling thoughts, Joel’s eye flicked back up to hers, filled with a genuine concern, and a bit of remorse.

"I wasn’t—“

“You were," she cut him off, her voice filled turning to something else, a mix of exhaustion and defiance as she pulled down her sweatshirt the best she could to cover her thighs. It barely did a thing.

”Let me see your side," she said, moving toward his shirt once more. He held out a hand, stopping her.

He wasn’t going to let her keep avoiding this.

“Tit for tat - you wanna check on me, I wanna check on you,” Joel rasped, his voice carrying an edge of firmness, making it clear that this was really non-negotiable even if presenting it as such.

Ellie’s jaw clenched. “I’m fine,” she said sternly.

“You ain’t,” he countered, eyes again flicking down to her legs, purposefully this time, brows raised before he came back to meet her eyes. They were as terse as he’d ever seen.

They darted away from his view as she muttered, "It's nothing,” her voice low, but Joel caught the slight tremor in it.

“It ain’t 'nothing'," he pressed firmly.

With an irritated exhale, Ellie rose as her eyes rolled. She stared down at him for a long moment before shooting her hand out for him to grab.

Joel looked at it, and then at her, and then back to it. He hadn’t really anticipated getting up this soon, but he wasn’t going to deny the hand she was extending, metaphorical or physical. He hoped that despite the anger her face showed, the gesture was as much about reconciliation as it was assistance.

Of course, he wouldn’t be so lucky.

With more force than he thought she capable, Ellie helped him move to stand, pulling him vertically and giving him a tight grip to sink into it. She didn’t say a word about the heavy groan that ripped through his body during it all or the way his strong grasp made the cut on the side of her hand burn. She turned away her head from his as he made his way up, not wanting to meet his gaze, and not wanting him to see the way she was making her own body ache with the effort of supporting him. Head drooping toward the floor, she stayed by his side for a moment as he panted through the residual pain, bent at the waist just slightly his free hand on his hip. When he seemed steady enough, Ellie slipped her hand from his, giving it a little shake to rid the irritation in her fingers from his clenched hold.

Marching back to the couch, she aggressively snatched the blankets off the ground and plopped herself onto the worn cushions with a glare and a huff, deliberately positioning the university quilts over her legs to hide it all away.

“Fuck you,” she spat stoically as her body hunched down, arms crossing over her chest.

It had flipped so easily inside her, the switch back to anger and frustration, that it was almost catching her own self off guard. Her stomach felt like it was hanging low, her muscles were all tense, her throat was aching to scream, and her body desperately just felt like picking up the closest thing and heaving it across the room.

She bit the impulse back, stifled down the brewing aggression and frustration - but just barely.

The last time she let herself get swept up in the same feelings a man’s head became sludge on the carpet. Ellie knew she wouldn’t do that to Joel - ever - but she also didn’t want to go anywhere near the emotions that she knew could fuel that sort of thing.

But, that was much harder said than done. And right now, her mind and heart were at odds, unsure of which was actually in control, but either way, one was telling her to make Joel hurt. To make him sad and angry. To make him feel the way she was suddenly starting to again.

“You took off my pants.”

The regret was immediate as she spat the words out with venom, but there was also a sweet satisfaction that came afterward, when the words hung heavy in the air, when the look on his face told her she had it - that soft spot inside of him, that protector persona - easily crushed.

“Ellie..”

She shouldn’t be doing this, not to him, none of this was his fault, but for some reason, she couldn’t make herself stop.

“You wouldn’t’ve even known… I never said you could do that, ” she muttered, eyes narrowing.

The color drained from Joel’s face, and for a moment he looked as if he was about to topple over again. He sucked in a long breath, a deep feeling of culpability settling in his heart. It was almost more painful than Ellie’s hand connecting with his wound just moments before - actually, he might prefer round two of that now, then this, or whatever this was shaping up to be.

He knew what he did, knew it had been necessary, but it made him feel dirty all the same. She didn’t have to do much to bring out the guilt when he already felt ashamed.

Slowly, Joel turned and eased himself into the wingback, taking up refuge in the same spot he had watched her battle through the nightmare earlier - a nightmare he was suddenly worried was somehow about him.

Head low, forearms resting on his thighs, palms, and hands anxiously rubbing together, he ground his teeth back and forth, her screams echoing in his ears once again.

A blip of his large hands encircling her tiny bruised wrists as he moved them away, came to mind, coming back to haunt him like he knew it would when had done it. He hummed at the thought, wondering for a second if perhaps he had done something wrong.

Rushed through it, overstepped, and caused more harm than good.

But then thought of how she was fading in and out, how she shaking - so badly - how her skin was like ice - might as well have been a dead body, cold like a corpse.

Joel nodded his head up and down, convincing himself of what he already knew.

There were lots to feel guilty over, but this couldn’t be one of them.

Anxiously, he raised his head and met hers, trying to read her face and not her words. Ellie’s expression was one filled with contempt, but her eyes held a completely different story - a kid broken and scared.

She was hurting, and if the look in her eyes wasn’t enough, the bruises on her face and the blood splatter still staining her complexion were more than enough of a pointed reminder that Joel needed to tread lightly even if she was marching full steam ahead, raging at the world - at him.

She was doing this on purpose, pushing him, but he wouldn’t push her - couldn’t.

He thought back to before, when he came rushing back into the living room fearing she had slipped away in the few moments he had taken to get the blankets. He remembered the small smile on her face when he made his way into her sights, and how she cracked open his heart with her candid confession:

“I’m always gonna come back.”

“I like when you do.”

Centering himself on that memory, and not her screams, Joel ran a hand down the length of his face before brushing it back and forth against the scruff of his beard. He let out a long sigh, a little worried he was about to say the wrong thing.

"I had to..." he began, his voice coming out more as a gravelly murmur than anything else. He stopped, swallowed hard, and tried again. "You were freezin’..." he said remorsefully, but pointedly, a statement of fact and an apology, side by side.

Ellie nodded with a blank expression, purposefully trying to keep her face deadpan. She didn’t remember all that much, but she wasn’t stupid - logically, she knew that’s what happened.

That hadn’t been the point of bringing it up.

“You couldn’t do it yourself, so I had’ta.”

“I told you to stop,” she countered.

Truthfully, she still didn’t remember much of the whole ordeal, but bits were coming back slowly. There were some moments, vague, but there, she could use against him if she wanted - paint a certain image, true or not. All she could see was her arms and hands pushing against his, small fists banging against his forearms, yelling at him.

Her gaze found the fire for a moment, landing on the red and orange licks of flames, just past his shoulder.

Hands pushing against his, small fists banging against his forearms, red carpet, flames.

“…I was yelling and you kept going…” she said, almost absently, head somewhere else for a twinkle of a second.

She gulped down a growing lump in her throat as her eyes quickly flicked back to Joel, and with a few blinks cleared the images of him away.

Joel opened his mouth to reply but shut it quickly, giving her a nod instead. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either.

In the very back of Ellie’s head, a small voice was screaming at her to not be an idiot. To stop whatever this was, now, before she took it too far. That he wasn’t him. That this is leftover aggression stuck inside, threatening to ruin something good.

But she couldn’t.

Her jaw clenched tighter as her eyes went hard and steely. Her head was really starting to throb again, and the hot feeling that had been in her gut was now starting to travel up her body, making her throat tight as it also ushered in a bit of nausea.

She was seething so much that she was making herself sick from the intensity of it all. And for what?

She wiggled in her seat, hands going to grip the sides of the couch, knuckles going white, as she lowered her head to stare at the floor, wondering why he wasn’t getting mad like she thought he would.

“I know, you were..” Joel confirmed, hoping that not denying, or trying to belittle it would somehow make this better for her.

He was able to see her demeanor going colder and colder with every moment she sat on the couch, coming to slow a boil like a pot on a stove. Part of him did want to defend himself and go toe to toe with her - it was only natural - but a bigger part of him just wanted to gather her up in another hug and just never let go. Make her emotions quell, stop the roiling.

"I know what your doin'..." he said, shaking his head, "I know you don't mean what you're sayin’."

"I - ah ..," Ellie stuttered, not expecting to be called out. ”Asshole," she said, trying to recover, albeit not strongly, before tumbling along, words spilling from her mouth. “You’re an asshole, and you - if you gave a shit about me then, you wouldn’t have -“

“- Hey now…“ Joel interjected quickly, a grovel in his voice clearly revealing that his calm exterior was cracking away, her words now hitting him with a certain potency. Ellie’s voice trailed off at the sound of his, focus going to watching the change in his body language, his shoulders tensing, eyes moving away, hand rubbing at his thigh.

Of course, he gave a shit about her. After everything?

She really wasn’t making this easy, and now the underlying guilt that still coursed in his veins - that was practically a part of him now - even though he knew it was misplaced - was turning to frustration, and frustration into precarious anger.

And Ellie knew it too, and now she couldn’t hold back. She wanted to pry that spark of anger from behind his eyes and ignite it. Light it on fire like that fucking restaurant.

“Would you have done that to Sa-“

“Enough.” Joel spat, jaw tight, eyes hard.

Sarah.

It was a low blow, even for Ellie.

His heart was thumping in his chest, whooshing in his ears. He knew where the sentence was going the minute, it was coming out of her, and he couldn’t let it stand. He had sidestepped what she had been insulting the entire time - the dark impropriety of it all - because it was just so far from the truth that it wasn’t even worth playing into. But now, bring up something like that, almost accusing him, with his daughter…no. It crossed a line.

With a deep inhale, Joel pushed himself off the chair the pain of it all buried monetarily under his own indignation, only a small wince escaping. The old wood creaked under him, the sound echoing the tension in the room. With a slow-paced stride, his leather boots thudded against the floor, the rhythmic sound resonating through the still air, each deliberate step echoing ominously. His fists were balled tightly as he sad and his face stern.

Ellie watched as he got closer, content that she had finally pushed him over the edge.

She hated herself, but not just for this.

Coming to a still directly in front of her, he lowly began, “You don’t-,” he dragged in a long breath, “you don’t bring her anywhere in this….that ain’t right, and you know it.”

His intention wasn’t to be intimidating - just firm, but standing above her as he was, was a little bit menacing. Ellie gave him a slow nod, eyes looking forward, not up towards him. Her quickening pulse was echoing in her ears, mouth getting a little watery with apprehension.

Joel looked anywhere but down towards her, not wanting to show her any more anger than he already had let slip out. His fingers ran against his palms, still tightly screwed together, as his eyes wandered around the area behind the couch, scanning the kitchen, hoping to use it mundanity as a means to steady himself.

Exhaling through his nose, Joel took a long step back, and then another away, turning his back toward Ellie.

God, bringing his Sarah up like that, now. What was she thinkin’?

Drawing his head up to the ceiling, he called back to that feeling in his gut when he woke up alone in the basement. That feeling in his chest, when he thought he was about to find her body a the end of a trail of blood. That feeling in his heart, when she fell into his arm, scared as all hell.

He shook his head. Ellie was his too.

An oppressive silence stretched between them, the weight of unsaid words becoming almost palpable as Joel swayed back and forth on the balls of his feet, debating what to say, how to carry on. It was clear she was just lashing out, generally, but he couldn't let it all slide. Not that easily.

"Trauma ain't a hall pass" - Tommy told him that once.

Sucking in a final long breath, hands going to his hips, Joel turned to face Ellie.

“I know I wasn’t there. But I got to eyes. And I know somethin’ happened to you. And if this is - was? - you tryin’ to make sense about that then, fine. Spit whatever you want at me, okay? Hit me, yell at me, I don’t care…I’ll take it.. I deserve that…cause that’s on me for leaving you alone.” His voice was eerily steady, low, and coarse like how Ellie knew it when he was barking orders at her, way back at the beginning of their journey together. The tenderness that he had exhibited since coming back together seemed to be gone, even though his words painted a different picture. For better of worse, this was the Joel she knew.

“But listen to me. I’m serious Ellie - Listen here.” Joel waited for Ellie to look up and meet his eyes. When she did so, he continued. “Sarah stays far out of it.”

Ellie didn’t make a move, a little stunned by the way he seemed to have his emotions under control, especially after she had expected so much more.

He was going to end it at that, but a nagging voice in the back of his head told him he might as well dot all his ‘I’s and cross his ’T’s too.

“And to be clear, I didn’t do anythin’, would never, do anythin’ to you- like what you were getting at.. makes me sick just thinking about it,” his tone was serious, yet his words danced around the hard topic like he wasn’t confident using the real words for it. His mouth turned down as the thought of it stayed in his brain, festering for a moment before fading out.

The look in his eyes had Ellie swallowing back some guilt, tears even beginning to prick at her waterline again.

Joel's hand came to his neck, rubbing away the much-accumulated tension, while looking around the room to search for something else to focus on. His eyes landed on her again - how could they not - and he paused. Blood, bruises, brewing with anger. He could fix some of that.

His eyes went to the pot of water still resting on the coffee table after all this time and then over toward the hallway.

He cleared his throat. “Now, I’m gonna go see if there ain’t something around here to clean you up with.”

It’s said with genuine care, but it's not hard to read that perhaps it’s also a distraction - a misdirection- to take away from the fraught way the conversation had come to a close.

Joel scooted past the couch with a slight limp, heading toward the hallway and out the room, leaving Ellie sitting alone.

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